synthesize poem

Ununoctium, “Periodic Table” poem by Chicago poet Janet Kuypers

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Ununoctium

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#118, Uuo)

I first only heard of you a decade ago.
You seemed so reactive, so unstable,
and yet I was so attracted to you.
I should have known better.

I should have known that
your radioactive personality would
cause your destruction, so I guess
I’m glad I’m not around to see it.

I have only seen you three or four times
since you started to self-destruct,
so from afar I can only guess
what you’re made of, or what you can do.

But still, I can’t get you out of my mind,
so I’m left here to guess about you,
based on what little I could ever infer
about you. This is all you leave me.

When I saw you before, you seemed
kind, and noble when you were with me…
But that was before I saw what you
were made of, how hard you could be.

So much emanated from you with me,
but you’ve systematically shattered
any preconceived notions of who you are,
that I don’t even know what to believe.

You’re that explosive, and I’ve been
unsuccessful in any attempts to synthesize
with you… It’s funny, you seem
like you want to be discovered,

but I can only predict, calculate, or
extrapolate what I think you can do.
If only you would let me crack your shell
so I could see what you’re made of…

Livermorium, Periodic Table of Poetry poem by Chicago poet Janet Kuypers

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Livermorium

by Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#116, Lv; Ununhexium, eka-polonium)

For so many years,
you’ve gone by another name,
and then you seem surprised
when people don’t know who you are.

You’ve wanted to be known,
and I’ve known you for years,
but I’ve noticed that as time passes,
as you grow,
you move farther
and farther
away.

You’ve tried for so long,
and over the years,
in our efforts to synthesize
we’ve had some successful reactions,
some failures to react —
and I know that some attempts
have not even been made,
but at times these attempts at fusion with you
seem far too hot for me to handle.

And really,
I assume
they’re too hot
for you too.

Maybe your half life is just so short
that I never know what to do with you.
And I’ll never know what you’ll do next.

In our past four creations,
this quantum tunneling
has been something
I don’t think I can take any longer.
And I’m sorry, but
you’re insufficiently stable,
and you’ve never let me confirm
the true weightiness of your soul.

So,
maybe you should go your way,
and I should go mine.
I know your possible chemistry,
and I know you want to share your soul
with the entire world.

I know this.

And I’m sorry,
but I’ve grown tired,
and know
you’ll continue to grow without me.

So yes,
you should go your way,
and I should go mine.
Maybe one day,
you will truly find
what you —
and the world —
so desperately needs.

Copernicium poem by Janet Kuypers

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Copernicium

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#112, Cn)

It was my love of you
and what you believed in
that made me try to get you.

With your Renaissance ways,
you taught me that I’m not
the center of the Universe,

but I’ve learned since then
to go beyond the sun, because
there is too much out there

to see.

As a scientist, I know you
changed our views of the world.
So science must create you, again.

I know that mathematics
can explain the Universe,
but you were more than a

mathematician, you were
a physician, a translator,
an economist, an astronomer,

an artist.

I know you were a founder
in your time, and the half-life
of what we create may be small…

but I would have to throw
any metal I could into any
isotope I could, like zinc to lead,

just to see if you would
come out for us again. Let us
find you, let us experiment

with you.

Let us accelerate these processes,
cause just the right reactions
to synthesize you and your genius.

I don’t care how we get you,
whether what we do is cold or hot,
when we fuse to create you,

and through all of our work
you may only come to us
after the decay of others

around you.

We’ve learned that only now,
now that we have you, we can
try to work with any part of you,

no matter how unstable
you say you now are. I don’t care.
You’re the last member

transitioning in this series — so now
I can only reflect on your relativity
to planets, like Mercury, as well as

your nobility.

I miss what you’ve done
for how we think in this world.
I miss clear scientific minds.

I only hope that what we’ve done
in your honor does you justice.
Even though we’ve only created you,

I want you to remember
that it is because we wanted
to learn, too, and we wanted you

to guide the way.