CHECKMATE

Taking a trip down memory lane brought me to Christmas 1982. I had just left my position in the Human Resources Department at an international oil company. At the time, the law stipulated that one had to resign at seven months pregnant. How to fill the days? One could only wash, cook, clean, and check the baby’s layout so many times. My husband was becoming rather short with me—he wanted to relax after a busy day at the office, while I craved conversation and mental stimulation.

Bless his cotton socks—he hit on the perfect solution: the Kasparov MK12 Chess Computer.

At first, I could not get through my daily chores fast enough, even ignoring telephone calls. I did not wish to be distracted. Moving through the levels of difficulty, I was regularly beating the computerised game at level 6. But level 7 (Master Level) proved to be more of a challenge; it also took a month of Sundays to respond to my moves—often up to fifteen minutes. It had a built-in tutorial function, as long as you only asked it pre-programmed questions. Where was the fun in that?

After my daughter was born (the subject of my poem A Child of Light), the computer chess game gathered dust at the top of the bedroom cupboard. I only rediscovered it a year later, when we were packing up to move to the new house we had built by the sea. It went into the ‘Games’ box and stayed there for many years. I eventually parted with it to help a friend who was suffering from depression—in effect, ‘rewiring his neurons’ and taking his mind off internalised anger.

Writing poetry has much the same effect on one’s mental wellbeing and has been used to alleviate clinical depression. It is especially beneficial in encouraging people to share traumatic experiences—things they cannot easily verbalise. When I served on the EXCO (Executive Committee) of the Somerset West Police Forum, we sometimes relied on unconventional methods to draw a response from victims of crime. Playing games or encouraging them to write a poem—however crude the composition—gave the psychologists on our team a point of entry to assist with the healing process.

Even today, I see poetry as a method of healing, a way to communicate with people (not only fellow poets), and to share a moment of triumph or a reason to rejoice. That is why a robot can never take the place of a human being—why reading AI-generated poetry does not resonate with me. Expecting me to read and judge contest entries that are clearly written by a bot adds insult to injury. No AI detectors are necessary, as some pieces rattle with echoes of my old computer chess set, which could not answer my questions.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is this:

I’m not out of moves— I’m just refusing to play a rigged game.

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