Joy
God’s bemoaning world will end
The sudden path of ups and downs
The silvery mist of downtown lake
A pleasant surprise of forsaken country
A numbness of watery filling
Paths of downtrodden decay
A rainbow will end before the sunrise
Of lungs and tissues of sinewy wild
A melancholic rain will come
A surmise of two pence jugglery
Nature’s secrecy of forever past
Please offer an edifice of joy.
Nasulloyeva Feruzabonu
Bukhara State Pedagogical institute
Faculty of Foreign language and Literature
Science and Innovation: The Impact on Education and Society
Annotation
This paper explores how science and innovation have transformed education and society in the modern world. It discusses the role of technology in enhancing learning, improving access to information, and shaping global communication. The study also highlights how scientific progress influences social development, human values, and the economy. The article concludes that science and innovation not only drive technological advancement but also play a key role in building knowledge-based societies and promoting sustainable growth.
Keywords: science, innovation, education, technology, society, progress, sustainability
Introduction
Science and innovation have always been the foundation of human progress. From the invention of the wheel to the creation of artificial intelligence, every great leap in human history has been fueled by curiosity, creativity, and the desire to solve problems. In the 21st century, the relationship between science and education has become more intertwined than ever before. The modern education system depends on scientific discoveries and technological innovations to prepare students for a fast-changing world. This paper discusses the influence of science and innovation on education and society, focusing on how they shape the way people learn, communicate, and live.
Science and the Transformation of Education
Science has revolutionized the way education is delivered, experienced, and understood. Modern teaching methods are no longer limited to classrooms or textbooks. Instead, they are supported by digital technologies, interactive learning platforms, and online resources that make education more flexible and accessible. For instance, online education tools such as Coursera, Khan Academy, and Google Classroom have made it possible for students to learn from anywhere in the world. Scientific research in psychology and pedagogy has also improved our understanding of how people learn, leading to more effective teaching methods that support critical thinking, creativity, and collaboration.
Another major impact of science on education is the development of STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) programs. These disciplines encourage students to apply scientific thinking to real-world problems, promoting innovation and problem-solving skills. In many countries, governments and institutions now emphasize STEM education as a foundation for future economic growth and technological leadership. Science also encourages evidence-based learning, where students are trained to question, experiment, and draw conclusions from data rather than rely on assumptions.
Innovation and Educational Technology
Innovation is the practical expression of scientific discovery. In education, innovation has led to the creation of digital tools that make learning more engaging and efficient. Artificial intelligence (AI), virtual reality (VR), and machine learning are now being integrated into classrooms to personalize education and support students with different learning styles. For example, AI-powered systems can analyze a student’s performance and adapt lessons to match their pace and abilities. Similarly, virtual reality allows students to explore complex scientific concepts or historical events through immersive simulations, making abstract knowledge tangible and exciting.
The COVID-19 pandemic further demonstrated the power of innovation in education. When schools closed, digital platforms became the primary medium of learning. Although this transition was challenging, it also showed how resilient and adaptable the education system can be when supported by technology. In the long term, these innovations will continue to shape hybrid learning models that combine traditional teaching with online flexibility, ensuring that education remains accessible in any situation.
Science, Innovation, and Society
Science and innovation do not only transform education—they reshape society as a whole. Scientific progress has improved healthcare, transportation, communication, and quality of life. Today’s society is driven by knowledge and information, and innovation serves as its main engine. The internet, smartphones, and renewable energy technologies have changed the way people work, interact, and think. As a result, societies have become more interconnected and globally aware.
However, scientific and technological progress also brings ethical and social challenges. Issues such as data privacy, automation, and environmental degradation have raised new questions about how innovation should be used responsibly. Education plays a key role in addressing these challenges by teaching people to think critically about the social impact of technology and to use science ethically. A well-educated society is better prepared to balance progress with morality, ensuring that innovation serves humanity rather than harms it.
