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      October 26, 2015Advice to a New PostdocJohn Nimmo

      From Bozeman airport they’ll take you
      to the spill site, the one in your thesis. Expect
      a long ride. The road turns to dirt;
       
      the van will stop where a closed gate
      blocks the road. The latch is one of those
      that cowboys have cobbled together
       
      with ever-increasing complexity since 1873
      when barbed wire was invented:
      an ungodly arrangement of levers, slots,
       
      sliding bars, wire loops, and holes carved
      in the wooden post. Jim and Al in back
      will be busy wiring data-loggers.
       
      They’ll glance at the gate, then at you.
      Hop out. Walk slowly
      while you note the hinges and the slope
       
      of the ground. See if the gate swings only
      one way and what the way is. Look
      for the bar-in-slot or peg-in-loop or
       
      hook-in-eye, or whatever
      actually holds the gate closed. Find
      what has to move first. Don’t fiddle, figure it out.
       
      Pause if you need to. Remember prelims?
      Prof asks a question, it’s OK to think a minute
      before you answer, even get extra points
       
      for the right look on your face. When
      you’re sure or pretty sure, slide the bar,
      pull the peg, lift the rod, turn the knob, whatever
       
      it takes until the gate swings free. Stand by
      as he drives through. Don’t smile. Nod
      briefly, if you want. Close it, latch it.
       
      Climb back in. Say nothing. Don’t smile.

       

      from #49 - Fall 2015

      John Nimmo

      “I’m a scientist, specializing in the physics of environmental systems. And I’m a poet who loves using words to confront the material and immaterial, or what is obvious with what is self-contradictory. Most of the time I’m in Menlo Park, California, where I live with my wife Elsa. Sometimes I conduct field experiments in exotic tropical or desert locations, or, more frequently, at major hazardous waste sites. In poetry and in scientific research, there is always more to write about or to investigate, and no reason why the results of the creative effort cannot surpass the heights achieved before. These two realms relate in ways that are asymmetric but wonderfully strange and complementary. Experiencing poetry leads me to pursue the unexpected, recognize and nurture multiple levels of meaning, and expand mentally by grappling with divergent modes of reasoning—poetry makes me a better scientist.”