Note: this article is intended for undergraduate math majors, preferably seniors, but freshman will benefit from the look ahead, at what is expected to be known by them when they are seniors, as well as entering graduate students.

I am readying myself for the GRE math subject exam in the late Spring, and therefore reviewing all four years of undergraduate mathematics at this time.

In what follows, I will be summarizing every major area of undergraduate mathematics, as follows:

  1. Geometry: Plane, Elliptic, Hyperbolic, and Affine
  2. Linear Algebra
  3. Vector Analysis
  4. Real Analysis
  5. Complex Analysis
  6. Topology
  7. Ordinary Differential Equations
  8. Fourier Analysis, Lebesgue Integration and General Transform Theory
  9. Probability Theory
  10. Abstract Algebra
  11. Graph Theory
  12. Combinatorics and Algorithmic Complexity
  13. Set Theory and Transfinite Arithmetic
  14. Basic & Analytic Number Theory
  15. Partial Differential Equations
  16. Differential Geometry

If you are a student of any subject, then I hope you have already asked yourself at times the question “What does all of this mean? What is it for?” if you are as I am, a mathematics major, then I believe that this question is particularly important. For one can too often get lost in the forest, standing amid the numberless trees, each one a bit different from its neighbors yet all oddly familiar, somehow similar, like wondering through a waking dream.

This is neither an idle nor a superfluous question. Call it “the big picture.” Call it what you will. It is important to know the gist and the connections between different areas of ones subject, and to know each area for what it really is about.

———————————————————————————————————————————-
Linear Algebra

Let’s look at linear algebra. The matrix is the lingua franca tool of linear algebra, and so linear algebra is the study of vector spaces and their transformations using matrices. After a first course, one should know the axioms that define a vector space, the algebra of matrices, how to express the structure of vector spaces using matrices, and especially how, given the basis of a vector space, to represent any transformation of that vector space using a matrix, and how to use and calculate eigenvalues and eigenvectors. Lastly, the key theorem of linear algebra is to know the 8 distinct conditions that each alone can guarantee a matrix is inevitable. And that is it, the heart of an entire semester of undergraduate linear algebra summarized in one paragraph. Again, in a nutshell: basic linear algebra is the study of the transformation of vector spaces into one another and understanding equivalent conditions under which a matrix is invertible.

What is linear algebra used for? Everything, and almost everywhere, is the short answer. Anytime you seek a first approximation to some problem, it is likely that you will be using linear algebra. In graph theory matrices are used to represent a graph’s structure in a precise and concise manner. In abstract algebra, matrices are used in the representation of groups and other algebraic structures. And linear algebra comes up in both ordinary and partial differential equations, differential geometry, knot theory, number theory, and almost everywhere else. Learn it well, know it well if you are going to be doing research in pure or applied mathematics.

If one takes a fourth year, second semester of linear algebra, often considered “part 2″ of linear algebra studies, then one will likely encounter — inner product spaces, direct sums of subspaces, primary decomposition, reduction to triangular and Jordan forms, both rational and classical forms, dual spaces, orthogonal direct sums, bilinear and quadratic forms, and real normality — among the main topics.

Here are some great free full textbooks to download for reference or study:

Linear Algebra by Jim Hefferon. 499 pages. [direct link to whole book.]

Linear Algebra. David Cherney, Tom Denton & Andrew Waldron. 410 pages. [direct link to whole book]

-=KuRt=- © 2013 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved


Note: this article is for someone who has had considerable exposure to calculus, especially integration problems involving the trigonometric functions. There is no preamble or hand-holding beforehand. And, as there is little theory in this article, this is more of a practicum. I will write extensively on Real and Complex analysis in upcoming articles that will contain voluminous proofs. -=KuRt=-

So, let’s evaluate some integrals.

\displaystyle \int{{{\left( 3x-2 \right)}^{3}}}dx

Here, we immediately see the need to use substitution. Therefore, let us set the inner expression in our integral to

\displaystyle 3x-2=u

Then, we will have that

\displaystyle du=3dx or simply that \displaystyle dx=\frac{1}{3}du so now we may perform our full substitution, so that our integral from \displaystyle x in terms of \displaystyle u becomes

\displaystyle \int{{{\left( 3x-2 \right)}^{3}}}dx=\int{{{u}^{3}}}\left( \frac{1}{3}du \right)=\frac{1}{3}\int{{{u}^{3}}}du

then, we immediately have the result

\displaystyle \frac{1}{3}\int{{{u}^{3}}}du=\frac{1}{3}\frac{{{u}^{3+1}}}{\left( 3+1 \right)}=\frac{1}{3}\frac{{{u}^{3+1}}}{4}=\frac{1}{12}{{u}^{4}}

and, so, substituting our original value for u back into this answer, we have that our integral is:

\displaystyle \int{{{\left( 3x-2 \right)}^{3}}}dx=\frac{1}{12}{{\left( 3x-2 \right)}^{4}}+C

and we may also generalize this to finding all similar integrals, namely

\displaystyle \int{{{\left( ax+b \right)}^{n}}}dx=\frac{1}{a\left( n+1 \right)}{{\left( ax+b \right)}^{n+1}}+C

where this holds for \displaystyle \forall x\in {{\mathbb{Z}}^{+}} and we simply substituted ax+b=u such that \displaystyle dx=\frac{1}{a}du and then proceeded identically as in our specific integral to evaluate our general integral.

Next, we shall evaluate each of the following integrals, in order:

\displaystyle \int{\frac{1}{2x-1}}dx

\displaystyle \int{\sin (3x+2)dx}

\displaystyle \int{x{{(2x-1)}^{3}}}dx

\displaystyle \int{{{e}^{-3x}}}dx

\displaystyle \int{\sin (3x)dx}

\displaystyle \int{\frac{1+x}{1-x}dx}

\displaystyle \int{x{{e}^{{{x}^{2}}}}}dx

\displaystyle \int{\frac{x}{3{{x}^{2}}+2}dx}

The general integral substitution formula

\displaystyle \int{x\cdot f(a{{x}^{2}}+b)}dx=\frac{1}{2a}\int{f(u)du}

A definite integral:
\displaystyle \int\limits_{0}^{\frac{1}{2}\pi }{{{\cos }^{3}}xdx}

\displaystyle  \int{{{\sin }^{3}}\cos xdx}

\displaystyle \int{\tan xdx}

\displaystyle \int{{{\cos }^{3}}dx}

\displaystyle \int{{{\cos }^{3}}2x{{\sin }^{3}}2xdx}

\displaystyle \int{\frac{1}{\sqrt{1-{{x}^{2}}}}}dx=\int{\frac{1}{{{(1-{{x}^{2}})}^{1/2}}}}dx

\displaystyle \int{\frac{1}{1+{{x}^{2}}}dx}

\displaystyle \int{\frac{{{\ln }^{3}}x}{x}}dx

\displaystyle \int{{{({{x}^{1/2}}+1)}^{1/3}}{{x}^{-1/2}}dx}

\displaystyle \int{\frac{1}{{{x}^{2}}-1}dx}

\displaystyle \int{\frac{x+1}{{{x}^{2}}+4x+8}dx}

\displaystyle \int{x{{e}^{x}}dx}

\displaystyle \int{x\cos 2xdx}

\displaystyle \int{\ln xdx}

\displaystyle \int{{{x}^{2}}\sin xdx}

And the Gamma Function

Definition

\displaystyle \int\limits_{0}^{\infty }{{{e}^{-x}}{{x}^{n}}dx}=\Gamma (n)

which is an instance where the evaluation of an integral yields an entirely new function.

© 2013 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

Euler’s Characteristic Formula V-E+F = 2

How is it that for thousands of years the best minds in mathematics did not see the fundamental relationship that, in any regular polyhedron, the sum of the vertices and faces minus the edges equals two? Although this question is interesting, no attempt will be made to answer it. Yet the question, merely by being asked, serves to highlight the tremendous stature of Leonard Euler.

Euler worked from first principles, digging into a topic by performing calculations to get a feel for the shape and edges of a problem, then developed conjectures and proofs based on such research. And so, Euler must have tabulated the edges, faces and vertices of shapes such as the platonic solids to thereby notice this relationship. Perhaps it took an almost childlike playfulness to discover this relationship. Yet it is all speculation. The only fact is that Euler did discover that V-E+F=2 where V, E, and F are, respectively, the vertices, edges and faces of a regular polyhedron

I first learned of Euler’s formula in a senior course on graph theory taught by the Polish graph theorist Dr. Siemion Fajtlowicz. Therefore, let me provide a few definitions before offering a compact proof that V-E+F=2 using basic graph theoretical methods.

Definition. A graph consists of a non-empty set of vertices and a set of edges, possibly empty. If an edge E exists, then it will be related to an unordered pair (a,b) of vertices in V. We may write G=(\{V\},\{E\}) to denote the graph.

A graph is finite if both the vertex set and edge set are finite. A graph that is not finite is infinite. The size of a graph is the number of vertices. The order of a graph is the number of edges. All graphs discussed in this article are finite.

Immediately note that if we are given one edge, then there exist two vertices — because an edge must connect to something and that something will always be a vertex. Two vertices are incident if they share a common edge and said to be adjacent. An edge with identical ends is called a loop while an edge with distinct ends is called a link. A graph is simple if it has no loops.

The degree d(v) of a vertex in a graph G is equal to the number of edges in G incident with v where each loop counts as two edges. Thus, a vertex with two edges has degree 2 because the degree of the other two vertices would be one each, and so the sum of the degrees of all the vertices would be 4. From this we have immediately the following two theorems.

