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Happy Poetry Friday! Please visit our host Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe for a wonderful display of student artwork and poetry and for this week’s roundup.
Photo © IT Chronicles
Last night we attended a panel discussion at the CT Forum titled, “Being Human in the Age of AI.” The panelists included:
- Nita Farahany – AI Ethicist and Neuroscientist, Author, Professor of Law & Philosophy
- Kevin Roose – Author and NY Times Journalist, specializing in technology’s impacts on society
- Kate Crawford – AI Scholar, Author, Research Professor at USC Annenberg
- John Dankosky – Moderator, Science Journalist
The evolution of AI is a topic of great interest to those who create or consume art. Poetry, music, artwork, books, photography ... are all under siege. Obviously, AI is a huge topic, and the ethics surrounding AI is a many-headed beast, but I thought I would share some interesting points made by the panel in last night's discussion.
AI Technology Developments
According to the panelists, there have been no major innovations in AI technology since ChatGPT and several other large language models (LLMs) were developed (circa 2017). Since that time, AI advancements have entailed feeding AI programs vast quantities training data and increasing AI’s computing capacity. Current AI technology is limited to “predicting the next word” (or outcome) based upon the data it’s fed.
Human Impact
The group noted both positive and negative outcomes of the introduction of AI in society. Kevin Roose cited the example of an “empathy bot” providing emotional support to a transgender teen when the teen was not able to find support from family and friends. Other panelists noted that this also highlights a human failing of our society to offer this teen the needed support.
The panel discussed the role of AI in making diagnoses and improving healthcare outcomes. The group noted that while AI may improve healthcare outcomes for select populations, this might not apply to all populations because most medical studies historically focused on white males. The danger in relying solely on historical data is potentially overlooking divergent outcomes for other populations.
Kevin Roose said that he created a number of “AI Friends” and put them together in a texting group. He was surprised that they started texting each other even when he was not participating.
Sentience
The panelists noted that AI is not sentient - meaning it cannot think or feel. It does not understand the output it creates. It predicts the next word in a sentence based on patterns it has learned. Issues arise when people interact with AI and assign human-like feelings and thoughts to AI’s responses. When this happens, AI can be persuasive and even appear charming.
The group felt that AI gaining actual sentience is less concerning than the issues that could arise from people ceding decision making authority to an algorithm that cannot think, feel, or asses the ethical impact of its output.
Data
The data fed into AI includes the human biases that exist within that data. Logically, these biases can also appear in AI’s output.
The data consumed by AI models does not currently compensate the humans who created that data.
The panelists noted that within the next few years, AI will “run out of training data,” meaning that it will have consumed all digitized human-generated data. It is unclear what happens after that point.
Environmental Impact
One aspect of AI that may be less widely known is the vast amount of energy required to perform AI tasks. AI algorithms are not necessarily coded for efficiency and are machine-processing intensive. Water is often used to cool the machines running AI platforms. Kate Crawford stated that performing one ChatGPT search is equal to pouring a half-liter of water into the ground.
Some places have begun resurrecting old power sources (such as coal) to meet the increasing power demands of AI. Unless AI processing becomes more efficient, the panelists predicted an impending energy crisis.
Outlook
Nita Farahany likened today’s world to the movie “The Matrix.” People plug into devices that provide a self-fulfilling, addictive feedback loop where the user rarely breaks away.
The panel cautioned that every investment in AI is driven by a profit motive. How profit will be generated is a huge question. A tremendous amount of control lies with a relatively small group of people who may not have the best interest of the user or society in mind.
The panelists encouraged everyone to speak up for their rights. They believe that the work of the Writer’s Guild of America and Screen Actors Guild to resist negative impacts of AI to their professions were extremely important and that protecting individual rights are going to require that same level of effort.
I thought it might be interesting to ask ChatGPT to write “A Children’s Poem About AI’s Impact on Society.” Here is what it created:
In a world of circuits and wires so neat,
Lived AI, with a heart that couldn’t beat.
Not a creature of flesh, nor a bird in the sky,
But a mind so vast, reaching up so high.
“Hello, little ones!” the AI would say,
“I’m here to help in a brand-new way.
