Auguste Dorchain, in L’art des vers, admirably defined the charm provided by poetry: “la surprise dans la sécurité”, “la variété dans l’unité”, “la liberté dans la discipline”. It is the balance between such contrasts that gives us a sense of pleasure in going through a poetic work. Without the security, the unity, the discipline, we do not find the whole harmonious; without the surprise, the variety, the freedom, it does not seem stimulating. Thus, it is fair that a poet defines which elements will represent the first qualities, and which the second in his poem. It is by balancing them that a well-made whole is built, even if it leans more toward the most desired effect. While the yearning for freedom that inspired poets of the past is understandable, while many innovations have renewed and enhanced admirably the poetic art, it seems a depreciation of art to accept it performed in any way, as if the music of a layman playing a musical instrument in disorderly fashion were rewarded with praise.
Tag: literature
Regularity and Dynamism
We jump from English to Portuguese poetic theory and observe a contrast. In English, rhythmic regularity is valued, when it seems Portuguese theorists agree that variety gives dynamism to poems and is, therefore, preferable to avoid “monotony”. The curious thing is that the latter do not suspect that there is no rhythm without regularity and end up fatally praising the rhythm of poems that do not have it. Any sentence spoken in any language will have an intonation, or a “cadence” of its own when analyzed individually. Poetry, however, arranges phrases in such a way that there is a harmonious link between them, a link determined by rhythm. If, from one verse to the next, everything changes, there can be no rhythm in the composition, unless one makes a creative and non-musical use of this word.
Antero Again…
It is amazing how I have been able to see Antero through his verses. I read a biography of him, and a myriad of facts not described come to me as obvious—facts that I end up confirming with the help of other biographers. Thus, I understand him completely and perfectly, from his intimate torments to his behavior; and if an Eça tells him of a “fleeting”, though “consoling” coexistence, I already know the reasons, I already deduce the mystery that hides this apparently contradictory posture. I know how Antero felt, and I know how heavy burden he carried that he could not talk about. It is touching to see him described by Eça, to see how he imposed an overwhelming victory over his inner conflicts through his personality. And finally…
The Temple of Literary Glory
According to Schopenhauer, out of d’Alembert’s pen came this beautiful reflection on the “temple of literary glory”:
L’intérieur du temple n’est habité que par des morts qui n’y étaient pas de leur vivant, et par quelques vivants que l’on met à la porte, pour la plupart, dès qu’ils sont morts.
What a thing! And worse is to note the very rare exceptions to this rule. The most obvious conclusion is that of Cioran, Valéry, Volaire, that success is a true disgrace for the artist. But when we inquire into the reason for such a deduction, we are led to admit that there is nothing more beneficial, if not essential to the artist than a mixture of failure and solitude. That isolation is productive is easily understandable; but failure? spending one’s life neglected, if not repudiated? And note that this is what happened in the overwhelming majority of cases to those who eternalized themselves in d’Alembert’s temple.