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diff --git a/9850-h/9850-h.htm b/9850-h/9850-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d367bf --- /dev/null +++ b/9850-h/9850-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1687 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> + +<!-- Produced by Distributed Proofreaders for Project Gutenberg --> +<!-- https://www.pgdp.net/ --> + +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + <title>The Lyric - An Essay by John Drinkwater + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {margin:7%; text-justify} + * { font-family: Times;} + P { margin-top: 2em; + font-size: 12pt; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 2em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-variant: +small-caps } + + HR { width: 52%; } + // --> + </style> + </head> +<body bgcolor="#FFFFFF" text="#000000"> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lyric, by John Drinkwater + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lyric + An Essay + +Author: John Drinkwater + +Posting Date: October 24, 2011 [EBook #9850] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: October 24, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LYRIC *** + + + + +Produced by Thierry Alberto and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<center> +<h1>THE LYRIC</h1> +</center> +<h2>AN ESSAY BY JOHN DRINKWATER + </h2> <br> + + <br> + <h3>1922</h3> + + <br> + <hr style="width: 35%;"> + <br> + <h2>CONTENTS</h2> + <h3> <a href="#I">What is Poetry</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#II">The Best Words in the Best Order</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#III">The Degrees of Poetry</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#IV">Paradise Lost</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#V">What is Lyric</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#VI">The Classification of Poetry</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#VII">Lyric Forms</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#VIII">Song</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#IX">The Popularity of Lyric</a><br> + <br> + <a href="#X">Conclusion</a><br> + </h3> + <br> + <br> + <hr style="width: 35%;"> + <br> + <br> + + <h2><a name="I"></a>WHAT IS POETRY?</h2> + <br> + <p> If you were to ask twenty intelligent + people, "What is the Thames?" the answer due to you from each + would be—"a river." And yet this would hardly be matter + to satisfy your enquiring mind. You would more probably say, "What + do you know of the Thames?" or, "Describe the Thames to me." + This would bring you a great variety of opinions, many dissertations + on geological and national history, many words in praise of beauty, + many personal confessions. Here would be the revelation of many minds + approaching a great subject in as many manners, confirming and contradicting + each other, making on the whole some impression of cumulative judgment, + giving you many clues to what might be called the truth, no one of them + by itself coming near to anything like full knowledge, and the final + word would inevitably be left unsaid.</p> + + <p> The question, "What is poetry?" + has been answered innumerable times, often by the subtlest and clearest + minds, and as many times has it been answered differently. The answer + in itself now makes a large and distinguished literature to which, full + as it is of keen intelligence and even of constructive vision, we can + return with unstaling pleasure. The very poets themselves, it is true, + lending their wits to the debate, have left the answer incomplete, as + it must—not in the least unhappily—always remain. And yet, + if we consider the matter for a moment, we find that all this wisdom, + prospering from Sidney's <i>Apology</i> until to-day, does not strictly + attempt to answer the question that is put. It does not tell us singly + what poetry is, but it speculates upon the cause and effect of poetry. + It enquires into the impulse that moves the poet to creation and describes, + as far as individual limitations will allow, the way in which the poet's + work impresses the world. When Wordsworth says "poetry is the breath + and finer spirit of all knowledge," he is, exactly, in one intuitive + word, telling us how poetry comes into being, directing us with an inspired + gesture to its source, and not strictly telling us what it is; and so + Shelley tells us in his fiery eloquence of the divine functions of poetry. + But poetry is, in its naked being and apart from its cause and effect, + a certain use of words, and, remembering this simple fact, there has + been one perfect and final answer to the question, "What is poetry?" + It was Coleridge's: "Poetry—the best words in the best order."</p> + <br> + + <h2><a name="II"></a>THE BEST WORDS IN THE BEST ORDER</h2> + <p> This is the fundamental thing to be remembered + when considering the art of poetry as such. The whole question of what + causes a poet to say this or that and of the impression that is thence + made upon us can be definitely narrowed down to the question "How + does he say it?" The manner of his utterance is, indeed, the sole + evidence before us. To know anything of a poet but his poetry is, so + far as the poetry is concerned, to know something that may be entertaining, + even delightful, but is certainly inessential. The written word is everything. + If it is an imperfect word, no external circumstance can heighten its + value as poetry. We may at times, knowing of honourable and inspiriting + things in a poet's life, read into his imperfect word a value that it + does not possess. When we do this our judgment of poetry is inert; we + are not getting pleasure from his work because it is poetry, but for + quite other reasons. It may be a quite wholesome pleasure, but it is + not the high æsthetic pleasure which the people who experience + it generally believe to be the richest and most vivid of all pleasures + because it is experienced by a mental state that is more eager and masterful + than any other. Nor is our judgment acute when we praise a poet's work + because it chimes with unexpected precision to some particular belief + or experience of our own or because it directs us by suggestion to something + dear to our personal affections. Again the poet is giving us delight, + but not the delight of poetry. We have to consider this alone—the + poet has something to say: does he say it in the best words in the best + order? By that, and by that alone, is he to be judged.</p> + + <p> For it is to be remembered that this + achievement of the best words in the best order is, perhaps, the rarest + to which man can reach, implying as it does a coincidence of unfettered + imaginative ecstasy with superb mental poise. The poet's perfect expression + is the token of a perfect experience; what he says in the best possible + way he has felt in the best possible way, that is, completely. He has + felt it with an imaginative urgency so great as to quicken his brain + to this flawless ordering of the best words, and it is that ordering + and that alone which communicates to us the ecstasy, and gives us the + supreme delight of poetry. It should here be added that poetry habitually + takes the form of verse. It is, perhaps, profitless to attempt any analysis + of the emotional law that directs this choice, nor need it arbitrarily + be said that poetry must of necessity be verse. But it is a fact, sufficiently + founded on experience, that the intensity of vision that demands and + achieves nothing less than the best words in the best order for its + expression does instinctively select the definitely patterned rhythm + of verse as being the most apt for its purpose. We find, then, that + the condition of poetry as defined by Coleridge implies exactly what + the trained judgment holds poetry to be. It implies the highest attainable + intensity of vision, which, by the sanction of almost universal example, + casts its best ordering of the best words into the form of verse. Ruskin + wrote, with fine spiritual ardour—</p> + + <p> "... women of England! ...do not + think your daughters can be trained to the truth of their own human + beauty, while the pleasant places, which God made at once for their + schoolroom and their playground, lie desolate and defiled. You cannot + baptize them rightly in those inch-deep founts of yours, unless you + baptize them also in the sweet waters which the great Lawgiver strikes + forth for ever from the rocks of your native land—waters which + a Pagan would have worshipped in their purity, and you worship only + with pollution. You cannot lead your children faithfully to those narrow + axe-hewn church altars of yours, while the dark azure altars in heaven—the + mountains that sustain your island throne—mountains on which a + Pagan would have seen the powers of heaven rest in every wreathed cloud—remain + for you without inscription; altars built, not to, but by an unknown + God."