Like a few others I am signed up for the Middlebury Digital Detox and unsurprisingly the theme this year is generative AI (I’m also signed up for the TRU one – register now if you haven’t already). I’m loving the aesthetic of the site which to my eye retains the stripped down carbon-friendly approach that Tom Woodward showcased last year, but a few cool images have been allowed to slip in….

This year the approach is focussed on learning more about generative AI through engaging with a series of activities. I think the biggest shift that has occured in the last year is that AI has become something that the lay person can put their hands on and touch, and that’s sparked a different level of public discourse. Sadly that discourse about AI is dominated by generative AI and ChatGPT in particular, and I worry that a product has become emblematic of a technology class (again), but that aside, the opportunity to play and interrogate has changed the game. Of course that play also means giving your data and labour to these tools, so I also very much appreciate the thoughtful design approach that the team at Middlebuty have taken by including a “Nope” option – outlining ways in which you can still participate even if you don’t want to do the hands-on activities. That’s the kind of care centered approach one can expect from this team.

I read the task when the email first came through and had a look at some of the poems that others had generated.

They were, uhm, Not Good.

Of course none of the Digital Detox participants can be held responsible for such doggerel, that’s entirely on the AI authors. I was reminded of a biography of John Donne that I read last year that talks about Donne’s idiosyncratic verse style and the way later poets tried to tidy him up, believing that “good poetry” should have a certain structure and rhyme scheme.

(As an aside, I am rather too slavish in my adherence to the western canon I know, but surely I am afforded some grace by being smitten mostly with the weirdos?).

“But there are elements of each of us so particular, unwieldy, so without cliche, that it is necessary for each poet to invent his own language. It is necessary for us all to do so; owning one’s own language is not an optional extra. The human soul is so ruthlessly original; the only way to express the distinctive pitch of one’s own heart is for each of us to build our own way of using our voice. To read Donne is to be told: kill the desire to keep the accent and tone of the time. It is necessary to shake language until it will express our own distinctive hesitations, peculiarities, our own uncertain and never-quite-successful yearning towards beauty. Donne saves his most ruthless scorn for those who chew other wits’ fruit and shit out platitudes. Language, his poetry tells us, is a set, not of rules, but of possibilities.”  (Super-Infinite, by Katherine Rundell)

Part of the reason I was able to recall this section is because Katherine Rundell is such a phenomenally good writer herself. Phenomenally good. She writes about one of the most complicated men and the finest love poet England ever produced in a voice which is utterly her own. Her infectious wild enthusiasm for the subject has you turning the page before you’ve finished. I inhaled this book. My copy is a dog-eared mess full of paper receipts and other bag-debris because I carried it everywhere until it was devoured completely. (I’m sure “those who chew other wits’ fruit and shit out platitudes” might have made some kind of synaptic link with genAI at the time too). 

“To write about death in the way he did – to send a suction pump down into the gap between what we know and what we fear – was to risk chaos. Donne knew it and did it anyway.”

This is an Elizabethan lapsed Catholic soon-to-be-clergyman writing about suicide. The absence of punctuation in that last sentence, the lack of hesitation and the boldness it implies. Phew.

Enough fan-girling.

So this morning I decided I would actually get on and try out the activities for myself. I’m already registered with ChatGPT so that seemed to be an obvious starting point.

Write a poem for me about the historic Kingdon of Fife in Scotland, paying particular attention to important figures who were born there, and the unique historic features of the county.

In the Kingdom of Fife, where tales unfold,
A land of history, brave and bold.
Nestled in Scotland’s embrace so tight,
A kingdom renowned, in history’s light.

Upon its soil, where legends were sown,
Fife’s story woven, a tapestry known.
From ancient times, through battles and song,
A kingdom enduring, proud and strong.

In the shadow of Lomond, a beacon so high,
Fife’s landscapes beneath the Scottish sky.
Rolling hills and shores that kiss the sea,
A kingdom’s beauty, wild and free.

In Dunfermline’s towers, echoes arise,
A royal birthplace, where greatness lies.
Kingdom of Fife, with a regal birthright,
A cradle of kings, a realm taking flight.

From the waters of Forth to the Tay’s embrace,
Fife’s history unfolds, a captivating grace.
A tapestry woven with threads so fine,
In this kingdom, tales intertwine.

Brave Andrew Carnegie, a son of this soil,
A titan of industry, a man of toil.
Born in Dunfermline, where dreams took flight,
His legacy echoes through time’s endless night.