Theorem 1. The sum of the degree of the vertices of a graph equals twice the number of edges. That is

\displaystyle \sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{i}})}=2e

proof. If a graph has no edges, then e=0 and the theorem is true because the sum of the degree of the vertices of a graph with no edges must, by definition, be zero. If a given vertex has an edge, then there must be a second vertex connected to the first vertex by the given edge and so the sum of the degree of the vertexes will be 2, even if the edge were a loop beginning and returning to a single vertex the degree of that vertex due to the loop would still be 2.

Now, each additional edge added to the graph will increase either the degree of the vertex it is connect to and add one additional vertex or else it will add one degree each to two vertices that already exist. Thus, each time an edge is added, the degree count of the vertices increases by 2. Therefore, the sum of the degree of all the vertices will always be simply twice the number of edges present.

Theorem 1.1 The number of vertices in a graph of odd degree is even.

proof. Let {{v}_{1}},{{v}_{2}} be sets of vertices where the {{v}_{1}} is of odd degree and {{v}_{2}} is of even degree. Then, from Theorem 1, we must have that

\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{1}})}+\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{2}})}=\sum\limits_{i/G}{d(v)}

but we have already established that

\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{i}})}=2e

and therefore we must have

\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{1}})}+\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{2}})}=2e

\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{1}})}=2e-\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{2}})}

but

\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{2}})}=2{{e}_{2}}

so

\sum\limits_{i/G}{d({{v}_{1}})}=2e-2{{e}_{2}}=2(e-{{e}_{2}})=2{{e}_{1}}

is even. Thus, we have that the sum of the vertices in a graph of odd degree is even. Now, we will need the following definitions to proceed.

Definition. A cycle is a closed chain of edges. A connected graph that contains no cycles is a tree.

Definition. A spanning tree of a graph G is one that uses every vertex of G but not all of the edges of G.

Every connected graph G contains a spanning tree T as a subgraph of G.

Definition. A planer graph is one that can be drawn in the plane without crossing any edges.

Definition. A face in the plane consists of both unbounded and bounded regions.

The last definition allows us to say that the number of “faces” of a finite line segment in the plane is 1, but that the number of faces of an infinite line is 2, one for each side that the line divides the plane into, and that the number of faces of a circle in the plane is 2, one corresponding to the inside and the other to the outside of the circle one being the unbounded and the other the bounded region.

Now we are ready to prove Euler’s formula as it may be stated in graph theory.

Theorem 2. If G is a connected planer graph with vertices v, edges e, and faces f, then

\displaystyle v-e+f=2

proof. Let T be a spanning tree of a graph G. Then the number of faces f=1 and the number of edges e= v – 1 is true for the spanning tree T of G and so we have v-(v+1)+(1)=2 and our formula is true. Now, G may be constructed from T by adding edges to T, but each time we do so we are adding a new face to T. Therefore, with the addition of each new edge, e will increase by 1 and f will increase by 1. Therefore, all of these additions cancel out and we have our formula.

Now, a homomorphism exists between polyhedron and graphs in that a connected plane graph can be uniquely associated with a polyhedron by making any face the flat unbounded part of the plane. Therefore, Euler’s formula is true for polyhedron. We can therefore immediately prove:

Theorem 3. Exactly five platonic solids exist.

proof. Let the number of edges and faces be n and the number of edges each vertex is incident to be d. If we multiply nf, we get twice as many edges because each edge belongs to two faces, so nf is the number of faces multiplied by the number of edges on each face. Likewise, with dv each edge is incident to two faces so that we have dv=2e so that we have the equality

nf=2e=dv

or

e=\frac{dv}{2} and f=\frac{dv}{n}

Now, placing these into Euler’s formula, we get

v+\frac{dv}{n}-\frac{dv}{2}=2

or

(2n+2d-dn)v=4n

But both v and n are positive integers and for (2n+2d-dn)v=4n to be true, we must have that

2n+2d-dn>0

or

(n-2)(d-2)<4

and so there are just five possibilities for the values of n and d and each of these corresponds to one of the five platonic solids, so that we have

n=3,d=3 is a tetrahedron
n=3,d=4 is a hexahedron also known as a cube
n=4,d=3 is a octahedron
n=3,d=5 is a dodecahedron
n=5,d=3 is a icosahedron

the 5 Platonic Solids

QED.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

At Marfreley’s Bar in Houston, Texas

In a dim lit mural behind the bar,
two swans amble in front of a plantation:
its white house lies against the river, lonely

for the cover of more trees that the artist
left out, as the rushing water
empties into the dark dandelion breeze

of rewritten histories. And I had wanted to see
a single woman out, tonight, sitting
alone, like me at the bar, looking

at their life, the plantation, the swans swallowing
small sips of whatever they find in front
of themselves, any parts of a life that might

make sense, tell me I have done the right things.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Ghazal to Disquietude

1

Drowned in the honk-squeal above the guard rail, I can almost hear
waves sweep in as the soft susurration in the tip of their lips melts the sand between my curled toes.

Noise is now everywhere I want to be
without it. Cars swoosh past Galveston beach roaring their inept monstrous lungs. I can barely

breathe. Or think. Why do trees and blades of every green thing shudder?
Because we are a hyper-intelligent insidious poison? Cats and dogs cling to us in shock and awe.

Ninety-five percent of a car’s energy goes towards moving simply itself not the passengers.
Or rather that’s 2,500 pounds of wastefulness before the crux of tissue steering the steel.

In Hermann Memorial Park a yellow-blue finch tries to sing and fails
in the roar and wall of sound the cars shed in their wake on the I-10 adjoining the beige greenery.

I nod off under a canker tree. A whale whistles out of its water fountain, breathing.
I roll under such plushness, floating with barnacles and sticky ambergris. So glued are our dream’s illogical logic.

I am a sticky carbuncle tearing through the earth’s thin breathability. It’s afternoon in Houston.
I shower again. I scrunch into a starched shirt. I rope my throat with a dead worm’s shiny excrement.

2

My right ear is dead. When I was three
German measles like dappled freckles grew in me, killing the nerve.

Now thirteen, my left ear still good, I hear pretty well
the unprettiness in my parents voices when they divorce

and light fades as I listen in, on the mosquito bitten dark
roof above the living room window, then roll on my back

to swallow insignificance in the drifting milky way above.
Now the frogs have started up. A few ducks quack. A splash

might be catfish come to nibble at the stars
tangled in a cheap tabloid suspended on the pond’s scum.

My pain makes a quiet squelch like tossed granite gravel
settling into decay on the ponds pitch black bottom.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Everest

I grasp the impulse that might be driving you
to pity me in some odd way for being flabby and fifty
to your skinny and twenty, but you know, I like most
people stopped aging in my head at twenty-one, the
mental self-image of a nonstop Sid vicious, smiling at
you still trying to figure yourselves out, while we
older folk are done with nothing and wondering
everywhere we still can, asking better questions than
the thin shit we dredged up in our well-spent
grassy laid bare-assed whistling halleluiah youth.
And you listen to nothing we say all day with piercing
eyes as we watch you climbing our mistakes.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Grading the Weekend

While sipping coffee, I read what one student wrote:
“The surviving fifty rare whooping cranes
with their seven-foot wingspread that propels them
in their annual migration from northern Canada
to the Gulf of Mexico fly unerringly and
swiftly overhead as they migrate southward
using a kind of built-in radar
in their search for winter quarters
near Aransas Pass.”

Surviving fifty myself, feeling rare and whooping
with my six-foot slouch that propels me nowhere
in my daily migrations from the kitchen to the couch,
I live by the Gulf of Mexico, sleep unerringly and
swiftly, undercover, my dreams migrate southward
using a kind of built-in slinky
in search for vaginal quarters
near my wife’s Aransas Pass.

To be surviving melanoma is rare
with its seven wretched drugs I puke, that propels
me out of the gothic hospital to monthly migrations of chemo;
swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, on my back, I float unerringly and
slowly, overheard, the nurses’ whispers migrate southward
out of memory, which is a kind of built-in shit-breeder
when I am in pain and searching for the way out
near the dark rings of Uranus.

But survival is everything rare as whooping
or her pubic hair spread to propel me
in my daily migrations from her coffer to wherever
it is in the Gulf of Mexico I am off to, I unerringly
admit to caring enough to love her butt
less than I ought too as I migrate southward
using a kind of built-in stupidity
in my blindly succumbing to what is expected of me
clearly perfecting it into a fairly fucked life.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Time

My wife, who hasn’t touched me in months, asks
would I perhaps take the trash out today
before the blue-green shimmer of the peacocks
flight to roost high in the safe night trees?

I stick my right pinky into cold vodka
and stir. Smoky Kahlua swirls. Sticky,
I lift out, then suck my honeyed finger.
“A moment,” I tell her, “in a moment.”

