What shall we require of poetry? Delight, music, subtlety14 of thought, a world of the heart's desire, fidelity15 to comprehensible experience, a glimpse through magic casements16, profound wisdom? All these things—all different, yet not all contradictory—have been required of poetry. What shall we require of her? The answer comes, it seems, as quick and as vague as the question. We require the highest. All that can be demanded of any spiritual activity of man we must demand of poetry. It must be adequate to all our experience; it must be not a diversion from, but a culmination17 of life; it must be working steadily18 towards a more complete universality.
Suddenly we may turn upon ourselves and ask what right we have to demand these things of poetry; or others will turn upon us and say: 'This is a lyrical age.' To ourselves and to the others we are bound to reply that poetry must be maintained in the proud position where it has always been, the sovereign language of the human spirit, the sublimation20 of all experience. In the past there has never been a lyrical age, though there have been ages of minor21 poetry, when poetry was no longer deliberately22 made the vehicle of man's profoundest thought and most searching experience. Nor was it the ages of minor poetry which produced great lyrical poetry. Great lyrical poetry has always been an incidental achievement, a parergon, of great poets, and great poets have always been those who believed that poetry was by nature the worthiest23 vessel24 of the highest argument of which the soul of man is capable.
Yet a poetic theory such as this seems bound to include great prose, and not merely the prose which can most easily be assimilated to the condition of poetry, such as Plato's Republic or Milton's Areopagitica, but the prose of the great novelists. Surely the colloquial26 prose of Tchehov's Cherry Orchard27 has as good a claim to be called poetry as The Essay on Man, Tess of the D'Urbervilles as The Ring and the Book, The Possessed28 as Phèdre? Where are we to call a halt in the inevitable29 process by which the kinds of literary art merge30 into one? If we insist that rhythm is essential to poetry, we are in danger of confusing the accident with the essence, and of fastening upon what will prove to be in the last analysis a merely formal difference. The difference we seek must be substantial and essential.
The very striking merit of Sir Henry Newbolt's New Study of English Poetry is that he faces the ultimate problem of poetry with courage, sincerity31, and an obvious and passionate32 devotion to the highest spiritual activity of man. It has seldom been our good fortune to read a book of criticism in which we were so impressed by what we can only call a purity of intention; we feel throughout that the author's aim is single, to set before us the results of his own sincere thinking on a matter of infinite moment. Perhaps better, because subtler, books of literary criticism have appeared in England during the last ten years—if so, we have not read them; but there has been none more truly tolerant, more evidently free from malice33, more certainly the product of a soul in which no lie remains34. Whether it is that Sir Henry has like Plato's Cephalus lived his literary life blamelessly, we do not know, but certainly he produces upon us an effect akin35 to that of Cephalus's peaceful smile when he went on his way to sacrifice duly to the gods and left the younger men to the intricacies of their infinite debate.
Now it seems to us of importance that a writer like Sir Henry Newbolt should declare roundly that creative poetry and creative prose belong to the same kind. It is important not because there is anything very novel in the contention36, but because it is opportune37; and it is opportune because at the present moment we need to have emphasis laid on the vital element that is common both to creative poetry and creative prose. The general mind loves confusion, blest mother of haze38 and happiness; it loves to be able to conclude that this is an age of poetry from the fact that the books of words cut up into lines or sprinkled with rhymes are legion. An age of fiddlesticks! Whatever the present age is—and it is an age of many interesting characteristics—it is not an age of poetry. It would indeed have a better chance of being one if fifty instead of five hundred books of verse were produced every month; and if all the impresarios39 were shouting that it was an age of prose. The differentia of verse is a merely trivial accident; what is essential in poetry, or literature if you will, is an act of intuitive comprehension. Where you have the evidence of that act, the sovereign ?sthetic process, there you have poetry. What remains for you, whether you are a critic or a poet or both together, is to settle for yourself a system of values by which those various acts of intuitive comprehension may be judged. It does not suffice at any time, much less does it suffice at the present day, to be content with the uniqueness of the pleasure which you derive40 from each single act of comprehension made vocal41. That contentment is the comfortable privilege of the amateur and the dilettante42. It is not sufficient to get a unique pleasure from Mr De la Mare43's Arabia or Mr Davies's Lovely Dames44 or Miss Katherine Mansfield's Prelude45 or Mr Eliot's Portrait of a Lady, in each of which the vital act of intuitive comprehension is made manifest. One must establish a hierarchy46, and decide which act of comprehension is the more truly comprehensive, which poem has the completer universality. One must be prepared not only to relate each poetic expression to the finest of its kind in the past, or to recognise a new kind if a new kind has been created, but to relate the kind to the finest kind.
That, as it seems to us, is the specifically critical activity, and one which is in peril47 of death from desuetude48. The other important type of criticism which is analysis of poetic method, an investigation49 and appreciation50 of the means by which the poet communicates his intuitive comprehension to an audience, is in a less perilous51 condition. Where there are real poets—and only a bigot will deny that there are real poets among us now: we have just named four—there will always be true criticism of poetic method, though it may seldom find utterance52 in the printed word. But criticism of poetic method has, by hypothesis, no perspective and no horizons; it is concerned with a unique thing under the aspect, of its uniqueness. It may, and happily most often does, assume that poetry is the highest expression of the spiritual life of man; but it makes no endeavour to assess it according to the standards that are implicit53 in such an assumption. That is the function of philosophical54 criticism. If philosophical criticism can be combined with criticism of method—and there is no reason why they should not coexist in a single person; the only two English critics of the nineteenth century, Coleridge and Arnold, were of this kind—so much the better; but it is philosophical criticism of which we stand in desperate need at this moment.
