Since I returned from my brief holiday hiatus, I put some thought into what would be the first post in Twenty Ten. I decided to go with a tool that's been around for a while, and one that has a great many applications outside of poetry. However its implications for creative work are what makes it particularly compelling to me.
Google Docs is a web-based document-processing product that's been around in some form since late 2006, but I'm routinely shocked by the number of people who've never heard of it or think it has no use to them. Docs is Google's ace in the whole when it comes to dealing with Microsoft's juggernaut Office product. And for those of you who regularly use Microsoft Office, Google Docs will look almost eerily familiar to you:
Showing posts with label google. Show all posts
Showing posts with label google. Show all posts
Follow-Up: Now Google Really IS Your Dictionary
Back in September, I wrote this article about the futility of subscription-based online dictionaries. I'd concluded by mentioning the fact that a simple search for a word does about as good a job providing a definition as any online dictionary does. Now, it seems that the folks at Google have to come to roughly the same conclusion.
Why Would Anyone Pay for a Dictionary?
Like never before, words and their definitions are incredibly easy to access through any number of free, exhaustive sources. So why would anyone, anywhere pay for an online dictionary?
Resistance is Futile: More Computer-Generated "Robot" Poetry
The "robot," which adds words taken from Google's indexed web pages to user-inputed words, is a simple tool that can help to break writer's block now and then. But Geoff Peters, the tool's creator, has expanded on the project with two websites that add value to his program.
The first of these is RobotPoetry.com, a sort of one-stop shop for all things related to the Google Poetry Robot. The most interesting part of this site is the poems that are actually read by computer-generated voices. Peters gives this great explanation of the project:
Of course, with the power of modern text-to-speech technology, it's pretty easy to get a computer to read a poem. But interestingly enough, each robot "voice" seems to take on a character and personality of its own, and it is sometimes pretty hard to shake the feeling that the robot might actually mean something.
This creeping feeling that computers themselves may be able to create, or simulate, what we humans call "meaning" is what makes this project so captivating. If you're used to poetry analysis, it's pretty natural to begin interpreting the poems and the readings as if they were written by an actual person.
And it could be argued that they actually are, since the robot needs human assistance, including at least some human word input, to make the poems. That leads us to another branch of the project: the Robot Poetry Blog. Anyone can submit their own robot poems as posts to the blog, and it boasts an impressive collection of work, reaching back to September of 2005.
Unfortunately, there have been no new submissions since April. If this kind of human-robot writing partnership piques your interest, then I suggest you get to work. After all, resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.
Find Your Equilibrium with Google-Powered Translation Party
To end the week on a lighter note, here's a very cool little tool that's sure to eat up your free time. It's called Translation Party, and it gives you a quick and easy way to perform a well-worn translation trick.
When you enter an English phrase into the site's box and hit "Find Equilibrium," the site will automatically translate your words [using Google's translation tool] into Japanese and back into English as many times as it takes until the Japanese and English match exactly. By the time the two phrases match, it's been turned into something quite different. The whole process is a bit like a game of bilingual telephone.
It works best with sentences or phrases that are out of the ordinary, so poetry provides the perfect fodder for a party. For my first Translation Party, I grabbed the book within nearest reach, which happened to be Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I entered a phrase from Ecclesiastes that is on the novel's first page: "...unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again." [The translator didn't recognize the word "whence," and I had to change it to "where."] This is what it came up with:
"Here, the intrusion of water from the river" isn't even close to the original phrase, but it's kind of interesting in its own way. My favorite example so far is when I entered "You got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them" from Kenny Rogers' The Gambler. I wound up with "I know the time to keep me," which is a pretty zen way to say the same thing.
Have fun with this tool! The possibilities for humor and insight are pretty much endless. Plus it really highlights issues with slippery signification: Derrida would be so proud.
When you enter an English phrase into the site's box and hit "Find Equilibrium," the site will automatically translate your words [using Google's translation tool] into Japanese and back into English as many times as it takes until the Japanese and English match exactly. By the time the two phrases match, it's been turned into something quite different. The whole process is a bit like a game of bilingual telephone.
It works best with sentences or phrases that are out of the ordinary, so poetry provides the perfect fodder for a party. For my first Translation Party, I grabbed the book within nearest reach, which happened to be Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I entered a phrase from Ecclesiastes that is on the novel's first page: "...unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again." [The translator didn't recognize the word "whence," and I had to change it to "where."] This is what it came up with:
Have fun with this tool! The possibilities for humor and insight are pretty much endless. Plus it really highlights issues with slippery signification: Derrida would be so proud.
Binary Poetry of All Kinds: 01010111 01001111 01010111!
Sometimes a search term can send you down a path you didn't expect. I set out this morning to find examples of poetry written in binary code. And though I did find some, I also found a larger body of binary-related work that's worth sharing.The first person to have seriously approached the concept of poetry in binary was Czech poet Ladislav Nebeský, who developed his particular technique between 1966-1972. A good example of this idea is the poem "light - dust". Nebeský used binary poetry as a jumping off point to explore poetry of what he calls "Non-written Words." I find his non-written word poems to be a little reminiscent of minimalist painting.
Of course, Nebeský wasn't the only one to think of writing poems in code. There are many less serious, more whimsical examples like this one. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the maxim works both ways: if poetry can be code, then surely Code is Poetry.
Now when I searched "binary poetry," I knew I wouldn't just get poems that were written in binary code, but also ones that simply involved two complimentary objects or forces. A good example is this one by Keith O'Connor about the colors white and black in painting.