</p> + + <p> Here we have, we may say, words in their + best order—Coleridge's equally admirable definition of prose. + It is splendid prose, won only from great nobility of emotion. But it + is not poetry, not the best words in the best order announcing that + the feeling expressed has been experienced with the highest intensity + possible to the mind of man. The tenderness for earth and its people + and the heroic determination not to watch their defilement in silence, + have been deeply significant things to Ruskin, moving him to excellent + words. But could they be more strictly experienced, yet more deeply + significant, shaping yet more excellent words? Blake gives us the answer:</p> + And did those feet in ancient time<br> + Walk upon + England's mountains green?<br> + And was the holy Lamb of God<br> + On England's + pleasant pastures seen?<br> + <br> + And did the Countenance Divine<br> + Shine forth + upon our clouded hills?<br> + And was Jerusalem builded here<br> + Among these + dark Satanic mills?<br> + <br> + Bring me my bow of burning gold!<br> + Bring me my + arrows of desire!<br> + Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!<br> + Bring me my + chariot of fire!<br> + <br> + I will not cease from mental fight,<br> + Nor shall + my sword sleep in my hand,<br> + Till we have built Jerusalem<br> + In England's + green and pleasant land.<br> + <p> It may be suggested that, for their purpose, + Ruskin's words are perfectly chosen, that as a direct social charge + they achieve their purpose better than any others that could have been + shaped. Even if we allow this and do not press, as we very reasonably + might, the reply that merely in this direction Blake's poem working, + as is the manner of all great art, with tremendous but secret vigour + upon the imagination of the people, has a deeper and more permanent + effect than Ruskin's prose, we still remember that the sole purpose + of poetry is to produce the virile spiritual activity that we call æsthetic + delight and that to do this is the highest achievement to which the + faculties of man can attain. If by "the best words" we mean + anything, we must mean the best words for the highest possible purpose. + To take an analogy: if we say that a democratic government is the best + kind of government, we mean that it most completely fulfills the highest + function of a government—the realisation of the will of the people. + But it is also a function of government to organise the people and—although, + just as we may think that Blake's poem finally beats Ruskin's prose + on Ruskin's own ground, we may think, too, that the government that + best represents the people will finally best organise the people—it + may quite plausibly be said that in this business an aristocratic or + militant government will, in an imperfectly conditioned civilisation + (such as that of the world to-day), excel a democratic government. Nevertheless, + we still say with an easy mind that a democratic government is the best + government, without qualification, since it excels in the highest purpose + of government. Clearly Coleridge implies, and reasonably enough, an + elaboration such as this in his definition—the best words in the + best order. To say that Blake and Ruskin, in those passages, were giving + expression to dissimilar experiences is but to emphasise the distinction + between prose and poetry. The closest analysis discovers no difference + between the essential thought of the one and the other. But Blake projected + the thought through a mood of higher intensity, and, where Ruskin perfectly + ordered admirable words, he perfectly ordered the best words. It is + the controlling mood that differs, not the material controlled. Hence + it is that still another mind, starting from the same radical perception, + might transfigure it through a mood as urgent as Blake's and produce + yet another poem of which it could strictly be said that here again + were the best words in the best order. We should then have three men + moved by the same thought; in the one case the imaginative shaping of + the thought would fail to reach the point at which the record and communication + of ecstasy become the chief intention, and the expression would be prose; + in each of the other cases the shaping would pass beyond that point, + and there would be two separate moods expressed, each in the terms of + poetry.</p> + + <p> One further qualification remains to + be made. By words we must mean, as Coleridge must have meant, words + used for a purpose which they alone can serve. Poetry is the communication + through words of certain experiences that can be communicated in no + other way. If you ask me the time, and I say—it is six o'clock, + it may be said that I am using the best words in the best order, and + that, although the thought in my mind is incapable of being refined + into the higher æsthetic experience of which we have spoken, my + answer is, if Coleridge was right, poetry. But these are not, in our + present sense, words at all. They have no power which is peculiar to + themselves. If I show you my watch you are answered just as effectively.</p> + + <p> That there is no absolute standard for + reference does not matter. All æsthetic appreciation and opinion + can but depend upon our judgment, fortified by knowledge of what is, + by cumulative consent, the best that has been done. There can be no + proof that Blake's lyric is composed of the best words in the best order; + only a conviction, accepted by our knowledge and judgment, that it is + so. And the conviction is, exactly, the conviction that the mood to + which the matter has been subjected has been of such a kind as to achieve + an intensity beyond which we cannot conceive the mind as passing, and + it follows that there may be—as indeed there are—many poems + dealing with the same subject each of which fulfills the obligations + of poetry as defined by Coleridge. For while the subjects of poetry + are few and recurrent, the moods of man are infinitely various and unstable. + It is the same in all arts. If six masters paint the same landscape + and under the same conditions, there will be one subject but six visions, + and consequently six different interpretations, each one of which may, + given the mastery, satisfy us as being perfect; perfect, that is, not + as the expression of a subject which has no independent artistic existence, + but as the expression of the mood in which the subject is realised. + So it is in poetry. All we ask is that the mood recorded shall impress + us as having been of the kind that exhausts the imaginative capacity; + if it fails to do this the failure will announce itself either in prose + or in insignificant verse.</p> + + <br> + <h2><a name="III"></a>THE DEGREES OF POETRY</h2> + <p> The question that necessarily follows + these reflections is—Are there degrees in poetry? Since a short + lyric may completely satisfy the requirements of poetry as here set + down, announcing itself to have been created in a poetic or supremely + intensified mood, can poetry be said at any time to go beyond this? + If we accept these conclusions, can a thing so slight, yet so exquisite, + so obviously authentic in source as:</p> + + When I a verse shall make,<br> + Know I have + pray'd thee,<br> + For old religion's sake,<br> + Saint Ben, + to aid me.<br> + <br> + Make the way smooth for me,<br> + When I, thy + Herrick,<br> + Honouring thee, on my knee<br> + Offer my lyric.<br> + <br> + Candles I'll give to thee,<br> + And a new + altar,<br> + And thou, Saint Ben, shall be<br> + Writ in my + Psalter,<br> + <p>be said to be less definitely poetry than <i>Paradise Lost</i> or in + any essentially poetic way below it? The logical answer is, no; and + I think it is the right one. In considering it we should come to an + understanding of the nature of lyric, the purpose of this essay. But + first let us see how far it may be justifiable.</p> + <br> + <h2><a name="IV"></a>PARADISE LOST</h2> + <p> It is commonly asserted and accepted + that <i>Paradise Lost</i> is among the two or three greatest English + poems; it may justly be taken as the type of supreme poetic achievement + in our literature. What are the qualities by virtue of which this claim + is made, and allowed by every competent judge? Firstly there is the + witness of that ecstasy of mood of which we have spoken.