Poetry

Some folks, including myself, find it difficult to understand poetry. A big part of it is sentence structure, which does not align closely to speech the way a novel does. Classical poetry conforms to rules and forms, but modern poetry, especially the free-verse kind, hardly does.

Another reason is missing context, the lack of knowledge of the circumstances surrounding a particular poem. When reading a single poem, we can feel as if we’re rushing into a story, not knowing how it began. To appreciate it requires knowing the author’s story and the events happening at the time of writing. A poem usually is a part of a collection, and it’s much more apprehensible when the entire book is taken into consideration. It was how classical poetry was read, usually in large volumes, depicting an epic saga that spanned multiple acts.

As a modern art form, modern poetry is less about telling heroic tales, but rather connecting at an emotional level. A single poem may speak to me personally, even if I may not know everything around it. If a poem connects emotionally, if there is depth to its story, if there is space for interpretation, then does it matter who wrote it?

Run time: 25.479312419891357
——————————————————————-

I know a man who wrote poetry and prose.
I read all the poems that were sung,

A pretty and clever little girl
a slender but delicate form
A sailor, the boat man, a prisoner
plenty of courage and determination as a man
he took the boat home to the poor girl
he took a leaf from the hedge,
put it in the tallow candle,
and tossing it in the air
with the little wax taper on the window-sill
“now I will have a tallow candle burning,” said he
The girl had to ride away
Indeed, he took her with him.

One day one of the ducklings sat down
listened and laughed and cried
“Tweet, tweet,” but nobody replied,
There was a swan, now he was a duckling,
with a large female figure
What a beautiful creature he would be,
if he only existed in the wild moor,
where the birds were singing and dancing.

The old lady bowed down
scouring the ground with her long hair,
“what can thou do with all this rubbish?”
then she went out and sat with the gnats,
while the little singing birds clucked,
“Wonderful creatures!” said the old lady,
“they are but scraps of gold.”
She took a leaf from the hedge,
put it in the tallow candle,
and tossing it in the air
with the little wax taper on the window-sill
the tallow candle burning,
and the little birds flew away.

——————————————————————-

seq length = 256; training input step = 3; prediction step = 256; epoch 15; 6 iterations
Input Text: In the garden all the apple-trees were in blossom. They had hastened to bring forth flowers before they got green leaves, and in the yard all the ducklings walked up and down, and the cat too: it basked in the sun and licked the sunshine from its own paws. And when one looked at the fields, how beautifully the corn stood and how green it shone, without comparison! and there was a twittering and a fluttering of all the little birds, as if the day were a great festival.
Output Text: a slender but delicate form, and looked as if it had been designed to be used by men. It was a great misfortune for so many people, and I am sure all those who have done so already know it. I know a story about a man who was a poet, and who wrote poetry and prose. It was a great misfortune for so many years, and I have had enough of it. I read all the poems that were sung and put into poetry, and then one day one of the ducklings sat down and listened. He was a sailor, and had to work hard to get through the day. But the ducklings only listened, and laughed, and cried, “Tweet, tweet,” but nobody replied, “I have had enough of them, and it is no use asking them to sing me songs. I have had enough of them,” and it seemed as if they were saying the same thing, but they were not so clever as the others. “In the hour of temptation it is very difficult to find one who has the least to lose.” Yes, there was a a swan, and now he was a duckling, with a large female figure, sitting in a row. The other ducklings looked on, and thought, “Oh, what a beautiful creature this little creature would be, if he only existed in the wild moor, where there were so many birds singing and dancing; and a pretty little girl was born, and that was a child, and a pretty one too, for she was clever and clever. The boy had learned to draw, and to draw: he had plenty of courage, and determination as a man, and determination as a woman can be. And the boy had to take the boat home to the poor girl; and, indeed, he had to take her with him, for she had plenty to live upon, and plenty to live upon. The girl had to ride away, and the misfortune of the world had arrived for her. The poor woman was ill, and the misfortune of her life was over. She had to take a hard walk, and the misfortune was over. At last she came to the place where one of the eldest of the the cock, “I have had enough of them,” said the cock; “I have had enough of them, and it is no use asking them to sing.” “Ah, but I have had enough of them,” said the cock; “I have had enough of them.” “You may have a betrothal, or something of the kind,” said the boy; “for sometimes I feel as if I were going to marry a cock; but no one appreciates what I say.” “I don’t understand,” said the cock; “I have only the best of it.” Then the girl wept, and said, “You are quite right; you are well off. You are well off. The temptation is very real, and I have had enough of it, for I have had enough of it.” Then the cock heard her say, “You are well off. You have the best of it, and you will be able to keep your word.” And the cock did not say anything at all, for he was not a cock; but the fact remains that the boatman, who was a prisoner, had given him permission to stay the cock, “I have had enough of them.” Then they went for a walk, and at last they met with a poor little bird who was singing a song on a bough. The other cocks were astonished at the crowing. “Ah, I have had enough of them,” said the old lady. “We will have a wedding this evening,” said the old lady. “The cocks will be quite silent; I have had enough of them.” And the cocks walked to the place where the wedding was to take place. They had plenty of food, and plenty of drink. The poor bird had, however, had had plenty to eat, and one of them sat and prayed, “Good morning,” and went away with the unfortunate child. “Now I will have a tallow candle burning,” said the boy. And the temptation was as great and as bitter as asking the question–“I should like to have a little lark, but I cannot. Then I thought of my own wedding, and the temptation was very much over. But I must have something to say, or I shall be married, for the cock, and he was puffed up, and held up the poor bird in his arms. Then he told her how he had had a great deal of success with the wedding, and that the old lady was very sorry for her. “But I must have something to say to make sure we are not lying in the wrong place.” “Will you tell us anything?” said the old lady, “for I have had enough of it.” Then she told them the whole story of the cocks, and of the gnats, which were all at home there. The wedding was to take place in the summer, and they were to have a feast. All the birds, excepting the cock, said, “They are all dead and dying; they are all dead and dying, and I will have nothing to eat or drink for myself either.” “Wonderful creatures!” said the old lady, “they are but scraps of gold. I shall have a wedding tonight,” and then she went out and sat with the gnats, while the little singing birds clucked, and the old lady bowed down to the ground. “W cock, “and the temptation is over.” And then they flew away, the tallow candle burning, and the little bird flew away. “Cluck, cluck,” cried the mother, scouring the ground with her long hair; “what can thou do with all this rubbish?” “I will have nothing to eat now,” said the cock, as he flew away. Then he had to take a leaf from the hedge, and to put it in the tallow candle, and tossing it in the air with the little wax taper on the window-sill. Then the lady forgot to take care of the poor bird, and made him sit and look at the dirty dishes, so she did not wish to make him lie in the wrong place. “Perhaps you may know,” said the old lady, “for I have had enough of it.” Then she made a noise at the door, and screamed as loud as she could, “We cannot sing, for I cannot sing.” Then she sounded in a gurgling sound of the sea-bird’s head, and cock