Lastly, there were two things in my search that I didn't expect to find at all, but was delighted I did. One was a song by Ben Mono called "Binary Poetry" which has a catchy techno-inspired beat. Another was the Binary Poetry Flickr set, which features some pretty stunning black-and-white photography.
Who knew that a simple Google search for "binary poetry" could yield such diverse artistic results? If you know of any examples of binary-related art that I may have missed, please link to it in the comments. With any luck, this little voyage of discovery isn't over yet.
Waiter, there's Signal in my Noise!: Does Poetry Need a Message?
"Signal-to-noise ratio" is a term that the tech world has borrowed from electrical engineering. It refers to the clarity of all kinds of signals, i.e. to how much of the actual broadcast is getting through over the general noise. In tech circles, this refers to how much important information is getting through over all the useless information that's out there. Still awake? Stay with me: there's a point, I promise.
This has been a particularly helpful term for search. If you google "apple computer" for example, you want a list full of results about Steve Jobs' legendary company. If nine out of ten results are instead about calculators powered by fruit, then this particular search has an abysmally low signal-to-noise ratio. In search, in e-mail, on discussion forums, and on the internet in general, you always want high signal and low noise. You want those pictures from the wedding your mom sent you, not spam linking you to some spyware. You want to read comments from other people who like asparagus, not obnoxious trolls who only care about broccoli.
We're all generally looking for some sort of signal in the noise; we're searching for a thread of what we want in the gaudy tapestry of every day life. But there's one notable exception to all this: poetry. Poetry, and art more broadly, is often more about the noise than the signal. Many poems, though they include a message, are just as much about the raw language, the sound of the words, and the feelings derived from the experience of reading.
There's no poet that has illustrated this idea better than Lewis Carroll, whose poem "Jabberwocky" conveys feelings rather than a message, with words that don't really exist. You can dismiss this as a silly work intended for children, but I think it speaks to the role art plays in our collective consciousness. We almost obsessively search for signal amid the noise, but it is often those seemingly useless bits of noise that are the most beautiful parts of experience. And out of this beauty, more often than not, comes an even clearer signal and a more complete message.
Instead of thinking of signal and noise as diametrically opposed, maybe we should think of them as poetic partners, weaving together to give us a more complete artistic picture. When we try to send a clear signal, we inadvertently create a lot of noise, and when we make noise there is often at least a kernel of message. Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
This has been a particularly helpful term for search. If you google "apple computer" for example, you want a list full of results about Steve Jobs' legendary company. If nine out of ten results are instead about calculators powered by fruit, then this particular search has an abysmally low signal-to-noise ratio. In search, in e-mail, on discussion forums, and on the internet in general, you always want high signal and low noise. You want those pictures from the wedding your mom sent you, not spam linking you to some spyware. You want to read comments from other people who like asparagus, not obnoxious trolls who only care about broccoli.
We're all generally looking for some sort of signal in the noise; we're searching for a thread of what we want in the gaudy tapestry of every day life. But there's one notable exception to all this: poetry. Poetry, and art more broadly, is often more about the noise than the signal. Many poems, though they include a message, are just as much about the raw language, the sound of the words, and the feelings derived from the experience of reading.
There's no poet that has illustrated this idea better than Lewis Carroll, whose poem "Jabberwocky" conveys feelings rather than a message, with words that don't really exist. You can dismiss this as a silly work intended for children, but I think it speaks to the role art plays in our collective consciousness. We almost obsessively search for signal amid the noise, but it is often those seemingly useless bits of noise that are the most beautiful parts of experience. And out of this beauty, more often than not, comes an even clearer signal and a more complete message.
Instead of thinking of signal and noise as diametrically opposed, maybe we should think of them as poetic partners, weaving together to give us a more complete artistic picture. When we try to send a clear signal, we inadvertently create a lot of noise, and when we make noise there is often at least a kernel of message. Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
Google Poetry Robot
My apologies for the very late post: this week has been particularly difficult on my schedule.
Today’s offering is a very cool little search tool and writing aid: the Google Poetry Robot. First out in 2006 but consistently updated, this tool from Geoff Peters uses Google searches to suggest words for poems. You simply type in the line you’re stuck on, and the robot suggests a new word. Geoff offers a published example on the site:
Example poem “Here in Canada”:
Mooing is more than just Breathing.
Clucking is sooo out of date.
Laughing is Healthy and crying is ignored but why?
I believe breathing is illegal here in Canada.
Writing the right words is always welcomed graciously
but those who believe that human wisdom
can do away with nationalism and religious beliefs
are truly inspiring but severely deranged.-Geoff Peters and the Google Poetry Robot, 2006
Published in the May 2006 issue of High
Altitude Poetry.
He even offers an example in French as a demonstration that the bot works in other languages.
Now, I’ve used this a few times to varying effect. I highly recommend it if you’re completely stuck and need suggestions on filling in just one or two words in your poem. For writing a whole poem, I’m not so sure.
By typing in “In Xanadu” I can get the first line of Coleridge’s Kubla Khan through a series of clicks, but not too far beyond that. In entering lines of my own invention, I found that after the six or seventh click my choice of words became very limited and/or the same two or three choices kept coming up.
Though this may not be a perfect tool for writing a complete poem, give Google Poetry Robot a try for those times when you just can’t find that word that’s on the tip of your pen. I guarantee it’s a lot faster than frantically flipping through the dictionary.
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