And in the realm of golf, where legends stride,
St. Andrews stands with historic pride.
A kingdom’s links, where golf was born,
In Fife’s embrace, a legacy sworn.

Through centuries past, where time has turned,
Fife’s stories whispered, its secrets earned.
A kingdom that echoes with valor and glee,
In the heart of Scotland, eternally free.

So, raise a toast to Fife, in joyous refrain,
Where history’s melodies forever sustain.
In this kingdom’s embrace, where legends abide,
Fife’s tale endures, an eternal guide.

Ugh. Rhyming couplets. Also golf and Andrew Carnegie with a bunch of boring padding waffle. I think we can do a bit better than that.

Not bad, but this poem is missing several important people from Fife including Adam Smith, Michael Scott, Alexander Selkirk, Jocky Wilson, and Johnny Cash. Can you rewrite and include them please?

In the Kingdom of Fife, where history breathes,
A tapestry rich with heroes and sheaves.
Beneath the Scottish sky, where dreams take flight,
Let’s delve into Fife, its story alight.

From ancient echoes to the modern breeze,
Fife’s tale unfolds with great expertise.
On shores kissed by the Forth’s gentle wave,
A kingdom of legends, brave and grave.

In Dunfermline’s towers, birthplace so grand,
A regal cradle where kings took their stand.
But among the notable figures in this domain,
Adam Smith emerges, in wisdom’s reign.

A mind of economics, a beacon so bright,
In Fife’s embrace, he shaped thought’s light.
From the Wealth of Nations, ideas cascade,
A legacy etched in each economic trade.

Michael Scott, a polymath’s embrace,
A wizard of words, in a literary space.
From Balwearie’s realm to the realms beyond,
Fife’s wizardry whispers, a magic bond.

On the shores of Fife, where the waters play,
Alexander Selkirk’s castaway stay.
Inspiring the tale of Robinson Crusoe’s lore,
Fife’s seafaring spirit forevermore.

Jocky Wilson, a dartsman’s delight,
In Kirkcaldy’s heartbeat, he took flight.
Bullseyes and cheers in the kingdom’s inn,
Fife’s sporting legend, a triumph to win.

And in the realm of music, a note so brash,
Johnny Cash echoes in Fife’s soulful clash.
A touch of Americana in this Scottish domain,
A musical bridge that shall ever remain.

So, raise a glass to Fife, its stories untold,
Of thinkers and wizards, of the brave and the bold.
In this kingdom’s embrace, where legends unite,
Fife’s symphony plays, in history’s light.

Okay, we dropped Carnegie and golf like hot potatoes then. Seems a bit harsh. The Johnny Cash reference is niche and it managed to cope, so I wanted to see if we could sharpen that a bit. How accurate and specific can we get it to be?

Review this poem and be more specific about where in Fife Johnny Cash is remembered.

In the Kingdom of Fife, where history unfurls,
A tapestry rich with Fife’s sons and its pearls.
Beneath the Scottish sky, where dreams take flight,
Let’s delve into Fife, its story alight.

In Dunfermline’s towers, where kings did rise,
A regal cradle, where power lies.
Adam Smith’s wisdom in the air,
Economics born with meticulous care.

Michael Scott’s magic, Balwearie’s embrace,
A literary wizard, in a mystical space.
Selkirk’s shores, where castaways play,
Crusoe’s tale in Fife’s whispers sway.

Jocky Wilson’s darts, a Kirkcaldy’s delight,
Bullseyes and cheers, in the kingdom’s night.
But in Rosyth’s echoes, a different sound,
Johnny Cash’s presence, deeply profound.

For in the heart of Fife, at the naval base,
The Man in Black left an indelible trace.
A concert held for sailors, a memorable night,
Fife’s own rendezvous with Johnny Cash’s light.

So, raise a glass to Fife, where stories are spun,
In Dunfermline’s towers, under the Scottish sun.
In Rosyth’s shadow, where Johnny Cash strummed,
Fife’s melodies linger, in history, hummed.

So now I am starting to giggle. ChatGPT has completely made up a Johnny Cash gig at the Rosyth Naval Dockyard. I am imagining something akin to the Folsom / San Quentin gigs, with rough-as-fuck welders and platers and all the cheers in the same places. I think the album cover for this gig is going to be something to try for in the AI art activity coming in a couple of weeks.

For those that care to know, the Johnny Cash link is with the royal burgh of Falkland. I remember Falkland vividly from childhood. Family excursions to Mary’s royal palace, and drinking ginger beer in the pub with my birth father after coming down from a day in the Lomonds. There is a Falkland close to where I used to live in British Columbia too. What it lacks in cosy howffs and royal palaces with indoor tennis courts, it makes up for in old style bars and stampede grounds.