The Role of Science and Innovation in Economic Development
Education, science, and innovation are the cornerstones of economic growth. Countries that invest in scientific research and technology tend to have stronger economies and higher living standards. For example, nations such as Japan, South Korea, and Germany have built their success on innovation-driven education systems. By supporting research institutions and encouraging creativity, they have turned knowledge into practical solutions and global competitiveness. In developing countries, promoting innovation in education can help reduce inequality and open new opportunities for youth.
Scientific innovation also creates new industries and jobs. Fields such as biotechnology, renewable energy, and information technology are expanding rapidly, demanding a workforce that is educated, adaptable, and innovative. Therefore, investing in science-based education is not only about knowledge—it is about securing a sustainable economic future.
The Social and Cultural Influence of Scientific Innovation
Beyond economics, science and innovation shape human values and social behavior. The spread of information through digital media has created a global culture of learning and collaboration. People from different backgrounds can now share knowledge instantly, promoting cultural exchange and mutual understanding. At the same time, this digital era has introduced challenges such as misinformation and overreliance on technology. To overcome these, education must focus on developing digital literacy and ethical awareness.
Innovation also supports social inclusion. Assistive technologies help people with disabilities access education and participate fully in society. Scientific innovations in medicine and engineering improve quality of life and extend human potential. Thus, the social impact of science and innovation goes far beyond laboratories—it reaches every aspect of human existence.
Conclusion
In conclusion, science and innovation have become inseparable elements of education and society. They drive progress, expand knowledge, and connect people across the globe. While they offer tremendous benefits, they also require responsibility, ethical awareness, and continued investment in education. The future depends on how wisely humanity uses science and innovation—not only to advance technology but also to promote equality, sustainability, and human well-being. Education is the key to ensuring that innovation serves society positively, guiding the next generation of thinkers, inventors, and leaders toward a brighter, more intelligent world.
References
UNESCO (2023). Science, Technology and Innovation in Education. Paris: UNESCO Publishing.
OECD (2022). The Future of Education and Skills 2030. Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development.
World Bank (2021). Innovation and Economic Development: The Role of Education. Washington, DC: World Bank Group.
Schwab, K. (2017). The Fourth Industrial Revolution. New York: Crown Business.
National Science Foundation (2020). Science and Engineering Indicators. Washington, DC: NSF.
Moths Attracted to the Light in Gas Station Bathrooms
Jesus Christ inspired me, stare dead-eyed, cool, un-broken,
at vermin scurrying away from Golgotha,
then days later he was back to say “so long for now, kiddo”
as if Elvis in ’68 had been beaten to the post,
Colonel Steve Austin half-frozen escaping that freezer in ’74
that stunk of death and twisted rural hobbies,
warm as Jesus when he reached flat and sun-shadowed ground
in an epiphany that the mountain wasn’t coming to me, nor those steel-wrought cheque books,
not even those blood-lipped assassins I’d been lying awake thinking of had a dirty weekend
to concoct some 1940s shakedown,
in that final quarter of that December ballgame
across a set of lips so frozen I’d been sworn to steel’s most coldest silence,
even within this scurrying swoosh of frost those who’d shown me how to dream
spoke gently – slow down, take it in, this is the eternal –
no moth who worshipped a gas-station bathroom light means me any harm,
I watch them fly away, sunshine is their religion. Maybe we can teach each other how to pray.
Connemara : 1986
County Galway, it’s raining,
and the music doesn’t ask me for my song,
aching slender sonnets
on its mossy alphabets,
roadside, roadless,
the broken heart of the used-up railway line
asking me to me make it a poet. I swear to Jesus I will;
the internal organs of Autumn
speak watery creoles of their missing bones
The Sun Doesn’t Need to Set, It Hardly Moved a Muscle All Day
Out at the sandbanks
water doesn’t learn which way goes east, which ways make men violent;
we’re sailors; dumb and laugh-bleached dirty-garments stretched to our skin’s best instincts of fighting, rich and poor, no money, cash strangled in a bag of cats
superseded by a crippling map;
Tuesday-town owns nowhere, the moon reverses to our oceans
to calm its smoke, not too late for prevent a fire, too late
to drown secrets – look at a diagram the seashells left in the sand –
no, no-one can;
the sand has drowned – the seashells
are a wino’s roller coaster
of broken teeth, tremendous and bitter
A Poem Written on August 1st, 2024
Without thinking, I knelt in the grass, like someone meaning to pray
Louise Glück
In a bedroom, strange, though not foreign,
houndstooth eyes
gamble money-cash
as a witness points at a frightened light.
