Word: sonneteering
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...pick for 16th Poet Laureate Consultant last week, the poetry community went all atwitter. Mention the title "poet laureate" outside the poetry community, and you'll find it has an appeal that's, well, poetic. But even cognoscenti who can rattle off the rhyme scheme of a sonnet in their sleep might be hard pressed to answer the question: What exactly does the poet laureate...
...faster that software evolves, and the harder it gets to distinguish between people and computers, the faster CAPTCHAS have to change. They might soon involve identifying animals or listening to a sound file--anything computers aren't good at. (What's next? Tasting wine? Composing a sonnet?) Von Ahn is confident that the good guys are still ahead for now, but the point at which software can reliably read CAPTCHAS is probably as few as three to five years away...
...begins Rupert Brooke’s 1914 sonnet “Peace,” an expression of the Englishman’s wondering exultation at being presented with a worthy task—war service—after years of depression and dead-end soul-searching. Of course, Brooke died of septicemia en route to Gallipoli, and thus never had a chance to revise his opinions of war after experiencing the realities of modern combat. The sonnets of his acclaimed “1914” sequence were eventually discredited as hopelessly naïve and militaristic. But still...
...seems like getting to that last point by way of a largely forgotten 100-year-old sonnet is counterintuitive, bear with me, because it’s completely appropriate. Before this year began, I had no idea that I would be preparing to put myself before a class of middle schoolers and try to teach them math, of all things. As a person who stutters, the idea of teaching younger students was something that had never occurred to me, something that I would have said was simply beyond me. I went through Harvard with vague ideas of graduate school (while...
...weary distractions that might keep me from serving my future students most effectively. Like Brooke, I’m energized and motivated by the thought of my work before me. It is not a manic energy, but a steady welling that unfolds like the 14 lines of sonnet, assuring me that I can because I must...