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Litany

See the purple and green crayon alphabet scrawled on yellow sticky notes stapled to tiny Glen Hills cardboard orange juice containers sucked empty by a strawberry-headed freckled girl named Melissa Alexander Winsum,

See the cardboard, folded and wax coated, that once held the orange juice within it, was wood that came from somewhere green and quiet with squirrels that stretched out on the upholding limbs sucking towards the sun their green certitude of elm or pine or oak,

See how Melissa tied together her carton creation with thick pink fuzzy wool string pulled through holes in the juice containers pricked with a three-fifths whittled down number two Venus pencil she over sharpened while working excited in Miss Thurstin’s after school art class last Tuesday,

See how the wool string grew out of a sheep’s skin, that then kept it warm through a snowy Spring, how that wool sprouted, cell upon cell, a protein made from the very grass the sheep was grazing on, from x-ray sun to chlorophyll to sheep’s cud chewing transformed to the wiry gray mat of wool dyed pink, now holding aloft 26 spent juice containers wobbling in the wind the whole of our English alphabet.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Inversion on Monkey Bars

The paths in the park my mother walks me in
crisscross, and cut the grass into Latin squares
or rectangles into which scarf-like flowers bloom
and rooted angels grow, staring up at the sky
with empty alabaster eyes. I chase the wind, turning
stone-edged corners as fast as I can
without falling into the arms of an angel
crouching to take flight. I watch them, their bodies
like sleek athletes, ready to pace the sky
for a brief time, before earth might pull them back
or rain ground them. I climb a boulder’s perch, and jump
spread-armed, trying to stay up in the air
longer and longer each time, to no avail.

But hanging upside down on the monkey bars
I float far above the pitiless earth
as if I spend my days walking the clouds,
and all the angels look up at me, surprised

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————-

Midnight Recital

Kneeling to untangle my dog’s leg from its leash,
how did I get here, walking a pit bull in the dark
under the sour leaves of drought resistant Texas oaks?
How have these years colluded to put me
with a woman who doesn’t like to be touched
as if my life were still attached
to a former life, lived in felt robes, kneeling,
questioningly, before God’s dead silence?
Why do I sometimes whisper beatitudes in Latin
when grinding roasted coffee beans for breakfast?
Why can’t a fuck be just a fuck like breathing
or the necessary forward movement of starlight
entering my eyes from Polaris when I look up?

Why is my life so intertwined that it folds me
into fractal compartments that expand, as if
from each decision, outward, new enclosures grip me
as I venture forward, faster than any logic I can conjure?
Should I kill politicians to address society’s wrongs?
Or open a shop and sell cracked imported Chinese
Chia Pets? Or get to the lunar surface to erase
the names of loved ones astronauts left behind?
How can this sticky motion of salt and water
hoisted on these dry branches of bone
discern a purpose, lost among thin pricks of starlight
that amble like ancient animals into the night?

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————————————

How I Came to Poetry

Tucked into the rear-end of a sagging neighborhood
of immodest upscale homes, I attend
Jeb Stuart High on Peace Valley Lane
in Falls Church, Virginia. My sophomore year
there’s this guy, a senior, named Ferenc Molnár.
“Ferenc, what?”, I said. Classmates whisper
he’d gotten a perfect SAT. “Hmm,”
and I let go of trying to say his name.

That summer at the local library
I find Ferenc
scrawled in pencil on the checkout cards
of books that no one else but he had deigned
to date in years. I skedaddle
to the shelf of the first one
Ferenc courted,
a hard blue bound book from Oxford
abundant with English poets.

It opens to pencil-lined pages and lands
on Shelly. I read. In the library’s stacks,
sand begins to blow and cover my blue jean legs
and rubber flip-flops. The long hair of my face
burns in a blond sun. I see
a chiseled sneer erect on a pedestal
of bone, and ornate letters that tell
what a bad ass the owner was,

and watch the hurled tiny intricate skeletons
of shells from an ancient ocean
rub out all traces of his high-on-himself. I’m left
alone with the wind-thrown sand
sticking to the sky. And nothing
but nothing remains

but Shelly’s words indelibly etched in my brain.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————————————

Put Some Relish on Your Plate, Pontius Pilate

I started out believing in everything:
the open field, plow in hand, horse
waiting to be worked, words
hedged in the furrow, irises open
to the moment of opening

as if posturing a proof for all this
were proof enough, by itself, but without
the heavy lifting of burdens, the concrete
blunders one must make, clearing the way
to ubiquitous insight. Now, if only

desire would stop helping the scrunched imp
of all our days, rolled into aphasias of dreaming
that stream down like sunlight through the wet branches
of Spring, it might
be enough. Perhaps,

I can ask you about it, someday
and you’ll tell me everything
I’ve ever wanted was within reach, if only
I would have put out my hands, wide palms
like bells ringing

but as if to a wedding, a funeral or
just praise at the hours and minutes granted
to us I don’t
know? Say again,
“What?”

Put your fears in a little box and smoke it
not this warm interrogatory weather
we’ve been having, that peels
shirts from bodies with an utter unconcern that’s neither
here nor there.

-=KuRt=- © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

———————————————————

This week, Professor Siemion Fajtlowicz assigned two home work problems:

1. How many graphs with vertices 1 … n are there?

2. Up to isomorphism, how many graphs are there with n vertices?

3. If you invite 6 random people to a party, show that 3 of them will know each other or 3 of them will be mutual strangers — and show that this is guaranteed to always be the case — but only if you invite a minimum of 6 random people to the party. It will not be the case if we only invite 5 random people or 4 random people, et cetera.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Question 1 and 2 may appear to be identical questions, but they are not at all identical though they are related.

Question 1 is asking for the number of elements of S. Question 2 is asking for the number of elements of the quotient G\S, a very different and much more difficult question.

Theorem. There are

\displaystyle {{2}^{\left( \begin{matrix} n \\ 2 \\ \end{matrix} \right)}}

graphs with vertex set \displaystyle \{1,2,3,...,n-1,n\} .

Proof. The question is easily answered. Given n vertexes, if we start from vertex 1 and connect an edge to each of the remaining vertexes, so that 1 goes to 2, 1 goes to 3, and so on until 1 goes to (n-1) , and 1 goes finally to n. Now, including the null edge or simply 1 itself connected to nothing, which is a legitimate graph, we have that there are n graphs. Repeating this for each additional vertex, and taking into account that the edge may originate at either one of the vertexes making for two graphs — if allowing full duplicates — then we will have that there are exactly,

\displaystyle ^{1+2+3+...+(n-1)+n}

possible graphs raised to the power of 2 to account for starting at either vertex, which gives us:

\displaystyle {{2}^{1+2+3+...+(n-1)+n}}={{2}^{\sum\limits_{i/{{\mathbb{Z}}_{+}}}{i}}}={{2}^{\frac{n(n+1)}{2}}}

Therfore, the number of graphs with vertices 1 to n are:

\displaystyle {{2}^{\left( \begin{matrix} n \\ 2 \\ \end{matrix} \right)}}

and this is simply a more compact way of writing the RHS of the previous result using binomial coefficients. QED

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Theorem. Up to isomorphism, there are

\displaystyle \frac{1}{n!}\sum\limits_{n\in \sum\nolimits_{n}{{}}}{{{2}^{o\left( \sigma \right)}}}

graphs with n vertices.

The answer to the question is much more difficult, because the answer involves some hefty but basic machinery from Group Theory and Combinatorics involving Burnside’s Lemma and Polya’s Enumeration Theorem such that this question may be reworded in those terms, so that it becomes:

How large is the set \displaystyle \sum\nolimits_{n}{{}}\backslash S where \displaystyle \sum\nolimits_{n}{{}} denotes the symmetric group on n letters and \displaystyle S is the set of graphs with vertex set \displaystyle {1,2,3,...,n-1,n} ?

The answer is

\displaystyle \frac{1}{n!}\sum\limits_{n\in \sum\nolimits_{n}{{}}}{{{2}^{o\left( \sigma \right)}}}

where \displaystyle o\left( \sigma \right) denotes the number of \displaystyle \sigma orbits on the set.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

At any party with 6 guests, either 3 are mutual friends or else 3 are mutual strangers. That is, the symmetric Ramsey Number R(3,3) = 6

If we consider just one person, then the other five must fall into one of the two classes of being either a friend or a stranger. This follows immediately from the pigeonhole principle, namely that, if m pigeons occupy n holes where \displaystyle n<m , then at least one hole contains:

\displaystyle \left\lfloor \frac{m-1}{n} \right\rfloor +1

pigeons, where \displaystyle \left\lfloor {} \right\rfloor is the greatest integer function. The proof of this follows from the fact that the largest multiple of n that divides into m is the fractional part left over after n divides m-1 or

\displaystyle \left\lfloor \frac{m-1}{n} \right\rfloor

and so for n pigeons, we get

\displaystyle n\left\lfloor \frac{m-1}{n} \right\rfloor

pigeons that could be put into \displaystyle \left\lfloor \frac{m-1}{n} \right\rfloor holes. But we have m pigeons, and so there must be more than this many pigeons in the holes.

Now, for our problem, we have two classes, friends and strangers. If we choose one person, then that leaves 5 people with whom that person is either a friend or a stranger. And so, by the pigeonhole principle, for five objects going into two classes we must have at least:

\displaystyle \left\lfloor \frac{5-1}{2} \right\rfloor +1=3

members in one of the classes. In terms of a graph theoretical viewpoint, we have, starting with one vertex extended out to the other five “people” vertexes, that:

where the red edges represent friends and the blue edges represent strangers. We easily see that, regardless of how we choose one of our 2 colors, 3 of them must be blue or else 3 of them must be red, for if we have five red, then we have met the required condition that at least 3 be red, and likewise if 4 are red, we again fulfill the requirement that at least 3 be red; and so, this whole sequence of argument applies if we swap blur for red. Therefore, we are always guaranteed that there are 3 mutual friends or else that there are 3 mutual strangers in any group of 6 people. QED

In terms of Ramsey Numbers, the statement would be written \displaystyle R(3,3)=6 .