I think I hated someone this morning.
There’s time to reach a 24 hour confession-box
as hour 25 is swallowed by a snake,
cold sand and diamond tanning itself on a cactus tree’s wild language.
Every strand of cotton hanging to everyone’s nail
comes from somewhere belongs somewhere, comes from somewhere belongs somewhere.
Heligoland’s dark and speaks of a winter’s stolen grace,
everything’s whittled down to a glass firmament on a simple rib.
The sea feels it, existing as glass and light
between its nude after dark dreams,
people descend upon it with their foam-lip animals
and their relics of express trains and their silly stomachs jangling in food.
To experience an unwitting baptism,
the police patrol the ancient sands, this cannot be Egypt, we have fled knowledge,
reason, early vestiges of pornography
or false gods levitating in flame.
Everything is simple and lost to math, china-plate toes an emperor of sand.
Light cascading until nothing, light cascading until nothing, light cascading until nothing.
Dusk, saffron prayer, angels spool withered thoughts,
a cat hollering archway music, ceramic ladies cautious on their milky staircase,
voices electric and programmed,
trains do not anger their stations on approach.
My brother, lost in a forest, made fire from a leaf, cast a spell out of water,
told college friends he had bred several heirs to European thrones on a mountain.
In his page in a notebook under a psalm,
my brother whom, subject to sleep, found nothing he had wished for,
a cat clawless and the visionary carried on the smoke,
laughing in the water
War is the black scarf
Valentina Yordanova – Accordia (Bulgaria)
Bombs are falling, shells are whistling.
The sky is painfully crying out of fear.
Mothers as well are crying sadly out loud.
And they once sang a song of laughter.
A terrifying sight roars in the dust –
it smells of death and sorrow.
It echoes far and wide. Chaos rages all around.
People are running, birds are circling in fear.
The air is suffocating with a smoke screen
and there is a shortage – hearts stop beating.
And once there was a dewy tear – fragrant.
Mothers are carrying young children in their arms –
looking for salvation at least for them to find.
A child is kneeling next to a woman’s corpse,
sobbing loudly – with tears cursing the war.
The mother is killed – with a torn chest and no pulse,
and he hopes she will see again – she is still alive.
They once walked the streets – holding hands.
And houses are collapsing. Wild fires are blazing.
Cities and villages disappear in a cloud of dust,
and once they were warm family homes.
Now they are collapsing with the bloody snow that has fallen.
People have long been hostile to each other –
their hearts – are mirror ice – from cold.
In their footsteps – death lurks at full speed.
From the war, their souls are drowning in deep sorrow.
Fathers have held their breath in trenches and unfurled flags.
Somewhere a machine gun bark is heard, mowing down the enemy.
War is ominous – it paints emptiness and blindness.
Black headscarves are worn by women – instead of flags.
The picture overflows with sadness – spreading sea,
from which tears roar with a powerful tidal wave.
There is no love between people, and they are brothers of the same
blood. The wind caresses the corpses of soldiers out of pity.
It collects scattered photographs of women and children –
turned into sad fallen leaves of men.
And the dust holds them in dirty red albums.
Graves sprout – like flaming crocuses,
over which a cloud of eternal sorrow and grief remains.
Weighed down on the ground – they are leaden soldiers,
forever marked with tears and flowing blood.
Hearts are orphaned. The world is left breathless.
And let there be no WAR – the black scarf!
History tells enough about it…
I want a united brotherhood to reign everywhere
and with love we sow the seeds of peace!
Let bullets never fly – instead of birds
and may the sky remain crystal clear forever!
PEACE is light – a white canvas and let us draw together
white doves in flight and create joy in the World!
Translated by Yoana Konstantinova
Peace
author: Valentina Yordanova – Accordia (Bulgaria)
The word PEACE – three letters only.
A holy word – of great love.