A good friend of ours, who happens to be one of the few real poets we possess, once wittily55 summed up a general objection to criticism of the kind we advocate as 'always asking people to do what they can't.' But to point out, as the philosophical critic would, that poetry itself must inevitably56 languish57 if the more comprehensive kinds are neglected, or if a non-poetic age is allowed complacently58 to call itself lyrical, is not to urge the real masters in the less comprehensive kinds to desert their work. Who but a fool would ask Mr De la Mare to write an epic59 or Miss Mansfield to give us a novel? But he might be a wise man who called upon Mr Eliot to set himself to the composition of a poetic drama; and without a doubt he would deserve well of the commonwealth60 who should summon the popular imitators of Mr De la Mare, Mr Davies, or Mr Eliot to begin by trying to express something that they did comprehend or desired to comprehend, even though it should take them into thousands of unprintable pages. It is infinitely61 preferable that those who have so far given evidence of nothing better than a fatal fluency62 in insipid63 imitation of true lyric19 poets should fall down a precipice64 in the attempt to scale the very pinnacles65 of Parnassus. There is something heroic about the most unmitigated disaster at such an altitude.
Moreover, the most marked characteristic of the present age is a continual disintegration66 of the consciousness; more or less deliberately in every province of man's spiritual life the reins67 are being thrown on to the horse's neck. The power which controls and disciplines sensational68 experience is, in modern literature, daily denied; the counterpart of this power which envisages69 the ideal in the conduct of one's own or the nation's affairs and unfalteringly pursues it is held up to ridicule70. Opportunism in politics has its complement71 in opportunism in poetry. Mr Lloyd George's moods are reflected in Mr ——'s. And, beneath these heights, we have the queer spectacle of a whole race of very young poets who somehow expect to attain72 poetic intensity73 by the physical intensity with which they look at any disagreeable object that happens to come under their eye. Perhaps they will find some satisfaction in being reckoned among the curiosities of literature a hundred years hence; it is certainly the only satisfaction they will have. They, at any rate, have a great deal to gain from the acid of philosophical criticism. If a reaction to life has in itself the seeds of an intuitive comprehension it will stand explication. If a young poet's nausea74 at the sight of a toothbrush is significant of anything at all except bad upbringing, then it is capable of being refined into a vision of life and of being expressed by means of the appropriate mechanism75 or myth. But to register the mere25 facts of consciousness, undigested by the being, without assessment76 or reinforcement by the mind is, for all the connection it has with poetry, no better than to copy down the numbers of one's bus-tickets.
We do not wish to suggest that Sir Henry Newbolt would regard this lengthy77 gloss78 upon his book as legitimate79 deduction80. He, we think, is a good deal more tolerant than we are; and he would probably hesitate to work out the consequences of the principles which he enunciates81 and apply them vigorously to the present time. But as a vindication82 of the supreme83 place of poetry as poetry in human life, as a stimulus84 to critical thought and a guide to exquisite85 appreciation of which his essay on Chaucer is an honourable86 example—A New Study of English Poetry deserves all the praise that lies in our power to give.
[MARCH, 1920.
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1 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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2 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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3 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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4 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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5 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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7 prolific | |
adj.丰富的,大量的;多产的,富有创造力的 | |
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8 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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9 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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10 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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11 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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12 chaotic | |
adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的 | |
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13 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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14 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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15 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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16 casements | |
n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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17 culmination | |
n.顶点;最高潮 | |
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18 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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19 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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20 sublimation | |
n.升华,升华物,高尚化 | |
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21 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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22 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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23 worthiest | |
应得某事物( worthy的最高级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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24 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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25 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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26 colloquial | |
adj.口语的,会话的 | |
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27 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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28 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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29 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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30 merge | |
v.(使)结合,(使)合并,(使)合为一体 | |
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31 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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32 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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33 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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34 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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35 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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36 contention | |
n.争论,争辩,论战;论点,主张 | |
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37 opportune | |
adj.合适的,适当的 | |
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38 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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39 impresarios | |
n.(演出的)主办人,经理( impresario的名词复数 ) | |
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40 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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41 vocal | |
adj.直言不讳的;嗓音的;n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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42 dilettante | |
n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
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43 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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44 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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45 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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46 hierarchy | |
n.等级制度;统治集团,领导层 | |
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47 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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48 desuetude | |
n.废止,不用 | |
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49 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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50 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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51 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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52 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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53 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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54 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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55 wittily | |
机智地,机敏地 | |
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56 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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57 languish | |
vi.变得衰弱无力,失去活力,(植物等)凋萎 | |
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58 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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59 epic | |
n.史诗,叙事诗;adj.史诗般的,壮丽的 | |
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60 commonwealth | |
n.共和国,联邦,共同体 | |
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61 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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62 fluency | |
n.流畅,雄辩,善辩 | |
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63 insipid | |
adj.无味的,枯燥乏味的,单调的 | |
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64 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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65 pinnacles | |
顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 ); 顶点; 尖顶; 小尖塔 | |
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66 disintegration | |
n.分散,解体 | |
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67 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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68 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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69 envisages | |
想像,设想( envisage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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70 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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71 complement | |
n.补足物,船上的定员;补语;vt.补充,补足 | |
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72 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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73 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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74 nausea | |
n.作呕,恶心;极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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75 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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76 assessment | |
n.评价;评估;对财产的估价,被估定的金额 | |
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77 lengthy | |
adj.漫长的,冗长的 | |
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78 gloss | |
n.光泽,光滑;虚饰;注释;vt.加光泽于;掩饰 | |
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79 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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80 deduction | |
n.减除,扣除,减除额;推论,推理,演绎 | |
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81 enunciates | |
n.(清晰地)发音( enunciate的名词复数 );确切地说明v.(清晰地)发音( enunciate的第三人称单数 );确切地说明 | |
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82 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
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83 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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84 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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85 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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86 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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