In this interview, Sarah Glaz (2019) speaks with JoAnne Growney about her life experiences and her intertwined journeys in poetry and mathematics. The article presents ten of Growney’s poems alongside a conversation exploring her upbringing, childhood, education, and personal beliefs. Growney reflects on negotiating tensions between being a woman and pursuing higher education, navigating religious expectations, and developing a voice in mathematical poetry. Through both poetry and dialogue, the interview highlights how her identities and experiences shaped her engagement with mathematics and creative expression.
My first stop was at Growney's poem titled The Ones I Best Remember, I insert it here for easier access.
The Ones I Best Remember
Dedicated to the memories of Miriam Ayer, Elinor Blair, Laura Church, and T. K. Pan
1.
Chalk in hand,
she tosses her book,
strides across the room,
excited by trigonometry,
excited that we,
restless in our rows,
caught some of it.
Flamboyant, silver,
fearless woman.
2.
The geometer bends
toward the blackboard,
drawing quick sketches
that show how the one-form
is the heart of the matter —
the foundation for intuition
to build its new ideas.
Vigorous, prodding,
kindhearted man.
3.
Elegant in long flared skirts
when others have shortened theirs —
the one who loves Old English,
who points to the shadows
of Beowulf and Wordsworth
in advertising slogans
and late-night TV:
each thing is our teacher
if we watch and listen.
4.
Nervous in class and tough
to follow — she made errors
on the blackboard yet demanded
we write perfect mathematics
in perfect English sentences. This was not
an East Coast finishing school, and I hoped
she’d be lenient with the Asian students
even as fear made me work infinitely hard
on papers that she gave back bright
with red-ink from her difficult hand.
No one before or since has read my words
so carefully. (JoAnne Growney [11, January 10, 2011])
JoAnne responds to Sarah's question on what the driving force behind her interest in poetry and mathematics was, outside of home and parental influence by remembering several of her teachers, notably the four in the poem above. JoAnne remembers her high school teachers rather vividly, and three of them were women and some experiences were more positive than others but in general all memorable enough to influence JoAnne to explore mathematics, science, and English.
I stopped here because it reminded me of how influential teachers are in shaping students’ trajectories, often in ways they may never fully realize. Sometimes, it can feel difficult to “connect” with students in lasting or meaningful ways, especially within the constraints of curriculum and time. Yet in the first stanza of the poem, JoAnne recalls her flamboyant math teacher and notes that many girls from that class initially chose to major in mathematics, even if most did not ultimately remain in the field (p. 248).
That detail feels significant. Even if their paths shifted, there was a moment when mathematics felt accessible—perhaps even inviting. A teacher’s personality, passion, or way of inhabiting the subject can momentarily open a door students did not know was available to them. It makes me wonder how much of teaching is about planting seeds rather than ensuring outcomes, and how those early invitations into a discipline can linger long after students leave the classroom.
My second stop occurred in JoAnne’s response to Sarah’s question about what drew her back to poetry. For context, JoAnne explains that she stopped writing poetry between the ages of twenty and fifty due to the demands and commitments of life. When she returned to writing during her MFA studies, she adopted a practice of composing a poem a day (p. 250), guided by her belief that “everything connects.”
During that period, she encountered a New York Times article about Roe v. Wade and Billie Jean King, and found herself linking these themes to mathematics. In her poem Filling the Vacuum, she juxtaposes a physics teacher’s explanation of how a tennis ball behaves in air pressure with imagery of a woman’s womb and abortion.
This moment stopped me because of the unexpectedness of the connection. Abortion rights and a classroom physics demonstration initially seem unrelated, yet through poetic imagination they become entangled. It highlights how mathematical and scientific language can be repurposed to speak into social and political realities, suggesting that disciplines we often treat as neutral or detached are deeply interwoven with lived experience.
How do you interpret JoAnne’s guiding theme of “Everything connects”? Have you encountered this idea in our graduate program courses? If so, how has it shaped the way you think, learn, or interact in your daily life?
Hi Anna,
ReplyDeleteYour reflection on JoAnne Growney’s interview is such a beautiful bridge between the personal and the professional. I really resonated with your point about teachers being "seed planters". It is so true that we often don't see the harvest of our work, but Growney’s vivid memory of her "flamboyant" math teacher shows that the energy we bring to the classroom can redefine a student's entire trajectory.
I was particularly interested in your second stop regarding the "unexpectedness of the connection" between physics and social realities. In the Radakovic, Jagger, and Jao (2018) reading, they talk about a similar concept called multiplicity - the idea that math isn't a neutral, detached set of rules, but something that gains meaning through the reader's lived experience. When Growney connects a vacuum to reproductive rights, she is refusing the "dualistic shutdown" we often see in education. She is proving that mathematical language can be a powerful tool for speaking into human truths.
Hi Anna,
ReplyDeleteI am really thrilled by the findings from the article you read; it truly reflects our daily experiences. JoAnne Growney’s theme that “everything connects” resonates deeply with my own experiences. Growing up as a young Nigerian girl, I struggled with mathematics, and I recall the role my maths teacher played in shaping me into what I am today.
That challenge fueled my journey to become a mathematics educator, a mother of two, and now a graduate student in Canada. I've come to understand that learning is intertwined with identity, culture, and personal experiences. The racism I face connects to the critical issues raised in Cynthia’s Mathematics and Social Justice course about inclusion and power dynamics, and engaging with Embodied Learning has also taught me that knowledge is felt through our bodies—its movement, emotions, and memories. Like Growney, I see that mathematics, poetry, justice, motherhood, and migration are not separate narratives but part of a single story that shapes who I am and how I navigate the world. Thank you for the insights.