Don’t Judge a Poem by Its Title: Smucker’s Masterpiece

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When a voice I respect in the AP English Literature community suggested a poem titled “Please Use AI,” I sickened with disgust. How could a teacher of literature ever make such a nefarious recommendation? I said as much to my students this morning in my British Literature class. (We’re wrapping up Beowulf and I felt that a creature had come slinking up from the marshes to threaten all that is sacred in life and literature.) Wisely, one of my seniors suggested that perhaps the poem was meant to be ironic. I paused. So they really have been listening all year!

During our five minute break, I pulled up the email and followed the link (which I’ve provided below) to the poem written by fellow Pennsylvanian Shawn Smucker. I read the poem… And then I read it to the class… And the next class… And then I shared it with my colleagues. My student was right; I almost missed a masterpiece. Just reading Smucker’s Substack biography drew me in — a husband and father of six (like me), and a co-owner of a bookstore and gallery with his wife (I’m jealous)! As I commented on his Substack post, “It immediately reminded me of Wendell Berry’s ‘Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.’” But he more specifically put flesh to the current AI conundrum.

In respect for his original HUMAN work, I’m only reproducing the first stanza below. You need to follow the link to his original post to savor the whole work. It will be well worth your time and hopefully encourage you to stop seeking answers from AI and start seeking out your neighbors, your friends, and your loved ones, savoring every blessed imperfect moment and desirable discomfort that comes with being human.


Please Use AI
by Shawn Smucker*

Be sure to use AI when making
your next, I don’t know, meal plan,
for example. Definitely do not call
your friend who loves to cook and ask her
for her favorite recipes or tips or ways
to save time making meals,
because you will end
up talking for longer than you had hoped,
hearing, perhaps, about her father’s cancer
diagnosis or how lonely she’s been or even
what she’s planted in her spring
garden and then lost with the early frost.

And be sure to use AI when planning that next...

* Only the first stanza is presented here. Please head to Shawn Smucker’s Substack via the link for the entire poem.


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