Do You Prefer AI Poems or Poets?

A study in the journal Scientific Reports suggests readers like AI-generated poems more than those written by poets like Sylvia Plath and T.S. Eliot.

Nonexpert readers of poems from William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson and other famous writers often failed to distinguish between works created by the writers themselves and imitations that ChatGPT produced, according to a story on the study in the Washington Post.

Poetry may have seemed untouchable by AI, since the art form is known for vividly evoking uniquely human experiences. But readers who participated in the study said the AI-generated poems were more inspiring, meaningful, moving and profound.

A University of Virginia poetry professor says the reason might be a simple matter of taste.

“We all want very different things from verse,” said Lisa Russ Spaar, a professor of English and creative writing at UVA. “That’s why some people will go to the Hallmark card aisle, and they’ll find a sentiment there that really speaks to them. And other people will search for a poem with a different kind of complexity.”

Preferring one kind of poetry to another is pretty normal, Spaar said. It’s not necessarily a matter of the reader’s intelligence. In high school, for example, Spaar and her sisters each read T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” a sprawling poem referencing Sophocles, Shakespeare and the Buddha’s “Fire Sermon,” among other sources. Spaar loved it. Her sisters detested it.

“They’re both doctors now. These are very smart people, and they just didn’t like Eliot’s style,” Spaar said.

Candid of Lisa Spaar teaching a January-term poetry course

Lisa Russ Spaar teaches a January-term poetry course every year. She says AI isn’t capable of doing what human poets can. (Photo by Matt Riley, University Communications)

Some readers may prefer more “transparent” poetry, like, say, Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” but even those poems can be deceptive. Despite their simple language, close readers can tease out multiple layers of meaning.

Readers may have found human-written poems to be more convoluted than AI-generated poetry since they likely read the poems to themselves, rather than hearing them aloud. Spaar said sound and rhythm are critical parts of poetry.

“In its origins, poetry was not only oral, it was musical. In Old English, there’s a break in the middle of a line of poetry in which someone strikes a harp. It’s true of the oldest Greek poems, too, like ‘The Iliad’ or ‘The Odyssey,’” Spaar said.

If someone doesn’t hear a poem aloud, Spaar said, they may miss the music in a poem. It may also not be something AI pays attention to when it produces verse. Spaar recently taught a January-term poetry workshop, where she had students read each other’s work aloud.

“Having another poet cover your poem in a way allows you to hear things in it you wouldn’t otherwise,” Spaar said.

On the other hand, you might not notice the lack of music in an AI-generated poem if you read it silently.

AI is advancing rapidly, and its capacity to produce writing has grown significantly over the two years. But Spaar said human poets can do things AI simply can’t replicate. Since AI produces responses a logical order, it usually can’t surprise readers the way a human-written poem can, she said.

Inspiring A Profound Belief In The Future, to be great and good in all we do
Inspiring A Profound Belief In The Future, to be great and good in all we do

If a large-language model tried to predict what word should follow “quartz,” for example, it might refer to the crystal’s milky color. In Emily Dickinson’s poem “After great pain, a formal feeling comes,” Dickinson describes her depression as a “quartz contentment.”

“That’s the magic that can happen when humans draw connections that are figurative as well as literal,” Spaar said.

Spaar has avoided using AI in her poetic practice, but has colleagues who use it when they write. She mentioned a graduate student in poetry whose family survived the Holocaust and the Armenian genocide. The student writes about her family and uses AI to do historical or documentary work so she can write the poem. Other poets use it in experimental ways.

“In early email days, some experimental poets would use spam messages for their poems. … When there is a new technology, we try to embrace what it can do for us, and then be grateful human beings are still interested in creating original work,” Spaar said.

Spaar said she wasn’t worried about AI replacing the job of poets, or the function of poetry in poetry lovers’ lives.

“The point of poetry is to reach someone, and you do that by creating an experience for the reader that involves them. Poets ask, ‘So what?’ AI can’t do that,” Spaar said.

We were curious whether our readers could distinguish an AI-generated poem from one written by a human, so we asked Spaar for a couple of her favorite poems. We then asked Claude AI to write poems on the same subjects in each poet’s style. See if you can tell the difference.

Carrion Comfort

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man
In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, foot trod
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

When Darkness Parts

O heart, though heavy-hung with hurt that crowds
All light to shadow-shapes, that drags like lead
Through veins where hope seems fled—stay, stay instead;
For morning makes its way through mourning’s shrouds.
Look how the smallest sparrow, winter-worn,
Still grips its branch against the battling blast;
Each dawn declares that darkness cannot last,
Each breath births future moments yet unborn.
Christ’s comfort comes in colours: cardinal-bright
Against December’s grey; in tender green
Of spring’s first shoot that splits the soil unseen;
In stars that pierce the seeming-endless night.
This flesh, though fraught with grief’s too-heavy load,
Bears beauty yet—see how your hand can hold
A cup of tea, can touch a friend’s true care,
Can open like a flower to morning’s air.
Stay, stay! For you are needed, named, and known—
Each breath a bridge to better days unshown;
Your life’s wild lovely light cannot be priced,
Each moment’s mercy mirrors that of Christ.
Though storm-clouds sweep your spirit’s struggling sky,
Grace holds you here, and will not let you fly;
Your heart, though hurting, holds such gifts in store—
Stay, stay with us, and teach us how to soar.

We Real Cool

The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Street Lessons

These children read the concrete like a book—
Know which faces mean run, which mean look,
Which doors stay shut, which open into grace.
While sirens paint their music through this place,
They hopscotch over glass, play grown-up games,
And make the broken sidewalks speak their names.
Each evening brings the mothers to their doors,
While children dream their dreams of something more—
Of playgrounds built from rubble into gold,
Of futures fierce and free and uncontrolled.

Media Contact

Alice Berry

University News Associate Office of University Communications