Words exist to communicate. Each one is a dense dollop of meaning flung from my mind to yours. That is the purpose of words. Why then do people write words without meaning? I’m talking here about a certain species of bad poetry – cryptic poetry. Words that are so indecipherable they communicate nothing. They fail as words. Why write them?
Dew of mist
All the butterflies are dead
Inject the soul with
Was that a poem? I created it by stringing random words together with a little syntactic glue. It has no purpose. It has no meaning. It is an empty shell of hollow words. This poem has meaning in the same way clouds have faces. Yet the internet is awash in this sort of cryptic meaningless poetry.
Why? A lack of skill? Some people out there do seem to think that merely putting words
Slap on top a belief that poetry must be about obscure personal emotions and out pops cryptically bad poetry. It’s like listening to someone talk in their sleep. We can’t join their dreams.
My heart aches
The cinnamon bun
Another possibility is a neurological problem. Serious. It’s called word salad. It’s a symptom of dementia, schizophrenia, and brain injury.
Windy hot mess, cloud blues;
A shelf lay fuschia,
In worlds with pencils.
I hope this is rather rare cause of bad poetry, but one can’t escape the resemblance.
However, incompetence and injury aside, to truly understand the popularity of cryptically bad poetry, I’m sorry to say this, we’re going to have to ask Deepak Chopra. Yes. Deepak Chopra. To be more precise, a random word generator with the uncanny ability to mimic a tweet by Deepak Chopra.
Can you guess which of these is the real Deepak, and which is the random Deepak machine? (The answers are at the end.)
“Reality is the consciousness that projects the illusion.”
“Formless Being is ultimate reality Liberation of Consciousness from Identification with Form through Non-reactivity.”
“Your consciousness is reborn in universal possibilities.”
“Self-power is the womb of total acceptance of abstract beauty.”
The Deepak machine was used in a 2015 study by psychologists from the University of Waterloo. It won science’s second highest honor after the Noble prizes (and all those other prizes) – the Ignoble Prize. The topic? It was titled “On the reception and detection of pseudo-profound bullshit.”
Bullshit. Pseudo-profound bullshit. That, I believe, is what we are dealing with here.
They define pseudo-profound bullshit as “seemingly impressive assertions that are presented as true and meaningful but are actually vacuous.” And they found that people will frequently rate a meaningless randomly generated buzzword sentence as profound. People buy bullshit.
Seeing how easy it is to write cryptically bad poetry by stringing together random words, I would say that it counts as pseudo-profound bullshit. It gives the impression of deep meaning without having any actual deep meaning.
So why is there so much bullshit poetry?
From the poet’s point of view bullshit emanates out of a desire to impress, to seem profound, to get clicks on the like button. As people will happily slurp up bullshit, you’ll seldom be challenged on the fact that all your poetry is empty nonsense. That, or you’re a random word generator.
Oh, spring forth
flying quantum space time of
From the readers point of view? We expect poetry to be profound, we are accustomed to it being difficult, and we intend to read it intuitively – souls wide open. We put ourselves in the optimal bullshit-absorption state. The expectation creates gullibility. The lack of confidence makes us confuse “I don’t get it” with “This is profound.” And the intuitiveness disarms our analytical firewalls. The bullshit slides right on down.
dancing on the minds
of this is bullshit!
Deeper Down the Rabbit-hole
Pennycook et al. (2015). On the reception and detection of pseudo-profound bullshit. Judgment and Decision Making, Vol. 10, No. 6. Here.
The Deepak tweet generator, www.wisdomofchopra.com.
(ANSWER: For the Deepak quotes, the first two are from Deepak’s twitter, the second two are randomly generated. How well did you do?)
© Under Obvious, 2017.