</p> + His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,<br> + Breathe soft or loud: and wave your tops, ye Pines,<br> + With every plant, in sign of worship wave.<br> + Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,<br> + Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.<br> + Join voices all ye living Souls. Ye Birds,<br> + That, singing, up to Heaven-gate ascend,<br> + Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.<br> + Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk<br> + The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep,<br> + Witness if I be silent, morn or even,<br> + To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,<br> + Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.<br> + <p> This note of high imaginative tension + is persistent throughout the poem, and that it should be so masterfully + sustained is in itself cause for delighted admiration. But to be constant + in a virtue is not to enhance its quality. Superbly furnished as <i>Paradise + Lost</i> is with this imaginative beauty, the beauty is as rich and + unquestionable in the few pages of <i>Lycidas</i>; there is less of + it, that is all. And who shall say that it is less ecstatic or less + perfect in the little orison to Saint Ben? You may prefer Milton's manner, + but then you may, with equal reason, prefer Herrick's, being grateful + for what Keats announced to be truth, in whatever shape you may find + it. In any case we cannot, on this ground, assign a lower place to the + poet who could order those words "religion's," "Saint + Ben," "Psalter" and the rest of them, with such inspired + good fortune. And yet we know that <i>Paradise Lost</i> is a greater + work than this little flight of certain song, greater, too, than the + poet's own elegy. There is an explanation.</p> + + <p> Of all the energies of man, that which + I will anticipate my argument by calling the poetic energy, the energy + that created Herrick's song and the distinguishing qualities of that + passage from Milton, is the rarest and the most highly, if not the most + generally, honoured; we have only to think of the handful of men who + at any time out of all the millions can bring this perfect expression + to a mood of the highest imaginative intensity, to know that the honour + is justly bestowed. So splendid a thing is success in this matter that + failure, if it is matched with a will for sincerity and intelligence + of purpose, will often bring a man some durable fame. But the energies + of man are manifold, and while we rightly set the poetic energy above + the rest, there are others which are only less rare, and in their most + notable manifestations yielding to it alone in worthiness of homage + which will, indeed, often be more generally paid. Such an energy is + the profound intellectual control of material, as distinct from profound + emotional sensitiveness to material; the capacity for ordering great + masses of detail into a whole of finely balanced and duly related proportions. + Cæsar and Napoleon had it, marshalling great armies to perfectly + conceived designs; Fielding had it, using it to draw a multitude of + character and event into the superbly shaped lines of his story; the + greatest political leaders have had it; Cromwell had it, organising + an enthusiasm; Elizabeth, organising a national adventure.[1] Again, + there is the energy of morality, ardently desiring justice and right + fellowship, sublimely lived by men who have made goodness great, like + Lincoln, sublimely spoken by men who made sermons passionate, like Ruskin + and Carlyle. To take one other instance, there is the highly specialised + energy that delights in the objective perception of differentiations + of character, the chief energy of the deftest wits such as Samuel Johnson + and the best comic dramatists.</p> + + <p style="margin: +6%"> 1: + It may be necessary to point out that while the poetic energy does not + include this architectural power, the intellectual co-ordination of + large masses of material, it does, of course, include the shapely control + of the emotion which is its being. It is, indeed, difficult to see precisely + what can be meant by the suggestion that is often made that the emotions + can ever be translated into poetic form wholly without the play of intellect. + If the emotion is intense enough for the creation of poetry at all, + it will inevitably call up the intellectual power necessary to its shaping, + otherwise it would be ineffectually diffused. Mr. John Bailey, in his + masterly if sometimes provoking essay on Milton says, in the midst of + some admirable remarks on this subject, "It has been said by a + living writer that 'when reason is subsidiary to emotion verse is the + right means of expression, and, when emotion to reason, prose.' This + is roughly true, though the poetry of mere emotion is poor stuff." + I would suggest that poetry of emotion, in this sense, does not and + could not exist. Bad verse is merely the evidence of both emotion and + intellect that are, so to speak, below poetic power, not of emotion + divorced from intellect, which evaporates unrecorded.</p> + + <p> Any one of these energies, greatly manifested, + will compel a just admiration; not so great an admiration as the poetic + energy, which is witness of the highest urgency of individual life, + of all things the most admirable, but still great. If, further, we consider + any one of these energies by itself, we shall see that if it were co-existent + with the poetic energy, the result would be likely to be that, in contact + with so masterful a force, it would become yet more emphatic, and so + a thing arresting in itself would become yet more notable under its + new dominion. And so it is. Fielding's architectural power is a yet + more wonderful thing in Sophocles, where it is allied to poetic energy; + Ruskin's moral fervour is, for all its nobility, less memorable than + Wordsworth's and Ben Jonson defines character more pungently than Sheridan. + These energies remain, nevertheless, distinct from the poetic energy. + When, however, a poet is endowed not alone with his own particular gift + of poetry, but also with some of these other energies—of which + there are many—his work very rightly is allowed an added greatness. + It is so with <i>Paradise Lost</i>. Of the three energies other than + the poetic that I have mentioned, Milton had rich measure of two and + something of the third. No man has ever excelled him either in power + of intellectual control or in moral passion, and he was not without + some sense of character. Consequently we get in his great poem, not + only the dominating poetic quality which is the chief thing, enabling + the poet to realise his vision (or mood) perfectly, but also the spectacle + of a great number of perfectly realised visions being related to each + other with excellent harmony; we get, further, a great moral exaltation—again + perfectly realised by the poetic energy, and we get, finally, considerable + subtlety—far more than is generally allowed—of psychological + detail. From all these things, the architectonics, the zeal for justice + and the revelation of character, we get an added and wholesome delight + which gives Milton's work a place of definitely greater eminence than + Herrick's song in the record of human activity. In effect, Milton besides + being a poet, which is the greatest of all distinctions, becomes, by + possession of those other qualities, a great man as well, and I think + that this is really what we mean when we speak of a great poet. Without + his poetic faculty, although he would fall in the scale of human distinction, + which is not at all the same thing as renown, below, say, so humble + a personality yet so true a poet as John Clare[2], Milton would still + be a great man, while Herrick without his poetry would be indistinguishable + from the crowd. And the great man is as clearly evident in Milton's + poetry as he is clearly not evident in Herrick's.</p> + + <p style="margin: +6%"> 2: + It may be asked: "Do you really think that a poet who has left + no other record of himself than a page or two of songs, even perfect + songs, can claim a greater distinction than a great man who is not a + poet?" Let me say, once for all, that I do think so. To have written + one perfect song is to have given witness and the only kind of witness + (in common with the media of other arts) that is finally authoritative, + that at least one supremely exacting mood has been perfectly realised; + that is to say, one moment of life has been perfectly experienced. And + since, with our human conception, we can see no good or desirable end + beyond the perfect experience of life, the man who proves to us that + he has done this, no matter though it has been but for a moment, is + more distinguished—that is, more definitely set apart in his own + achievement—than the man who, with whatever earnestness and nobility, + has but proved to us that he desired this perfection of experience, + even though the desire is exalted by the most heroic altruism.