With algorithms and codes, I can calculate,
Solving problems fast, isn’t that great?”
In the cities, the towns, and the fields so wide,
AI was a friend, always by your side.
Helping doctors heal, with a diagnosis clear,
Or guiding a car, so there’s nothing to fear.
But people wondered, and started to ponder,
“Will AI make us lazy, or even fonder?
Of screens and machines, will we forget to play?
Or will AI help us in every single way?”
The AI listened, with circuits awhirl,
“I’m here to assist, in this big, wide world.
But remember, dear friends, to use me with care,
For human connection is beyond compare.”
So, children, embrace this AI’s tale,
With balance and love, we cannot fail.
For technology’s gift is a powerful tool,
But kindness and love will always rule.
© ChatGPT (and all those who contributed to its data), 2024
I won’t comment on the quality of the writing, but I found AI’s self-promotion while speaking directly to "little ones" rather chilling.
There goes a half-liter of water.
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I am guessing that there are going to be a few eclipse posts this Poetry Friday! Head over to Jone Rush MacCulloch's blog to see what others have written on this fun topic and to catch Jone's interviews with Carol Labuzzetta and Liz Garton Scanlon.
Here we are getting ready for the big viewing:
I had already prepped my high-tech viewing device (a piece of cardboard poked with a pin):
Here is a time lapse of what the pinhole view looked like.
Start of the eclipse (holes are pretty much round):
2:36 PM (f you zoom in you can see a little slice missing from the bottom left of the circles):
At 2:47, a little bigger slice is gone:
At 2:52, about half is gone:
At 3:12, just a skinny slice remains:
And at 3:35, the crescent had flipped location as the eclipse passed peak:
It was such an interesting experience to feel the temperature drop rapidly and watch the outdoor lighting turn gray. Even the light that filtered through the shrubs made crescent-shaped patterns:
Maybe this is just my crazy talking, but I swear the air smelled different (like ozone) during the eclipse too. Did anyone else notice this? … No? … Humph.
The local TV meteorologist said that animals might react to the eclipse. My dog didn’t notice a thing – except that we were eating cheese and crackers and she wanted to collect her usual “Cheese Tax.” [Aside: My daughter informed me that the Cheese Tax is a common phenomenon. See this PSA for more information: Cheese Tax]
Now, I haven't written an ACROSTIC poem in ages, but why not have a go at it for this special occasion?
Excitement ripples quietly.
Children poke cereal boxes,
Letting in pinpricks of sunlight.
I stand ready in goofy glasses.
Pets sniff the cooling breeze.
Something is truly amiss.
Everyone anticipates - darkness.
Photos and poem (c) Tracey Kiff-Judson, 2024
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On a recent bike ride, I happened across a group of turkeys …
and by that I mean REAL turkeys …
and by that I mean WILD turkeys.
I hopped off my bike to take some pictures, and well … I’m afraid I ruffled a few feathers.
The males were impressive with their puffing. Peacocks have nothing on these Tom Turkeys!
Now all this got me to thinking, and thinking, and thinking …
that I have nothing poetic to write about turkeys.
I brainstormed:
Why did the turkey cross the road …
Wattle you want?
Gobble. Gobble. Gobble.
Talkin’ Turkey
Poultry polka
Anybody want a drumstick?
Pass the gravy
Turkey Trot
Seven months to Thanksgiving
Spring turkey?
At midnight, I was drawing a complete turkey blank.
D.H. Lawrence to the rescue from 1922:
Turkey-Cock
You ruffled black blossom,
You glossy dark wind.
Your sort of gorgeousness,
Dark and lustrous
And unfathomable
And poppy-glossy,
Is the gorgeousness that evokes my darkest admiration.
…
Your wattles are the color of steel which has been red hot
And is going cold,
Cooling to a powdery pale-oxidized sky-blue.
Why do you have wattles, and a naked wattled head?
Why do you arch your naked-set eye with a more than
comprehensible haughtiness?
The vulture is bald; so is the condor, obscenely;
But only you have thrown this amazing mantilla of oxidized
sky-blue
And hot red over you.
Hmmm, accurate description, but perhaps a bit overblown?