With a breath of sweetness and freedom –
it is happiness for people around the world.
Comparable to a mother’s, a loving word –
so gentle, warm and light-winged.
Carried in an echo – all over the world,
reaching far and wide.
May PEACE reign on earth forever!
May there be no wars – fear in tears!
Sad melodies – outpoured by weeping,
The earth soaked with pain and blood!
And may all nations be fraternal,
May their friendship – be the sun in tomorrow.
May white doves fly freely in the open air,
And may the expanse of heaven be as pure as dew.
The word PEACE encompasses the whole world –
from the blood of freedom the dawn was born,
to remain in the beautiful morning of the day.
Let us all together preserve peace!
May war be a ship that has sailed forever,
and may PEACE be a joyful tear in the world!
Translated by Yoana Konstantinova
My name is Valentina Yordanova, pseudonym – Accordia. Born I am in Mezdra, Bulgaria. By profession I am children teacher and psychologist. My poetry is sincere and deep expression of love, pain, dreams and personal experiences. Favorite theme of mine is love – tender, beautiful, sometimes painful. My style is figurative and lyrical – I paint with words emotional landscapes – this is my soul. Publications – in Bulgaria and abroad. I know children’s soul and write children’s poems.
Take Me Out to the Ballgame Anxiety Dream
We have tickets for a game
at Shea Stadium although
we know the stadium was torn
down years ago. Still, we are
going and the easiest way to
get there is on the elevated #12 line.
We rush up the stairs to the station,
then across the tracks and we are
almost there as the train arrives
but my wife says she doesn’t think
that’s the right line despite insisting
all along that was the way to go.
Naturally, we miss that train, so we
decide to walk even though it is
an extremely long walk that would
take hours even if we could get there
from here. Then we are on the shoulder
of the Crosstown wondering what bus
might take us to the game despite being
on the wrong side of the highway
to hail a bus. I’m extremely nervous
about crossing the bridge, we are on
as I am afraid of heights when a guy
on a motorcycle falls off his bike but
is somehow scooped up and rescued
before he gets run over and killed.
The motorcycle man is extremely
upset, yelling and screaming at us in
a language we can’t understand.
Once he calms down, he notices us
standing nearby and he begins
speaking calmly and clearly in our
language and he tells us we are now
hostages as being part of a terrorist plot.
I say, “All we want to do is go to a ballgame.”
And he says, “If I were you, I wouldn’t
worry about a baseball game, you have
much bigger things to worry about.
I have a bomb.”
A Writer’s Conference Anxiety Dream
We’re driving to the writer’s convention
on the island we have to take a ferry to reach.
Apparently, I am driving though it is well
known that I have no license, have never
had one, and I have no idea where we are going
or even who we are. I’ve decided to take
the fourteen-mile suspension bridge, that
doesn’t exist, to the island in a dense fog,
in heavy traffic at high speed. All the other
drivers must be from Pennsylvania,
I think, recalling fifty miles of near fog out
conditions near Wilkes Barre where folks
were driving bumper to bumper at 75 mph
the whole way. There is a toll both ahead but
no one intends to pay and then we are at a rest
stop buying energy drinks and the beer we’ll
need later on. Once we reach the mainland,
a guide introduces us to our gondola driver
whose name is Ivor and he looks as if he should be
an extra in a movie like Eastern Provinces or
History of Violence rather than a gondolier
on an east coast channel island. Once we get
to the inlet, where the writers are, there is a pig
roast in our honor and we can smell the meat
cooking but we can’t see the food because of the fog.
The first reader has a heavy middle European
accent and introduces himself as Charles Simic
but we all know this is impossible given how
dead he is. Still, his poems are good and we think,
perhaps, he is ghost of Simic, which makes sense
somehow, and appears to provide deeper meaning
to the context of the conjunction of ghost, man
and poetry. Later, near the middle of the roster
of readers that extends from Hart Crane to
John Berryman to Sylvia Plath to Anne Sexton,
who is scheduled to read just before me, I start
to have a bad feeling about the conference
and wonder if coming here might not have been
a serious error in judgment.
