In the public school I attended we were told, for calculation purposes, to limit Pi to 3.14. Most hand calculators will go to eight digits 3.14159265… Being an irrational number, it actually goes on forever, without end, even if as of yet the computers have only carried it out to about a trillion numbers. (Here is Pi out to a million digits.)
Ever since it was first identified by the ancient Greeks, memorizing pi has been an obsession for enthusiasts, and is now a regular feature of Pi Day, which is tomorrow, March 14th. (3/14 – get it?). All over the world there will be contests to see who can go for the most digits memorized, the current record holder being Akira Haraguchi, who memorized Pi to 100,000 decimal places on October 3, 2006.
Having the mathematical skills of a stick, but being above average in English, I early on discovered piems, which are mnemonic poems designed to help you calculate and remember pi. In piems, the number of letters in each word represents the digit in that place in pi. For example, to memorize the first 15 digits,
How I want a drink, alcoholic of course,
after the heavy lectures involving quantum mechanics!
How =3, I=1, want=4, etc.
As you might expect, given the restrictions, most piems are not very good examples of poetry, and most have no real rhythm. I do like this rather lyrical one, carrying pi to 30 points:
- Sir, I send a rhyme excelling,
- In sacred truth and rigid spelling,
- Numerical sprites elucidate,
- For me the lexicon’s dull weight,
- If nature gain, not you complain
- Tho’ Dr Johnson fulminate.
While no longer technically the longest, perhaps the most ambitious undertaking in the piem department belongs to the poem Near a Raven, by Mike Keith. The title and author credit all are part of the mnemonic, as are the two final lines.
Poe, E.
Near a Raven
Midnights so dreary, tired and weary.
Silently pondering volumes extolling all by-now obsolete lore.
During my rather long nap – the weirdest tap!
An ominous vibrating sound disturbing my chamber’s antedoor.
“This”, I whispered quietly, “I ignore”.
Perfectly, the intellect remembers: the ghostly fires, a glittering ember.
Inflamed by lightning’s outbursts, windows cast penumbras upon this floor.
Sorrowful, as one mistreated, unhappy thoughts I heeded:
That inimitable lesson in elegance – Lenore -
Is delighting, exciting…nevermore.
(Go read the whole thing here)
If you want to compare the poem to Poe’s original, it can be found here.)