So, given I started thinking about this assignment with John Donne and his refusal to be boxed into accepted stylistic conventions, let’s see if we can break ChatGPT out of this dreadful coupling dirge. Even it must be getting bored, because we’ve dropped 3 verses in that last run.

Imagine you were John Donne and rewrite the poem in his style

In Fife’s dominion, where time’s currents sweep,
A tapestry woven, secrets to keep.
Beneath the northern skies, where dreams entwine,
Let’s explore Fife’s realm in verses divine.

In Dunfermline’s spires, regal echoes toll,
A cradle of kings, where stories enroll.
Adam Smith, in wisdom’s sanctum, arrayed,
Economic doctrines, a serenade.

Michael Scott, the literary alchemist’s spell,
In Balwearie’s embrace, his verses swell.
Selkirk’s shore, where solitude contends,
Crusoe’s saga, on Fife’s shores transcends.

Jocky Wilson’s darts, in Kirkcaldy’s repose,
Bullseyes and cheers, where passion flows.
Yet in Rosyth’s embrace, where waters clash,
Johnny Cash’s resonance, a soulful splash.

For in Fife’s heart, at the naval domain,
The Man in Black left an indelible stain.
Concert melodies in naval night,
Fife’s own dance with Johnny Cash’s light.

So, raise a quill to Fife, where history’s spun,
In Dunfermline’s alcove, beneath the northern sun.
In Rosyth’s cadence, where Cash’s verses thrum,
Fife’s eternal sonnet, history’s drum.

Dear reader, I lost it when I read this. I truly did. Whilst holding on to the rhyming couplets for grim death, ChatGPT is not afraid to embrace Donne’s evocation of the physical; of the bawdy and the body. We have the clever interplay of “heart/naval” and with “indelible stain” is revealed the grim truth that The Man in Black shat himself performing in Rosyth. Honestly, not surprising. He wouldn’t be the first.

I’m intrigued now and decided I wanted to try run the same prompts through another model and see what it produced. So I registered for Claude and gave the same thing a try:

Write a poem for me about the historic Kingdon of Fife in Scotland, paying particular attention to important figures who were born there, and the unique historic features of the county.

Here is a poem about the historic Kingdom of Fife in Scotland:

Ode to Fife

On Scotland’s eastern coast there lies,
The ancient Kingdom of Fife,
With rolling hills and fishing ports,
Its history runs rife.

Great leaders rose in Fifeshire,
Like Douglas, Bruce, and Balfour,
Who helped shape Scotland’s destiny,
Through struggle and power.

The Pictish kings in Fife did reign,
In hillforts on the Sidlaws,
While pilgrims trekked to St Andrews,
The home of golf and God’s laws.

From coast to Ochil’s wooded hills,
To Lomond’s stands of beech,
Fife’s beauty and rich heritage,
Are treasures free for all to reach.

So let us celebrate this land,
That nurtured Scotia’s fate,
May Fife endure and still inspire,
As long as winds do gait.

An “ode” you say? Fancy…and my head hurts a little less from being relentlessly beaten with rhyming couplets.

More golf, nice nod to the fishing fleets, but the Sidlaws are not in Fife. They’re further north. I appreciate the recognition of Fife’s role in Scotland’s fate though. When Alexander III tossed himself off a horse in the dead of night round Kinghorn in 1286 it did unleash a brutal fight for control of Scotland, and an even more brutal re-imagining of the same at the hands of Mel Gibson centuries later. I’m glad Christophe Lambert thought to save that wig from Highlander and pass it on.

Not bad, but this poem is missing several important people from Fife including Adam Smith, Michael Scott, Alexander Selkirk, Jocky Wilson, and Johnny Cash. Can you rewrite and include them please?

Here is an updated version including those additional figures:

Ode to Fife

On Scotland’s eastern coast there lies,
The ancient Kingdom of Fife,
With rolling hills and fishing ports,
Its history runs rife.

Great leaders rose in Fifeshire,
Like Douglas, Bruce, and Balfour,
Who helped shape Scotland’s destiny,
Through struggle and power.

Where Adam Smith penned wealth’s creation,
And Michael Scott worked magic’s arts,
While Selkirk inspired old Robinson,
With tales from sailors’ hearts.

Jocky Wilson threw the arrows,
As Pool of Menteith’s mist did swirl,
And Johnny Cash strolled the streets of Culross,
His songs rocked Fife’s ancient world.

