Poetry; Is It Out of Date?

POETRY; IS IT OUT OF DATE? BY BISHOP ORSON F. WHITNEY, OF SALT LAKE CITY.

Is poetry out of date? An interesting query —answered in the

affirmativeby the author of the following paragraph, clipped from a Chicago paper, The Welfare, some time since, and sent by a friend to the present writer, with the request that he reply to it through one of the public prints: POETRY IS OUT OF DATE. BY PROFESSOR OSCAR L. TRIGGS OF CHICAGO.

There is no great thought, no worthy emotion, which may not be better expressed in prose than in verse to-day. Verse was the primitive expression of man's thought. Rhythm was the characteristic of his first crude literary efforts. Homer, Dante and Shakespeare cast their thoughts and emotions in verse because the metrical form was the only adequate method of expression invented in their day. English prose has been developed to the point, however, where it is a finer, more subtle instru- ment of wider scope than English verse, and poetry's chief excuse for being has been destroyed. Y . <

Literary truth is truth to nature. Poetry is artificial and bears the deadly brand of insincerity in its form. The passing of the verse form is strikingly shown by the grip which Kipling has on the English speaking world. His poetry is the nearest approximation to ideal prose which I know, and I think his truth is the secret of his grip. Walt Whitman is a great literary power for the same reason. He evolved a style of verse which defied convention and sacrificed form to truth and effect. I would not decry the great singers of the centuries, but the poets of the twentieth century will follow Ruskin, Newman and Pater instead of Milton, Wordsworth or Keats.

The writer of the foregoing, in his use of the term poetry, means, of course, verse, metrical composition, and not the spirit of poesy, which inspires great thoughts and worthy emotions, which in turn clothe themselves in poetic forms and are called poetry. But had he contended that that spirit is out of date, as well as the verse forms in which it is generally clothed, he would have been quite as

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near the truth, in my opinion, as he is in the argument advanced. The poetic spirit and the practical spirit are not necessarily foes, implacable, irreconcilable; but it is a fact, nevertheless, that the present perverted operations of those spirits, due to the sordid inclinations of a material age, and to the imperfect conceptions formed on both sides of the question, as to the true mission and purpose of such agencies in the world, are essentially antagonistic to each other. Poetry, art, and religion, are popularly supposed to represent the ideal exclusively — something impractical and of no particular use, of secondary importance at best; while commerce, science, politics, and such like factors and forces, represent the practical or real. Being "of the earth earthy," appealing primarily to the stomach and the pocket (and to these alone in the minds of the shallow) the latter are more readily appreciated, are thought to be more useful, and are consequently more popular with the masses and with many of the classes of mankind. Commerce and politics "hold the fort;" they are of to-day; while poetry and religion are deemed to be of yesterday. My belief, however, is that they are not only of yesterday, but of to-day and forever. Nor would I place politics, commerce, or even war outside the pale of things useful in bringing about the grand result sought by the great and all-wise Engineer whose omnipotent, overruling hand rests upon the throttle-valve of the universe. Poets and financiers, ideologists and men of affairs, must take God into account, must know something of him and his purposes, before they can fully appreciate their gifts or put them to the best and wisest use; and the same may be said of those who deem it their province and privilege to pass judgment upon such things. But let us meet Professor Triggs upon his own ground. He is a gentleman of learning and culture, a scholar and critic of repute. His opinions are therefore entitled to respect, howsoever we may disagree with them. He has lately shocked a large portion of the religious world by declaring that the time-honored hymns of Watts and Wesley are mere doggerel verse, and has made other startling suggestions at war with conventional and popular ideas and notions regarding poetry. I may remark in passing that I rather suspect he is more than half way right regarding some of the hymns he criticises so severely.

