sometimes the words escape me
Poetry: unmeasured prose.
It's bemusing (!) to ponder why so many poet/critics have tin ears for prose. But then plenty of critic/critics (Perloff, for example) have the same problem. It may be that many of us have become so wrapped up in asserting our point of view that we no longer care to be honestly persuasive. (I've succumbed to this too often myself.) That is, we prefer the Halloween costume of jargon to the Yeatsian enterprise of "going naked." If we delivered our arguments nakedly, with whatever beauty they have by nature, who would ever grant us tenure, or publish our tomes on uncreativity?
Modern poetry: something seriously questionable that necessarily remains unread when we must necessarily go and do the weekly shopping.
Post a Comment