For The Love Of Poetry

I read this somewhere last week, and, well, here it is…

Feynman’s monologue on the beauty of Science:
“A poet once said, “The whole universe is in a glass of wine.” We will probably never know in what sense he meant that, for poets do not write to be understood. But it is true that if we look at a glass of wine closely enough we see the entire universe.”You know, for a moment there, especially there in Tuscany, I thought that maybe… just maybe he was right!

And so, Feynman, you propose the idea that poets “do not write to be understood,” yet you seem to agree completely with what your quoted poet wrote. I don’t suppose you sense an ever so slight contradiction here…

As a scientist, I think you should know that you are suffering from what is known as cognitive dissonance. This means that you have shared with us two ideas that cannot both be true. I would ask you to think about that, Feynman, but as a scientist, you will probably never know in what sense I mean that.

And I have a few questions for you, Feynman. Have you ascertained beyond question that poets do not write to be understood, or have you considered the possibility that, because you are a scientist, you do not understand what poets write? As a scientist, or even as a non-poet, it seems you can’t possibly know in what sense any poet meant by what they write. Yet your scientific mind wants to know, wants to understand, and because it often can’t, it decides to say that poets “don’t want to be understood.”

Have you any idea, Feynman how absurd that statement is? Poets are not trying to reach your scientific mind, they’re trying to reach your human heart. Even so, though you think they don’t write to be understood, still you agree with “what you’re not supposed to understand.” I mean, scientists have to have imaginations, don’t they? Are those scientific brains so heavy with “pertinent info” that they can’t let a little verbal emotion into their lives?

I would guess that most poets don’t understand even the general workings of science, and for sure don’t get the workings of the mechanical, precise and usually unfeeling logic of the scientific mind. For the heart would only be in the way of processing logical information, and would be therefor totally useless in any evaluation of quantitative data.. There is little to no room for feelings, for emotion of any kind, in that endeavor, except perhaps, simply the need to know a thing.

And I understand why most scientists aren’t capable of understanding what most poets mean, that is, if that’s true. Those two different folk are wired SO differently. Science, to me anyway, is an affair of the mind. Poetry, to me anyway, is an affair of the heart. Science requires an analytical mind, while poetry requires a mind with the ability to put into words what it perceives and feels, hopefully with words and phrases that might actually take you into that realm. Totally different? I’ll say!

I know, I know, all this has turned into a rant. Please though, indulge me a little longer, as it feels good, and is definitely fun

In deference to you, Feynman, I have to admit that I feel that the higher arts and those artists are sometimes understood only by other artists of that caliber. I know this is true of jazz. It is likely true of painting, as well. In some cases one must know and understand the finer complexities of an art form before one can realize the strength and creativity of other fine artists. If it’s “just music” or if it’s “just a painting” then often it’s not understood… at all!

Under that theory, the really great scientists are most likely understood only by other good scientists. In my mind there’s not a damn thing wrong with any of that, as it shows only how deep and wonderful a great mind can be. If brilliant artists and scientists did their life’s work only for money, there would be no great works, as the great minds would be satisfied in producing only what the  general public could understand, and be willing to pay for. A decent point that I know is not actually true. A great mind simply has to reach farther, deeper, often regardless of the consequences.

In the spirit of trying to bring light to Feynman’s comment further, I offer this next piece, an abbreviated selection of attempts to understand the poets and their writing –

In English, we say: “I miss you.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I trace the shape of your absence in the spaces where your laughter used to linger,
and let the echoes of you fill the hollow hours.”

In English, we say: “I don’t know how to let go.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I carry you in my chest like a stone—
heavy, unyielding, and carved with the sharp edges of what once was.”

In English, we say: “I feel lost.”
But in poetry, we say:
“The compass of my heart spins wildly now,
its needle drawn to places it can no longer call home.”

With poetry I write paths through gardens of grace with words in ways my body dare not go as a whole.
Written by : Larson Langston.

And there’s this:
“I used to tell students…the difference between poetry and you is you look in the mirror and say, “I am getting old,” but Shakespeare looks in the mirror and says, “Devouring Time, blunt thou thy lion’s paws.”
—Jim Harrison

A bit over the top, right? But you get the point. Maybe you have something there after all, Feynman.

I looked up Mr. Feynman on Wiki. Turns out he’s the real deal. Richard Feynman was “an American theoretical physicist. He is best known for his work in the path integral formulation of quantum mechanics.” I also found out he died back in ’88, so I shouldn’t be picking on him. But damn, that comment he made about poets not writing to be understood really rankled me.

I found that Mr. Feynman’s IQ in high school was 125 – “high but merely respectable”, according to biographer James Gleick. High?? Good god, maybe back in 1936, when he would have been 18. But I doubt it was considered high even back then. And I would question Mr. Gleick’s knowledge of that matter, that a scientist dealing in the integral formulation of quantum mechanics had an IQ of 125. Maybe as a baby…

1962 my high school IQ was 121, and that was considered average. And I can barely even spell “scientist.” But I damn sure know good poetry when I read it. AND I understand it. I guess that’s a major difference between us, Mr. Feynman. You were smart, and I’m not. Along with the fact that you’re dead… and I’m not.          Yet.

Steve Hulse