True enough, you don't run into very many poems about magnesium sulfate or the phosphorous cycle. We tend to think of poems as generally emotional things, not scientific. When my English class discussed what makes a poem last week, we threw around phrases like "metaphorical imagery," "language play," and "condensed emotion." All of these are true -- to a point. We also offered ideas like "structure," "surprise," and "patterns of sound." Again, all of these are true -- to a point. It's hard to sit down and say, "This is what a poem is. This is what a poem isn't."
Science, on the other hand, seems to thrive on definition. The word science comes from the Latin verb scire, to know. We think of science as specific. Science means knowing things. Science means systematic procedures. Science means testing. Science means proving.
That, however, is where we're wrong. My biology prof told us that if we took anything away from his class, it should be this: science cannot prove anything. Broadly speaking, the best you can get in science is a hypothesis that's been supported enough times, in enough ways, and by enough people that it becomes a theory. Math has theorems, theories that have been proven. Science does not, because it is empirical -- powered not by definition, but by observation.
Poems, my English class noted, are snapshots, moments and thoughts picked out of life and arranged into words. This is especially true of lyric poetry, the type we were mainly discussing in class, and to an extent of narrative or story-telling poetry as well. In short, poetry, too, thrives on observation. If you do not observe -- see, hear, open your metaphorical and literal eyes and ears -- you cannot write a poem.
All this is why I think scientists often turn to the psalms, the Bible's big book of poetry. I still remember Mr. E reading Psalm 8 to us back in Chem 1 my sophomore year of high school and telling us he thought it was David's answer to an essay question he'd given us on our final exam. Last week, my bio prof read part of Psalm 139 to us. And the psalms aren't the only poetry in the Bible. Science is often drawn to -- and, unfortunately, almost as often placed in contest with -- the beautiful poem that opens the Bible.
The word poetry also has classical roots -- the Greek verb ποιεῖν (poiein) means to make or do. Doing and knowing go hand in hand. You can't do very well without knowing, and knowing without doing is pointless. Sure, you can do science without reading poetry and you can write poetry without knowing much science, but there's a sort of mysterious beauty in the communication between the two that you'll be missing out on.
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more from the first similitude.
from Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