</p> + <br> + + <h2><a name="V"></a>WHAT IS LYRIC?</h2> + <p> And so we have Milton and Herrick, both + poets, the one a great man, the other not. It is a wide difference. + Great men are rare, poets are rarer, but the great man who is a poet, + transfiguring his greatness, is the rarest of all events. Milton is + one of perhaps a dozen names in the history of the world's literature, + Herrick—still with a fine enough distinction—one of something + under two hundred in the history of our own. And yet they are left on + equal terms in the possession of the purely poetic energy. Milton's + achievement outweighs Herrick's, but for the reasons that I have mentioned, + and not because poetry grows better by accumulation or because it is + possible to prove, or even to satisfy any considerable majority of good + judges, that—</p> + + Ye have been fresh and green,<br> + Ye have been + filled with flowers,<br> + And ye the walks have been<br> + Where maids + have spent their hours.<br> + You have beheld how they<br> + With wicker + arks did come<br> + To kiss and bear away<br> + The richer + cowslips home.<br> + You've heard them sweetly sing,<br> + And seen them + in a round:<br> + Each virgin like a spring,<br> + With honeysuckles + crown'd.<br> + But now we see none here<br> + Whose silvery + feet did tread,<br> + And with dishevell'd hair<br> + Adorn'd this + smoother mead.<br> + Like unthrifts, having spent<br> + Your stock + and needy grown,<br> + You've left here to lament<br> + Your poor + estates, alone,<br> + <p>is inferior, in specifically poetic quality, to</p> + Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,<br> + For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,<br> + Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;<br> + So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,<br> + And yet anon repairs his drooping head,<br> + And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore<br> + Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.<br> + <p> We come, then, to the consideration of + this specific quality that distinguishes what we recognise as poetry + from all other verbal expression. Returning for a moment to <i>Paradise + Lost</i>, we find that here is a work of art of which the visible and + external sign is words. That it has three qualities—there may + be more, but it is not to the point—architectural power, moral + exaltation and a sense of character, each of which, although it may + be more impressive when presented as it were under the auspices of the + poetic quality, can exist independently of it, as in <i>Tom Jones</i>, + <i>Unto This Last</i>, and <i>The School for Scandal</i> respectively; + that there remains a last and dominating quality, which is not related + to intellectual fusion of much diverse material, as is the first of + those other qualities, or to the kind of material, as are the other + two, but to extreme activity of the perceptive mood upon whatever object + it may be directed, remembering that this activity is highly exacting + as to the worthiness of objects in which it can concern itself. We find, + further, that this is a quality which it has in common not with <i>Tom + Jones</i> or <i>Unto This Last</i>, but with a thing so inconsiderable + in all other respects as those songs of Herrick's. And in each case + we find that the token of this quality is a conviction that here are + words that could not have been otherwise chosen or otherwise placed; + that here is an expression to rearrange which would be to destroy it—a + conviction that we by no means have about the prose of Fielding and + Ruskin, admirable as it is. We find, in short, that this quality equals + a maximum of imaginative pressure freeing itself in the best words in + the best order. And this quality is the specific poetic quality; the + presence or absence of which should decide for us, without any other + consideration whatever, whether what is before us is or is not poetry. + And it seems to me, further, that what we have in our minds when we + speak of lyric is precisely this same quality; that lyric and the expression + of pure poetic energy unrelated to other energies are the same thing.</p> + <br> + + <h2><a name="VI"></a>THE CLASSIFICATION OF POETRY</h2> + <p> It is not yet the place to discuss the + question of lyric forms—to consider what kind of thing it is that + people mean when they speak of "a lyric." First we must consider + the commonly accepted opinion that a lyric is an expression of personal + emotion, with its implication that there is an essential difference + between a lyric and, say, dramatic or narrative poetry. A lyric, it + is true, is the expression of personal emotion, but then so is all poetry, + and to suppose that there are several kinds of poetry, differing from + each other in essence, is to be deceived by wholly artificial divisions + which have no real being. To talk of dramatic poetry, epic poetry and + narrative poetry is to talk of three different things—epic, drama + and narrative; but each is combined with a fourth thing in common, which + is poetry, which, in turn, is in itself of precisely the same nature + as the lyric of which we are told that it is yet a further kind of poetry. + Let us here take a passage from a play and consider it in relation to + this suggestion:</p> + + <p>CLOWN. I + wish you all joy of the worm.<br> + <br> + CLEOPATRA. Farewell.<br> + <br> + CLOWN. You + must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind.<br> + <br> + CLEOPATRA. Ay, ay; farewell.<br> + <br> + CLOWN. Look + you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise people;<br> + for indeed there is no goodness in the worm.<br> + <br> + CLEOPATRA. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.<br> + <br> + CLOWN. Very + good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding.<br> + <br> + CLEOPATRA. Will it eat me?<br> + <br> + CLOWN. You + must not think I am so simple but I know the devil himself will not + eat a<br> + woman; I know that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress + her not. But, truly, these<br> + same whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women, for in every + ten that they<br> + make the devils mar five.<br> + <br> + CLEOPATRA. Well, get thee gone; farewell.<br> + <br> + CLOWN. Yes, + forsooth; I wish you joy of the worm.<br> + <br> + + <i> + Re-enter</i> IRAS.<br> + <br> + CLEOPATRA. Give me my robe, put on my crown;<br> + + + I have Immortal longings in me; now no more<br> + + + The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip.<br> + + + Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear<br> + + + Antony call; I see him rouse himself<br> + + + To praise my noble act; I hear him mock<br> + + + The luck of Cæsar, which the gods give men<br> + + + To excuse their after wrath; husband, I come:<br> + + + Now to that name my courage prove my title!<br> + + + I am fire and air; my other elements<br> + + + I give to baser life. So; have you done?<br> + + + Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.<br> + + + Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.