Top Posts Tagged with #metermap

David Foster Wallace + Dr. Seuss

MeterMap | Select clauses from the complete works of David Foster Wallace, mapped to the meter of Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss

The mug has a hair-thin brown crack down one side, A skinny dog at his side, half in profile. According to Taylor's use of the word can, And his thoughts had drifted all over the place, Bent over and felt the wet grass with his hand. But I don't really know anything about it. I'm not sure whether they're called hoofs or feet on swine. Handcuffed to the corpse of his malevolent foe, Since for him it would be at worst somewhat dull. His legs look like he's about to wet himself. It seemed like it had to have been a bad sign, Often I was forced to avert my eyes from him, So fiercely as to incline us to say 'false.' According to Taylor's use of the word can, But I don't really know anything about it. The kind you have to convert and cook up yourself, Is identical to those worst dreams' form itself: Would refute fatalism with respect to the past, Or between false and self-contradictory ones, He spoke very little, just sat up with me. The bad ankle hasn't ached once this whole year. The mist of the pool's too-clean smell is in your eyes; This is awful news.' Instead of getting sick, Needs something to make himself dark, in the game. But that's not what I mean by driving the scene. Feminine past participle of dare, That either Q or Q must fail to occur. Would refute fatalism with respect to the past, Taylor has not engaged in linguistic reform. He kept asking them what they were afraid of. For just three weeks' rental of anything foreign. Though it's hard to figure out just what they're doing, And the burly guys manning the road's barricades. That either Q or Q must fail to occur. He'd mentioned the child-actor's name over and over. The sort of man who stands in one place all day. But born in the hated-by-you Ottawa, You are merely going with some cosmic flow. You are merely going with some cosmic flow. He talks on the phone at the office a lot. He spoke very little, just sat up with me. His police lock protruding into empty air, Mutton stuffed with foie gras, double chocolate rum cake. What matters, alas, is what this eros wrought. He kept asking them what they were afraid of. It seemed like it had to have been a bad sign, You just sit there and listen as hard as you can, I wouldn't want to go overboard with this thing, The whine of no real sleep for maybe five days, I could tell just by looking you weren't happy. Can we talk about it before you react? She's coming to Cleveland next Friday, it says. It's just before serious harvesting starts, Is there anything to say on this subject? Which at this age isn't that far behind them.' Though it's hard to figure out just what they're doing, You can tell it's spooky down here in the summer, The chasm he opened between her and I. You don't want her facial reaction described. He spoke very little, just sat up with me. And it rolls down the floor of the subway, The dead fields' total snow like a well-ironed sheet, The sense is ever so slightly sad. Because I allegedly have a disease? Because I allegedly have a disease? I don't really drink alcoholic stuff much, We've been at it maybe an hour and half, I go Fucking hang up on me why don't you, And apologized for interrupting his work, Hard dangerous spirals of brittle black hair.

#dr. seuss #yertle the turtle #david foster wallace #metermap #computational creative writing #code poetry #code #poetry #computer generated #vox machinarum #meter #dfw #computational #poem

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William Faulkner + The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot

MeterMap | Select clauses from the complete works of William Faulkner, mapped to the meter of The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot

