In college I took a poetry writing class for fun. I really
enjoyed the writing and editing process though now I can't bring myself to read my poems about smoking Pall Malls and rebelling against
gender norms. During an office visit my wonderful professor recommended that I
use my unique background in science as inspiration in my poems. But I was not
really in a place scientifically and as a fledging poet to fully realize her
vision. But what I took away from her suggestion was the possibility to merge
my two interests – how science and poetry are not inherently polar opposites.
I have heard, mainly in abstract terms, how art and poetry
can change the way one thinks and approaches science. As someone who enjoys
painting and writing, I also unfortunately struggle to imagine how this is done
practically – I think about science and then when I need a break, I paint.
Sometimes I paint about science and technology but I have not found a way,
consciously at least, to bring art into science (aside from some nice Illustrator
images for presentations).
And so I have come to highly respect and appreciate those
who can merge the two worlds and by doing so, enrich both. In that vein, I will
be posting about some poets who were also scientists (or scientists who were
also poets) or who brought scientific themes to their poetry.
Margaret Cavendish Lucas was a philosopher, writer, and scientist
of the seventeenth century. In 1667 she sparked a debate by asking to attend a
session of the Royal Society of London and was eventually allowed to attend to
see Robert Boyle demonstrate several experiments. She wrote about topics such
as the scientific method and how the matter that makes up humans, rather than a
divine God, enabled us to think. Below is one of her more famous poems.
Of Many Worlds
in This World
Just like as
in a nest of boxes round,
Degrees of sizes in each box are found.
So, in this world, may many others be
Thinner and less, and less still by degree:
Although they are not subject to our sense,
A world may be no bigger than two-pence.
Nature is curious, and such works may shape,
Which our dull senses easily escape:
For creatures, small as atoms, may be there,
If every one a creature's figure bear.
If atoms four, a world can make, then see
What several worlds might in an ear-ring be:
For millions of those atoms may be in
The head of one small, little, single pin.
And if thus small, then ladies may well wear
A world of worlds, as pendants in each ear.
Degrees of sizes in each box are found.
So, in this world, may many others be
Thinner and less, and less still by degree:
Although they are not subject to our sense,
A world may be no bigger than two-pence.
Nature is curious, and such works may shape,
Which our dull senses easily escape:
For creatures, small as atoms, may be there,
If every one a creature's figure bear.
If atoms four, a world can make, then see
What several worlds might in an ear-ring be:
For millions of those atoms may be in
The head of one small, little, single pin.
And if thus small, then ladies may well wear
A world of worlds, as pendants in each ear.
Her writing strikes me as straightforward for the time –
less than 50 years after Shakespeare was producing the works that would perplex
middle and high schoolers for centuries. The poem encapsulates the excitement
of scientific discovery. Things at the cellular level may be just as exciting
as the planets and space, which seems to capture the imagination of the general
public much more. With the line: “A world may be no bigger than a two-pence,” I
envision a bustling cellular city in the vein of London circa the industrial
revolution: people pushing their wares on carts along axon tracks, the protein
patrolmen monitoring the streets for people in the wrong place, and the
occasional bacterial thief that threatens to disturb the whole society.
The last lines, “ladies may well
wear a world of worlds, as pendants in each ear” evoke the aristocracy to which
Cavendish belonged. And just as we may be blind to the cellular and
atomic worlds underlying our being, aristocrats were blind to the troubles as
well as essentiality of the working class. The line “our dull senses easily
escape” could be a critique of her class and the dullness of being a woman in a
time when women had no access to science. Though I could be misinterpreting it
through my modern lens, “Nature is curious,”
suggests that it is in human nature, which also encompasses women, to be
fascinated by the world around them.