This is utterly fascinating, because what this is really telling us it that there is a type of structure built into any random finite set. In this case, for any binary operation or else any question or property that has two values, we have it that any finite set of 6 is sufficient to support there being 3 of one or 3 of the other of that property, and that one of the two sets of 3 always exists inside of the 6 items.

This is a glimpse into a type of “deep structure” embedded within the fabric of finite sets. This is more than merely surprising, as one should not really be expecting to find any such structure whatsoever in a random set.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Going somewhat beyond this homework problem, from experimental math studies using Mathematica, I conjecture that:

\displaystyle R(n,n)=\frac{1}{12}(3{{n}^{4}}-20{{n}^{3}}+63{{n}^{2}}-82n+48)

holds for n<=20 in a completely trivial and weak algebraic sense that the Ramsey Numbers in this range do indeed appear in this formula.

However, there is no natural or reasonable theoretical connection whatsoever between this formula and Ramsey Numbers other than the search for generating functions and sequence matching studies that I conducted. So, for n = 3 to 20 this formula yields:

\displaystyle \text{R(3,3) = 6}
\displaystyle \text{R(4,4) = 18}
\displaystyle \text{R(5,5) = }49
\displaystyle \text{R(6,6) = }116
\displaystyle \text{R(7,7) = }242
\displaystyle \text{R(8,8) = }456
\displaystyle \text{R(9,9) = }793
\displaystyle \text{R(10,10) = }1,294
\displaystyle \text{R(11,11) = }2,006
\displaystyle \text{R(12,12) = }2,982
\displaystyle \text{R(13,13) = }4,281
\displaystyle \text{R(14,14) = }5,968
\displaystyle \text{R(15,15) = }8,114
\displaystyle \text{R(16,16) = }10,796
\displaystyle \text{R(17,17) = }14,097
\displaystyle \text{R(18,18) = }18,106
\displaystyle \text{R(19,19) = }22,918
\displaystyle \text{R(20,20) = }28,634

which all fall nicely into current best-known intervals for these numbers. But these values are essentially nonsense. However, it is currently believed that \displaystyle \text{R(5,5) = }43 rather than 49. But there is no polynomial expression that yields 43 and the other lower already known numbers in the sequence of Ramsey Numbers evident from running long and large searches for such. Therefore, I believe that any meaningful approximate or asymptotic formula must be non-polynomial.

Therefore, my intuition says that there may well exist an exponential, non-polynomial expression for the Ramsey Numbers — perhaps similar to the P(n) function of Rademacher such as

\displaystyle p(n)=\frac{1}{\pi \sqrt{2}}\sum\limits_{k=1}^{\infty }{\sqrt{k}}{{A}_{k}}(n)\frac{d}{dn}\left( \frac{1}{\sqrt{n-\frac{1}{24}}}\sinh \left[ \frac{\pi }{k}\sqrt{\frac{2}{3}\left( n-\frac{1}{24} \right)} \right] \right)

where

\displaystyle {{A}_{k}}(n)=\sum\limits_{0\le m<k;\ (m,k)=1}{{{e}^{\pi i\left[ s(m,k)\ -\ \frac{1}{k}2nm \right]}}}.

But then I may be dreaming here because there need be no sequential connection between one of these numbers and the other — if each is a unique value in it’s own problem space.

What I find frustrating with papers on Ramsey Numbers that I have read is their lack of a more probing approach. We know that calculating Ramsey Numbers is NP-hard. One paper even suggested that this is Hyper-NP hard — but did not specify in what manner they meant this to be true. Most likely they were referring to the absurdly rapid exponential growth of the possible solution space. But where are the more basic insights into the nature of these numbers? Most of what we have now is not much beyond Paul Erdős work in the 1930′s!

In a recent paper on Ramsey Numbers, the physicist Kunjun Song, said: “Roughly speaking, Ramsey theory is the precise mathematical formulation of the statement: Complete disorder is impossible. or Every large enough structure will inevitably contain some regular substructures. The Ramsey number measures how large on earth does the structure need to be so that the speci ed (sic.) substructures are guaranteed to emerge.”

I think that we have yet to ask ourselves the deeper questions to get further along here. I am now researching the different ways in which the same questions may be asked, such as via Shannon limits of graphs and quantum algorithms to see what pure mathematical insight might be gleamed from these approaches. I am looking for good questions that, if properly phrased, should provide a road-map for further fruitful research.

© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

This was the first week of my senior-level class with Professor Siemion Fajtlowicz, MATH 4315 – Graph Theory, and it was a blast!

The central question put to the class is when are two graphs isomorphic. There is nothing easy nor trivial about this question. It can be challenging to even distinguish that two simple graph representations are of different graphs, let alone of the same graph.

Also, we have been assigned the task of showing how one is to interpret the historically notable problem, first presented to and solved by Leonhard Euler in 1735, of the Seven Bridges of Königsberg in a graph theoretic manner. Euler resolved this question in the negative, but there is a lot more to it than that, as we will see in this article.

Along with this problem, we have also been assigned the Knight’s Tour problem which we are also to interpret in a graph theoretic fashion.

Everest

I pity the pitiful grasp the impulse that might be driving you
to pity me in some odd way for being flabby and fifty
to your skinny and twenty, but you know, I like most
people stopped aging in my head at twenty-one, the
mental self-image of a nonstop Sid vicious smiling at
you still trying to figure yourselves out, while we
older folk are done with nothing and wondering
everywhere we still can, asking better questions than
the thin shit we dredged up in our well-spent
grassy laid bare-assed whistling halleluiah youth.
And you listen to nothing we say all day with piercing
eyes, as we watch you climbing our mistakes.

2nd draft per Tony Hoagland’s suggested edits © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

Products and Byproducts

Mother’s lips were always moist and wet
with products from Maybelline, one of which
was centrifugal butt gland oil from a

herbaceous monkey — they did that back then
in the 1950’s — for beauty they would go
to any length of death to look pretty

for their scotched-up husbands, even if to their
own funeral, beaten to death, but covered
everywhere in a perfect shade, wet lips

parted to show the false tint of the entrance
to grief, labial flaps that most of us exited
like Helen’s covered bruises that burnt the topless towers

of ilium — was it for his penis, overextending
itself for pleasure? For Vietnam, for Iraq,
for Afghanistan? How else does madness happen?

2nd draft © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

Litany

See the purple and green crayon alphabet scrawled on yellow sticky notes stapled to tiny Glen Hills cardboard orange juice containers sucked empty by a strawberry-headed freckled girl named Melissa Alexander Winsum,

See the cardboard, folded and wax coated, that once held the orange juice within it, was wood that came from somewhere green and quiet with squirrels that stretched out on the upholding limbs sucking towards the sun their green certitude of elm or pine or oak,

See how Melissa tied together her carton creation with thick pink fuzzy wool string pulled through holes in the juice containers pricked with a three-fifths whittled down number two Venus pencil she over sharpened while working excited in Miss Thurstin’s after school art class last Tuesday,

See how the wool string grew out of a sheep’s skin, that then kept it warm through a snowy Spring, how that wool sprouted, cell upon cell, a protein made from the very grass the sheep was grazing on, from x-ray sun to chlorophyll to sheep’s cud chewing transformed to the wiry gray mat of wool dyed pink, now holding aloft 26 spent juice containers wobbling in the wind our English alphabet.

class exercise © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

Wishing Colors (needs better title)

I was awake, but closed my eyes for a few
seconds, and then opened them and continued
reading the words on a page about chromatic numbers,
how hard they are to calculate, how slippery
the ideas connecting to them, that we really can’t
put much of a dent in the problem. Then I turned
back to the world around me, how the dishes
need doing. The dog lays its head in my lap
asking to be walked. The bronze curtains
blow about in a chill gust, prefiguring storm.

I lift the mountain that is my body , that excavates
a tunnel
through the room, a zigzag of patterns arriving
at the door shore of my entry, and with dog on leash,
stumble out into the dark certainty of night.

2nd draft © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved


Grading the Weekend

I’m sipping coffee and what one student wrote:
“The surviving fifty rare whooping cranes
with their seven-foot wingspread that propels them
in their annual migration from northern Canada
to the Gulf of Mexico fly unerringly and
swiftly overhead as they migrate southward
using a kind of built-in radar
in their search for winter quarters
near Aransas Pass.”

Surviving fifty myself, feeling rare and whooping
with my six-foot slouch that propels me nowhere
in my daily migrations from the kitchen to the couch,
I live by the Gulf of Mexico, sleep unerringly and
swiftly, undercover, my dreams migrate southward
using a kind of built-in slinky
in search for vaginal quarters
near my wife’s Aransas Pass.

To be surviving melanoma is rare
with its seven wretched drugs I puke, that propels
me out of the gothic hospital to monthly migrations of chemo;
swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, on my back, I float unerringly and
slowly, overheard, the nurses’ whispers migrate southward
out of memory, which is a kind of built-in manure-breeder
when I am in pain and searching for the way out
near the dark rings of Uranus.

But survival is everything rare as whooping
or her pubic hair spread to propel me
in my daily migrations from her coffer to wherever
it is in the Gulf of Mexico I am off to, I unerringly
admit to caring enough to love her butt
less than I ought too as I migrate southward
using a kind of built-in stupidity
in my blindly succumbing to what is expected of me
clearly perfecting it into a fairly fucked life.