Where the Wild Things Are
Once the entrance fee is
paid, I am compelled to enter
the cave. At first, the walls are
regular, rounded, and expansive
but gradually the walls narrow and
compress as the slope inside
becomes more extreme until I am
forced to bend over, then crawl on
my hands and knees. All the light
I have comes from a small device
strapped to my helmet making the way
down more treacherous, especially
once the walls, ceiling, and floor
become slicker, more slippery,
the further inside I crawl. There is
a guide somewhere ahead encouraging
me on but I can’t hear exactly what
he is saying nor what his location is.
If it were possible to turn around
and flee I would be long gone but
there is no way back, only down,
further and further into the darkness,
where the wild things are.
Class Registration Anxiety Dream
All the names of the advisors for
transfers and new students are listed
on a movable bulletin board in the gym
along with the courses they are offering.
I’ve been told it is absolutely essential
to consult with one of these counselors
but all the ones are listed are from another
college I no longer attend and none of
the courses apply to my chosen field of study.
A literature professor at a nearby folding
table tells me not to worry,
“I’ll take care of everything.”
I watch as she shuffles a handful of IBM
computer cards, chooses some, and feeds them
into a machine that looks like a factory
time card punch clock. After the cards
are processed she hands me a print out
with my name on it and , a list of all
my next semester courses. Before I can
leave the professor says,
“Don’t forget these.”
She hands me a folder with the course work
syllabi and a fat mimeographed reading list
that looks like an appendix to Foster Wallace’s
Infinite Jest, footnotes and all.
I try to explain that this schedule is impossible.
That I’ll never ne able to keep up as I work
nights, have two infants and I’ll never be
able to sleep. And she says,
“Who needs sleep? No one ever sleeps in
graduate school.”
And then I’m on a conveyor belt like one
of those airport moving sidewalks that are
everywhere in the tunnels beneath the campus.
I’m desperately trying to get off because I’m
supposed to be on the up escalators but there doesn’t
seem to be any way to get off. Not that it matters,
neither the walkways nor the escalators go
anywhere near where you need to be.
Eventually, I ask one of my classmates about
the tunnels and she says,
“Have you ever been here in Winter?”
“No” I say, “I haven’t. Not yet, anyway.”
“You can’t get anywhere above ground
in Winter. You’ll need to get snowshoes too.
And a gun.”
“A gun! What for?”
“The wolves.”
Full Dental Services Anxiety Poem
I must have been late for my
teeth cleaning as there is already
a line out the door. The last time
I was here they were using scalpels
for scaling and I saw after care
patients in recovery rooms with
blood pack transfusions underway.
After what felt like hours the line
has barely moved so some of us
decide to go for a walk on the campus
of the college across the street.
Despite the weather being clear and warm
when we started, soon it is darker
and snowy with a fierce wind in
our face. I turn to ask one of my companions,
“What’s with the weather?” But there
is no one there and while the snow
has stopped, it is now a dark and a moonless
night and I am lost in a forest of dense trees.
I struggle onward but it becomes impossible
to walk in the underbrush and I am being
lacerated by needles that are growing
from the branches of the evergreens.
Once the laughing gas has been taken
Away, I see that I am in the recovery room
and the procedure has been completed
but I am not in the same office nor with
the same people who were on line with
me earlier. A receptionist is asking for payment
for services rendered but I can’t move my arm
to sign a check as I am still connected to
the transfusion fluid bag. I hear other people
laughing but I am not finding anything funny
here so I refuse to join in. The receptionist is
still waiting for me to sign the check
staring at me with a look that says,
“Any time you’re ready would work for me.”
I am beginning to wonder if any of this
costs extra or is everything included.
DREAMS FOR LOVE ———
Under the moonlight, our hearts interlace,
The stars above gently shine,
Your gentle caress, a heavenly affection,
Two spirits united, for eternity,
A murmur in the darkness we understand,
United in this realm of fantasies,
Your eyes, they gleam, a holy coast,
In your arms, I listen to the currents
That plea to us, a passion so genuine,
Your kiss, a vow, radiant and pure,
In each instant, I adore you
You understand me deeply.
