One stanza in the poetry of mathematics
Speaks of butterflies and building clouds,
Of reasoning toward a chasm, of quantifying chaos:
For, as a system becomes increasingly complex,
Small variations in data inputs over time will yield
Huge fluctuations in results, so that ultimately
A butterfly beats its wings in China and
Causes a storm to arise in the Atlantic
(Of which the butterfly is blissfully unaware) .
The poetry of mathematics does not speak
Of butterfly conscience, sympathy, or dread;
It does not deal with the romance of clouds.
But if our thoughts have wings what winds have they stirred?
What storms have our uttered words precipitated?
Love it Gary. I was thinking about phantom traffic jams, caused by one person hitting the brakes too hard, and they all come to a standstill 50 miles back, so I won't think about it for too long. Danny ; ¬)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well done, Gary. Causality is an interesting thing, isn't it, though a bit deceptive on second glance. Existence rolling forward like a wave, transitional states flowing outward from 'initial conditions', each moment a whole new universe of relational geography. Enjoyed this one a lot.