Categories
Poetry

A New Nursery Rhyme

Following on from the short February 4th ‘Miracles’ poem with it’s ‘time’ theme, another poem that recognises the variability of time!

Tick, tock, distant star
How I wonder when you are
Just a timepiece in the sky
Your every ‘now’ another lie!

Categories
Essay

Good AI / Bad AI

As a writer – possibly even a poet – I have concerns about the Large Language Models (LLM) of Artificial Intelligence. As Robert Griffiths wrote recently in PNR 281:

“But even if these programs could train on ‘good’ poetry, it is not clear how, in their production of what is statistically most likely in a word-string, they could produce anything original. It is not obvious that any analysis of the best poetry written before 1915 would have come up with the third line of Prufrock [“Like a patient etherized upon a table” since you ask]. That line was not already waiting in that poetry; it was not even waiting in language.’

Crucially he reminded readers that it arose “from a particular human being’s unique relationship to that poetry and the world.”

This echoed a part of something I wrote about a month ago. I too have concerns about AI producing art, fiction and poems for that very reason. AI used for necessary processes – such as NHS image scanning to speed up analysis and consultations – is a wonderful step forward. Unnecessary AI simply to make money for the lazy is not. In essence my concerns boil down to three issues which I have classified as to do with morality, followed by three further issues:

  1. Morality 1. The ability to produce (in seconds, apparently) novels or poems or the works of art  – forgeries basically – is extraordinarily clever but… why? Apart from the amusement value of the last, who needs them? What value are they/do they have? A novel or a poem (even one of mine) is a representation of the author’s thinking: it has his/her imprint and imprimatur. It is essentially – leaving aside the individual creator – the art/creation of this planet’s life and represents a version of this planet’s thinking/beliefs/understanding of life etc at the point in time at which it was written. An AI creation is just some cleverly jumbled words with no life or meaning other than the lexical. Essentially I would suggest it has no value. Ditto the works of art. This is a waste of resources.
    Another thought is that it may seriously mislead readers, uncritical children learning to  or having recently learned to read, future generations (that could have serious repercussions).
    Additionally is the well-rehearsed issue of copyright infringement as the LLM hoover up any text found on the web.
  2. Morality 2. Like data banks and bit-coin, AI systems use huge amounts of electricity and water. Is this morally acceptable in a time when we are having trouble producing enough/enough cleanly? I suppose I would argue that it is OK for the image scanning type of work but not for creating valueless, gimmicky novels or pictures, or for enhancing – a questionable word – search results or providing a voice response when I ask about the weather – something I could do more easily on my iPhone!
  3. Morality 3 Finally – and maybe this should have been the first of the three – AI systems have no inherent morals or ethics. Arguably, neither do many of our leaders who make choices on our behalf, but at least they exist in the same bubble of morality as I do. Remember Asimov’s laws for robots – basically do no harm to humans – do AI systems have even that basic ‘morality’ built in? AI is (I think) used in legal as well as medical work – what moral and ethical safeguards are there. (Even at a lesser level than morality/ethics, can we be sure that the rules built in are the same ones that a judge would make?) Can the system vary them? Should it be able to? Should we – the general public – know what they are? Who decides on the morals/ethics?
  4. Security is definitely an issue – not just in government or armed forces systems. It does need to be addressed IN EVERY APPLICATION of AI. That probably means a minimum level should be set and regulated. (By someone!)
  5. Definition: what do we mean by AI? The term sweeps in general robotics – as on a production/assembly line – which probably have very limited intelligence beyond recognising parts, etc) through image recognition and control to Large Language Models which swallow and assimilate and ‘learn’ from huge, uncontrolled and unfiltered vats of text. Without permission. Without (so far as I am aware) any human interference, value adding or ‘explaining’. Shouldn’t there be some understood vocabulary or classification or Linnaean taxonomy beyond/below the ambidextrous AI? And shouldn’t we all (have the opportunity to) understand it.
  6. Choice. In many cases AI is being foisted on us whether we will or not. If I buy a new car my interaction with it may be largely by via ChatGP (I may ask out loud the navigation system to re-route me to a shop and it may reply, But that shop is currently closed, I’ll take you to…). Already search engines may incorporate it. What else does? Who knows? I believe that users should have the right to know – and have the ability built into the interface without having to argue with a nameless bit of AI on the phone! – to decide whether we want ‘ordinary, vanilla’ search or enhanced AI search. After all when all is said and done what is AI doing in the search that the search engine hasn’t been doing (more or less) (more less satisfactorily) for years? Essentially, I – as a human being – want to remain in control!
    And – another aside – shouldn’t users be able to decide whether the thing on the other end of a help line is human or artificial?

Link to my short story on Artificial Intelligence.

