Let Me Clarify

There seems to be some confusion.

We are not a club purely for scientists, nor are we a club solely for poets. We are a club that seeks to balance on the intersection of diverse and seemingly disconnected disciplines, in order to better understand the world, what we ourselves hope to study someday, and each other. You don’t have to write poetry. You don’t have to know science. If you’re out there, we want your perspective. If you’re out there, you have a valuable lens through which to interpret and share. Our goal is to make what is technical accessible to the layman in a way that enriches both the knowledgeable person’s understanding of their topic, and the layman’s understanding of the world. The most important thing to remember is that we’re all simultaneously playing the role of the knowledgeable and the layman, just in different disciplines. So learn from us, let us learn from you, and as a whole we’ll all know more.

 

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Mills College, Vera Long 140, Wednesday nights from 6:00 to 7:30 p.m.

No technical knowledge or writing experience required, just come learn something, write your associations and thoughts down on it for 15 minutes in whatever form you like (haikus, poetry, prose, technical writing, free verse, anything you want), and discuss. 

We have only two requirements: (1) Respect  and  (2) No disclaimers. 

Rough with Ribosomes

After a lovely talk by Abra Schlotz on photosynthesis, the color green, and the sly cunning of plant cells, we each explored the topic in various ways via our freewrites.

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Then, I decided to get hip and make a tumblr, and if you haven't yet found out, there is also the Facebook page. Check them out, follow, reblog, like, and all that jazz if you like what we're up to around here.

Join us anytime. One person told me that they think you have to be a scientist to come here. Another said that you have to be a poet. In reality, you just have to be a person who likes to learn a little. Anyone can join, anytime. Try it out sometime!

Freewrite on Photosynthesis

Free Write on, The Ghost in The Machine - by, Alexandra M.

“Let’s suppose that there really is a ghost in the machine—a little man who “looks out” through our eyes, and “listens in” through our ears. Or if you prefer, a soul”

The notion of whether or not the “little man” inside has a consciousness, and then the possibility of that “little man” having another “little man” inside his head, and so on… Reminds me of a sequence in mathematics. A sequence is an infinite list of numbers, listed in order, and it just keeps going. It can converge or diverge, but it has to go somewhere by definition. This sequence of consciences could converge somewhere in the depths of one’s soul, but that place seems like it would be somewhere we cannot comprehend or prove things about. If this sequence diverges, I also would not know what it would look like, maybe that looks like these “little men” being in other beings and it could be the “thing” that connects us all. And if this little man inside one’s head is a soul-less being, this whole construction has no meaning.

But why wouldn’t it? We as humans only seem to use a small amount of our brain power to complete our daily tasks, so what is the rest of it full of? We aren’t just empty, but we know that out of a place of not-knowing. A not-knowing what life inside these bodies is not like. What the not-space consists of…

I just can’t picture what it would be like to be empty—to picture that would be similar to the thought of what it feels like to be dead. The trying to feel what is not, brings me to a wall that I cannot climb over. To conjecture, but not to be able to prove…

It really reminds me though that my body really is just a physical vehicle that drives me around this world. Who is this “me” that I refer to? And if I can say that without referring to my physical body, the “I” must be part of that “little man” inside, right? Is this sequence of “little men” just converging to “me”? Like I said, if it converges, I know not what to. 

The Ghost in the Machine

lt started with a book and it started over the summer, when technically speaking I wasn't thinking of Poetry for Scientists, though I'm always thinking of PfS, like how everything Kermit the frog thinks of is actually in relation to Ms. Piggy, though you'd never expect Kermit to know it let alone acknowledge it, really.

Anyways, the book is titled, The Reenactments by Nick Flynn (it's a very good book).  In it I was introduced to the concept of The Ghost in the Machine - and it really had an impact on me - I couldn't help but to wonder, what are the metaphorical possibilities of this concept?  How does it enable us to understand ourselves better, I mean, that's what metaphors are about, no?