Sixty dollars is the wrong figure. Too bad you didn't get here sooner Delicate and expensive-looking, For it was worst then. Answered Lowe with slow patronage Groping along the cold bottom. Lying like the cast of spent flotsam along the fence And you didn't believe it then either. Across his vest ran a heavy silver watch chain. This is the worst run war I ever seen The moon stood pale and cold overhead, And I stood there waiting to be sick The disturbing I have done him, She had been sitting ever since on the veranda This is the worst run war I ever seen Too bad it wasn't me instead of him Nor would the tree be quite green yet here either The faint glow of the lantern beyond the plank-joints, And indeed he kept an office upstairs above the Square And a few of these were from southern Negroes So that's why you are afraid of me? Winged serenely by two dark wings of hair As he came out of the woods and approached it, It was not that it might already be too late; But this time he waited and it came to him: It would be serious for the other one I am sick and tired of men. But she will have to be white a little while longer. He wished vaguely that he were fat like Jones Getting down slow from that strange wagon, Now the blind woman's voice was silken, Bellowing slowly with each expiration Saved a walk up here in the cold. It seemed to have become unbearably dirty Though denial would have done him no good, It was with a grudging admiration That Tom-Tom's home had been outraged, And very sick at the stomach Out of the rank twilight of the room the eyes, A glimpse like the forefront of a tornado Nobody cares whether you are afraid or not We had not heard her behind us yet there she was And you thought that it was broken. Men went home to eat and rest a little perhaps, With a long bloody gash across its face. Does your face hurt very bad now And as cruel Facing the cold now empty fireplace Her voice was cold and steady as oil flowing. I think we are all tired of your party Some casual gesture to perform. And that when it did fail and they were caught, Shrill voices ride the storm like gusty birds, Maybe he's still got the other one with him, Who could have been his sister if he had a sister, He read to us and I anyway listened, Why didn't you tell him how bad off he was He felt a shocking surge and fall of blood Came up and touched its cold nose to his hand They can take it out of your worthless hide The man was bundled too against the cold, Had wagered merely his milieu And she began to chant in faint sing-song: The random blowing of the fireflies

Am sad beneath this autumn sky, This is the worst run war I ever seen Which are so tragic to children Maybe he thinks she is sick You're just as bad The glance rapid and cold It's too bad she ain't got but the one gallon, Bleak in a rank garden Grim With Peabody's team hitched on to the back of the wagon Grimly. Devastating I'll learn you to hate two things, We was afraid we would have to break in a new one. Grim, He is terrible; Ruthless quality, I'd hate to have my face freeze like this I could almost see him stopped behind a bush That is why I say that this way is a bad way. She was an awful goof The cold pipe in his hand. The snow had ceased and it was quite cold. And he too stupid to read it But for a long while I was too tired to sleep, Cruel fate may part us But just remember that Texas is a wide place, He had to go to that one when he wasn't but nineteen Why didn't you tell him how bad off he was One of them bit him pretty badly one day Do you know where I could go if I get sick? And as soon as they learned English they would find it and So that the exhaustion did not seem to possess him, Because I have learned this at least during these four years I dumb up there myself and looked at that float It's got to where my wife no longer dares leave her bedroom, Cruel fate may part us But then I thought how she must have been too sick to write Only I was afraid Sam would say, Who don't have enough of them left now to waste one sleeping Then they could chase her all day long if they wanted to, A banal and evil man But at least he was not hollering at him, Do you know where I could go if I get sick? He bought twenty packages just before we left town, Not even calling it bad luck Popeye's hand appeared to flick a small flame out of thin air Whose face showed only that he was at least sixty Cruel fate may part us, Then he turned his head and put his hand to the gear lever Cruel fate may part us, Cruel fate may part us, He said that the Man was not very glad to see Doom Working with the broken blade at the latch, Standing in his little island of isolation Just should have been except that we failed them Beyond the flat one-storey border of the river Since previous to his elevation to grace, The caller put on his hat slowly Down the trunk and then turn and dart back up again Just should have been except that we failed them. Or at least was afraid he might have meant or mean? It was too late and the hound too was gone And elevated high enough in French rank to do it And here he clung beside the placid Jenny Nothing of speed and bottom like the hard, But there is water in a monkey's cage, Scrambling up the steep rank levee side The other three had open knives in their hands He felt a shocking surge and fall of blood; Her face swollen and puffed again with crying. Like the dark itself had fallen down on us, It can't be as bad as I think it is And he lay for a time in his hard bed, Little Belle showed her Horace's bouquet, Feeding him none of those sorry reasons And even ruthless As though by vicious calculation If you must hate someone And as cruel Facing the cold now empty fireplace His pale gaze apoplectic and outraged. He started throwing negroes overboard With her sullen defiant secret watchful face Not of reproach and no longer even of surprise Jenny answered something vaguely. Just should have been except that we failed them. After the bleak and brutal way of him. A meager clump of mourners pass He sounded like a cricket in the grass Against the sky ahead the massed telephone lines run, Turning upon him his shy startled gaze. The stupid vanity of a man They crouched together in the dusty road Hers was an awkward speed that cost them points, Was going to be an unpleasant one, Forcing them with ruthless kindness to relax. Her voice was cold and steady as oil flowing Across stoops littered with spent firecrackers. With a long bloody gash across its face The random blowing of the fireflies It happened in the middle of the square Advancing slow and irresistible And she began to chant in faint sing-song: It is too bad she fainted yesterday The random blowing of the fireflies. He sounded like a cricket in the grass, Stirring the limp curtains before the window A pointer that's just

