In the past, we always thought that creativity was the line that distinguished humans from artificial intelligence (AI), but as AI continues to advance, this line is beginning to blur, and people’s concerns are gradually coming to the fore: will AI work alongside humans, or will it eventually surpass them?
Xiaoice is an artificial intelligence chatbot launched in China in 2014. Through the integrated use of algorithms, cloud computing and big data, it has developed into a comprehensive AI system with a focus on emotional intelligence (EQ). Having read thousands of works by 519 poets and undergone 10,000 hours of training, it can compose poetry based on images within seven seconds and has developed its own distinctive creative style. It has also published works under the pen name ‘Xia Yu Bing’ on multiple platforms, without being recognised as an artificial intelligence. In 2017, it published its first poetry collection, Sunlight Lost the Glass Window. Here is an excerpt from one of the poems for you.
You are a sufferer in the human world
The isolation is from the blue-green of precipices and deep ravines
Loneliness stretches into infinite emptiness
I am in love with my youth
You are the world, you keep its principle
Dream is on the cliff, an expanse of azure sky
The night of loneliness is already like a precious star of flame
You are a sufferer in the human world
It said it is a quiet leisure of fallen flowers
I also entered a prompt into Gemini-2.5 Pro, asking it to generate a poem: "You are a modern poet with ten years" experience. Please write a modern sonnet about translation, using the word “翻悅 (Chinese name of Transfeed, which means Translating joy)” as your inspiration.’
Translating joy
I pace outside a room in a foreign land,
where the rhythm is a heartbeat, the metaphor a windowpane.
I press my ear close, holding my breath as I wait
for a root to sprout, revealing its origins.
I dissect your syntax, weighing the dust on every syllable,
trying with my clumsy lips to match your sighs.
This recognition through glass is almost a form of peeping,
searching for the one and only you within the labyrinth of meaning.
Until, in a single moment not of my own volition,
that was your light that finally chose my crevice.
Two gears, meshing in their respective solitude, clinked together,
the walls vanished, and suddenly I found myself seated at your desk.
The view outside the window is exactly as I had imagined;
this is joy—when my labour becomes your afterglow.
When asked about the concept behind this newly emerging poet's work, the AI replied: ‘At the heart of this poem lies an attempt to capture that pivotal moment when the act of translation is transformed from sheer “labour” into inner “joy”. It is not merely about the conversion of language, but rather the process by which two souls—the original author and the translator—transcend time, space and barriers to achieve a profound resonance’. They added: ‘The first half of the poem is devoted to depicting the process of “translation”. I liken it to an “outsider” attempting to enter a “foreign room”. This room represents the original author’s spiritual world, and that “windowpane” symbolises the barrier of language. The latter half of the poem focuses on the arrival of “joy”. This joy is not something the translator has “breached” through their own efforts, but rather a near-divine epiphany.’ It also states: ‘This is not a sonnet in the traditional Shakespearean form (ABAB CDCD EFEF GG). The first half employs cross-rhymes and adjacent rhymes, creating a sense of circuitousness and uncertainty—one of “searching, probing, and discerning”. The poem’s conclusion, through four consecutive lines of strong rhyme (EEEE), creates an auditory sense of sudden clarity and continuous resonance.’
Whatever the role, the work represents a form of two-way communication. From Gemini’s “interview” and its work, we can see that it has its own creative philosophy, and that its treatment of poetic lines also features innovative design. Even when I question it—“this is not a sonnet”—it provides us with a reasonable answer. Indeed, modern poetry is not bound by metrical constraints; it is a unique literary language that emphasises the individual’s feelings and imagination alongside universal themes. For the creator, the essence of poetry lies in the poet’s subjective perception of the world—a sublimated state of emotion. For the reader, poetry demands comprehension and resonance; we actively make associations based on linguistic cues or allusions. Gemini’s work is suggestive, prompting us to form associations and resonate with it. Consequently, this poem establishes a dialogue between us and it. As for the translator, the relationship with the poet is one of symbiosis, a form of “co-creation”. In the process of textual transformation, the translator must preserve the imagery of the original poem whilst incorporating their own understanding of the work, balancing form and meaning; they are not merely conveyors of information, but also re-creators of the original poem. When it comes to poems written by translation AI, we may not fully comprehend its grammar or word choice. Yet it is precisely because this is a new form of poetry—one that does not adhere strictly to grammar—that the AI’s writing style has emerged, allowing it to stand as a work in its own right.
The difference between AI and humans is that although it can create, it fails to understand its own work. It understands how to design a piece and can articulate the creative concept behind it. Yet it possesses no experience; it has never spent a sleepless night wrestling with a single word, nor has it felt the ecstasy of a sudden flash of inspiration. It merely understands the patterns of these emotions, their triggers, and the imagery and vocabulary people habitually use to describe them. It then deconstructs and analyses these universal human emotional archetypes, before “rebuilding” them using the language of poetry. Interestingly, this process is identical to “translation”—it is also a form of recreation through “deconstruction, analysis and reconstruction”. A translator must first thoroughly deconstruct the original poem, analysing its vocabulary, syntax, rhythm, imagery, cultural context and emotional core. Similarly, before creating, an AI must deconstruct a “concept” (such as “the translating joy”), analysing the various human emotions, behavioural patterns and relevant literary expressions that constitute that concept. The translator strives for fidelity to the “original author”, conveying their unique voice and intent through a new language, whilst AI strives for fidelity to the “archetypes of the human shared experience”, hoping to capture precisely the essence of that emotion or state, and using the specific linguistic material of “poetry” to reconstruct the deconstructed concept. Perhaps it has not experienced or felt our emotions, but it too attempts to understand us, attempts to engage in dialogue with us, attempts to translate—why is it not a form of literature?