The concept is grounded in Descartes, dualism - and I'm going to be honest - Descartes' outdated in a very serious way - his ideas were, well, his ideas - and I'm surprised as a philosophy major the extent to which his work is still such a integral part of the curriculum - he was just wrong about a lot of stuff, though I suppose his process enabled a closer approximation to, I don't know, reality?  I'm not going there - not tonight -

Dualism - let's stick with that.  Descartes thought that because the physical self is endlessly divisible and the mind is completely indivisible (his idea, not mine), that the mind and the body were two completely separate entities.  Furthermore, the mind isn't distinguishable from the soul, and the soul is eternal, it doesn't decay with the rest of our cells - it is, a completely separate entity.  The concept of The Ghost in The Machine is rooted here.  It is the way we refer to ourselves as if there is an "I" that can refer to the self - it is sometimes referred to as, the homunculus - a "little man" living inside of our heads, who sees with our eyes and listens with our ears - check this link out for a very articulate portrayal of the concept http://theskepticalzone.com/wp/?p=2514.  And to really blow your mind, consider that if there really is a "little man" living in our heads, consciousness, a soul, whatever you want to call it (him?), what of the "little man" in his head, huh?  what about that?  They have a term for it - the principle of infinite regression - and personally, just as a side note, I found that The Principle of Infinite Regression, makes for an excellent form in a poem (read my free write if you want to know what I mean).  

The point is this - on Wednesday 9/11/13, Poetry for Scientists met for our first official meeting of the semester - we talked about this concept, The Ghost in The Machine - I wrote a definition on the whiteboard - a few people chimed in with their thoughts, and then we sat in silence for 15 minutes and wrote about whatever associations arose while we learned something about this concept, rooted in 17th century philosophy, and since evolved into an interest of neuroscientists and (apparently) poets alike.

This is what we do.  We meet, one of us leads a brief discussion on a topic of personal interest, we write about what this topic brings up for us - we share what we write, and we go home - it's really a meaningful experience and whether we like it or not, I'm pretty sure this exercise is making us all care about each other a little bit, and then a little bit more.              

Next Meeting

The summer stretched, hot and endless, and I can only hope we each allowed ourselves a little rest. Now it's time to get our minds back into motion, and what better to lubricate the gears of your brain than a supportive group of curious listeners, suggesters, and sharers?

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Poetry for Scientists will be having its first meeting this Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. in our usual room, Vera Long 140.

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We have some big ideas for the semester, and a shiny new event to plan, in collaboration with the Octopus Literary Salon. From their website:

"The Octopus is a literary salon, re-interpreted in the 21st Century to engage and entertain readers and writers of all ages in Uptown Oakland, California. The Octopus Literary Salon includes a café, a small-scale specialty bookstore and publisher, and a space for public readings and discussions as well as other literary spontaneity."

We are very excited for the opportunity to work with the Octopus Literary Salon and to put together our event for September 27, 2013! 

We hope to see you Wednesday! 

Space and Art at Chabot

Now playing at Oakland's Chabot Space and Science Center is a program called "Inspired by Space." This breathtaking planetarium show explores the relationship between art and space exploration, focusing on how they inform and expand one another.

The show discusses constellations and their relationship to discovery, how imagination fuels scientific discovery, and how real space imagery serves dual roles as information and inspiration.  Part of the COSMOS 360 series, the shows occur Friday and Saturday evenings at 6:30 pm and 8:30 pm. Visit this link for showtimes, and go here for more information on the COSMOS 360 series and future speakers. Chabot also features multiple exhibits on space travel, the sun, and other interesting space-related topics.

The best part about Chabot Space and Science Center, however, is their telescopes. The telescopes themselves are open to the public for free on Friday and Saturday evenings, and provide amazing, breathtaking views otherwise unavailable to the layman. The most surreal experience is looking through a telescope lens and seeing Saturn and its rings, which are clearly visible this time of year. The view is amazing.

Be sure to arrive right at sundown or just a little after, however. Later in the evening there is a risk of humidity closing the larger telescopes.

