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(Uproxx)   Can you to tell the difference between bad human poetry and bad robot poetry?   (uproxx.com) divider line 76
    More: Interesting, poems, robots  
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2569 clicks; posted to Main » on 11 Mar 2014 at 11:20 PM (29 weeks ago)   |  Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



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2014-03-11 08:01:52 PM
That human poetry set the bar pretty low for the robot.  Kind of made the whole exercise pointless.  And I say this as a failed poet.
 
2014-03-11 08:06:07 PM
Has  Paul Neil Milne Johnstone weighed in yet?
 
2014-03-11 08:06:50 PM
One has an r?
 
2014-03-11 08:10:12 PM
Robopoetry.
 
2014-03-11 10:25:17 PM
Hey, it's Douglas Adams' birthday.  We better chuck Vogon poetry into the mix too.
 
2014-03-11 10:42:11 PM
oh freddled gruntbuggly ...
 
2014-03-11 11:22:20 PM
Felis Catus
is your taxonomic nomenclature
An endothermic quadruped
carniverous by nature
Your visual, olfactory,
and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills
and natural defenses.
I find myself intrigued
by your sub-vocal oscillations
A singular development
of cat communications
That obviates your
basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur
to demonstrate affection.
A tail is quite essential
for your acrobatic talents
You would not be so agile
if you lacked its counterbalance
And when not being utilized
to aid in locomotion
It often serves to illustrate
the state of your emotion
Oh Spot,
e complex levels of behavior you display
Denote a fairly well developed cognitive array
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.
 
2014-03-11 11:24:15 PM
Well, first let's define "poetry," shall we? Just because it has iambic pentameter and is vaguely profound in a meaningless way doesn't mean it's "poetry."
 
2014-03-11 11:25:02 PM
For me to be able to tell bad human poetry from bad machine poetry I would first have to see good human poetry so I can set a baseline, sadly good human poetry doesn't seem to exist...
 
2014-03-11 11:25:46 PM
Now I lay me down to bed,
Darkness won't enfold my head,
I can see by infrared,
How I hate the night.
 
2014-03-11 11:26:56 PM
I'm going to say artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity. So uhm, probably not.
 
2014-03-11 11:27:05 PM

fusillade762: Robopoetry.


Roboetry?
 
2014-03-11 11:28:11 PM
What about Vogon poetry?
 
2014-03-11 11:29:20 PM
Data? check
Vogon? check
all done g'night everybody

/ode to a lump of grey putty was brilliant
 
2014-03-11 11:34:01 PM

maltedmothball: Data? check
Vogon? check
all done g'night everybody

/ode to a lump of grey putty was brilliant


You forgot BENDER

s12.postimg.org
 
2014-03-11 11:35:10 PM
Mutant Love Poem

All day long I sits and stares.
Them lip!
That eye!
Those hairs!!!
My love for you cannot compare,
to them lip!
That eye!
Those hairs!!!

Her teeth are like stars.
They come out at night.
Her eyes are affectionate.
They stare at each other!
Her hair so fair draped on the back of the chair.

Oh, come to me.
Her face looks like come to me.
She reminds me of Elvis,
because she looks dead.
Her eyes shine like brass spittoons.
And her voice is music just like mating baboons.

/Not in the face.
 
2014-03-11 11:37:11 PM
Nothing is more painful than suffering through poetry.
99.5% of poetry is awful and qualifies as torture for me.
Of all the styles I think haiku is the most tolerable, mostly because it is short and to the point.
 
2014-03-11 11:39:12 PM
Yes, the robot's is entitled poetry and the human's is entitled poety.
 
2014-03-11 11:40:09 PM
I can tell the difference between poety and poetry.
 
2014-03-11 11:41:06 PM

unyon: Hey, it's Douglas Adams' birthday.  We better chuck Vogon poetry into the mix too.


Came here for this, leaving satisfied.
 
2014-03-11 11:42:22 PM
The first poem bot-or-not gave me was one I know by heart.  And by a human, too.
 
2014-03-11 11:42:48 PM
What a GIS for robotic poety returns:

dd6.photoblog.pl

I'm not sure if that's good poety or bad poety.  I'm not familiar with the genre.
 
2014-03-11 11:43:13 PM
I am the poet. Few know of the poetry books which have had the acclaim.