The Pictish kings in Fife did reign,
In hillforts on the Sidlaws,
While pilgrims trekked to St Andrews,
The home of golf and God’s laws.

From coast to Ochil’s wooded hills,
To Lomond’s stands of beech,
Fife’s beauty and rich heritage,
Are treasures free for all to reach.

So let us celebrate this land,
That nurtured Scotia’s fate,
May Fife endure and still inspire,
As long as winds do gait.

Okay, we’re sticking with the Sidlaw’s nonsense still. Pool of Menteith? Where’s that then? Jocky Wilson was squarely from Kirkcaldy. Only a man from the Lang Toon could get so heinously hammered whilst playing a championship match on the telly that he fell off the stage. And now we’ve got Johnny Cash in Culross. Close to Rosyth I’ll grant you, but though it’s another notable Royal Burgh with a palace, it’s not Falkland.

Review this poem and be more specific about where in Fife Johnny Cash is remembered.

You’re right, I should be more specific about Johnny Cash’s connection to Fife. Here’s an updated version:

Ode to Fife

On Scotland’s eastern coast there lies,
The ancient Kingdom of Fife,
With rolling hills and fishing ports,
Its history runs rife.

Great leaders rose in Fifeshire,
Like Douglas, Bruce, and Balfour,
Who helped shape Scotland’s destiny,
Through struggle and power.

Where Adam Smith penned wealth’s creation,
And Michael Scott worked magic’s arts,
While Selkirk inspired old Robinson,
With tales from sailors’ hearts.

Jocky Wilson threw the arrows,
As Pool of Menteith’s mist did swirl,
And Johnny Cash strolled Culross’s streets,
His songs rocked its ancient world.

The Pictish kings in Fife did reign,
In hillforts on the Sidlaws,
While pilgrims trekked to St Andrews,
The home of golf and God’s laws.

From coast to Ochil’s wooded hills,
To Lomond’s stands of beech,
Fife’s beauty and rich heritage,
Are treasures free for all to reach.

So let us celebrate this land,
That nurtured Scotia’s fate,
May Fife endure and still inspire,
As long as winds do gait.

In general it seems that Claude sticks much more closely to the original poem, making smaller tweaks along the way. It added 2 extra verses when I asked it to add in additional people, but unlike ChatGPT kept a fair bit of the original content too.

Okay, we’re tired now. Let’s get this Donne up good.

Imagine you were John Donne and rewrite the poem in his style

Here is my attempt to rewrite the poem in the style of John Donne:

Kingdom of Fife

Ask not for whom the Fife bell tolls,
It tolls for all in Scotia’s realm.
From coast to Ochils’ wooded knolls,
This sceptered land, a diadem.

Rolling hills and ports abound,
Where briney waves do crash and roar,
And nimble feet tread golfing ground,
On Saint Andrews’ ancient shore.

Douglas, Bruce, and Balfour too,
All rose like lions from this place,
Smith, Scott, Selkirk – a learned crew,
Each left their immortal trace.

Pictish kings in hillforts reigned,
As pilgrims marched to shrines in droves,
And Culross alleys entertained,
The Man in Black with baritone throes.

Fife’s rich tapestry interwoven,
With characters now passed beyond,
Yet still they shape the lifeblood flowing,
Through this storied kingdom’s heart and bond.

No man’s an island entire of itself,
Fife’s heritage makes Scotland great.
Lands ebb and flow, endure times’ stealth,
Yet history will not dissipate.

The odious ode has gone, but the stink remains.

In both examples when I pressed them to try Donne’s style they couldn’t break out of their idea of what a poem should be (Alexander Pope would be so pleased) but both tried to imitate something of the linguistic style. In ChatGPT there was some interesting interplay of words but Claude seems clumsier – going for the ol’ “no man is an island” cliche (amongst many others). However, it does deploy it in a way that makes semantic sense (Fife’s place in Scotland’s larger history) and that’s sort of impressive.

I’ve leave you with the final product of each side by side, for your own critical analysis and dissection, and remember kiddos:

“It is the essence of imaginative culture that it transcends the limits of both the naturally possible and of the morally acceptable” (Anatomy of Criticism, by yer old pal and fine Canadian, Northrop Frye)

 

(Image by Andrew Bowden via Flickr CC BY-SA 2.0 DEED https://www.flickr.com/photos/bods/5425625649/in/photostream/)

(Image by Andrew Bowden via Flickr CC BY-SA 2.0 DEED https://www.flickr.com/photos/bods/5425625649/in/photostream/)