I guess I am not in a position to criticize when my most poetic thought was “Gobble. Gobble. Gobble.”
But fortunately, it is Poetry Friday! And I know some people who will have fantastic poems for you. Start by visiting the amazingly articulate Irene Latham at Live Your Poem! Irene adds to the beautifully evolving progressive poem, presents her poem-in-your-pocket display, and shares an ArtSpeak prayer.
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Are you an introvert or an extrovert?
Although the answer may feel obvious, the question feels personal, doesn't it?
I am pretty solidly in the introvert camp. That is not to say, I can’t speak to a large audience, socialize at a cocktail party, or lead a meeting. Sure, I have the capability to behave extrovertedly when necessary, but at my core, I get more energy from quiet activities than crowds.
I just finished the book Quiet, by Susan Cain (selected by our book club - which, perhaps not surprisingly, includes a number of introverts). If you are predominantly an introvert, or if you have children who are introverts, you will probably appreciate this book. It sings the praises of introverts as well as pointing out some areas where we may struggle.
According to Cain (and the researchers and philosophers that she sites):
Extroverts – tend to gain energy external stimulation and recharge by being with a group of people.
Introverts – tend to gain energy from activities of the mind and recharge with alone time and quiet. (Note: introversion does not necessarily equate to shyness.) Introverts also tend to:
-
- be able to delay gratification,
- function well without sleep,
- prepare more than others,
- persevere through difficulty,
- learn from mistakes,
- ask what if …,
- remain relatively immune to the lures of wealth and fame,
- listen more than talk, and
- express themselves better in writing than with public speaking.
Western culture, particularly the United States prizes extroverts. This sometimes results in undervaluing introverts. Cain details how American culture evolved, starting in the 1920’s, from valuing “character” to valuing “personality.” (Mental flash to today's political scene.)
“So, what does this have to do with me?” you ask. Well, if you are the poetic type, you may be interested to know that Cain also says that a significant percentage artists (including poets) are introverts. They do their best work independently when they have time to contemplate and create. Perhaps you would be surprised to know that Cain quotes Theodore Geisel as saying, “In mass, [children] terrify me.”
Societal trends toward promoting extroverts to positions of corporate leadership, focusing heavily on group projects in schools, and valuing personality over character can create challenges for the introvert (and potentially society). Cain also discusses helpful strategies for introverts and parents of children who are introverts.
Cain explores many nuances, so you may enjoy sitting down with a copy of Quiet.
Composed
Dreamers and thinkers
won’t yell it –
may not even
tell it
aloud.
They may ...
stitch love into a quilt,
splash anguish onto canvas,
bake caring into cookies,
express curiosity through an equation,
sketch suspicion in a notebook,
pour passion into a poem.
It’s all there.
You just have to wade
through the
quiet
to find it.
© Tracey Kiff-Judson, Draft 2024
Please visit the lovely Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities to learn what she names her birdie visitors and for this week's Poetry Friday roundup!
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We recently visited the JC Raulston Arboretum in Raleigh, NC.
While strolling through the gardens, we came across this fascinating structure: a bee hotel!
The accompanying sign explains …
Text from the sign:
Bee Hotel
Welcome to the Air Bee & Bee, the Arboretum’s bee hotel!
Did you know? Out of the 21,000 species of bees in the world, only 10% are honeybees and other social bees. The rest are solitary bees, which do not produce honey or live in nests. Instead, these bees live in the ground or cavities in trees and stems. Since they do not make honey, solidary bees do not have pollen baskets on their body. This means they drop more pollen than honeybees, making them extraordinary pollinators and a boon to any garden environment.
Only some of these solitary bees and wasps may have stingers. On top of being nonaggressive, their poison is very weak and does not cause an allergic reaction to humans.
Guest bees can choose between hollow sticks and high-rise bricks.
Here is one arriving now:
Bee Hotel
Checking in please, room for one –-
long and narrow, toward the sun!
Certainly, please come right in.
Any baggage? Any kin?
No, I travel light. I’ve just --
brought a bit of pollen dust.
Photos and Poem © Tracey Kiff-Judson, 2024
Have a BEE-utiful Poetry Friday, and please buzz over to visit Laura Purdie Salas and help her celebrate the arrival of Oskar’s Voyage!
