Applied Mathematics: Poem & Process

My oldest, most popular, career-defining poem...

Poem & Process is an ongoing series: one poem, and reflections on writing it.

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I love the curvature of your waveform
the way you diverge from the norm
I want to bring you to boiling point
because too hot is not too warm.

When we touch it’s an electric storm
and you’re the lightning conductor
to my heightening thunder sound
the earth to my live wire
you keep me on the ground.

If you were described by numbers they’d all be primes
but like Heisenberg you’re uncertain of where we are sometimes
so this verse is in a language that you can understand
bringing maths and poetry together
in double helix strands.

We’ve been carbon dating for a while
and sure I’d made you smile
and statistically speaking I’d make you laugh sooner or later
so the line on my mental graph paper
that represented how I felt about you
had an upward trajectory.

Marking exes against the x axis
I plot points and y?
because x marks the spot where two lines intersect
connect in a future perfect tense
tell a story predicted by the focus of the locus.

This isn’t magic: it’s not hocus pocus
because you have no need for the supernatural
whereas I’m odd: I’m not always logical
and sometimes even my numbers are irrational -
but you were the right angle for me
a cute reality to my obtuse literacy.

You pivot on moments like these
affected by Brownian Motion we dance like particles
and I have this notion that I’m the definite article
to your theoretical hypothesis
the words to your mathematics
for this is my medium of transmission.

I’m no paranormal magician
there are rules in writing too:
creating literary fission through rhyme addition
division of lines to ease transition
multiplying meaning by verb position
subtraction of words made more powerful by omission –
no, it’s not a precise science
but there is a method to it.

For example: electrons flow between two polar points
I am the North and you the South
we can’t help but be attracted
and we reacted like water and phosphorus
to form a compound substance
You + Me = Us.

Chemistry’s undeniable – like electromagnetism or gravity
and though there are sparks of volatility
ours is not a weak but a strong nuclear force
and in all probability this is how we’ll always be.

‘Cos when we deviate it’s anything but standard
a sine that we’re meant to be physical with our biology
and maybe I’m going off on a tan-gent here
but pressed together our contact force is not normal:
cosmic strings vibrate in harmonious commotion
and when we oscillate in our simple harmonic motion
I think that maybe, one day, we’ll propagate.

But that’s in the future: in our fourth dimension
I don’t want to upset our equilibrium
I don’t want to cause any tension
because our equation is balanced.

You’re the constant variable in my life
the quantity for which I did not factor
you keep me powered, you turn me on
you are my chain reactor
the dark matter I do not fully understand
the bright colours on my spectral band.

You are pure mathematics
but applied together
we are poetry in motion.

-

This is the oldest poem I still perform, and so I have a long and complex relationship with it. Let’s dig into that.

It was inspired by a bad stand-up routine I saw at the first Edinburgh Fringe I attended. The comedian was doing a long series of groan-worthy science-themed puns that no one was laughing at. On he went, a polite silence filling the room. Something clicked in my mind, and the scientific terminology he was joking around with suddenly sounded like it could be used in another way: as a language to express love.

I remembered this on the 5-hour train journey home, started writing, and – thanks in no small part to browsing Wikipedia for juicy scientific concepts – largely had a first draft done by the time I was back in London. I was on the open mic circuit at the time, and so honed this piece to a tight three minutes to fit the rules of a poetry slam. I didn’t know the strength of this piece until I performed it and felt the atmosphere in the room shift. I was onto something.

It’s still, essentially, a whole heap of science puns – but tuned to a rough rhyme scheme and meter, and angled towards romance and desire. It’s a showpiece, crowd pleasing, big energy poem – particularly as I perform it from memory. The unusual, complicated-sounding words and constant internal-and-end tricky rhyming give it a real sense of rhythm and pace that borders on rap. It’s often impressive to an audience, frankly – and that became a bit of a crutch for me for a while.

I used to rely on it in my longer poetry sets: it served as a strong opener to show off my skill, or a mic-drop closer that amazed an audience. I remember trying to crowbar it into every gig I did and Fringe show I made, feeling like nothing else I’d written was or could be as good as this. I got stuck in my craft for a while because of this poem, diminishing the creative space for me to try new things.

Part of the reason for that is how this poem helped me move from budding wannabe-poet to being paid for my art professionally. It was undoubtedly a step-up in terms of the quality of my writing and it certainly helped me discover a more confident voice and style – and it also got me work. Apparently, there was a niche for a spoken word artist with a penchant for the scientific – and since then, I’ve worked as a poet and creative facilitator with many research and science-inclined organisations, and made projects around that intersection.

For a time, I felt a heaviness around this poem. I flirted with ‘retiring’ it, saying I’d never perform it again – but that didn’t feel right. I had a decent period of leaving it out of performances, and relished how good I felt without it. I have other poems people like: who knew? Now, almost 15 years after writing it, I love it again – but from a place of balance.

I am proud of this poem, and the 24-year-old Dan who wrote it. I have a lot of love for that young man who was trying his best to write and perform and give this artist life a go. It’s why I’m here today, in this moment and in this career I’ve made for myself. Now, I enjoy performing this poem – when it feels right, knowing I don’t need to. I appreciate the intricacy and cleverness of the writing; the comfort with which the poem comes to my mind; the ease as the words flow from my tongue; the impact on an audience rolling through it with me. In this way, the power of this poem has come back: new, and as me again.