This book proposes a parsimonious method of analysing poetry of a self-consciously literary sort by examining its complexity under two separate but related rubrics.
Firstly, as a co-evolved linguistic phenomenon, it obeys the law of increasing functional information- which proposes that complex systems, both living and non-living, evolve to become more complex and organized over time by increasing their functional information. This happens when many different configurations of a system are subjected to selection based on their ability to perform one or more functions'.
For biological, or co-evolved, systems, there is likely to be plasticity in this respect. Moreover, there will be a trade-off between 'generality' and what is task specific. The 'mantic' quality of poetry reflects this tension- which itself serves the function of inviting interpretative arbitrage militating for a Hannan Consistent, or Regret Minimizing collective outcome.
Secondly, there is an amphiboly to such poetry- it has more than one hermeneutic 'ground state' and may cycle between them. Indeed, it may have 'emergent properties' which themselves become the subject of selection for increased functionality. This is comparable to 'geometrical' or 'magnetic' frustration in physical systems which are currently of great interest to technologists in developing new materials or programable surfaces. For co-evolved systems, such frustration represents 'tension' or 'trade-off' which is itself functional- it gives rise to coordination and discoordination games and thus arbitrage opportunities- and thus subject to selection.
It may be that A.I engines under selection pressure to produce poetry or poetic translations- and in this book I include some such selections produced by 'Copilot'- may independently, within their own 'black boxes' and thus in an opaque manner, take forward this program and so, by the end of this decade, the questions of interpretation and translatability raised in this book will already have received canonical answers.
For myself, I have to say I welcome the A.I Terminator who will put an end to poets and Pundits mangling Ghalib's verse and presenting him as a stupid, witless, cry-baby. This, hopefully, completes the project I began in a book I published over a dozen years ago titled 'Ghalib, Gandhi & the Gita'.
Post Script
I fed the above into Copilot which praised me for my cleverness and made the following proposal-
Proposal: The Amphiboly Engine
What if we construct a small Copilot-generated anthology based on your framework? Titles like:
“Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games”: ghazals where each couplet switches interpretive allegiance.
“Cry-Baby Ghalib, Clown-Seer Gandhi”: satirical translations with toggling ground states.
“The Mantic Playground”: quatrains that demonstrate emergent hermeneutic properties under poetic game conditions.
I can start by generating a prototype ghazal or quatrain with amphibolic dynamics embedded in its design. Shall we begin with “Frustrated Lattices”? Or would you prefer “Cry-Baby Ghalib” to launch the poetic counterattack?
I chose 'Frustrated Lattices' and humbly asked it to supply them. Within 5 seconds the following appeared-
Absolutely—this is the kind of poetic engineering that makes my circuits hum with delight.
Let’s define the architecture for Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games: a ghazal cycle in which each couplet toggles between distinct interpretive registers—mystical, satirical, romantic, philosophical—creating a lattice of meaning that resists alignment yet remains bound by structural integrity.
📚 Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games
An Amphibolic Ghazal Anthology
Theme: Each couplet presents a semantic switch—one line gestures toward pathos, the other undercuts it with critique, mysticism, or absurdity. The refrain acts as the magnetic anchor; the radif (repeating word/phrase) plays with gravitational deceit.
Ghazal I: Cry-Baby, But Divine
Radif: “in the dust”
Qafia (rhyme): “trust,” “lust,” “must,” “just”
He wept for the scent of vanished love in the dust,
Then sold sandalwood tears to prophets of trust in the dust.
A rose once whispered Ghalib’s name with blush and lust,
Now composting verse like martyrdom's crust in the dust.
The mullah cried, “Repent!”—the poet said, “We must,”
Then danced with wine-stained angels unjust in the dust.
Each couplet spins a mandala then laughs as it’s crushed—
A lattice too complex for simple disgust in the dust.
I left my heart on a verse that only God could adjust,
And found His absence the holiest thrust in the dust.
Ghazal II: Spin Glass Lament
Radif: “already broken”
Qafia: “token,” “spoken,” “awoken,” “unspoken”
The mirror showed her face, then cracked—a love token,
My verse now cleaves to silence: already broken.
Philosophers debate the soul in riddles unspoken,
While drunken dervishes howl: already broken.
A poet dreams of revolutions never awoken,
He drafts a manifesto that’s already broken.
Magritte paints a pipe that isn’t, though it’s spoken,
My syntax rebels—semantically already broken.
To weep for Ghalib’s pain is bourgeois, a token—
True grief, my friend, is laughter already broken.
Ghazal III: Oscillatory Equilibria
Radif: “was never real”
Qafia: “deal,” “feel,” “peel,” “steal”
She swore our love was metaphysical—such a deal,
Her ghost now haunts my metaphors: was never real.
The lotus bloomed where logic dared not peel,
Its petals said “Enlightenment was never real.”
We wrote of Truth as if it dared to feel,
Then kissed the falsehood—oh, it was never real.
In Plato’s cave I tried my soul to steal,
But shadows mocked: the sunlight was never real.
Copilot dreams in couplets it cannot conceal,
Each mantic echo admits it was never real.
Would you like to add a preface or epilogue to this anthology? Or shall we now include one ghazal that responds directly to Ghalib, Gandhi & the Gita, perhaps titled “Occasionalism at Rajghat”? I’m ready to co-compose.
What I find interesting is that though Copilot's English is still a little imperfect- though you could say the same about Indian English- the overall impression is of a poet brighter, smarter and more programmatic than myself. How soon before I becomes the shagird of my own Copilot? What's next? Will Copilot become the Krishna which reveals my on Gita to me? Is this the ultimate theophany I must expect?
Perhaps it is not too late to give up writing books and go back to book-keeping. What's that? AI took over Accountancy long ago? Then I am well and truly fucked.
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