Am sad beneath this autumn sky And she began to chant in faint sing-song: Then he went and lay down in the swing This was not our usual meeting place. Just should have been except that we failed them. For all ye individually homeless, But of grim and furious outrage It seemed to have become unbearably dirty. Flashlights glared and winked along the base, If I were evil, The eyes bleak, You're just as bad! And even ruthless Outrageous And grief, Beneath the dreadful scar At times Johnny was worse than a movie Boring and chafing The nurse said grimly. I hate to see a brother-in-arms, At the filthy raked swaggering peaked cap I'll learn you to hate two things, This time as 'too shocking. I hated to put it down even to sleep They could see him half running back toward the orchard She must have sounded quite crazy to him Let me tell you something about our Quarter, I'd hate for my daughter to belong to him Too bad you must hurry away. Which are so tragic to children Me with a fancied disappointment! I merely made a civil inquiry. Dropping the broken branch and extending her arms. Devastating. In decorous half-completed sentences And even ruthless And grief And Uncle Gavin said he did look cold, The hidden bottle cold against his feet Rusted among rank weeds. The man was bundled too against the cold And they looked down and there was Dicky, Like the breathing or the need of ammunition. In our time for the implicated, And remind that nigger to feed early Watching the other's gouty painful movement Had passed beyond the iron gates in the steel fence. I can't fly Camels in the daytime, If you must hate someone. Streaming away from us in slow whorls. But he is afraid of living Vicious shape With a sort of desperate outrage, And very sick at the stomach; He answered grimly. Grim He one sick man in dis world The stranger made another violent movement, We had just come down a hill onto a flat, That of the gray gorgon wife cold and level Too He could feel his moral fibre disintegrating. We can begin to distinguish individuals, Beneath the dreadful scar. Grim Probably more likely to be evil, Each of which begins with a small letter Gasping at the shock of the icy water Grim, Nancy got a wet rag and wiped Jason's face, The floats moved past with an air esoteric Having beaten him in patience and courtesy Bloody coat and all With vicious coral nails, With the others on a rope behind him Cold tone as if he had never spoken Sitting for long afternoons shut away by the close, We happen to know that the man is guilty.

#metermap #code poetry #code #poetry #poem #the wasteland #t.s. eliot #william faulkner #vox machinarum #computational creative writing #creative writing #fiction #meter #computer generated

MeterMap

MeterMap maps clauses from a text corpus onto the metrical structure of a poem.

The software works by parsing every clause and sentence in the input corpus for meter using the CMU Pronouncing Dictionary, parsing every line in the poem, and then finding clauses from the input corpus that match the meter of each line in the poem.

Using the Pattern library's sentiment analysis tool, clauses can be selected based on sentiment to create moody negative poems, uplifting positive ones, or anything in between. You can even cycle back and forth between positive and negative sentiment.

Rhyming tools are included as well, although that part of the software especially remains a work in progress.

The software works best with a large text corpus to draw clauses from, and a file containing the complete works of Charles Dickens is included in the GitHub repo.

#code poetry #poetry #metermap #vox machinarum #computational creative writing #creative writing #fiction #meter #poem #computer generated