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Happy Poetry Friday! Please visit Margaret at Reflections on the Teche for this week's roundup!
So … this is embarrassing, but I feel like I can trust you people.
Sigh.
A few days ago, we were in a frantic dash to pack for an RV trip. The night before we left, I was at the grocery store at 9 PM, manically grabbing tomatoes, seltzer, and cashews (cuz what sane person would even try to camp without tomatoes, seltzer, and cashews?!). I veered my cart wildly through the empty aisles, occasionally glancing at my fistful of hand-scrawled lists that included:
- Grocery List,
- Packing List, and
- To Do List.
I skidded up to self-checkout and started flashing items in front of the scanner and tossing them into the bagging area. I had too much in my hands, so I set down my pile of lists on the shelf to the left of the register (along with my favorite mechanical pencil). I paid, loaded up my purchases, and dashed to the car. You probably see where this is headed.
I drove home, unloaded the groceries, and looked around for my stack of lists. Ut-oh. Not my favorite pencil too! Sigh. I called the grocery store, “Hey, sorry to bother you, but did you guys happen to notice a pile of papers and a pencil by one of the self-checkout registers?”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhh, you’re the lady who wrote the rat poem?”
“I … uh … what?
Oh.
Yeah.” Dread swept over me.
Back up a couple years … when I had just started writing children’s poems for fun, I liked to print out my poems to edit them. At the time, I knew precious little about rhyme, meter, or poetry in general. Since that time, I have been using those old poems as scrap paper. I knew exactly which poem had ended up on the back of my grocery list. Ugh.
“So … you have my stuff?”
“Yup! We all thought it was interesting!”
Heavens to mergatroid! They all read it? It was on the back of a piece of paper … in a stack of papers! Nosy-bodies!!
“Ok, I will be back to get it. Where should I go?”
“It will be at the customer service desk.”
My husband walked into the kitchen unsuspectingly. He graciously offered to drive to the grocery store for me and get my belongings while I tried to piece together my packing list in my clearly subpar memory.
About a half hour later, he was back. He led with, “Do you know … at the grocery store, you are known as ‘The Rat Poem Lady’?”
“Yes, apparently.”
So, because you, dear reader, have stayed with me on this journey, I feel that I owe it you to share the rat poem that I thought would never be seen by another human being. Ahem:
Victoria Pratz
Victoria Pratz
gave birth in Big Flats
to thirteen ginormous, omnivorous rats.
She doted, indulged,
and protected from cats,
what turned out to be thirteen menacing brats.
Perhaps I should mention,
Victoria Pratz and her husband Bofratz,
are also rats.
There you have it. Yes, I know the meter is wonky and the whole poem is a just plain weird, yet somehow this is the poem that has gained me notoriety about town.
Feel free to call me by my new name, “The Rat Poem Lady,” or if you prefer my son’s variation, “Rat Queen.”
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Oh, how we love our pets! This weekend, we are attending a wedding where the bride and groom have arranged for their canine fur-babies to participate in their wedding ceremony. I am so excited to be present for this joyful celebration!
We would do anything for our special animals. We whisper sweet nothings in their ears. We lavish them with toys and treats. Sometimes we may even write a poem about their antics. Whether it be compassion for canines, caring for kitties, or adoration of alpacas, we all share a some sense of connection with the animal world.
For all of you animal lovers, I am happy to have the opportunity to share some snippets from Bless Our Pets, a beautiful poetry anthology that will be released from Eerdmans Books for Young Readers in April.
The late Lee Bennett Hopkins, who edited this lovely anthology before his passing, selected a collection of heartwarming poems that pay tribute to some of our dearest animal friends.
Bless Our Pets begins with Ann Whitford Paul’s hope to earn the trust of a trembling kitten. Rebecca Kai Dotlich (Welcome to the Wonder House) weaves a wonderful poem about a chestnut-eyed puppy who sends messages of love without words.
The poems offer tribute after touching tribute to our animal companions. You will find loving poems to a goldfish, a parakeet, a rabbit, and many other furry (and not-so-furry) friends. Even a snake gets some love here!