Categories
Poetry Uncategorized

Miracles

Around me, the unseen miracle
Of the past: the birds in the tree—the hills—the clouds—the people passing by,
I am at the centre of my time
                And they are all in the past
What stranger miracles are there?

After Walt Whitman:

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

Categories
Poetry

Illusion

A Haiku

Golden sunsets streak
Cloudy skies over the sea
A lost horizon

Categories
Poetry

Winter 2024, December

Mid month
as a good a time as any other
to write of howling winds that smother

Every hint
of comfort and the daily norms
to replace them all with Darragh’s storms

Which break
the trees which crash and fall upon
wires, and thus: the village power has gone

And then
in every room in every country cottage
is darkness from the lack of wattage

No heating
warms, no ovens cook, no hobs to boil
and freezers let their contents spoil

Crouched around
wood burning stoves we try to read
by candlelight, wondering how to feed

On anything
that isn’t cake, or bread and cheese
or how to boil water for our teas

The luxury
of an old potato baked in the embers
(a boy scout’s trick my mind remembers)

Barely makes
a meal but is a change from more cold food:
stale bread, cheese with pickle slowly chewed

Deadlines pass
with no heat or glimmer of a friendly light
and then no power to warm my bed at night

Till suddenly,
hours before the last deadline, a sudden shock –
lights and heating are back in stock

Categories
Uncategorized

Available Titles

The following titles remain available:

The Dark Trilogy
When I Am Not Writing Poetry (short stories)
Mostly Welsh (early poems)
Book of the Spirit (poems)
Lost Time (poems)

Please let me know (via ‘Contact’ – top menu) if you have a problem with making payments through the site shop – alternatively use Amazon.

Thanks, Chris

Categories
Short Stories

The (Vanishing) Tenements Bus Stop

I have just discovered that the short story published in Storgy which was available on their web site is no longer accessible. It is available in When I Am Not Writing Poetry, but as it used to be available electronically – and it is very short – I thought that I would reproduce it here.

The Tenements Bus Stop

She told me she loved me. She whispered it. She breathed in my ear. She brushed my lips and breathed into my mouth. We hugged and she pressed against me. I could feel her body against mine. She kissed me and I found myself responding, my lips against hers. Briefly her tongue flickered and pushed into my mouth before withdrawing. Of course I told her I loved her and held her tightly, urgently. My hands exploring—daringly I thought, until her impatient hands moved mine. Her hands… quickly, she whispered. And then I saw it: we came out from behind the bus shelter and I boarded the bus back to Sauchiehall Street, to the stop outside the cafe where she worked—my photo has my number on the back, she had said and crossed the road to her Dad’s tenement block. So, we parted, I was still nineteen and still ignorant; I travelled back alone to rejoin my ship. I never saw Baillieston or her again.

Categories
Poetry

In Version Space

In the abyss
between language and meaning
the crease of intent
is shelved with
volumes bound in leather
each embossed
in gold

And when you
have selected,
dust, no… polish each
with the softest
white vapour;
care for the interstices
that lie between its words;
consider the colours
and shades of nuance;
search out the drifts
and shivers of significance—

do not embrace,
do not grasps greedily
but use them tenderly
feeling for the perfect edge
which, with great love of locution,
I honed. Only

then will you know my sense
and each allusion sense and sense
allusion

Categories
Essay

You have to wonder…

… about an algorithm that recommends your own book – the book that you have written – for you to buy!

How often are we told how clever are these algorithms? How they improve your online experience? Keep your children away from the stuff you wouldn’t want them to see?

I have an author page on Amazon and all of my books are linked to it. Wouldn’t you have thought that the algorithm would recognise the same name – Chris Armstrong – on both the product being recommended and the recipient of the recommendation… and if it was still in doubt, check for an author page for confirmation?

It doesn’t give me much hope for algorithms!

Categories
Poetry

Wishing…

Wishing everyone a peaceful Christmas and 2024.

I want to share this poem, recently posted on WriteOutLoud, by Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai, which was published in his 1971 collection Not for the Sake of Remembering, a few years after the 1967 Six-Day War, fought between Israel, Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. In 1994, Israel’s Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin shared the Nobel peace prize with Yasser Arafat, President of the Palestinian National Authority, and Israel’s foreign minister Shimon Peres. Amichai was invited to participate in the prizegiving ceremony, where he read this poem:

WILDPEACE

Not the peace of a cease-fire

not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,

but rather

as in the heart when the excitement is over

and you can talk only about a great weariness.

I know that I know how to kill, that makes me an adult.

And my son plays with a toy gun that knows

how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.

A peace

without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,

without words, without

the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be

light, floating, like lazy white foam.

A little rest for the wounds – who speaks of healing?

(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation

to the next, as in a relay race:

the baton never falls.)

Let it come

like wildflowers,

suddenly, because the field

must have it: wildpeace.

Yehuda Amichai

Translated by Chana Bloch