Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot

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Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot Page 12

by Frank Kermode


  2 Practical Criticism, p. 277.

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  ESSAYS O F G ENER A LI ZATION

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  person like myself for Shelley's poetry i s not attributable to

  irrelevant prejudices or to a simple blind spot, but is due to a

  peculiarity in the poetry and not in the reader, that it is not the

  presentation of beliefs w·hich I do not hold, or - to put the case as

  extremely as possible - of beliefs that excite my abhorrence, that

  makes the difficulty. Still less is it that Shelley is deliberately

  making use of his poetic gifts to propagate a doctrine ; for Dante

  and Lucretius did the same thing. I suggest that the position is

  somewhat as follows. When the doctrine, theory, belief, or 'view

  of life' presented in a poem is one which the mind of the reader

  can accept as coherent, mature, and founded on the facts of

  experience, it interposes no obstacle to the reader's enjoyment,

  whether it be one that he accept or deny, approve or deprecate.

  When it is one which the reader rejects as childish or feeble, it

  may, for a reader of well-developed mind, set up an almost

  complete check. I observe in passing that we may distinguish, but

  without precision, between poets who employ their verbal,

  rhythmic and imaginative gift in the service of ideas which they

  hold passionately, and poets who employ the ideas which they

  hold with more or less settled conviction as material for a poem ;

  poets may vary indefinitely between these two hypothetical

  extremes, and at what point we place any particular poet must

  remain incapable of exact calculation. And I am inclined to think

  that the reason why I was intoxicated by Shelley's poetry at the

  age of fifteen, and now find it almost unreadable, is not so much

  that at that age I accepted his ideas, and have since come to reject

  them, as that at that age 'the question of belief or disbelief', as

  Mr. Richards puts it, did not arise. It is not so much that thirty

  years ago I was able to read Shelley under an illusion which

  experience has dissipated, as that because the question of belief or

  disbelief did not arise I was in a much better position to enjoy the

  poetry. I can only regret that Shelley did not l ive to put his poetic

  gifts, which were certainly of the first order, at the service of more

  tenable beliefs - which need not have been, for my purposes,

  beliefs more acceptable to me . . . .

  [iv T H E E X H A UST I V E C R I T I C

  From time to time, every hundred years or so, i t is desirable that

  some critic shall appear to review the past of our literature, and

  set the poets and the poems in a new order. This task is not one

  of revolution but of readjustment. What we observe is partly the

  same scene, but in a different and more distant perspective ; there

  are new and strange objects in the foreground, to be drawn

  accurately in proportion to the more familiar ones which now

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  'THE USE O F POETRY AND THE USE O F CR I T I C I S M '

  approach the horizon, where all but the most eminent become

  invisible to the naked eye. The exhaustive critic, armed with a

  powerful glass, will be able to sweep the distance and gain an

  acquaintance with minute objects in the landscape with which to

  compare minute objects close at hand ; he will be able to gauge

  nicely the position and proportion of the objects surrounding us,

  in the whole of the vast panorama. This metaphorical fancy only

  represents the ideal ; but Dryden, Johnson and Arnold have each

  performed the task as well as human frailty will allow. The

  majority of critics can be expected only to parrot the opinions of

  the last master of criticism ; among more independent minds a

  period of destruction, of preposterous over-estimation, and of

  successive fashions takes place, until a new authority comes to

  introduce some order. And it is not merely the passage of time

  and accumulation of new artistic experience, nor the ineradicable

  tendency of the great majority of men to repeat the opinions of

  those few who have taken the trouble to think, nor the tendency

  of a nimble but myopic minority to progenerate heterodoxies, that

  makes new assessments necessary. It is that no generation is

  interested in Art in quite the same way as any other ; each

  generation, like each individual, brings to the contemplation of

  art its own categories of appreciation, makes its own demands

  upon art, and has its own uses for art. 'Pure' artistic appreciation

  is to my thinking only an ideal, when not merely a figment, and

  must be, so long as the appreciation of art is an affair of limited

  and transient human beings existing in space and time. Both

  artist and audience are limited. There is for each time, for each

  artist, a kind of alloy required to make the metal workable into

  art ; and each generation prefers its own alloy to any other. Hence

  each new master of criticism performs a useful service merely by

  the fact that his errors are of a different kind from the last ; and

  the longer the sequence of critics we have, the greater amount of

  correction is possible . . . .