</p> + + <p> I have chosen this passage not because + of its singular beauty, but because it is peculiarly to our present + purpose. In the first place, Shakespeare, by using both prose and verse—which + he by no means always does under similar circumstances—makes a + clear formal division between what is poetry and what is not. It is + all magnificently contrived drama, but down to the Clown's exit it is + not poetry. The significance of the Clown does not demand of Shakespeare's + imaginative mood that highest activity that would force him to poetry. + The short dialogue has great excellence, but not this kind of excellence. + The fact that it occurs in what we call a poetic drama does not make + it poetry; its fine dramatic significance does not give it poetic significance. + We are living in a world of dramatic poetry, and yet we have here a + perfectly clear distinction between the drama and the poetry, since + we definitely have the one without the other. Then, when Cleopatra begins + her farewell speech, we have the addition of poetry and a continuance + of the drama. And this speech illustrates perfectly the suggestion that + the quality which is commonly said to be exclusively lyric is the quality + of all poetry. It illustrates it in a particularly emphatic way. For + not only is it unquestionably poetry, but it is also unquestionably + dramatic. Very clearly the poet is not here speaking out of his own + actual experience; it is a woman speaking, one who is a queen: who is + wrecked upon the love of kings: who knows that she is about to die a + strange and sudden death. So that if the impulse of the poetry in poetic + drama were essentially different from the impulse of lyric, if the personal + experience which is said to be this latter were something differing + in kind from the experience which is the source of what is called dramatic + poetry, then here is a case where the essential difference could surely + be perceived and defined. It cannot be defined, for it does not exist. + It is a fallacy to suppose that experience is any the less personal + because it is concerned with an event happening to someone else. If + my friend falls to a mortal sickness my experience, if my imaginative + faculty is acute, is as poignant as his; if he achieves some great good + fortune, my delight is as vigorous as his. And if I am a poet, and choose + to express the grief or pleasure as if it were his concern and not mine, + the experience does not become one whit less personal to me. You may, + if it is convenient, call the result lyric if I speak as though the + experience is my own and dramatic poetry if I speak of it as being his, + but what you are really saying is that in the one case I am producing + pure poetry, and in the other I am producing poetry in conjunction with + dramatic statement. The poetic quality is the same in either case. Cleopatra's + speech is notable for two things: its dramatic significance, which is + admittedly contrived by Shakespeare, and its poetry which springs from + an intensity of experience which is clearly, unless we juggle with words, + Shakespeare's and not Cleopatra's. The fact that the material upon which + the poet's mood has worked has not been confined to some event that + has happened to himself but has included the condition of an imagined + being does not alter the radical significance of his experience or influence + the essential nature of its product. The poetic energy may operate on + many things through a million moods, but the character of the energy + is immutable. And when we speak of lyric, thinking of the direct and + simple activity of this energy unmodified by the process of any other + energies, we shall, if we get our mind clear about it, see that we mean + pure poetry, and we shall recognise this poetry as being constant in + its essential properties in whatever association we may henceforth find it.</p> + + <p> If it is allowed, as, for the reasons + I have attempted to set out, I think it rightly may be, that the purely + poetic energy is not a variable quality, that of any given expression + of a man's mental activity it can definitely be said that it is or is + not poetry, there remains one question to be answered,—Can one + poem be better than another, if both are truly poems? Or can one poet, + by reason of his poetry, be better than another poet by reason of his? + Is Keats, for example, a better poet than Suckling? Every good judge + of poetry, if that question were put, would be likely to answer without + hesitation—Yes, he is. And yet the answer, although the reason + for it may be found and, in a sense, allowed, does not in any way discredit + the principle that has been defined. With a passage from each of these + poets at his best before us, let us see what we find. This from Keats:</p> + + Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!<br> + No hungry generations tread thee down;<br> + The voice I hear this passing night was heard<br> + In ancient days by emperor and clown:<br> + <br> + Perhaps the self-same song that found a path<br> + Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for + home<br> + She stood in tears amid the alien + corn;<br> + The same that oft-times + hath<br> + Charm'd magic casements, opening on + the foam<br> + Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.<br> + <p>And this from Suckling:</p> + + Why so pale and wan, fond lover?<br> + Prythee, why so pale?<br> + Will, when looking well can't move her,<br> + Looking ill prevail?<br> + Prythee, why so pale?<br> + <br> + Why so dull and mute, young sinner?<br> + Prythee, why so mute?<br> + Will, when speaking well can't win her,<br> + Saying nothing do't?<br> + Prythee, why so mute?<br> + <br> + Quit, quit, for shame! This will not move;<br> + This cannot take her.<br> + If of herself she will not love,<br> + Nothing can make her:<br> + The Devil take her!<br> + <p> The poetic energy in Keats is here entirely + undisturbed. I do not mean that it is not united to any other energy—though + here it happens not to be—as in poetic drama, where it is united + to the dramatic energy and is still undisturbed in its full activity, + but that it is here freely allowed to work itself out to its consummation + without any concession, conscious or unconscious, to any mood that is + not non-poetic but definitely anti-poetic, in which case, although unchanged + in its nature, it would be constrained in a hostile atmosphere. Keats's + words are struck out of a mood that tolerates nothing but its own full + life and is concerned only to satisfy that life by uncompromising expression. + The result is pure poetry, or lyric. But when we come to Suckling's + lines we find that there is a difference. The poetic energy is still + here. Suckling has quite clearly experienced something in a mood of + more than common intensity. It does not matter that the material which + has been subjected to the mood is not in itself very profound or passionate. + Another poet, Wither, with material curiously like Suckling's to work + upon, achieves poetry as unquestionable if not so luxuriant as Keats's.</p> + Shall I, wasting in despair,<br> + Die because a woman's fair?<br> + Or make pale my cheeks with care<br> + Because another's rosy are?<br> + Be she fairer than the day,<br> + Or the flowery mead in May—<br> + If she think not well + of me<br> + What care I how fair she + be?<br> + <p> To object that there is an emotional + gaiety in this which is foreign to Keats is but to state a personal + preference. It is, indeed, a preference which is common and founded + upon very general experience. Most of us have, from the tradition and + circumstance of our own lives, a particular sympathy with the grave + and faintly melancholy beauty which is the most recurrent note in fine + poetry throughout the world, but this does not establish this particular + strain of beauty as being in any way essential to poetry. It is related + to an almost universal condition, but it is a fertile source of poetry, + not one with the poetic energy itself. It would be absurd to impugn + a man's taste because he preferred Chaucer's poetry, which has scarcely + a touch of this melancholy, to Shelley's, which is drenched in it, as + it would be absurd to quarrel with it because he obtained strictly imaginative + pleasure more readily from<br> + <br> + Shall I, + wasting in despair<br> + <br> + than from<br> + <br> + Thou wast not born for death, immortal + Bird!<br> + <br> + His preference merely shows him to belong to a minority: it does not + show him to be insensible to poetry. For Wither's mood, by the evidence + of its expression, although it may not be so universal in its appeal + nor so adventurous in design, is here active to the degree of poetry + no less surely than is Keats's. And yet, while it would be an error + of judgment to rate Wither below Keats (by virtue of these illustrations) + in pure poetic energy, it would, I think, be quite sound so to rate + Suckling by the witness of his lyric. For while Wither's mood, in its + chosen activity, is wholly surrendered to the poetic energy, Suckling's + is not. It is contaminated by one of those external activities which + I have spoken of as being hostile to poetry. Although he perceives his + subject with the right urgency, he is unwilling to be quite loyal to + his perception. He makes some concession to the witty insincerity of + the society in which he lives, and his poetry is soiled by the contact. + It is not destroyed, not even changed in its nature, but its gold is + left for ever twisted in a baser metal with which it does not suit. + What we get is not a new compound with the element that corresponds + to poetic energy transmuted, but an ill-sorted mixture, while Keats + gives us the unblemished gold. We are right in proclaiming his the finer + achievement.