Love and Tensor Algebra

from “The Cyberiad” by Stanislaw Lem:

Come, let us hasten to a higher plane,
Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn,
Their indices bedecked from one to n,
Commingled in an endless Markov chain!

Come, every frustum longs to be a cone,
And every vector dreams of matrices.
Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze:
It whispers of a more ergodic zone.

In Riemann, Hilbert or in Banach space
Let superscripts and subscripts go their ways.
Our asymptotes no longer out of phase,
We shall encounter, counting, face to face.

I’ll grant thee random access to my heart,
Thou’lt tell me all the constants of thy love;
And so we two shall all love’s lemmas prove,
And in our bound partition never part.

For what did Cauchy know, or Christoffel,
Or Fourier, or any Boole or Euler,
Wielding their compasses, their pens and rulers,
Of thy supernal sinusoidal spell?

Cancel me not–for what then shall remain?
Abscissas, some mantissas, modules, modes,
A root or two, a torus and a node:
The inverse of my verse, a null domain.

Ellipse of bliss, converge, O lips divine!
The product of our scalars is defined!
Cyberiad draws nigh, and the skew mind
Cuts capers like a happy haversine.

I see the eigenvalue in thine eye,
I hear the tender tensor in thy sigh.
Bernoulli would have been content to die,
Had he but known such a2 cos 2 phi!

17th Poet Laureate Announced

We have a new poet laureate, W.S. Merwin. Here is one of his:

Separation

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

and another:

Rain Light

All day the stars watch from long ago
my mother said I am going now
when you are alone you will be all right
whether or not you know you will know
look at the old house in the dawn rain
all the flowers are forms of water
the sun reminds them through a white cloud
touches the patchwork spread on the hill
the washed colors of the afterlife
that lived there long before you were born
see how they wake without a question
even though the whole world is burning

Lovely.

Alan Turing, Matt Harvey

here’s a toast to Alan Turing
born in harsher, darker times
who thought outside the container
and loved outside the lines
and so the code-breaker was broken
and we’re sorry
yes now the s-word has been spoken
the official conscience woken
– very carefully scripted but at least it’s not encrypted –
and the story does suggest
a part 2 to the Turing Test:
1. can machines behave like humans?
2. can we?

On the occasion of Britain’s PM apologizing for Turing’s treatment.

Wine, by Raymond Carver

 

Reading a life of Alexander the Great, Alexander

whose rough father, Philip, hired Aristotle to tutor

the young scion and warrior, to put some polish

on his smooth shoulders. Alexander who, later

on the campaign trail into Persia, carried a copy of

The Iliad in a velvet-lined box, he loved that book so

much. He loved to fight and drink, too.

I came to that place in the life where Alexander, after

a long night of carousing, a wine-drunk (the worst kind of drunk–

hangovers you don’t forget), threw the first brand

to start a fire that burned Persepolis, capital of the Persian Empire

(ancient even in Alexander’s day).

Razed it right to ground. Later, of course,

next morning–maybe even while the fire roared–he was

remorseful. But nothing like the remorse felt

the next evening when, during a disagreement that turned ugly

and, on Alexander’s part, overbearing, his face flushed

from too many bowls of uncut wine, Alexander rose drunkenly to his feet,

grabbed a spear and drove it through the breast

of his friend Cletus, who’d saved his life at Granicus.

 

For three days Alexander mourned. Wept. Refused food. “Refused

to see to his bodily needs.” He even promised

to give up wine forever.

(I’ve heard such promises and the lamentations that go with them.)

Needless to say, life for the army came to a full stop

as Alexander gave himself over to his grief.

But at the end of those three days, the fearsome heat

beginning to take its toll on the body of his dead friend,

Alexander was persuaded to take action. Pulling himself together

and leaving his tent, he took out his copy of Homer, untied it,

began to turn the pages. Finally he gave orders that the funeral

rites described for Patroklos be followed to the letter:

he wanted Cletus to have the biggest possible send-off.

And when the pyre was burning and the bowls of wine were

passed his way during the ceremony? Of course, what do you

think? Alexander drank his fill and passed

out. He had to be carried to his tent. He had to be lifted, to be put

into his bed.

Obama’s Inaugural Speech Wordle

I created a wordle of Obama’s speech:

Wordle: Text of President Barack Obama's inaugural address

Click the thumbnail to see it at full size.