Arquivo de literature | Page 72 of 140

The True and the Artificial

Says Guyau, in the preface to his Vers d’un philosophe:

Il y a deux écoles en poésie : l’une recherche la vérité de la pensée, la sincérité de l’émotion, le naturel et la fidélité parfaite de l’expression, qui font qu’au lieu d’un auteur ” on trouve un homme ” : pour cette école, pas de poésie possible sans une idée et un sentiment qui soient vraiment pensés et sentis. Pour d’autres, au contraire, la vérité du fond et la valeur des idées sont chose accessoire dans la poésie : le tissu brillant de ses fictions n’a rien de commun ni avec la philosophie ni avec la science ; c’est un jeu d’imagination et de style, un ravissant mensonge dont personne ne doit être dupe, surtout le poète.

This division, which seems more precise than the traditional literary schools, and which can be easily extended to the other arts, summarizes artists in two groups: the true and the artificial. The only possible caveat consists in saying that, in many cases, the imagined emotion can be a felt emotion, that is, the imagination, as strong as it is, is worth as experience. For the rest, it is to admit that there are those who make art out of expressive necessity, those for whom a life without art is absolutely unjustified, absolutely impossible; and there are those for whom art is an entertainment and an exhibition. That is enough.

Artistic Innovations

Here I am thinking: the day has come when rhythm, after being used for so long in poetry, is no longer beautiful; and beautiful is to make poetry without rhythm. Curiously, I am assaulted by a very funny memory. Once, I went to the border with Paraguay and was there to watch the most renowned “cultural spectacle” in the region. This spectacle was nothing more than an attempt to showcase the musical traditions of the neighboring countries. It was a presentation, although very expensive, roundly ridiculous; but there was one moment that, by its unthinkable grotesqueness, made the ticket price worthwhile. On stage, a guy in Paraguayan-themed robes came up carrying a harp. A harp: the most imposing of musical instruments. There was a silence, or rather, the silence of the very imposing instrument froze the audience. Obviously, they were expecting the man to play the harp. However, after hitting exactly two notes, the man, at the sound of a playback, takes the harp as a lady and begins to dance: he twirls, swings it from side to side, and dares to throw it up in the air. At this moment, the audience was already clapping their hands in excitement. It is true that I could not control my laughter, which was lost between the clapping and the playback. But there was the harp, huge, with its something divine, beautiful as if it were made of gold, whirling in the hands of a clown to the applause of a few dozen imbeciles.

Always Unpleasant…

It is curious how the writing process always seems unpleasant, or at the very least, overexposes its worst aspects. We start a prose piece, and our mind remembers how much more beautiful poetry is; we draft a volume of verse, and our mind seems to miss the productivity of prose. There is no escape: whatever we create, the process will always be a struggle, and abandoning it will always be easier. That’s why it makes us envious when we observe those who play around making art or make it thinking of figures, of fame, of readers. Although they produce mediocre works, they free themselves from this unbearable anguish and this terrible desire for annihilation.

Freedom in Discipline

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.