I am reading The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White. I hope my writing improves after having read it. We shall see. I don't think I have ever enjoyed reading a book on grammar so much. Though if I remember correctly, Kingsley Amis's The King's English is probably just as good, if not better.
Here is a funny clip my brother found while perusing a video game website.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Be A Good Robot
The gap between man and machine is narrowing, as evinced by AARON, a program that is capable of painting. AARON is produced by Kurzweil Cyberart Technologies which also has a program that writes poetry. Apparently the program "reads" a selection of poetry and then tries to imitate (mimesis?) the poetry from the selection it has read. What the "Cybernetic Poet" comes up with is terrible, but it just about equates with modern poetry. Here are some of the poems that a machine has "written":
LONG YEARS HAVE PASSED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Randi and Kathryn Lynn.)
Long years have passed.
I think of goodbye.
Locked tight in the night
I think of passion;
Drawn to for blue, the night
During the page
My shattered pieces of life
watching the joy
shattered pieces of love
My shattered pieces of love
gone stale.
Aside from the poem being nonsensical, it's hard to believe that a program would have "shattered pieces of love" that have "gone stale." But the frightening thing is I could imagine some human poet writing some similar crap and publishing it as poetry. It's disturbing in its insanity.
The Cybernetic Poet also attempted Haikus, but the meter is wrong:
MOON CHILD
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kathleen Frances Wheeler.)
Crazy moon child
Hide from your coffin
To spite your doom.
SANDALS
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kimberly McLauchlin and Ray Kurzweil.)
Scattered sandals
a call back to myself,
so hollow I would echo.
Apparently, one of the major differences between man and machine is man's ability to discern meter. None of the haikus that the Cybernetic Poet had written has the 5-7-5 meter of a traditional Japanese haiku. And modern poets think blank verse is acceptable-- meter is what makes us human!
My absolute favorite of the techno-poems is this one:
WONDERED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Dave Gitomer.)
today i wondered
if i mused
today i saw you
i learned
in awe and you
if i wondered
if i mused
today i had one wish
if i saw you
if i saw you
if i had one wish
Though these are horrible poems, it is not hard to believe that a person might have wrote them. I have also seen some of the paintings done by AARON, but unfortunately I could not reproduce them on my blog. The website will show you the wonderful art that programs can produce.
Of course, as technology advances, it will only get harder and harder to tell what a human wrote and what a program wrote (I imagine that programmers will teach machines how to determine meter), but for now, these poems are really funny. I will leave you now with one more poem:
IMAGINE NOW AND SING
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Wendy Dennis and Ray Kurzweil and love poems by various authors.)
Imagine now and sing,
creating myths
forming jewels from the falling snow.
LONG YEARS HAVE PASSED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Randi and Kathryn Lynn.)
Long years have passed.
I think of goodbye.
Locked tight in the night
I think of passion;
Drawn to for blue, the night
During the page
My shattered pieces of life
watching the joy
shattered pieces of love
My shattered pieces of love
gone stale.
Aside from the poem being nonsensical, it's hard to believe that a program would have "shattered pieces of love" that have "gone stale." But the frightening thing is I could imagine some human poet writing some similar crap and publishing it as poetry. It's disturbing in its insanity.
The Cybernetic Poet also attempted Haikus, but the meter is wrong:
MOON CHILD
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kathleen Frances Wheeler.)
Crazy moon child
Hide from your coffin
To spite your doom.
SANDALS
(A haiku written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Kimberly McLauchlin and Ray Kurzweil.)
Scattered sandals
a call back to myself,
so hollow I would echo.
Apparently, one of the major differences between man and machine is man's ability to discern meter. None of the haikus that the Cybernetic Poet had written has the 5-7-5 meter of a traditional Japanese haiku. And modern poets think blank verse is acceptable-- meter is what makes us human!
My absolute favorite of the techno-poems is this one:
WONDERED
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Dave Gitomer.)
today i wondered
if i mused
today i saw you
i learned
in awe and you
if i wondered
if i mused
today i had one wish
if i saw you
if i saw you
if i had one wish
Though these are horrible poems, it is not hard to believe that a person might have wrote them. I have also seen some of the paintings done by AARON, but unfortunately I could not reproduce them on my blog. The website will show you the wonderful art that programs can produce.
Of course, as technology advances, it will only get harder and harder to tell what a human wrote and what a program wrote (I imagine that programmers will teach machines how to determine meter), but for now, these poems are really funny. I will leave you now with one more poem:
IMAGINE NOW AND SING
(A poem written by Ray Kurzweil's Cybernetic Poet after reading poems by Wendy Dennis and Ray Kurzweil and love poems by various authors.)
Imagine now and sing,
creating myths
forming jewels from the falling snow.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Words, words, words.
