Wind chimes swaying in a gentle spring breeze, birds twittering in the trees. The scent of roses fills the air, the sound of lawn mowers a distant purr. Smell of hay warm and sweet, I long to feel it under my feet. but other people cut the grass, their garden gates I may not pass.
Young lady older man, is there love or a cunning plan? Middle aged man with younger girl, does love exist in this world? What thoughts pass through your heads, as you lie entwined in your bed? Girl are you there or far away? What holds you, makes you stay?
“Oh my darling man why worry? enjoy me while you can. Life is short, I am sweet. Give in to lust then let us sleep”.
Birds singing bringing to mind you, their song tearing my heart in two. Birdsong expressing what I can not express, my inadequate thoughts on life and death. Unaware of their own mortality, birds sing wild and free.
Hemlock
The girl approached Malcolm and taking his hand in hers intoned in a soft musical voice “Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love
with easeful death, called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, to take into the air my quiet breath; now more than ever seems it rich to die, to cease
upon the midnight with no pain, while thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad in such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain – to
thy high requiem become a sod”.
The audience, hard bitten venture capitalists all, gaped with wonder at this beautiful girl with her long blonde hair falling in cascades down her back,
at her deep blue eyes and her slender figure.
“OK Professor, the jokes over. Who is this young lady? What is her name?” asked the chairman of the board, Sir Steven Carter.
Professor Steel smiled indulgently and speaking in a manner which he usually reserved for his more obtuse students said “As I explained at the start of
this demonstration the lady you see before you is Becky the first ever truly intelligent robot. Becky is designed for the discerning gentleman, for the
man who wants to be around a beautiful and intelligent lady but who, for whatever reason is not in (or does not wish to be in) a relationship with a flesh
and blood female. Imagine the potential of this invention gentlemen. No more need for the man of means to wine and dine a girl, buy her expensive presents
and (god forbid actually marry her)! If you gentlemen can come up with the finance then your company will be world famous. Imagine being known as the firm
who launched the first ever artificial woman of culture!”
A hand was raised “Yes, the gentleman at the back of the room with the red tie and white shirt”. “Can she er … I mean can Becky do other things”. The Professor
smiled (he smiled a lot but the smile never reached his eyes), “Indeed she can. Becky has a very convincing set of female organs all of which are in perfect
working order. Even gentlemen of culture have their needs and Becky is designed to cater to your, sorry I mean their every whim”.
“I want one” said the chairman. “I’ve often wished to switch off my wife and now this robot has come along it is, at long last possible for me to do just
that”! Miss Mortimer the only female board member looked daggers at the chairman who vissibly shrank in his seat and coloured deeply, “I was only joking,
no offence meant” he mumbled turning as red as the curtains which flanked the stage on which the Professor stood.
Another hand was raised. It was that of Malcolm Fisher the journalist who had been the recipient of Becky’s attentions. “Yes Sir, the gentleman with the
press pass sitting in the front row”. “Isn’t there something sacrilegious about Becky?” “Sacrilegious, what do you mean?” Malcolm thought of Jane, of how
they’d walk for hours in the countryside. One day, as dusk was falling the song of a nightingale had reach their ears. Jane’s eyes had become moist and
turning to Malcolm she said “It’s to beautiful, I want to cry and she quoted those self-same words that that “thing” had just intoned. He’d taken Jane
in his arms and softly kissed away the tears from her gentle brown eyes. With a jolt Malcolm pulled himself back to the present, the Professor was staring
expectantly at him. “I don’t know how to put it accept to say that this invention seems to have crossed some line. Once we have crossed the Rubicon who
knows what will happen”. The Professor suppressed a sigh, “My dear sir man is but a machine. He takes in food to fuel his body and his very mind is but
a highly intricate mechanism for processing thoughts and emotions. Becky is a machine, why should not two machines come together. This invention will enhance
the sum of human happiness by enabling those who can not find (or do not want for whatever reason to find) a human companion and from the perspective of
you gentlemen it will to borrow a phrase mean “loads of money”!