  [v O R I G I N AND USES OF POETRY

  I speak of Mr. Richards's views with some diffidence. Some of

  the problems he discusses are themselves very difficult, and only

  those are qualified to criticize who have applied themselves to the

  same specialized studies and have acquired proficiency in this

  kind of thinking. But here I limit myself to passages in which he

  docs not seem to be speaking as a specialist, and in which I have

  no advantage of special knowledge either. There arc two reasons

  why the writer of poetry must not be thought to have any great

  advantage. One is that a discussion of poetry such as this takes us

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  ESSAYS OF GENER.ALI ZATION

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  far outside the limits within which a poet may speak with

  authority ; the other is that. the poet does many things upon

  instinct, for which he can give no better account than anybody

  else. A poet can try, of course, to give an honest report of the way

  in which he himself Vrites : the result may, if he is a good observer,

  be illuminating. And in one sense, but a very limited one, he

  knows better what his poems 'mean' than can anyone else ; he may

  know the history of their composition, the material which has

  gone in and come out in an unrecognizable form, and he knows

  what he was trying to do and what he vas meaning to mean. But

  what a poem means is as much what it means to others as what it

  means to the author ; and indeed, in the course of time a poet may

  become merely a reader in respect to his own works, forgetting his

  original meaning - or without forgetting, merely changing. So

  that, when Mr. Richards asserts that The Waste Land effects 'a

  complete severance between poetry and all beliefs' I am no better

  qualified to say No ! than is any other reader. I will admit that I

  think that either Mr. Richards is wrong, or I do not understand
/>
  his meaning. The statement might mean that it was the first

  poetry to do what all poetry in the past would have been the

  better for doing : I can hard I y think that he intended to pay me

  such an unmerited compliment. It might also mean that the

  present situation is radically different from any ·in which poetry

  has been produced in the past : namely, that now there is nothing

  in which to believe, that Belief itself is dead ; and that therefore my

  poem is the first to respond properly to the modern situation and

  not call upon Make-Believe. And it is in this connection, apparently, that Mr. Richards observes that 'poetry iscapableofsavingus'.

  A discussion of Mr. Richards's theories of knowledge, value

  and meaning would be by no means irrelevant to this assertion,

  but it would take us far afield, and I am not the person to undertake it. We cannot of course refute the statement 'poetry is capable of saving us' without knowing which one of the multiple definitions

  of salvation Mr. Richards has in mind. 1 (A good many people

  behave as if they thought so too : otherwise their interest in poetry

  is difficult to explain.) I am sure, from the differences of environment, of period, and of mental furniture, that salvation by poetry is not quite the same thing for Mr. Richards as it was for Arnold ; but

  so far as I am concerned these are merely different shades of blue.

  In Practical Criticism2 Mr. Richards provides a recipe which I

  think throws some light upon his theological ideas. He says :

  1 See his AI me ius mz the Mind. There is of course a locution in which

  we say of someone 'he is not one of us' ; it is possible that the 'us' of Mr.

  Richards's statement represents an equally limited and select number.

  2 Second Impression, p. 290.

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  'THE USE OF POETRY AND THE U S E O F CR I T I C I S M'

  'Something like a technique or ritual for heightening sincerity

  might well be worked out. When our response to a poem after our

  best efforts remains uncertain, when we are unsure whether the

  feelings it excites come from a deep source in our experience,

  whether our liking or disliking is genuine, is ours, or an accident

  of fashion, a response to surface details or to essentials, we may

  perhaps help ourselves by considering it in a frame of feelings

  whose sincerity is beyond our questioning. Sit by the fire (with

  eyes shut and fingers pressed firmly upon the eyeballs) and

  consider with as full "realisation" as possible -' . . .

  That there is an analogy between mystical experience and some

  of the ways in which poetry is written I do not deny ; and I think

  that the Abbe Bremond has observed very well the differences as

  well as the likenesses ; though, as I have said, whether the analogy

  is of significance for the student of religion, or only to the psychologist, I do not know. I know, for instance, that some forms of ill-health, debility or anaemia, may (if other circumstances are

  favourable) produce an efflux of poetry in a way approaching the

  condition of automatic writing - though, in contrast to the claims

  sometimes made for the latter, the material has obviously been

  incubating within the poet, and cannot be suspected of being a

  present from a friendly or impertinent demon. What one writes in

  this way may succeed in standing the examination of a more

  normal state of mind ; it gives me the impression, as I have just

  said, of having undergone a long incubation, though we do not

  know until the shell breaks what kind of egg we have been sitting

  on. To me it seems that at these moments, which are characterized by the sudden lifting of the burden of anxiety and fear which presses upon our daily life so steadily that we are unaware

  of it, what happens is something negative : that is to say, not

  'inspiration' as we commonly think of it, but the breaking down

  of strong habitual barriers - which tend to re-form very quickly. 1

  1 I should like to quote a confirmation of my own experience from

  Mr. A. E. Housman's Name and Nature of Poetr_y : 'In short I think

  that the production of poetry, in its first stage, is less an active than a

  passive and involuntary process ; and if I were obliged, not to define

  poetry, but to name the class of things to which it belongs, I should call

  it a secretion ; whether a natural secretion, like turpentine in the fir, or

  a morbid secretion, like the pearl in the oyster. I think that my own

  case, though I may not deal with the matter so cleverly as the oyster

  does, is the latter ; because I have seldom written poetry unless I was

  rather out of health, and the experience, though pleasurable, was

  generally agitating and exhausting.' I take added satisfaction in the fact

  that I only read Mr. Housman's essay some time after my own lines

  were written.