Well, I already started reading the next book on my long list of books to read, but, before it is way too late, I think I should post my review of Nothing Like the Sun.
First of all, Burgess is a genius. If anyone saw my post for December 3, 2004, that would provide a little taste of what the book is like. Anthony Burgess' forte is language-- the English language (and possibly Russian, for those that have read A Clockwork Orange). And so, one comes to expect that a book about Shakespeare would be littered with equivocations, double entrendes, and puns. That is exactly what Burgess provides in the novel. In fact, the very title, "Nothing Like the Sun," is at once a direct reference to Shakespeare's "Sonnet CXXX" and a fair description of the novel. But there is also another dynamic to the language in the novel-- Burgess stays pretty close to Elizabethan English. "An" replaces "if," "thou" and "you" are used properly ("thou" being the vulgar form for "you"), etc., not only in the dialogue of the characters, but also within the narrative itself. Anyone who knows a little of Shakespeare and the kind of language Shakespeare used would enjoy this book.
Of course, I cannot simply stop at the language aspect. There is the historical element to the story as well. The novel is divided into two parts: the first part is labelled 157?-1587, and the second part, 1592-1599. Not knowing nearly enough of Shakespeare's history, I imagine that the subject matter within these two sections follows pretty closely to Shakespeare's life. This might be the only problem with the novel: for all the events that go on, the reader is left wondering whether what he read was historical, or just Burgess using his "artistic license." There were certain things that I remember from High School English about Shakespeare: his marriage to Anne, his relocation to London to work, his children (Judith and Hamnet and Susanna), and the death of Hamnet. I also remember the playhouse, the Globe, and a few other things (I know Ben Jonson was a contemporary, but was Christopher Marlowe?), but everything else outside of those few things were new to me. Did Anne ever sleep with Richard, WS' brother? Did Shakespeare contract a venereal disease? Does Shakespeare's crest really say "NON SANZ DROICT" (and is that really Norman French?)? However, despite all these historical questions (and there are plenty more), the history doesn't really detract from the story and the way it is told.
On top of all the history and the language, there are also the themes and theories of the novel. Shakespeare is in search of a "goddess" throughout the novel, and-- at least at first-- he thinks that he can find that goddess in sex. And so young Shakespeare becomes a promiscuous womanizer in search of that goddess. As Shakespeare matures, that drive for women becomes one for boys. Then the search for the goddess turns to poetry and play writing, and then circles back to a woman, but a black woman. Burgess suggests that this sexual drive is the same drive that leads to Shakespeare's profound poetry and play writing. This is an interesting theory, and it leads to one of the major themes of the work: that there is an element of the ordinary in everything extraordinary. These diametrically opposed images are almost always in conjunction in the novel. For instance, on pages 97-98, Shakespeare writes a dedicatory epistle to Henry Wriothesly while walking through London:
'I know not how I shall offend...' Spring waking in London, crude crosses still on the doors, but the wind blowing in the smell of grass and the ram-bell's tinkle. Piemen and flower-sellers cried. '...in dedicating my lines, no, my unpolished lines, to your lordship...' From a barber-shop came the tuning of a lute and then the aching sweetness of treble song. '...nor how the world will rebuke, no, censure me for choosing so strong a pop...' There were manacled corpses in the Thames, that three tides had washed. '...to support so weak a burden...' A kite overhead dropped a gobbet of human flesh. '...only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised...' In a smoky tavern a bawdy catch was flung at the foul air. '...and vow to take advantage of all idle hours...' Pickpurses strolled among the gawping country cousins. '...till I have honoured you with some grave labour...' A limping child with a pig's head leered out from an alleyway. '...But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed...' A couple of Paul's men swaggered by, going haw haw haw. '...I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father...' Stale herrings smelled to heaven in a fishman's basket. '...and never after ear so barren a land...' A cart lurched, rounding a corner; wood splintered against stone. '...for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest...' The sun, in sudden great glory, illumined white towers. '...I leave it to your honourable survey...' A thin girl in rags begged, whining. '...and your honour to your heart's content...' An old soldier with one eye munched bread in a dark passage. '...which I wish may always answer your own wish...' Skulls on Temple Bar. '...and the world's hopeful expectation.' A distant consort of brass - cornets and sackbuts. 'Your honour's in all duty...' A drayhorse farted. '...WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.'
The imagery of the passage exemplifies the noble going hand in hand with the base. Even Shakespeare's epistle (if you can read it through the interruptions) shows this. And from this position, Shakespeare's history and his art--everything-- makes sense. The entire book flows together to make Shakespeare seem like he's nothing like the sun.
This review is long, and it doesn't do much justice to the book, since there is a plethera of issues I couldn't get to. Burgessian novels are complex like that. All in all, I liked the book very much, with my only qualm (if you can call it a qualm) being the history-fiction breach. I would recommend this book to anyone, it's that good.