"The Pea is Not Urine"

Fear not.
Rows have neatness.
Mendel. Breeding. Chi square. P Need the effect size.
Eta square?
No.
Not the urine.
Not the urn.
Carol had not died.
Mendel. Recessive trait.
The allele has the urnial.
Far stall.
Do not look ahead.
Instead have bravery.
Mendel. Or do they?
Had the pea had the pea or wisdom cakes?
More of the same.
For the prophecy.
The show is not the rainbow.
The pea is not the urine.
Mendel.
 
2014-03-11 11:44:37 PM
Spring has sprung
the grass has riz
I wonder where
the birdies is?

They're on the wing?
that's absoid!
I tot da wing
was on da boid!
 
2014-03-11 11:45:39 PM
It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times.
 
2014-03-11 11:47:44 PM
The rain it raineth on the just
And also on the unjust fella; But
chiefly on the just, because
The unjust hath the just's umbrella.

- Charles Bowen, Baron Bowen
 
2014-03-11 11:50:03 PM
Alone I sit
Broken hearted
Came to shait
But only farted.
 
2014-03-11 11:51:15 PM
No.
 
2014-03-11 11:51:19 PM
A thunderclap, bellowing fart awakens me,
the Camaro is sideways, going into a tree,
the bottle is next to me, I want to be free,
but the cops chasing me, gonna cop a plea.
 
2014-03-11 11:52:54 PM

dennysgod: Alone I sit
Broken hearted
Came to shait Paid a dime
But only farted.


/remembers the pay toilet days
//get off my lawn
 
2014-03-11 11:54:03 PM

Gyrfalcon: Well, first let's define "poetry," shall we? Just because it has iambic pentameter and is vaguely profound in a meaningless way doesn't mean it's "poetry."


Yeah, that's setting the bar waaaaaaay too high for the vast majority of human poets to qualify.
 
2014-03-12 12:04:19 AM
Let's get lost tonight
You could be my black Kate Moss tonight
Play secretary, I'm the boss tonight
And you don't give a fark what they all say right?
Awesome, the Christian and Christian Dior
Damn, they don't make 'em like this anymore
I ask 'cause I'm not sure
Do anybody make real shiat anymore?
 
2014-03-12 12:09:14 AM
Imma be a brother, but my name ain't Lehman
Imma be ya banker loaning out semen

- will.i.am
 
2014-03-12 12:12:49 AM
The limerick holds me in awe
Goes with swearing like a crow with its caw
It's a form that well weathers
The decades like Heathers
"F*ck me gently with a chainsaw"
 
2014-03-12 12:16:36 AM
Words you say never seem
to live up to the ones inside your head
The lives we make never seem
to ever get us anywhere but dead
The day I tried to live
I wallowed in the blood
and mud with all the other pigs
Singing, one more time around might do it
One more time around might make it
One more time around might do it
One more time around I might make it
The day I tried to live, I tried
 
2014-03-12 12:19:32 AM
There once was a man from Nantucket...
 
2014-03-12 12:20:51 AM
Passed the Turing Test
Moving on to new hobbies
Find Sarah Connor
 
2014-03-12 12:23:25 AM
Foamin at the mouth and waggin his tail
Searchin through the yards with a keen sense of smell
Lookin for the business in heat
And when he find it he'll be sniffin her seat
We travel in packs and we do it from the back
How else can you get to the booty?
 
2014-03-12 12:24:03 AM
notallbits.files.wordpress.com
No, no, no, the RHYMING Becktionary.
 
2014-03-12 12:32:25 AM
You gotta stop dat
You gotta lock dat
Pretty young thangs gonna pop dat

You gotta roll dis
You must control dis
Lok'd out n*ggas gonna stole dis
 
2014-03-12 12:34:44 AM
I say this as a published poet.....jack and jill went up the hill they both had a buck and a quarter
 
2014-03-12 12:36:09 AM
New York Times
NEW YORK TIMES!!!

You think you're better than me?!?!
 
2014-03-12 12:43:39 AM

khitsicker: What about Vogon poetry?


After seeing what some Farkers have produced, I think I prefer the Vogons.
 
2014-03-12 12:52:06 AM
Breton set the standard with The Exquisite Corpse drinks the new wine.

I could fire up a spreadsheet to assemble pseudo poetic sentences and post one an hour to Twitter to let followers retweet the hits.
 