“Well Professor we are certainly very interested in your invention. I’ll discuss it with the board but I’m sure that you will be hearing from us in the
very near future. Many thanks for your informative presentation” said the Chairman.
As he left the building those words of Keat’s popped into Malcolm’s head “As though of hemlock I had drunk”. “I need a drink” he thought turning his steps
in the direction of the nearest pub but perhaps not hemlock.
(The above story can be found in my collection of short stories, The First Time. For this and other stories in this collection please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00AIK0DD6 or http://www.amazon.com/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00AIK0DD6/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1363296273&sr=8-2&keywords=the+first+time+kevin+morris).
Purveyor of fantasies and lust without love you stand. Lonely men are tempted to forget themselves becoming lost in your barren land. Frantic couplings attempting to numb the pain, after lust the void returns again. Emptiness calls to emptiness, pain without end, no broken hearts in your arms can thee mend.
On Tuesday evening I had dinner with an old friend. During the meal I remarked how as I walked up the hill towards the restaurant the sound of birdsong filled the air. Listening to the song of the birds almost made me weep and yet I was unable to put into words why that should be so.
Several days later my friend sent me the below quote who’s origin I have been unable to trace. It expresses beautifully my feelings on that evening as I listened to birdsong on my way to meet my friend
“I walk a path after rain between trees.
I hear birdsong
And weep inside for something lost.”
I am not a huge fan of Dylan Thomas. I do, however love his poem Do Not Go Gentle and I was pleased to come across the poet reading his own poem on Youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g2cgcx-GJTQ&feature=em-subs_digest-vrecs.
Asian girl, like some beautiful caged bird, enmeshed in your mother’s world. Your voice never heard, beautiful Asian girl. Caught between two worlds, beautiful Asian girl. No veil covers your long black hair, beautiful Asian girl. Part of the west but constrained by a faith from another land, entangled in a religion which you only dimly understand. Are you happy in this world oh beautiful Asian girl?
What is it to be human? Surely one of the many and highly complex capacities which converge to form the human animal is our ability to create and appreciate art whether in the form of painting or literature. My dog has many admirable qualities but I’ve never seen him take down a book from my shelves and lose himself in it. No the ability to derive pleasure from literature and other high art is confined to we humans, or is it? Some proponents of artificial intelligence (the theory that we can create machines which equal or perhaps surpass us in intellectual capacities) contend that robots and computers will, one day possess the capability to understand and create high culture. Indeed the inventor and technological guru, Ray Kurzweil argues that machines will be able to create and comprehend art in precisely the same manner as we humans do. In the same way in which we can be moved to tears by a profound poem or other expression of artistic prowess so, in years to come will our artificial creations be moved to tears by the self-same cultural expressions.
In “Hemlock”, the final story in my collection of short stories, “The First Time” we are introduced to Becky, a robot who recites Keat’s Ode to a Nightingale with passion. She truly feels the beauty and sadness of Keat’s magnificent poem or does she? Perhaps Becky’s apparently genuine responses to Ode to a Nightingale are mere tricks stemming from clever computer programming. Becky is according to this perspective a mere shell with no thoughts and emotions of her own, she is in the true sense of the word a robot. However others would contend that we are all products of our genetic programming. Becky’s responses are therefore no more or less genuine than those of any other “programmed” creation whether of the biological or the non-biological variety. “If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck then it is a duck”, or is it? I will leave you, my readers to decide.
(For “Hemlock” and the other stories in “The First Time” by Kevin Morris please visit http://www.amazon.com/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00AIK0DD6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357854695&sr=8-1&keywords=the+first+time+kevin+morris. For John Keat’s Ode to a Nightingale please visit http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173744
A wonderful reading of Philip Larkin’s poem Aubade http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTSMH36tIQc
K Morris - Poet 