First of all, Burgess is a genius. If anyone saw my post for December 3, 2004, that would provide a little taste of what the book is like. Anthony Burgess' forte is language-- the English language (and possibly Russian, for those that have read A Clockwork Orange). And so, one comes to expect that a book about Shakespeare would be littered with equivocations, double entrendes, and puns. That is exactly what Burgess provides in the novel. In fact, the very title, "Nothing Like the Sun," is at once a direct reference to Shakespeare's "Sonnet CXXX" and a fair description of the novel. But there is also another dynamic to the language in the novel-- Burgess stays pretty close to Elizabethan English. "An" replaces "if," "thou" and "you" are used properly ("thou" being the vulgar form for "you"), etc., not only in the dialogue of the characters, but also within the narrative itself. Anyone who knows a little of Shakespeare and the kind of language Shakespeare used would enjoy this book.
Of course, I cannot simply stop at the language aspect. There is the historical element to the story as well. The novel is divided into two parts: the first part is labelled 157?-1587, and the second part, 1592-1599. Not knowing nearly enough of Shakespeare's history, I imagine that the subject matter within these two sections follows pretty closely to Shakespeare's life. This might be the only problem with the novel: for all the events that go on, the reader is left wondering whether what he read was historical, or just Burgess using his "artistic license." There were certain things that I remember from High School English about Shakespeare: his marriage to Anne, his relocation to London to work, his children (Judith and Hamnet and Susanna), and the death of Hamnet. I also remember the playhouse, the Globe, and a few other things (I know Ben Jonson was a contemporary, but was Christopher Marlowe?), but everything else outside of those few things were new to me. Did Anne ever sleep with Richard, WS' brother? Did Shakespeare contract a venereal disease? Does Shakespeare's crest really say "NON SANZ DROICT" (and is that really Norman French?)? However, despite all these historical questions (and there are plenty more), the history doesn't really detract from the story and the way it is told.
On top of all the history and the language, there are also the themes and theories of the novel. Shakespeare is in search of a "goddess" throughout the novel, and-- at least at first-- he thinks that he can find that goddess in sex. And so young Shakespeare becomes a promiscuous womanizer in search of that goddess. As Shakespeare matures, that drive for women becomes one for boys. Then the search for the goddess turns to poetry and play writing, and then circles back to a woman, but a black woman. Burgess suggests that this sexual drive is the same drive that leads to Shakespeare's profound poetry and play writing. This is an interesting theory, and it leads to one of the major themes of the work: that there is an element of the ordinary in everything extraordinary. These diametrically opposed images are almost always in conjunction in the novel. For instance, on pages 97-98, Shakespeare writes a dedicatory epistle to Henry Wriothesly while walking through London:
'I know not how I shall offend...' Spring waking in London, crude crosses still on the doors, but the wind blowing in the smell of grass and the ram-bell's tinkle. Piemen and flower-sellers cried. '...in dedicating my lines, no, my unpolished lines, to your lordship...' From a barber-shop came the tuning of a lute and then the aching sweetness of treble song. '...nor how the world will rebuke, no, censure me for choosing so strong a pop...' There were manacled corpses in the Thames, that three tides had washed. '...to support so weak a burden...' A kite overhead dropped a gobbet of human flesh. '...only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised...' In a smoky tavern a bawdy catch was flung at the foul air. '...and vow to take advantage of all idle hours...' Pickpurses strolled among the gawping country cousins. '...till I have honoured you with some grave labour...' A limping child with a pig's head leered out from an alleyway. '...But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed...' A couple of Paul's men swaggered by, going haw haw haw. '...I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father...' Stale herrings smelled to heaven in a fishman's basket. '...and never after ear so barren a land...' A cart lurched, rounding a corner; wood splintered against stone. '...for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest...' The sun, in sudden great glory, illumined white towers. '...I leave it to your honourable survey...' A thin girl in rags begged, whining. '...and your honour to your heart's content...' An old soldier with one eye munched bread in a dark passage. '...which I wish may always answer your own wish...' Skulls on Temple Bar. '...and the world's hopeful expectation.' A distant consort of brass - cornets and sackbuts. 'Your honour's in all duty...' A drayhorse farted. '...WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.'
The imagery of the passage exemplifies the noble going hand in hand with the base. Even Shakespeare's epistle (if you can read it through the interruptions) shows this. And from this position, Shakespeare's history and his art--everything-- makes sense. The entire book flows together to make Shakespeare seem like he's nothing like the sun.
This review is long, and it doesn't do much justice to the book, since there is a plethera of issues I couldn't get to. Burgessian novels are complex like that. All in all, I liked the book very much, with my only qualm (if you can call it a qualm) being the history-fiction breach. I would recommend this book to anyone, it's that good.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
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