About the Author: Dr. Brajesh Kumar Gupta, also known as “Mewadev,” has been recognized on several prestigious platforms for his contributions to literature and the arts. Notably, the state of Birland commemorated him with a special edition postage stamp. He is the recipient of the Presidency of the International Prize De Finibus Terrae (IV edition), awarded in memory of Maria Monteduro in Italy. Dr. Gupta has been honoured with an honorary Doctorate of Literature (Doctor Honoris Causa) by both The Institute of the European Roma Studies and Research into Crimes Against Humanity and International Law in Belgrade, Republic of Serbia, and the Brazil International Council CONIPA and ITMUT Institute.
In addition to his literary achievements, Dr. Gupta was awarded the Uttar Pradesh Gaurav Samman in 2019, further solidifying his impact on regional and international platforms. Currently, he holds the position of the 3rd Secretary-General of the World Union of Poets, serving from December 30, 2017, through December 31, 2024. His role in this organization is pivotal, reflecting his commitment to advancing the global literary community. Dr. Gupta is an accomplished author of eight books and the editor of twenty-seven volumes, showcasing his extensive contribution to literary scholarship. Beyond his literary pursuits, he serves as the principal of S.K. Mahavidyalaya, Jaitpur, Mahoba (U.P.), and resides in Banda, Uttar Pradesh, India. For further engagement, he can be reached via his social media profiles at facebook.com/brajeshg1, or through email at dr.mewadevrain@gmail.com. His work and legacy are also featured on www.mewadev.com.
The Northern Town and its Water
In the small town there was an old library, a few churches, and even a place where they sold worms for fishing and nearby, in the summers anyhow, a corn stand. I only realized far after that I never brought my bike there, such as in stories and films. If I could go back, I would have, for a bicycle fits a town and one could go on adventures and take more pictures of the local flora and fauna.
Yet I still have much memory in the mind’s eye and a few photos from walking. I used to fish off the shore walls and near little bridges and no matter what theory says, worms always got the fish to bite or at least become curious and nibble more than any metal or plastic lure. There were wooden bridges and stone ones, and moss and rocks and the sun-bleached parts caught my eye whist people generally were friendly and many of them waved.
There was a series of canals and though they go in Northern Ontario it was based off a model of waterways from somewhere in Europe. These waterways, often called ‘intercostal,’ can be found in southern Florida also. They are often secondary homes or cottages, and I suppose that means upper middle class or affluent populaces inhabit them. Or old timers that simply always lived there through the generations. Maybe each situation is unique, and they can’t exactly be categorized.
I remember the winters frozen and sometimes an ice fishing hut or series of them could be viewed as one looked from the purlieu of the lagoon intercostal waterways out to the white and grey lake frozen and crystalline-like under a December or January sky sun laden. That would make a good landscape painting for someone, some soul involved in such, and often as I walk summer fields and meadows or winter hills with vistas, I have the passing thought whimsical of wishing I knew a painter to talk about all with. In fact, I should have lived in older times where letter writing, where true soulful epistolary was the norm. But, in lieu of not having a confident or artist contact I’ll tell here…
The area was big, several square kilometres and none of the houses could have basements for the water could go in and that would be problematic. The dwellings were built on piles, telephone poles wooden and probably chemically stained to preserve them. Some houses were bungalows and nondescript with simple screen doors and others towered over the earth maybe up to four of five stories tall, and those usually had expensive power boats over forty feet long outside of them bobbing up and down a little bit in that lake water.
And it was quiet while someone watched the nice world there and the change of seasons. Boat. Book. Walk. Reflect. Even pray or meditate. Repair a bird house wooden or sit on the porch and watch the world go by. When we went to church, so long ago, the old man that gave the exegesis about the gospels used to say that his goal should be the same for his community. And what was his goal? It was for his maker, his God, to simply say in heaven when the day arrived, to say about the life one had lived on earth, ‘Well done good and faithful servant.’
~~~~~
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet, writer, and photographer. The Book of Love and Mourning, a third collection of prose poems and landscape photographs, is set to be released in winter 2025.