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  Some obstruction is momentarily whisked away. The accompanying feeling is less like what we. know as positive pleasure, than a sudden relief from an intolerable burden. I agree with Bremond,

  and perhaps go even further, in finding that this disturbance of

  our quotidian character which results in an incantation, an outburst of words which we hardly recognize as our own (because of the effortlessness), is a very different thing from mystical illumination. The latter is a vision which may be accompanied by the realization that you will never be able to communicate it to anyone

  else, or even by the realization that when it is past you will not be

  able to recall it to yourself; the former is not a vision but a motion

  terminating in an arrangement of words on paper . . . .

  The way in which poetry is written is not, so far as our knowledge of these obscure matters as yet extends, any clue to its value . . . . The faith in mystical inspiration is responsible for the

  exaggerated repute of Kubla Khan. The imagery of that fragment,

  certainly, whatever its origins in Coleridge's reading, sank to the

  depths of Coleridge's feeling, was saturated, transformed there -

  'those are pearls that were his eyes' - and brought up into daylight

  again. But it is not used: the poem has not been written. A single

  verse is not poetry unless it is a one-verse poem ; and even the

  finest line draws its life from its context. Organization is necessary

  as well as 'inspiration'. The re-creation of word and image which

  happens fitfully in the poetry of such a poet as Coleridge happens

  almost incessantly with Shakespeare. Again and again, in his use

  of a word, he will give a new meaning or extract a latent one ; again

  and again the right imagery saturated while it lay in the depths of

  Shakespeare's memory, will rise like Anadyomene from the sea. In

  Shakespeare's poetry this reborn image or word will have its

  rational use and justification ; in much good poetry the organization will not reach to so rational a level. I will take an example which I have used elsewhere : I am glad of the opportunity to use

  it again, as on the previous occasion I had an inaccurate text. It

  is from Chapman's Bussy D'Ambois :

  Fly where the evening from the Iberian vales

  Takes on her swarthy shoulders Hecate

  Crowned with a grove �f oaks: fly where men feel

  The burning axletree, and those that suffer

&
nbsp; Beneath the chariot of the snowy Bear . . . .

  Chapman borrowed this, as Dr. Boas points out, from Seneca's

  Hercules (Eteus :

  die sub Aurora positis Sabaeis

  die sub occasu positis Hiberis

  'THE USE OF POETRY AND THE USE O F CR I T I C I SM '

  quique sub plaustro patiuntur ursae

  quique fervmti quatiuntur axe

  and probably also from the same author's Hercules Furens :

  sub ortu so/is, an sub cardine

  glacialis ursae ?

  There is first the probability that this imagery had some personal

  saturation value, so to speak, for Seneca ; another for Chapman,

  and another for myself, who have borrowed it twice from Chapman. I suggest that what gives it such intensity as it has in each case is its saturation - I will not say with 'associations', for I do

  not want to revert to Hartley - but with feelings too obscure for

  the authors even to know quite what they were. And of course

  only a part of an author's imagery comes from his reading. It

  comes from the whole of his sensitive life since early childhood.

  Why, for all of us, out of all that we have heard, seen, felt, in a

  lifetime, do certain images recur, charged with emotion, rather

  than others ? The sol).g of one bird, the leap of one fish, at a

  particular place and time, the scent of one flower, an old woman

  on a German mountain path, six ruffians seen through an open

  window playing cards at night at a small French railway junction

  where there was a water-mill : such memories may have symbolic

  value, but of what we cannot tell, for they come to represent the

  depths offeeling into which we cannot peer. We might just as well

  ask why, when we try to recall visually some period in the past,

  we find in our memory just the few meagre arbitrarily chosen set

  of snapshots that we do find there, the faded poor souvenirs of

  passionate moments. 1

  Thus far is as far as my experience will take me in this direction. My purpose has not been to examine thoroughly any one type of theory of poetry, still less to confute it ; but rather to

  indicate the kinds of defect and excess that we must expect to find

  in each, and to suggest that the current tendency is to expect too

  much, rather than too little, of poetry. No one of us, when he

  thinks about poetry, is without his own bias ; and Abbe Bremond's

  preoccupation with mysticism and Mr. Richards's lack of interest

 

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