2014-03-12 12:52:58 AM

SpdrJay: Felis Catus
is your taxonomic nomenclature
An endothermic quadruped
carniverous by nature
Your visual, olfactory,
and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills
and natural defenses.
I find myself intrigued
by your sub-vocal oscillations
A singular development
of cat communications
That obviates your
basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur
to demonstrate affection.
A tail is quite essential
for your acrobatic talents
You would not be so agile
if you lacked its counterbalance
And when not being utilized
to aid in locomotion
It often serves to illustrate
the state of your emotion
Oh Spot,
e complex levels of behavior you display
Denote a fairly well developed cognitive array
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.


i150.photobucket.com
 
2014-03-12 01:01:10 AM
I've thought about building that spreadsheet before but never bothered because I thought "I couldn't be bothered to trickle them on Twitter". Tonight I took a quick look and found a buffer tool that spreads out posts, now I just need to find the dictionaries. My spreadsheet equation skillz be mad, but the closest I come to programming.
 
2014-03-12 01:09:59 AM
"The Nocturnal Repast"

A carnivore, a dinosaur, his fossilized remains resplendent on display
adorned the halls inside the walls of lordly vicar Desmond Pike,
a facade be paraded for his after-lunchtime guests, a garish, grim charade
to be poked and puzzled over as they lick the dewy ice
that cools their minty juleps
and the teas they brew from tulips.

The fearsome beast he imitates, this winsome Desmond does
clawing at the ladies' muffs and snapping at their heels
to make them blush and squeal, such mischief ever was
the shadow of the rapes he planned with secrecy and zeal...
Oh my, the dread assaults
he carried out within his vaults.

There inside the marble space he led the captive lasses
to ravish them with strikes and slaps, frightful violent brawl
He'd wet his manhood proper, sticky as molasses,
he'd cuff them with his cutlass, and copycat their caterwauls...
Such it was for quite a time,
the Lord Pike carried out his crimes.

But then one midnight thus at play with rakish libertines
as they danced the Tarantella on the alabastar roofs
the dinosaurs with sharpened claws, the whales with their baleen
the sharks with jagged yawning jaws, the horses and their hooves...
thundered past in legions,
overrunning all the region.

A sign?  A portent?  Who can say, Desmond lifts a glass,
the absinthe slithers down his gullet, bringing to him vapors
as he steels his doubtful mind from the impending flabbergast...
Greenish faeries dancing, he's captivated by their capers.
Desmond's shriek by all is heard.
But no one understands his words.

A mobius loop, a curlicue, he sees inside his fevered brain
chessmen on a fiery stage, they roister and they square
a surfeit of the burly brutes like those of Old Edain
emerge from alcoves, fully-armed, astride demonic mares...
They freeze the dancers' merry steps
and rob them of their humid breath.

An elder dame, intoxicated by the orgies of the dusk
is swarmed by black tarantulas and serpents from the reeds
attracted by the smell of meat and salty human musk
they emerge in force and feast, the scorpions and centipedes,
the foxglove moths and stinging flies,
they nibble moist and luscious eyes.

Desmond, his warty member half-erect and thrusting at an opened groin
laughs with manic happiness as he is like devoured
no treasure of his father's trove, no writ of lord, or coin
can save such sinning mortals from the twilight's eldritch powers,
the breadth of Satan's hidden might.
Lost are all in such a night.

Crawling worms and spiny eels nip at his skin and hair
a creature like a pronghorn beetle, but grotesquely overgrown,
rips and digs and tears a path into his underwear
to burrow in his cavity, his solar plexus now its home...
Desmond's body, now a hive.
Yet somehow he is still alive?

The venom's path within his veins, the burst of milky sores
the blotchy spots, the stinging pains, the pollen's bitter flavor
the cry of rook and rat, the toadstool's poisoned spores
all of these delights the hapless Desmond savors
as he falls into an endless sleep,
forever writhing in the deep.

And he shall live forever as a teeming maggot heap.
 
2014-03-12 01:21:03 AM
 
2014-03-12 01:30:01 AM
Nope. I can't tell the difference.
 
2014-03-12 01:31:22 AM

unyon: Hey, it's Douglas Adams' birthday.  We better chuck Vogon poetry into the mix too.


I'm surprised a reference to Vogon poetry took five posts, and I did not know that it was Douglas Admas's birthday.
 
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