1st Draft © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved


A Domestic Plot

I was going to read Dragon Tattoo but switched books.

Back from dropping the children safely ensconced at school,
a speckled man with freckles on his egg shaped head sits
sipping coffee with in both hands, his elbows
crushed into the sunflower and dandelion placemat

on his kitchen table. Behind him, his wife
rinses shiny grease and grits from a plastic plate,
then drips and tips it, sets it into formation
to dry among others in the draining board.

The woman hasn’t spoken and the man says nothing.

In front of him, amid clutter gracing the table, a glass bottle of Heinz ketchup,
three-quarters full, smeared with peanut butter around its svelte neck
catches and throws a shadow of his wife working.

In a moment he will kill her with it.

They’ve not had sex in months
or so the plot thickens, as my wife asks
why I read so many books, and the day still
wide open for questions to which I have no answers.

[4th draft]Last edit after suggestions made by Tony Hoagland. 2nd draft deletions thanks Scott and Anthony for these edit suggestions during class.
© 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved



Sweet

The ink still wet
on the divorce.

Nothing else matters but the musky
scent stuck in my left ruby-pierced nostril
from the last time I ventured
near her vagina.

Text and Audio © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved



Names

At first I couldn’t remember the name
you spat me with, that clung to my face, dripping
that smelled of beer and cigarettes
as I wiped off the brown spittle
with the back of my right hand, my left
still clutching the onion sheaves imprinted
with the thin stalks of penned equations
from my lecture I believe I saw you at
leaning forward in the front row
staring at my Palestinian skin.

Text and Audio © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved



Hat

Take this dead hat. Now hold it
up into the sunlight. Notice
the sweet Cuban tobacco that drifts
into your nose, if you wander
too close. Pay particular attention
to the three thin white lines of cloth
circling the broad black ribbon
encompassing the whole of its felt parts.
Now turn it over. Look into the depths
like venturing at night to the edges
of a smoldering volcano, where only your feet
slipping tells you you are on its clipped edges.

Text and Audio © 2012 Kurt Lovelace – All Rights Reserved

The work here is actual assigned homework from Dr. Mary Flagg’s Number Theory, Math 4383 – Section 19842, going on now at the University of Houston this Spring 2012 semester. This is from homework assignment 2. The problems are taken from Elementary Number Theory, Seventh Edition, by David. M. Burton.

However, I will be going beyond much of this homework by adding additional material as it strikes me as being relevant to the topic at hand.

Basic Divisibility Theory of the Integers

2.2 – 5. For \displaystyle n\ge 1 , prove that \displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 is an integer.

Proof. By the division algorithm, if \displaystyle 6|n(n+1)(2n+1) , we may write

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)=6q+r where \displaystyle 0\le r\le 6 . Therefore, since r may only assume integer values, we have that \displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1) may only assume any one of the following six forms, corresponding to each value of the remainder \displaystyle r=0,1,2,3,4,5 so that n must be in one of the following forms:

\displaystyle n=6q , \displaystyle n=6q+1 , \displaystyle n=6q+2 , \displaystyle n=6q+3 , \displaystyle n=6q+4, \displaystyle n=6q+5

Therefore, we need only substitute each of these in our expression \displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 and simplify to see what results. So, proceeding on a case by case basis, we have, for the first case:

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 for \displaystyle n=6q we get

\displaystyle \frac{6q(6q+1)(2(6q)+1)}{6}=\frac{432{{q}^{3}}+108{{q}^{2}}+6q}{6}

\displaystyle =72{{q}^{3}}+18{{q}^{2}}+q

which is an integer, as there are no fractions left on the RHS. Now, in the second case:

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 for \displaystyle n=6q+1 we get

\displaystyle \frac{(6q+1)((6q+1)+1)(2(6q+1)+1)}{6}=\frac{432{{q}^{3}}+324{{q}^{2}}+78q+6}{6}

\displaystyle =72{{q}^{3}}+54{{q}^{2}}+13q+1

which is also clearly an integer. And, in the third case:

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 for \displaystyle n=6q+2 we get

\displaystyle \frac{(6q+2)((6q+2)+1)(2(6q+2)+1)}{6}=\frac{432{{q}^{3}}+540{{q}^{2}}+222q+30}{6}

\displaystyle =72{{q}^{3}}+90{{q}^{2}}+37q+5

which is also clearly an integer. And, in the fourth case:

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 for \displaystyle n=6q+3 we get

\displaystyle \frac{(6q+3)((6q+3)+1)(2(6q+3)+1)}{6}=\frac{432{{q}^{3}}+756{{q}^{2}}+438q+84}{6}

\displaystyle =72{{q}^{3}}+126{{q}^{2}}+73q+14

which is also clearly an integer. And, in the fifth case:

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 for \displaystyle n=6q+4 we get

\displaystyle \frac{(6q+4)((6q+4)+1)(2(6q+4)+1)}{6}=\frac{432{{q}^{3}}+972{{q}^{2}}+726q+180}{6}

\displaystyle =72{{q}^{3}}+162{{q}^{2}}+121q+30

which is also clearly an integer. And, in the sixth case:

\displaystyle n(n+1)(2n+1)/6 for \displaystyle n=6q+5 we get

\displaystyle \frac{(6q+5)((6q+5)+1)(2(6q+5)+1)}{6}=\frac{432{{q}^{3}}+1188{{q}^{2}}+1086q+330}{6}

\displaystyle =72{{q}^{3}}+198{{q}^{2}}+181q+55

and this too is an integer. Therefore, for all values of \displaystyle n\ge 1 , we have established that

\displaystyle \frac{n(n+1)(2n+1)}{6}

is an integer for all \displaystyle n\ge 1 . QED

Note. Of course, this expression is also the sum of the squares of the first n integers, or

\displaystyle {{1}^{2}}+{{2}^{2}}+{{3}^{2}}+...+{{n}^{2}}=\frac{n(n+1)(2n+1)}{6}

for all \displaystyle n\ge 1 and so, because the square of an integer is an integer, so would be a sum of squares of integers, and so this may be developed out into another proof, as a corollary, by obtaining and proving the summation formula itself it would follow that it is an integer.


2.2 – 11. If n is an odd integer, show that \displaystyle {{n}^{4}}+4{{n}^{2}}+11 is of the form 16k.

Proof. Assume that n has the form \displaystyle n=2k+1 so that n is odd. Then, by direct substitution and upon simplification, we have

\displaystyle {{(2n+1)}^{4}}+4{{(2k+1)}^{2}}+11

\displaystyle =(16{{k}^{4}}+16{{k}^{3}}+16{{k}^{2}}+8k+1)+(8k+4)+11

\displaystyle =16{{k}^{4}}+16{{k}^{3}}+16{{k}^{2}}+(8+8)k+(1+4+11)

\displaystyle =16{{k}^{4}}+16{{k}^{3}}+16{{k}^{2}}+16k+16

\displaystyle =16({{k}^{4}}+{{k}^{3}}+{{k}^{2}}+k+1)=16K

where

\displaystyle K={{k}^{4}}+{{k}^{3}}+{{k}^{2}}+k+1 .

Therefore, \displaystyle {{n}^{4}}+4{{n}^{2}}+11 is of the form 16K for all odd positive integers. QED


2.3 – 3. Prove or disprove: if \displaystyle a|(b+c) , then either \displaystyle a|b or \displaystyle a|c .

Proof. By counterexample, we have

\displaystyle 18|7+11 but \displaystyle 18|7 false and \displaystyle 18|11 is false.

So, without loss of generality, we may say that,

if \displaystyle b<a and \displaystyle c<a but \displaystyle b+c=a , then it is true that:

\displaystyle a|(b+c) or more fully, that \displaystyle \frac{b+c}{a}=\frac{a}{a}=1 and we see that \displaystyle a|b and \displaystyle a|c are both false. QED.


2.3 – 4. For \displaystyle n\ge 1 , use mathematical induction to establish the following divisibility statement that

\displaystyle 15|{{2}^{4n}}-1 .

Proof. Using the PMI, we have for \displaystyle n=1 ,

\displaystyle \frac{{{2}^{4(1)}}-1}{15}=\frac{{{2}^{4}}-1}{15}=\frac{16-1}{15}=\frac{15}{15}=1

or

\displaystyle ({{2}^{4}}-1)=1\cdot 15+0

and therefore it is true that

\displaystyle 15|{{2}^{4n}}-1

when n=1. Assume that for some positive integer k that

\displaystyle 15|{{2}^{4k}}-1

is true and note that this also means that:

\displaystyle 3\cdot 5|{{2}^{4k}}-1

or that

\displaystyle {{2}^{4k}}-1=15q

or

\displaystyle {{2}^{4k}}-1=3\cdot 5\cdot q

for some multiple q of 15. But the LHS factors into:

\displaystyle {{2}^{4k}}-1=({{2}^{k}}+1)({{2}^{2k}}+1)({{2}^{k}}-1)

which implies that:

\displaystyle 3\cdot 5|({{2}^{k}}+1)({{2}^{2k}}+1)({{2}^{k}}-1)

or

\displaystyle ({{2}^{k}}+1)({{2}^{2k}}+1)({{2}^{k}}-1)=3\cdot 5\cdot q

and now this implies that, either:

\displaystyle 3|{{2}^{k}}+1

or else

\displaystyle 3|{{2}^{2k}}+1

or else

\displaystyle 3|{{2}^{k}}-1

and likewise for 5, that either:

\displaystyle 5|{{2}^{k}}+1

or else

\displaystyle 5|{{2}^{2k}}+1

or else

\displaystyle 5|{{2}^{k}}-1

one of which must be true and for each of the integers 3 and 5. Now, for (k+1) we have that:

\displaystyle \frac{{{2}^{4(k+1)}}-1}{15}=\frac{{{2}^{4k+4}}-1}{15}=q+r

or

\displaystyle {{2}^{4k+4}}-1=15q

or

\displaystyle {{2}^{4k+4}}-1=3\cdot 5\cdot q

where q is the quotient and r must equal 0 if 15 is to divide exactly into \displaystyle {{2}^{4k+4}}-1 . Now, by factoring, we have that:

\displaystyle {{2}^{4k+4}}-1=({{2}^{k+1}}+1)({{2}^{2k+2}}+1)({{2}^{k+1}}-1)

so that we have also:

\displaystyle ({{2}^{k+1}}+1)({{2}^{2k+2}}+1)({{2}^{k+1}}-1)=15q

or

\displaystyle ({{2}^{k+1}}+1)({{2}^{2k+2}}+1)({{2}^{k+1}}-1)=3\cdot 5\cdot q

but each of these factors is simply the same as the assumed case n=k when n=k+1. And it is already true, by assumption, that

\displaystyle 3\cdot 5|({{2}^{k}}+1)({{2}^{2k}}+1)({{2}^{k}}-1)

or

\displaystyle 3\cdot 5|{{2}^{4k}}-1

Therefore, by the PMI, we have that,

\displaystyle 15|{{2}^{4n}}-1

for all

\displaystyle n\ge 1 , \displaystyle n\in {{\mathbb{Z}}^{+}}. QED


2.3 – 13 Given two integers a and b, prove the following: there exists integers x and y for which \displaystyle c=ax+by if and only if \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)|c.

Proof. This is almost the converse of theorem 2.4 on page 23, namely that, if a and b are both integers not equal to zero, then a and b are relatively prime if and only if there exist integers x and y such that \displaystyle 1=ax+by . From this we have that, if \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)=1 , then:

\displaystyle 1=ax+by but from corollary 1 to the theorem 2.4, both on page 23, we have that if \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)=d then \displaystyle gdc(a/d,b/d)=1 and this implies that:

\displaystyle 1=\left( \frac{a}{d} \right)x+\left( \frac{b}{d} \right)y

but multiplying both sides of this by d and setting d=c yields:

\displaystyle c=ax+by

but this means that \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)=c but c|a and c|b and therefore \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)|c because \displaystyle \frac{\gcd (a,b)}{c}=\frac{c}{c}=1 . QED


2.3 – 13(b) If there exist integers x and y for which \displaystyle ax+by=\gcd (a,b), then \displaystyle \gcd (x,y)=1 .

Proof. This is theorem 2.4 where the terms are inverted. We have, by theorem 2.4, that a and b are relatively prime if and only if there exists integers x and you such that \displaystyle 1=ax+by . Now, suppose that \displaystyle 1=ax+by for some choice of x and y, such that \displaystyle =\gcd (a,b). Because \displaystyle |a and \displaystyle |b , by theorm 2.2 we get that \displaystyle |(ax+by)or \displaystyle =0 but this last condition forces d to be 1. Therefore, \displaystyle \gcd (x,y)=1 must be true. QED


2.3 – 20(e). Confirm the following properties of the greatest common divisor. If \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)=1 and \displaystyle |ac and \displaystyle |bc , then \displaystyle |c .

Proof. We are given that a and b are relatively prime, which means that:

\displaystyle 1=ax+by for some linear combination of a and b their exist such integers x and y that this is true. Now, if \displaystyle |ac and \displaystyle |bc means that \displaystyle ac=qd+r and \displaystyle bc={{q}^{'}}d+{{r}^{'}} for some q, q’, r, r’. Therefore, we must have that d divides either a or c, given that \displaystyle d|ac , and likewise, d must divide either b or c, given that \displaystyle d|bc .

Assume, in the first case, that d divides a but not c. And assume that, in the second case, that d divides b but not c also. Then we would have \displaystyle a={{q}_{1}}d+{{r}_{1}}and \displaystyle b={{q}_{1}}^{'}d+{{r}^{'}}_{1} or subtracting these from the other set, that:

\displaystyle ac-a=q-{{q}_{1}}d+(r-{{r}_{1}})

or

\displaystyle a(c-1)=(q-{{q}_{1}})d+(r-{{r}_{1}})

and

\displaystyle c-b={{q}^{'}}-{{q}_{1}}^{'}d+({{r}^{'}}-{{r}_{1}}^{'})

or

\displaystyle (c-1)=({{q}^{'}}-{{q}_{1}}^{'})d+({{r}^{'}}-{{r}_{1}}^{'})

but a and b are relatively prime implies, if d dives both a and b, then:

\displaystyle 1=\left( \frac{a}{d} \right)x+\left( \frac{b}{d} \right)y

or

\displaystyle d=ax+by

but since it is also true that \displaystyle d|ac and that \displaystyle d|bc each implies that \displaystyle \gcd (d,a)=1 and that the \displaystyle \gcd (d,b)=1 respectably, which is a contradiction. Therefore, d must divide c if \displaystyle d|ac and \displaystyle d|bc . QED

2.3 – 21.
(a) Prove that if \displaystyle d|n , then \displaystyle {{2}^{d}}-1|{{2}^{n}}-1 .

Proof. First off, if \displaystyle d|n , then there exists a q and r such that:

\displaystyle n=qd+r where \displaystyle 0\le r\le d and so, we are being asked to prove that:

\displaystyle ({{2}^{n}}-1)=q({{2}^{d}}-1)+r where \displaystyle 0\le r\le ({{2}^{d}}-1)

Now, from first principles, because \displaystyle d|n , we must have that:

\displaystyle d<n

or else there could be no division by d into n in integer terms, and so therefore, we also have:

\displaystyle {{a}^{d}}<{{a}^{n}} for some positive integer \displaystyle a\ge 1 because \displaystyle d<n . Note that this implies that \displaystyle 1<\frac{{{a}^{n}}}{{{a}^{d}}}={{a}^{n-d}} . Now, subtracting one from both sides yields:

\displaystyle {{a}^{d}}-1<{{a}^{n}}-1

And, because \displaystyle d<n implies that \displaystyle {{a}^{d}}<{{a}^{n}} , and this implies that \displaystyle {{a}^{d}}-1<{{a}^{n}}-1 , upon division of the RHS by the LHS, yields:

\displaystyle 1b>0 , then \displaystyle a+b\le ab , and so, if the \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)=1 , then

\displaystyle a=k\cdot b+0 for some \displaystyle k>0 . Now, without loss of generally, taking \displaystyle a=k\cdot b and

substituting, we have:

\displaystyle \gcd (a+b,ab)=\gcd (kb,(kb)b)=\gcd (kb,k{{b}^{2}})

but this implies that

\displaystyle kb=kb\cdot b+0

or

\displaystyle kb=k{{b}^{2}}+0

or dividing both sides by b

\displaystyle k=kb+0

which implies that

\displaystyle \gcd (k,b)=1 and likewise argument if we go substituting \displaystyle a=k\cdot b but this is just \displaystyle \gcd (k,b)=\gcd (kb,k{{b}^{2}})=\gcd (kb,(kb)b)=\gcd (a+b,ab)=1 and therefore, if \displaystyle \gcd (a,b)=1 , then \displaystyle \gcd (a+b,ab)=1 . QED


2.4 – 9. Prove that the greatest common divisor of two positive numbers a and b divides their least common multiple, especially that \displaystyle \frac{lcm(a,b)}{\gcd (a,b)} .

Proof. By merging the definitions of the gcd and lcm of two integers, a and b, we have that the gcd of a and b is the positive integer d satisfying the following:

(a) \displaystyle d|a and \displaystyle d|b
(b) if \displaystyle c|a and \displaystyle c|a , then \displaystyle c\le d

and the lcm of two positive integers a and b is the positive integer m satisfying:

(a) \displaystyle a|m and \displaystyle b|m
(b) If \displaystyle a|c and \displaystyle b|c , with \displaystyle c>0 , then \displaystyle m\le c

but \displaystyle d|a and \displaystyle a|m , therefore \displaystyle d|m and \displaystyle m\le c\le d because \displaystyle c\le d and \displaystyle m\le c . Again, we have that \displaystyle d|b and \displaystyle b|m , therefore \displaystyle d|m and \displaystyle m\le c\le d because \displaystyle c\le d and \displaystyle m\le c . Therefore, we see that the gcd does indeed divide the lcm, and we have established that

\displaystyle \gcd (a,b)|lcm(a,b) .

QED


Saturday 28 January 2012
© Kurt Lovelace all right reserved

Here is a recap of sorts for those of you unable to attend the reading of the University of Houston’s Honors College Aletheia Literary and Arts Journal’s new Spring 2012 Chapbook due to the severe thunderstorms and flooding during the day. One artist and three poets were present.

The venue for the reading was the second floor of the marvelous Avant Garden. As you can see from the photo above, the place exuded a very beat-like 1950′s atmosphere and even had a trio downstairs on stage performing melancholy soundscapes on cello, piano, and guitar across from the open bar.

Be sure to join the Aletheia Journal every 3rd Wednesday of the month for new readings at the Avant Garden.