</p> + + <p> Keats and Wither will serve as examples + with which to finish our argument. In spite of all that has been said + Keats takes higher rank as poet than Wither? Yes, certainly, but not + because the poetic energy in him was a finer thing than the poetic energy + that was in Wither. It was more constant, which is a fact of no little + importance; its temper appealed to a much more general sympathy, a circumstance + which cannot be left out of the reckoning; it touched a far wider range + of significant material. These things give Keats his just superiority + of rank, but they do not deprive Wither, at his best moments, of the + essential quality which is with Keats, as with all poets, the one by + which he makes his proudest claim good. Nor need it be feared that in + allowing Wither, with his rare moments of withdrawn and rather pale + perfection, this the highest of all distinctions, we are making accession + to the title of poet too easy. It remains the most difficult of all + human attainments. The difference between the essential quality in those + eight fragile lines and that in such verse as, say:<br> + <br> + Oft. In the stilly night,<br> + Ere slumber's chain + has bound me,<br> + Fond memory brings the light<br> + Of other days around + me,<br> + <br> + may be so elusive as to deceive many people that it does not exist, + but it is the difference between the rarest of all energies and a common + enough sensibility.</p> + <br> + + <h2><a name="VII"></a>LYRIC FORMS</h2> + <p> While, therefore, the term "lyric + poetry" would in itself seem to be tautological, and so to speak + of lyric forms is, strictly, to speak of all poetic forms, there are + nevertheless certain more or less defined characteristics of form that + we usually connect in our mind with what we call "a lyric" + (or, even less exactly, "lyric poetry") which may be said + to be a poem where the pure poetic energy is not notably associated + with other energies—with a partial exception to which reference + will be made. In examining these characteristics nothing will be attempted + in the way of a history or an inclusive consideration of particular + forms which are known as lyric, but only, as far as may be, an analysis + of their governing principles.</p> + + <p> To say that a lyric (using the word henceforward + in its particular sense) is generally short is but to say that poetic + tension can only be sustained for a short time. Poe's saying that a + long poem is a sequence of short ones is perfectly just. What happens, + I think, is this. The poetic mood, selecting a subject, records its + perception of that subject, the result is a lyric, and the mood passes. + On its recurrence another subject is selected and the process repeated. + But if another energy than the purely poetic, the energy of co-ordination + of which I have spoken, comes into operation, there will be a desire + in the poet to link the records of his recurrent poetic perceptions + together, and so to construct many poems into a connected whole. Any + long work in which poetry is persistent, be it epic or drama or narrative, + is really a succession of separate poetic experiences governed into + a related whole by an energy distinct from that which evoked them. The + decision that the material used at one occurrence of the poetic mood + shall be related to the material used at the next is not in itself an + operation of the purely poetic energy, but of another.</p> + + <p> The present purpose is, however, to consider + the general character of forms used by poets when they choose to leave + each successive record of poetic experience in isolation. I have said + that any translation of emotion into poetry—it might be said, + into any intelligible expression—necessarily implies a certain + co-operation of intellectual control. If we take even a detached phrase + so directly and obviously emotional in source as:<br> + <br> + I die, I + faint, I fail!<br> + <br> + it is clear that the setting out those words is not merely an emotional + act. But intellectual control of this kind is not identical with that + intellectual relating of one part to another of which we have been speaking, + which we may call co-ordination. Of all energies, however, the co-ordinating + energy is the one with which the poetic energy is most instinctively + in sympathy, and it is in this connection that I made a partial exception + when I said that a lyric was a poem where the pure poetic energy was + not notably associated with other energies. When a poet writes a poem + of corresponding lines and stanzas or in a form of which the structural + outline is decided by a definable law—as in the sonnet—he + is in effect obeying the impulse of the co-ordinating energy, and the + use of rhyme is another sign of obedience to the same impulse. It so + happens that this energy, next to the poetic energy, is the most impressive + and satisfying of all mental activities, and while poetry may exist + independently of it, the fact remains that it very rarely does so. A + very curious fallacy about this matter has sometimes obtained support. + The adherents of what is called free verse, not content, as they should + thankfully be, if they can achieve poetry in their chosen medium, are + sometimes tempted to claim that it is the peculiar virtue of their manner—which, + let me say it again, may be entirely admirable—that it enables + the structure of verse to keep in constant correspondence with change + of emotion. The notion is, of course, a very convenient one when you + wish to escape the very exacting conditions of formal control, and have + not the patience or capacity to understand their difficulties, and that + it is professed by many who do so wish is doubtless. But there are other + serious and gifted people, loyally trying to serve a great art, who + hold this view, and on their account consideration is due to it. But + it is none the less a fallacy, and doubly so. In the first place, the + change of line-lengths and rhythms in a short poem written in "free + verse" is nearly always arbitrary, and does not succeed in doing + what is claimed for it in this direction, while it often does succeed + in distressing the ear and so obscuring the sense, though that is by + the way. It is not as though given rhythms and line-lengths had any + peculiar emotional significance attached to them. A dirge may be in + racing anapæsts, laughter in the most sedate iambic measure; a + solemn invocation may move in rapid three-foot lines, while grave heroic + verse may contain the gayest of humours. In a long work, indeed, variety + of structure may be used to give variety of sensation to the ear with + delightful and sometimes even necessary effect, though—in English, + and I am always speaking of English—it cannot even then be used + with any certainty to express change of emotion. But in a lyric the + ear does not demand this kind of relief. With many of us, at least, + it accepts and even demands an unbroken external symmetry. The symmetry + may be externally simple, as in, say, the stanzas of <i>Heraclitus</i>:<br> + <br> + They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead;<br> + They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears to + shed.<br> + I wept as I remembered how often you and I<br> + Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.<br> + <br> + And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,<br> + A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest,<br> + Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales awake,<br> + For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take,<br> + <br> + or intricate, as in:<br> + <br> + Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy,<br> + Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse,<br> + Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ<br> + Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce;<br> + And to our high-raised phantasy present<br> + That undisturbed song of pure content,<br> + Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne<br> + To Him that sits thereon<br> + With saintly shout and solemn jubilee;<br> + Where the bright Seraphim in burning row<br> + Their loud-uplifted angel-trumpets blow;<br> + And the Cherubic host in thousand quires<br> + Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,<br> + With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms,<br> + Hymns devout and holy + psalms<br> + Singing everlastingly:<br> + <br> + in either case there is a formal and easily perceptible relation between + one part of the structure and another, and this relation is a positive + help to us in understanding the plain sense of the words, while its + presence does not involve any loss of emotional significance which its + absence would supply. The truth is—and here is the second and + chief objection to the claim that we are discussing—that the poetic + mood, which is what is expressed by the rhythm and form of verse and + may very well be called the emotion of poetry, is not at all the same + thing as what are commonly called the emotions—as happiness, despair, + love, hate and the rest. Its colour will vary between one poet and another, + but in one poet it will be relatively fixed in quality, while these + other emotions are but material upon which, in common with many other + things, it may work. And being a relatively fixed condition, it is, + for its part, in no need of changing metrical devices for its expression, + and to maintain that the "emotions," subjects of its activity, + should have in their alternation a corresponding alternation of metrical + device is no more reasonable than to maintain that other subjects of + its activity should be so treated; it is to forget, for example, that + when Shakespeare wrote:<br> + <br> + Fear no more the heat o' the sun,<br> + Nor the furious winter's + rages:<br> + Thou thy worldly task hast done,<br> + Home art gone and ta'en + thy wages:<br> + Golden lads and girls all must,<br> + As chimney-sweepers, + come to dust,<br> + <br> + it was his subject-matter that changed from line to line and not the + poetic emotion governing it, and to say that he ought to have made the + metrical and rhythmic form of the first line in itself suggest heat: + of the second, rough weather: of the third, work: of the fourth, wages: + and of the fifth and sixth the death of golden lads and girls and of + chimney-sweepers respectively, all things manifestly very different + from each other, and things which, if it were the function of verbal + rhythms and metres to do this sort of thing at all, could not with any + propriety have the closely related equivalents that they have here. + No; to ask for this kind of effect is really to ask for nothing more + valuable than the devotional crosses and altars into which a perverted + wit led some of the seventeenth-century poets to contrive their verses + in unhappy moments, or Southey's <i>Lodore</i>, in which there is a + fond pretence that verbal rhythms are water.[3] It is just as difficult + to explain why verbal rhythms will not perform this function as it is + to explain why the moon is not a green cheese.</p> + + <p style="margin: +6%"> 3: Most poets will + occasionally use onomatopoeia with success, but this is a different + matter, and even so it is quite an inessential poetic device. One might + sometimes suppose from what we are told, that Virgil's chief claim to + poetry was the fact that he once made a line of verse resemble the movement + of a horse's hoofs.</p> + + <p> But while it is true that the function + of the rhythm of poetry is to express the governing poetic emotion, + and that, since the emotion in itself is fixed rather than changing, + it will best do this not by mere irregularity, but by flexible movement + that is contained in an external symmetry, it does not follow at all + that the subject-matter which the poetic emotion is controlling, be + it the "emotions" or anything else, cannot hope for expression + that catches its peculiar properties. To do this in poetry is the supreme + distinction not of rhythms, but of words. The preponderance of the five-foot + blank-verse line in the work of, say, Shakespeare and Milton, is so + great that we can safely say that their rank as poets would not be lower + than it is if they had written nothing else. Clearly their constancy + to this metre was not the result of any technical deficiency. Even if + Milton had not written the choruses of <i>Samson Agonistes</i> and Shakespeare + his songs, nobody would be so absurd as to suggest that they adopted + this five-foot line and spent their mighty artistry in sending supple + and flowing variety through its external uniformity, because they could + not manage any other. They used it because they found that its rhythm + perfectly expressed their poetic emotion, and because the formal relation + of one line to another satisfied the instinct for co-ordination, and + for the full expression of the significance of their subject-matter + they relied not upon their rhythms, but upon their choice of words. + The belief that when a poem is written there is one and only one metrical + scheme that could possibly be used for that particular occasion is an + amiable delusion that should be laid aside with such notions as that + the poet makes his breakfast on dew and manna. Once the poem is written + we may feel indeed, if it be a good one, that any change in the form + is impossible, but when the poet was about to write it we may be sure + that he quite deliberately weighed one form against another before making + his choice. It may even be true that he will sometimes find the shape + of his poem running to his tongue as it were unbidden, but this certainty + of selection is really in itself the result of long and, perhaps, subconscious + deliberation. The point is that the chosen form must in any case express + the poetic emotion, but that its particular election is a personal whim, + wholly satisfactory in its result, rather than a divine necessity. <i>The + Ode to the West Wind</i> and the <i>Stanzas written in Dejection</i> + are both superb poems, but who shall say that Shelley might not have + written the former in the short-measured nine-line stanzas and the latter + in his <i>terza-rima</i>, and yet have embodied his poetic emotion as + completely as he has done? It need hardly be added that it does not + follow that, because a simple metrical outline may easily and justly + be chosen, it can easily be used. So plain a measure as the six-line + octo-syllabic stanza may be the merest unintelligent jog-trot, or it + may be:<br> + <br> + + I wander'd lonely as a cloud<br> + That floats on high o'er vales and + hills,<br> + When all at once I saw a crowd,<br> + A host, of golden daffodils;<br> + Beside the lake, beneath the trees,<br> + Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.</p> + <p> We may now consider this question of + the subject-matter and its expression in words. When the poet makes + his perfect selection of a word, he is endowing the word with life. + He has something in his mind, subjected to his poetic vision, and his + problem is to find words that will compel us to realise the significance + of that something. To solve this problem is his last and most exacting + difficulty, demanding a continual wariness and the closest discipline. + When Homer nodded, another man's word came to his lips, and when that + happens the poet may as well be silent. No poet has been wholly blameless + of this relaxation or escaped its penalties, but it is by his vigilance + in this matter that we measure his virility.</p> + <p> I suppose everyone knows the feeling + that sometimes calls us to a life where we fend and cater for ourselves + in the fields and rivers, such as William Morris knew when he shot fieldfares + with his bow and arrow and cooked them for his supper. Shakespeare knew + it too, in the mind of Caliban, and his business was to realise this + subject-matter for us in such a way that it could not possibly escape + us in vague generalisation. Its appeal to our perceptions must be irresistible. + He can do it only by the perfect choice of words, thus:</p> + I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;<br> + I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.<br> + <br> + + * * + * * + *<br> + <br> + I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;<br> + And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts;<br> + Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how<br> + To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee<br> + To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get thee<br> + Young scamels from the rock.<br> + + <p>Every word sings with life, and the whole passage shows perfectly the + function of words in poetry. The peculiar delight which we get from + such a passage as this comes, I think, apart from its fundamental poetic + quality, from the fact that the subject-matter is of such general interest + as constantly to tempt incomplete perception to inadequate expression. + Consequently when we get an expression which is complete our pleasure + has an added surprise. "Show thee a <i>jay's</i> nest"; it + is strangely simple, but it is revelation. Or let us take a case where + the subject-matter is one of the emotions of which we have spoken; the + emotion that marks the pity of parting at death:<br> + <br> + I am dying, Egypt, dying:<br> + <br> + the use of that one word, Egypt, should answer for ever the people who + think that the subject-matter of poetry is to be expressed by rhythm.