When I was a boy I felt that the role of rhyme in poetry was to compel me to find the unobvious because of the necessity of finding a word which rhymes. This forces novel associations and almost guarantees deviations from routine chains or trains of thought. It becomes paradoxically a sort of automatic mechanism of originality.
It's an interesting idea that Dennett ties back to the constraints of evolution and the (seeming) limitation that this causes on the possible paths in design space. Fascinatingly enough, after a bit of investigation into Ulam, it turns out he was the very man who developed and gave name to the Monte Carlo method! Math and poetry--I'm already smitten with him.
This morning also marked a return to an old favorite of mine, Petruska, which I haven't listened to for a long time. The enjoyment of immersing oneself into that piece never seems to diminish. It is not only a great work of art, but also a musical story, and the nuances and emotional fluctuations are captivating. What amazes me the most is the way in which Stravinsky takes two contrasting themes--often disjointed, like an upbeat major one with an eerie or bombastic minor one--and interweaves them. You are drawn in to one melody, enticed by its jovial light-heartedness, and suddenly something stirs in the background: a frustrated and inharmonious interjection (usually by a bassoon or oboe) that escalates into an entirely new temperament. The transitions, viewed in retrospect, are stark, but the way in which they evolve are astoundingly subtle. And that lone trumpet solo at the end? A perfect blend of majesty, sorrow, and hope.