First happening at the reading was a presentation and warm welcome for the amazing artist, Lindsey Slavin, whose work is prominently featured in the current issue. Then followed introductions of the readers, prior to each getting on stage. The readers, in order of reading, were Chris Oidtmann, Justin Carter, and Kurt Lovelace.

Below are listed their poems in the order in which they were read. Also, the full text of the poems that Chris Oidtmann and Kurt Lovelace read are included here in their entirety. Some of Justin Carter’s pieces are pending publication elsewhere, so he was not able to make them available here, but the titles of what he read are nonetheless included.


Chris Oidtmann


    Ghost
    I Help You Create An eHarmony Account
    Poem For A Blind Friend
    Walmart Sestina
    I Hope The Motion-Detecting Cameras Did Not See Our Faces
    After Hoagland’s Color of the Sky
    We Discovered We Were Chewable
    Rita Repulsa
    Lord Zedd

Kurt Lovelace


 


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Chris Oditmann

Chris Oditmann. photo by Kurt Lovelace

Mother Is Resting, Light the Match

‘76 Nova in the garage
papers piled on the kitchen table,
cups and saucers cracked
and stacked on the counter,
another log for the waning fire

basement flooded with gasoline,
pungent fumes creeping upstairs
saturating the carpets and drapes,

dogs tied to trees, pacing in circles
panting under relentless sunlight
that melts thin windows.

The smell of Weller and Pall Malls
burns his nose as he lies on her floor
watching the pious people on TV
proselytizing while Hank Williams
bleeds from the radio next to her bed

He looks at her,
then to the mirror
and repeats

“Forgive her father, for she has sinned”
Because unto her a monster was born
With flailing limbs, a balding crown
a demon in swaddling clothes.

He played his role today
and waits for the brimstone to fall
on the drapes and the carpets
and his own body, prone and naked
while he watches her stare
at machines gasping a last I LOVE YOU.


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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Sundae

I remember your black shoes with the silver buckle
Leaping across rocks and along jettys
Sending up splashes of salty water shining
In the moonlight like sparks from a bottle rocket

That same night you left your wallet by the bed,
And pulsed against the wall until it broke
Into a milky way of beige and fluorescent beige.
Sidney can’t sing any more. He’s dead.

Isn’t that how this began?
Drops of still gin fizz, so sloe
They fell into our laps and covered
The little boy’s overalls with mud?
Fuck the rabbit hole. He hit the concrete.

Great forces won’t come to our aid.
They know better than to hide under our
Pillows while we sleep so they can swap stories
And return to their rightful owners in Bakersfield
Where you gagged my mouth so we could kick,
Kick, and kick again until the headboard fell.

He was with us in that abandoned apartment
Looking for something to make it home.
One eye pressed against a crack in the door
Surveying the vacant parking lot for
Whatever left him behind by mistake.


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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Sedona

You asked me if I wanted you
and I did, so said I did,
and you asked
me which you
I wanted, so I told you.

The you who looked at me
with stained glass eyes
under stained glass stars,
into strained black eyes
weighted down by glasses
broken under the rose colored
weight of a thousand petals
pressed into books we read
when we chose thorns over petals
and pricked our feet on thorn
after thorn after thorn, but drew
no blood because we were covered
with roses that shielded our feet
from shards of glass and kept
the pains from breaking our stride.

When we left the Cathedral Rock
you asked me if I loved you
and I did
so I asked if you loved me.

You said you loved
the water in my eyes
and the boat in my mind
that carried us across a sea
where took to the shore
and saw reflections of ourselves
walking over sandy rocks
Because you said I was your rock
when you need to be strong
and I was the white sand
when you need to be weak
so weeks won’t become months
of seclusion hidden in jars
in the cupboard next to jam
and pickles, and peaches.

We agreed that the boat
would carry us across the ocean
until some lighthouse lamp
hits the panes of a church window
and reflects off the water,
the glory of stained glass


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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                       One Night Stand

A man in the corner catches my eye
                   He rejected me last month.
Coiffed admirers dangle from his every word.
	           Scenester bastards in skinny jeans.
Everyone who’s anyone is here tonight.
	           A festering pile of tweaked-out skanks.
It’s great when old friends get together again.
		   Heard Sam gave Ryan herpes.
Laser lights illuminate naked, nubile torsos.
		   I see you’re still snorting your inheritance.
Bodies pressed together in warm embraces
		   Your friend was much cuter.
Tongues intertwined for the very first time.
		   The acrid taste of liquor and cigarettes.
I wonder if he’s “the one”.
		   What the fuck is your name?
Fumbling hands unlock the apartment door
		   I went home with your neighbor last month
Hands gently caress soft cheeks
		   This apartment smells like cat piss.
Tender fingers trace down a shoulder and up a spine
		   If he has backne I’m leaving.
Two bodies fall gently onto clean linen sheets
		   Did I wear underwear tonight?
Tangled limbs move in unison to a single heartbeat.
	           Get your knee off my shin.
An arcane glimpse of the universe.  We’re decoding the secret.
		   Your moans sound like the loose timing belt on my car
He falls asleep, head resting gently on my chest
		   I like him better when he’s quiet
          His slow breathing matches mine
		   God, he looks so peaceful.
          I can feel his breath in the hair on my chest
		   That sort of tickles.
          My eyes are getting heavy, but I can’t look away yet
		   I wonder if he goes home with a lot of guys
               What does he thinks of me?
		   Am I special, or does this happen all the time?
               Did he see me spill that drink earlier?
		   He’s talking in his sleep.
	       I hope I didn’t seem too drunk.
		   Damn, he has great skin.
		        Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to be witty.
		   Didn’t he say he liked Siouxsie?
		        I should have gotten a manicure.
		   I haven’t been this comfortable in a while.
		        Was my cologne too strong?
		   I like a guy with strong hands
		      Maybe we can get breakfast tomorrow morning.
			Those eyes were pretty amazing
		      Where would I take him?
			The clearest blue I’ve ever seen.
		      I’ll let him choose.


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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Horses

I.
Before dawn she woke me
drove us to the race track
in the El Camino, 1976
with the windows down.
We parked behind the concession stand
so I could meet you
shortly after your first heart attack.

Asphalt pebbles shattered
under the weight of the well worn boots
that held you up.
You realized your mortality
and banished it to the ticket booth.
Place another wager.
Pray for a superfecta.

We sat and watched the horses run trials
with a stopwatch in my hand
held inside your hand.

II.
Again, I rode to meet you at the track
on a motorbike with blue trim,
bought with court-ordered money
you never sent

My leather jacket reeked of pot
your denim smelled of Maker’s Mark and cigarettes.
We sat together on the ground
pretending we had no senses

You hugged me in that parking lot.
I turned my head
towards an abandoned truck
run down, full of scrap metal
hoping you didn’t crush the joint in my breast pocket.

III.
My sister called at 7am
while I shaved for work
two weeks ago you died at last
I hadn’t known

I stared at my calloused hands, and thought of a child
leaving home in a starched white shirt
and black cotton trousers
running around a red dirt track
whipping red welts into pink skin
until a checkered flag signaled the end of the race.


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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This Kiss is Unfinished

I don’t even smoke, but I will tonight.
sitting in the black vinyl passenger seat
as I laugh and wish I wasn’t there
listening to a Cocteau Twins tape he plays
because I said I liked it after he said hello
and I said hey and he bought me a drink
and offered me a smoke, and his eyes
slowly traced from the tip of my new heels,
up my stocking covered thighs.

When we get to his place I wonder why
men are so fucking clumsy with straps
and garters, why they always bite my lip
and softly pant in my ear “you like it, don’t you”
because this sort of thing should remain unspoken,
like the clock on his wall that moves in silence.

His hands moves across my breast and
I wonder why a blowjob is called a blowjob
because no one actually blows on anything.
We just move in and out of each other’s
lives and that’s the new handshake we learn
in charm school after they teach us how to hide
our text messages, and email accounts, and lists
of partners we’ve been with because the number
is too high and private and won’t get us laid
by a man we might want to marry one day.

When he sleeps, I look through his cabinets,
and his desk drawers, and his address book
next to his prescription for Dexedrine
and imagine the man back in Georgia
who makes my body crackle and hum
and accept the substitute sleeping next to me
and reach for the man I’m with
while the one I want
bounces through the sky like a positive charge
looking for my negative to make us whole again.


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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The Sacking of Troy

I remember the moment
We abandoned solitude.
The moment we raised a flag
And Staked a claim
on the words we and us

Releasing two pasts
Beginning one future.

We were blessed by clergy
And paraded through a sea
of spectators and well wishers

But now we stand in the distance
watching the Troy we built
laying in smoldering ruins

Destroyed by six years
Spent casually tossing
Little Apples of discord
Like golden hand grenades
Back and forth, back and forth

Funny thing about hand grenades.
They eventually have to explode.


© 2012 Chris Oidtmann All Rights Reserved

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Justin Carter

Justin Carter. photo by Kurt Lovelace


Some of Justin Carter’s pieces are pending publication elsewhere, so he was not able to make them available here, but the titles of what he read are nonetheless included above.

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Kurt Lovelace

The last reader of the evening, Kurt Lovelace, read the following poems in the order that they appear here. Kurt addressed the audience, and his comments appear below in the green text.

"Hello, everyone, I am glad that you were all able to come out tonight. I'd like to make a few comments before I begin reading. Having just returned to school last year after a nearly 30 year career as a software engineer, I feel like a time traveler, being back where I was 30 years ago. I took Kevin Prufer's workshop along with Chris and Justin last semester, and so, it is a real privilege to be up here reading with my two classmates."