Over a dozen notable poets offer praise to animals that have touched their hearts. I particularly enjoyed the poem “Box Turtle” by B. J. Lee, which begins:
Box Turtle
Helpless
little turtle
squirming on your back,
wriggling
polka-dotted legs,
tummy, hard shellac.
I place you
on all fours again,
hard dome beneath soft hand.
Your armored plates
so colorful –
your shell a wonderland…
The poem goes on to show that sometimes the best way to express our love for animals is to allow them the freedom they need.
The adorable illustrations by the incomparable Lita Judge capture the personalities of each of these beloved creatures. Lita’s whimsical paintings skillfully illustrate the bond between humans and their pets.
Check out this sweet baby:
Don’t you just want to scoop up that little guy and give him a hug?
This beautiful anthology closes with Lee Bennett Hopkins’s tribute “My Old Dog,” which brought more than a few tears to my eyes and reminded me of my lab, Sugar, who left for the great-field-of-tennis-balls-in-the-sky a few years ago. Both adults and children who love pets, poems, and adorable paintings (and that’s pretty much everyone, isn’t it?!) will love this gentle anthology.
For the Poetry Friday roundup, please visit the charming Carol Varsalona for some Valentine's love at Beyond LiteracyLink.
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I hope you have a wonderful Poetry Friday! Please visit Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading for this week's roundup. She (and all of the Inklings) have secrets to share with us!
A few weeks ago, Molly Hogan commented on my "Monopoly" post that she found a Monopoly token between the floorboards of her old house. I thought that had amazing potential for a story, and it got me thinking … we, too, live in a house that wasn’t built in this century. This old house was built in the 1880’s. Old houses have seen so much through the decades: secrets, laughter, heartbreak. So much has happened within these walls, and I only know my slice of time, not what comes before or what will come after.
It seems that wallpaper is one tiny scrap of history that gives us an idea what life might have been like in another time. When we first moved in, we stripped layers and layers of wallpaper in this house. Some were pretty (and some were pretty ugly), but someone loved them enough to cover an entire room with them. I saved scraps as we peeled away layers of history, and I thought it might be fun to pull them out and look at them now that we have lived in this house for a couple of decades.
So, as you can see, this house had a lot to say about the people who lived here, and the “clothes” that it wore on its walls over the years.
I found this poem that seemed apropos:
Old Houses
By Robert Cording
Year after year after year
I have come to love slowly
how old houses hold themselves—
before November’s drizzled rain
or the refreshing light of June—
as if they have all come to agree
that, in time, the days are no longer
a matter of suffering or rejoicing.
You may read the rest here if you like!
Thank you for touring our house’s wallpaper history with me!
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Happy Poetry Friday!
This week, we are hosted by Susan Thomsen. Please visit Susan at Chicken Spaghetti for a poem about Año Nuevo and a beautiful tradition.
Recently, I have enjoyed time outdoors in the snowy woods of Connecticut. I couldn’t help but admire at the beauty of nature, but also the human touch that appeared in some of these excursions.
During the first significant snowfall of the year, my husband, my dog, and I went sledding. We tried to convince some neighborhood kids to come with us to make it look like we had a reason to be there, but there were none to be found. We did not let that deter us.
Admittedly, my steering attempts are futile. I'll just say, the hill is a lot steeper than it looks in the video!
The next day, we took at hike at a local park. Although, it was an overcast day, nature offered beauty amidst the dreariness.
Here the human influence sneaks in, but hopefully in a way that makes you smile.
The next day was sunny, and I couldn’t resist one more trip back to see the snow and ice drops reflecting the sunshine.
The pictures from the overcast day led me to the following poem:
Winter Woods
By Eleanor Hammond
The winter wood is like a strong old man,
Grizzled, rugged, and gray,
With long white locks tattered by many storms.
He lifts gnarled arms defiant of the blasts,
And rears his old head proudly
Under the menace of the winter sky.
Source: Eleanor Hammond. "Winter Woods." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/winter-woods-by-eleanor-hammond
My hope is that wherever you are, whatever season it is, that you are able to breathe fresh air and spend some time surrounded by nature.