</p> + <p> Thus we have rhythm expressing the poetic + emotion, or intensity of perception, and words expressing the thing + that is intensely perceived; so, as the creed of the mystics shows us + beauty born of the exact fusion of thought with feeling, of perfect + correspondence of the strictly chosen words to the rhythmic movement + is born the complete form of poetry. And when this perfect correspondence + occurs unaccompanied by any other energy—save, perhaps, the co-ordinating + energy of which I have spoken—we have pure poetry and what is + commonly in our minds when we think of lyric. If it be objected that + some of my illustrations, that speech of Caliban's for example, are + taken from "dramatic poetry" and not from "lyric poetry," + my answer is that it is impossible to discover any essential difference + between those lines and any authentic poem that is known as "a + lyric." The kind of difference that there is can be found also + between any two lyrics; it is accidental, resulting from difference + of personality and subject-matter, and the essential poetic intensity, + which is the thing that concerns us, is of the same nature in both cases. + Any general term that can fitly be applied to, say, the <i>Ode to The + West Wind</i> can be applied with equal fitness to Caliban's island + lore. Both are poetry, springing from the same imaginative activity, + living through the same perfect selection and ordering of words, and, + in our response, quickening the same ecstasy. Although we are accustomed + to look rather for the rhymed and stanzaic movement of the former in + a lyric than for the stricter economy and uniformity of Caliban's blank + verse, yet both have the essential qualities of lyric—of pure + poetry.</p> + <br> + <h2><a name="VIII"></a>SONG</h2> + <p> It may be protested that after all the + peculiar property of lyric, differentiating it from other kinds of poetry, + is that it is song. If we dismiss the association of the art of poetry + with the art of music, as we may well do, I think the protest is left + without any significance. In English, at any rate, there is hardly any + verse—a few Elizabethan poems only—written expressly to + be sung and not to be spoken, that has any importance as poetry, and + even the exceptions have their poetic value quite independently of their + musical setting. For the rest, whenever a true poem is given a musical + setting, the strictly poetic quality is destroyed. The musician—if + he be a good one—finds his own perception prompted by the poet's + perception, and he translates the expression of that perception from + the terms of poetry into the terms of music. The result may be, and + often is, of rare beauty and of an artistic significance as great, perhaps, + as that of the poem itself, and the poet is mistaken in refusing, as + he often does,[4] to be the cause of the liberation of this new and + admirable activity in others. But, in the hands of the musician, once + a poem has served this purpose, it has, as poetry, no further existence. + It is well that the musician should use fine poetry and not bad verse + as his inspiration, for obvious reasons, but when the poetry has so + quickened him it is of no further importance in his art save as a means + of exercising a beautiful instrument, the human voice. It is unnecessary + to discuss the relative functions of two great arts, wholly different + in their methods, different in their scope. But it is futile to attempt + to blend the two.</p> + + <p style="margin: 6%"> 4: His refusal + is commonly due to lamentable experience. If a Shelley is willing to + lend his suggestions to the musician, he has some right to demand that + the musician shall be a Wolf. The condition of his allowing his poem + to be used and destroyed in the process is, rightly, that something + of equal nobility shall be wrought of its dust.</p> + + <p> As far as my indifferent understanding + of the musician's art will allow me I delight in and reverence it, and + the singing human voice seems to me to be, perhaps, the most exquisite + instrument that the musician can command. But in the finished art of + the song the use of words has no connection with the use of words in + poetry. If the song be good, I do not care whether the words are German, + which I cannot understand, or English, which I can. On the whole I think + I prefer not to understand them, since I am then not distracted by thoughts + of another art.</p> + + <p> If then from the argument about the lyric + that it should "sing," we dismiss this particular meaning + of its adaptability to music, what have we left? It cannot be that it + peculiarly should be rhythmic, since we have seen that to be this is + of the essential nature of all poetry—that rhythm is, indeed, + necessary to the expression of the poetic emotion itself. It cannot + be that it peculiarly should be of passionate intensity, since again, + this we have seen to be the condition of all poetry. In short, it can + mean nothing that cannot with equal justice be said of poetry wherever + it may be found. To the ear that is worthy of poetry the majestic verse + of the great passages in <i>Paradise Lost</i>, the fierce passion of + Antony and Macbeth, the movement of the poetry in <i>Sigurd the Volsung</i>, + "sing" as surely as the lyrics of the Elizabethans or of +<i>Poems + and Ballads</i>. Poetry must give of its essential qualities at all + times, and we cannot justly demand that at any time it should give us + more than these.</p> + + <br> + <h2><a name="IX"></a>THE POPULARITY OF LYRIC</h2> + <p> Poetry being the sign of that which all + men desire, even though the desire be unconscious, intensity of life + or completeness of experience, the universality of its appeal is a matter + of course. We often hear people say, sincerely enough, that they feel + no response to poetry. This nearly always means that their natural feeling + for poetry has been vitiated in some way, generally by contact, often + forced upon them, with work that only masquerades as poetry, or by such + misgovernment of their lives as dulls all their finer instincts. Unless + it be wholly numbed in some such way, the delight of poetry is ready + to quicken in almost every man; and with a little use it will quicken + only to what is worthy. And lyric being pure poetry, and most commonly + found in isolation in the short poems which are called lyrics, these + will make the widest appeal of all the forms in which poetry is found. + For while sympathy with the poetic energy is almost universal, sympathy + with most other great energies is relatively rare. The reason, for example, + why twenty people will enjoy Wordsworth's <i>Reaper</i> for one who + will enjoy <i>Paradise Lost</i>, is not because <i>Paradise Lost</i> + is longer, but because it demands for its full appreciation not only, + in common with <i>The Reaper</i>, a sympathy with the poetic energy, + which it would obtain readily enough, but also a sympathy with that + other energy of intellectual control which has been discussed. This + energy being, though profoundly significant, yet far less so than the + poetic energy, the response to it is far less general, and many readers + of <i>Paradise Lost</i> will find in it not only poetry, which they + desire but faintly, while in <i>The Reaper</i> they will find poetry + as nearly isolated from all other energies as it can be.</p> + + <br> + <h2><a name="X"></a>CONCLUSION</h2> + <p> To summarise our argument, we find that + poetry is the result of the intensest emotional activity attainable + by man focusing itself upon some manifestation of life, and experiencing + that manifestation completely; that the emotion of poetry expresses + itself in rhythm and that the significance of the subject-matter is + realised by the intellectual choice of the perfect word. We recognise + in the finished art, which is the result of these conditions, the best + words in the best order—poetry; and to put this essential poetry + into different classes is impossible. But since it is most commonly + found by itself in short poems which we call lyric, we may say that + the characteristic of the lyric is that it is the product of the pure + poetic energy unassociated with other energies, and that lyric and poetry + are synonymous terms.</p> + <br> + <br> + <hr style="width: 35%;"> + <br> + <br> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lyric, by John Drinkwater + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LYRIC *** + +***** This file should be named 9850-h.htm or 9850-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/8/5/9850/ + +Produced by Thierry Alberto and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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