I'll begin with a few older poems written when I was in my early twenties, and I begin with these simply because they may be of interest in themselves and because they have never been heard by anyone before -- so it's a starting point in introducing you to my work, which now spans over 35 years. Then I will move on to my current work. The first of the three older pieces is called 'Taradiddle Smile' followed by 'Good Morning Captain Kangaroo' and concluded by 'Hunger' -- written at a time when I was perhaps too fond of John Ashbery, but they contain some fun and hopefully entertaining language in them."

Taradiddle Smile (#8 from Sewn Nets)

Dislocate that chagrin with a taradiddle smile
texturing into laughter. Realize that these tweed gearings
are success’s necessary dress, de rigueur
in the legato of getting ahead. You are commodity enough for your greed
rat-tailing through some echelon of employment, up-stepping
like a slinky down-steps. Your profit is
pragmatic redundancy, plus the intangibles of involvement:
no why for a house pregnant with family. Asking would
flabbergast you into a gypsy barreling over Niagara
for the gloat, thrill of it, a runaway reaction
like Caligula, claiming it made as much sense as
hiccups or Halloween, feeling your life like Sampson’s haircut, unfair,
yet you in fools-gold accord with its TV shine.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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Good Morning Captain Kangaroo

my eyes open
every day with the front page of the news
breakfasting with the voices of legislators

and in the inkdots turned into the semblance
of photos, their hard noses flash there in the cameras
where they laugh they smile they grin

their papers their briefcases their limousines
tuned and humning my taxes
but I say, we all say

it is necessary:
eggs in their cartons, bombs in their submarines
and we go on

flipping to the editorials that explain
everything.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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Hunger

Money,
a small quantity of it
floats in my pocket.

I pass a poor man on the street,
his mouth
open,
his belt about his waist
pulled tight.

His hand reaches out to me
shriveled. I pause.
Reaching into my pocket,
pulling out a dollar,
and leaning my mouth toward the man’s left ear
whisper, I wish you were a

woman.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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"Now, moving on to the present, all the pieces that follow were written in the last 12 months with the exception of Sculpting, a poem chosen for Aletheia that was, however, written sometime ago."


Put Some Relish on Your Plate, Pontus Pilate

I started out believing in everything:
the open field, plow in hand, horse
waiting to be worked, words
hedged in the furrow, irises open
to the moment of opening.

Perhaps I can ask you about it someday
and you’ll tell me everything I’ve ever wanted
was within reach, if only I would have put
out my hand, wide palms like bells ringing.

Say again, what?

Put your fears in a little box, and smoke it,
not this warm interrogatory weather we’ve been having
that no one really wants to talk about, that peels
shirts from bodies with an utter unconcern that’s neither
here nor there.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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Sculpting

The cost of involvement is you get involved and there she is
and your her painting garden her kitchen things on her desk at the office and
she’s looking how it’s all arranged
your colors the smell of your herbs
why your dishes
aren’t put away are your pencils
sharpened

then she sees
carrots need planting, the rhubarb
must go, suddenly
you need new dishes.

Then you start drunk serious writing poems about the cost of involvement
how her lips are not cherries but
red angry commandments painted in a delightful rouge
to elicit your obeisance

so softly
her requests patter
and when her such and such of such words fall
your obeisance
yawns lifts up its arms at her
smiling

she sculpts you

and one night reads your poems and thinks that they are very
pretty.

But you are drunk and serious
you keep the gun in the drawer.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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Time

My wife, who hasn’t touched me in months, asks
would I perhaps take the trash out today
before the blue-green shimmer of the peacocks
flight to roost high in the safe night trees?

I stick my right pinky into cold vodka
and stir. Smoky Kahlua swirls. Sticky,
I lift out, then suck my honeyed finger.
“A moment,” I tell her, “in a moment.”


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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At Marfreley’s Bar in Houston, Texas

In a dim lit mural behind the bar,
two swans amble in front of a plantation:
its white house lies against the river, lonely

for the cover of more trees that the artist
left out, as the rushing river
empties into the dark dandelion breeze

of rewritten histories. And I had wanted to see
a single woman out, tonight, sitting
alone, like me at the bar, looking

at their life, the plantation, the swans swallowing
small sips of whatever they find in front
of themselves, any parts of a life that might

make sense, tell me I have done the right things.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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Blossoms in the Salt-Sand Waves

“Geswind, geswind, wir hilft dem Kind?”
– 1960′s German 1st grade reader

1

Minding the green chain on our cockatoo,
my mother has coffee and oranges, spends
Sunday sitting in her sunny chair. Ripe fruit falls
from our plum bushes and banana trees, yet our boughs
hang heavy in the clearest blue. My father says:
“We’re here to track the rockets.” I am seven. Soon,
one man is going to walk upon the moon.
The beaches go on and on the water even more.
What about the man already in the moon?

As the Shipley brothers, and Buddy, and I
yank coral piled by the Shipley’s rusting Chevy
that hunkers, helpless in Bahamian sea-spray:
scorpions skedaddle, stick sticky, skitter or scatter
if we let them, but we leave them twitching.

Hammocked, I wake naked to the naked sun:
nose itching in salt-spray, head stuck out
the A-frame’s attic window. Sand-tufted plum fields
sway by seaweed bedraggled beaches, splashed
and resplashed and splashing in ambergris
waves that glint and pop with turquoise and white
bubbling froth the crabs scurry-up in, till waves pull back
leaving their wet-shaved arms on the shore
shiny, and smooth and new, invites us to play.

2

I eat hyacinths, their wet, red lips
flopped or folded open, sticky witch’s doors:
my tongue feels the ridges of her floor,
unswept, gritty with the bones of children, before
I swallow them, then pocket three gleaming cat’s
eyes. I’ve won the dare of Buddy Bogus
the 3rd. His mother holds me by my hair

hanging, just off the ground, above the dirt road
that her paneled wagon had banged against
from Freeport, with five of us screaming. But when
I said “shit”, she slammed the car into its own dust,
stopping. She shook when she said: “We do not swear!”
That’s when she’d yanked me out the door,
fisted my crew-cut, then lifted my brain
an astronaut, at T-minus zero, not counting,
pushed back by gravity: around me the hushed jungle
peed in it’s pants. But I sat on her hat
all the way home, naming the stars
just coming-on: Ursa Major, Andromeda,
Hydra, Cygnus, Draco, Vulpecula
poking through, their thin pinpricks of light
slow-moving against one fast satellite of ours.

3

My parents go to the Missile Base to dance
leaving me asleep. I wake up and run
breathless outside crying on sprinkled grass.
Back in, I pull out the TV’s boney on-switch:
a soda jerk on The Twilight Zone tips-up
his white hat: a third eye looks out.
Something scratches on the screen door.
I pull my hair under my mother’s milk sheets
and squeeze my eyes tight, and whisper:
“Make it go, make it go, make it go!” Asleep,
I fall into the same sticky hole, night
after night, I grab its edges but keep slipping
over into it only to slip over into it again.

Papaya grow with phosphorescent slugs
a breadcrumb’s throw behind the Blue Lagoon
Apartments where then we live, and two older boys
make me dance naked till I scream, pounding
through palm trees towards home, unable
to speak for a week. But once, I stole the night

pulling it tight like an enormous sheet
of black with dotted lights, and naked, swam
back into the sea from where I came;
and later sit on the shore with the storied moon,
wiggling my toes, squishy, in the midnight tides
pulling back drowned voices; I think I almost know
the sound of drowning.

4

Just in from Germany, my English played-out,
Dad tutors me, three months at the kitchen table.
I spell everything exactly as it sounds:
“Witch witch wood u bee?” At Saint Mary’s Star
Of the Sea, the nuns thought me dyslexic,
till someone told them I was bilingual
and could recite the Lords Prayer in Latin:
Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur
nomen tuum.
It made the nuns flutter, holding
white habits as if they might take flight, be
the sea foam that floats inland on the wind
as at noon, they air their prayers, the angelus:
Et verbum caro factum est. Et habitavit in nobis.
(and the word, made flesh, dwelt among us.)
And I kissed Eve, that morning’s milk break,
under stiff pines, the sea gulls shreeing, we ran
back, caught. Sister Anne ruled my knuckles raw,
beating their boney nubs on top her desk.

5

Dad floats a bright brochure at me: green eyes
burn in a panther’s face, peering out from a jungle
that fans its Stygian felt. “Let’s go,” he says,
and opens our white battled Ford. For half an hour
we bump the pebbled roads towards Freeport
to see a Brazilian emerald dealer in his shop
tucked away, in an alley of hallways going up
and down, around corners, and then two doors
both locked with slapping bolts, opened. He unrolls
black velvet in a curtained room, one bright light
shines down to show how black the velvet is. He
lays seven stones out, their rough edges “Uncut,”
he says, “from Santa Muerto,” and rolls them burning
in the blood between the tips of his fingers.

(Stanza 6,7,8 left out at reading…)

9

What was it then? What is it now? Let’s ask,
what measurements for us? If we stretch out our arms
the edge of ocean along the sinking sun
seems a dimming thing, encompassed
by the milk of the visiting moon. We bounce
off of the porch and walk toward the beach.

A stick bug extends its manifold hand,
and boysenberries ripen under pricking cactus;
in-between driftwood, ashore, a hermit crab
discards its shell, and in the shallows a leopard ray
wiggles underneath the sand, its spotted wings.


© 2012 Kurt Lovelace All Rights Reserved

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