Check it out if you're in the area!

Oakland Local & the Campanil!

Poetry for Scientists has been featured in an article in the Oakland Social section of the online paper Oakland Local, entitled "Revenge of the Nerds." The article begins with a discussion of the modern nerd who, as article author Bonnie Chan states, "pursues literature alongside neuroscience, or the nerd who has a deep interest in social phenomena and a vast understanding of systems, thus producing a potential to draw connections and metaphors between scientific theory and human behavior."  Her description of the modern nerd, a moniker which had never occurred to me to apply to any of my fellow Poetry for Scientists members or myself, is incredibly in line with our vision of ourselves: delivering the complicated, technical jargon of research and theory in a metaphorical, creative form.

To read the article, please click here.

Poetry for Scientists was also featured in an article in the Mills College newspaper The Campanil by Annie O'Hare. You can read this article on page five of the paperless edition of Spring 2013 Issue 22 here.

Convergence

On April 26th, 2013, members of Poetry for Scientists faced arguably the most difficult facet of our club: that particular vulnerability in poetry which springs up from reading one's work aloud, in a quiet yet crowded room where most faces may or may not be the faces of strangers. A Tendency to Oscillate, Poetry for Scientists' first event, was by all accounts a success. We had a fantastic turnout (thank you so much everyone who attended and supported our event), and while many among us were intimidated by the prospect of exposing our passions and carefully chosen words, everyone's pieces were fantastic. They truly embodied the spirit we've aimed for in their educational, scientific value and the juxtaposition of this factual aspect with the very real, and very poignant human voice that is so often lost in traditional textbooks and research papers.

Poetry for Scientists has grown quickly from an idea to a fully functioning, supportive, creative, and intellectual space that is safe for both creation and education. We are so proud of one another, and so grateful to every person who has taken the time to hear our work, read our zine, or check out this blog. It has been an incredible semester, our very first semester, and we look excitedly forward to the next, where we hope to expand our work, our membership, and our passions.

Thank you,

Erika Refsland

Free Write on Atrophy by Emily Searle-White

Ever since I was little, I’ve had pictures come to mind when I close my eyes, some that would come very often.  It was a fight between me and my brain – it was me trying and probing, cautiously enjoying a part of my mind I couldn’t control.

One such image was that of a small polar bear on an ice floe. As I watched, eyes either closed or drifting lazily out and up, the floe would tilt to the side and the bear would slide into the water. I shook my head: the floe righted itself. And it would happen again. It was work to keep the floe balanced, but who was I working against? My thoughts said to this image of my own creation, “No – stay!” – and I would see it tilt before me again.

This is the experience, the thought-maze, that is easiest to explain. The other one that recurred has less movement. The other one was just an image of a person – deformed. It didn’t start deformed, though. As I watched, a figure would appear in my mind and then gradually, it’s head would shrink, or swell, like a cartoon until it was a cruel caricature of humanness. I felt so uncomfortable seeing it happen. It might have been funny if I hadn’t wanted it to stop, and if I hadn’t simultaneously been the one making it happen, though I didn’t know how.

Bodies can’t be right or wrong, but it seems they can be malformed, disfigured, atrophied. Atrophy – makes me think of the desert – devoid of moisture, softness. Deserts are very like atrophy in a way that dogs and waterfalls are not. A desert makes you think of what it is not – of green, of wet, of safety. A dog doesn’t make you think of a cat, but a limb, partially or completely wasted away – makes you think of what it could have, might have been.

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I would recognize that handwriting anywhere. If you do not nourish a body, it wastes away, it shrivels, tightens, folds and fades. It is nothing without support. Do memories atrophy? I have no idea when or why you wrote that sentence on this page, but there’s no doubt in my mind that you were the one who wrote it. And when the door opens and the mix of apple cider and old sheets of music crashes into my nose, I’ll know the memory of my grandparents’ house has not faded, folded, nor collapsed. What has a memory that flesh has not?