The CallNo words, no words ...Poetry!They should have sent poet.So beautiful... so beautiful.I had no idea ... no idea. (Zemeckis & Starkey, 1997)In the 1997 film adaption of Carl Sagan's (1985) novel, Contact, an astronomer on scientific mission drifts wide-eyed with awe in the centre of the wondrous Milky Way, calling for poet to express the glittering grandeur that surrounds her. This reminds the authors of experiences that we had as aspirant scientists, separated by decades and continents: Claire in South Africa in the 1980s, and Miles in New Zealand in the 1960s.Miles remembers, as faculty member on an ornithological field trip, being with tertiary students in the Kauaeranga Valley, near Thames, in New Zealand's North Island. Early sunlight streamed through his tent's green canvas onto his sleeping bag as he listened to the dawn chorus of bellbirds and tui in the ancient podocarp forest across the river. To his ear, the music was swelling into mighty penultimate chord. But the seemingly irresistible resolution never happened. Rather, the music flowed without pause into some other anarchical, avian direction that defied his imagination.Similarly, Claire recalls, as university student, standing knee deep in rock pool on the South African Cape coast assisting her phycology professor record seaweed samples beneath black velvet sky draped in brilliant splendour. An apprentice scientist, she too searched for means to describe what she saw, to bear faithful witness for others not there. Scratching stick figure digits in columns on her clipboard in the darkness, she flipped the page to scribble words she could not see, trying to describe the stars afloat in crystal water, swirling with the tide to the delicate caress of seaweed tendrils as they released their reproductive structures, slippery, yet encrusted with diamonds. Her scientific report would not nearly capture the reality of this lunar-cyclic phenomenon. Or could it?In this paper, we propose that the writing of poetry and of reports can sometimes be profitably addressed together in school classrooms. Why do we suggest this? Surely, is about faithfulness to evidence, laudable scepticism, and sober caution; by contrast, poetry embraces flights of fancy, the unrestrained juggling of language, and the proposing and exploring of delicious ambiguities. So, shouldn't it follow that to blend the objective world of knowledge and the subjective life of the poet-Ernest Rutherford's buzzing laboratory and Dylan Thomas's inimitable cadences-would only blur and confuse both in students' minds?Science and Poetry: Going DeeperThe tide of history, we argue, is on the side of seeking synergies between poetry and writing. Two hundred years ago, it was generally fashionable to consider and poetry as being poles apart. For example, in the 1790s Erasmus Darwin, Charles's grandfather and an early proponent of biological evolution, tried to distance himself from inevitable public odium by publishing his heretical ideas buried in footnotes to mock-heroic poetry (Stott, 2012). Indeed, in 1825 the German poet and critic Friedrich von Schlegel proclaimed frostily that strictly understood, the concept of scientific poem is quite as absurd as that of poetical science (Von Schlegal, quoted in Gaither & CavazosGaither, 2000, p. 274).By contrast, the Romantics in early 19th century Europe were seeing new common ideal of intense, even reckless, personal commitment to discovery, which was drawing and poetry together into a single whole which might best be understood by attending to its middle term, (Midgley, 2001, p. 55). The Romantic imagination was being inspired, not alienated, by scientific advances. Richard Holmes (2011) noted that, in an age of hope and wonder, Shelley was writing speculative essays, mixing scientific ideas with psychology (p. …
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