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Hymns may be poems, however, even some of the hymns of Watts and Wesley; and certainly those of Cowper, Addison and Montgomery merit the distinction. The religious spirit they breathe is not fatal to such a claim, except in minds agnostic or ultra- unitarian. The same is true of the hymns of the Latter-day Saints, many of which, while they cannot be called high class poetry, have served the noblest and most useful purposes. "I am not highly educated," said John B. Gough, the famous temperance orator, to .an American scholar —Wendell Phillips, I believe, "That is evident from your speech," was the reply; "but," added the mental giant, "the world is perhaps all the better for that." Hymns —which are prayers set to song — have saved souls, or ministered to that end. 1 doubt that Homer's Iliad or Shakespeare's plays —precious as they are — have done as much in that direction. But to the theme proper. The Professor asserts that there is no great thought, no worthy emotion, which may not be better expressed in prose than in verse. This I deny. I do not believe that prose, however perfect, is a better medium of expression than poetry for the higher thoughts and emotions. On the contrary, I am convinced that it is the inadequacy of prose to express some thoughts and emotions, that renders poetry essential; and that its "chief excuse for being" has not been destroyed by the development of English prose to its present state of perfection. As well might it be contended that the manufacture of busi- ness suits by some merchant tailor standing at the head of his craft, had been perfected to that degree that the full-dress suit, the army or navy uniform, the stage or court costume, or the sacerdotal robe, was no longer essential—was obsolete and out of date, having been superceded by the everyday apparel of the man of affairs. This would be democracy —verbal democracy with a vengeance — equal to the wholesale abolition of proposed by titles

the revered Author of the Declaration. Language is the clothing of thought, the apparel of ideas, and different suits of dress are no more desirable or necessary to men and women in society, in kitchen, parlor, cabinet, field or work- shop, than are varied styles of expression to their diversified thoughts and feelings. The chit-chat of the street, the talk of the .shop, though it often finds its way into the drawing-room, is just

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as often out of place there, and is certainly not equal to the polite conversation that reigns there legitimately; nor is the conversa- tion of the drawing-room usually equal to the diction of the editorial or magazine article, the erudite language of a lecture, or the im- passioned periods of an oration —though one mind, pen or tongue, be the source of all. The lover, the patriot, the religioas devotee, warmed and aroused, is not apt to express himself in the same moderate or lifeless manner as the blase frequenter of the too frequent ball or opera. As thought and feeling become more elevated or more intense, they naturally create for themselves higher and better forms of expression; and this is just as true of poetry as it is of conversation and oratory. Poetry is condensed oratory, and the best of oratory but diluted poetry. Poetry is inherent in great thoughts and worthy emotions. It springs from them as Minerva from the brow of Jove. The spirit and gift of poesy are the parents of such thoughts and emotions. Poetry is the culmination and climax of verbal expression the — ne plus ultra of eloquence. There is nothing beyond it in the way of words. The higher the thought, the deeper the emotion, the more apt is it to break forth into poetry, to burst forth into song- There is no loftier spirit than that which brooded over the old Hebrew prophets, tuning their sublime harps to the music of the spheres and sending their great songs rolling like thunder peals down the centuries. Call it the Spirit of God, the spirit of poesy, or what you will, it is the same. "All inmost things," says Carlyle, "are melodious; naturally utter themselves in song." "See deep enough, and you see musi- cally ; the heart of nature being everywhere music, if you can only reach it." Poetry he calls "musical thought." One is a poet, he says, who reads a poem well, who enters into the spirit of it as zealously as did the author while composing it; who thrills or shud- ders at the portrayal, or the sentiment, as did the poet when the inspiration seized him. I may add that one who cannot do this,

who cannot feel the divine afflatus, "the man that hath no music in his soul," whatever his ability otherwise, is an incompetent critic of poetry. We all know the fate of poetry when mere grammar- ians get to work upon it. Not every smart literary critic can.

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less than — "born, not made."Hardly ""mend with rapture what with fire was penned." the poet, is the judge of poetry But the Professor would probably say that Carlyle, in the

lines quoted, is not referring exclusively to verse, but to poetic thought and possibly to poetic prose. Granted; but neither does he bar out verse, and contend, as the Professor does, that prose alone will answer every requirement in the premises. Moreover, my quotations are from Carlyle's lecture on "The Hero as Poet," and it is metrical, rhythmical language, the music of words as well as of thoughts, that the great man is considering. While it is true that primitive man, unsophisticated, uncom- mercialized, in close touch with nature and the infinite, is poetic, it is equally true that the highest poetry is the product of culture and refinement, acting directly or indirectly upon and through the poet. Whatever his natural gifts, his inspiration, he must still have a pen, a vocabulary, and the skill and taste to use them. Professor Triggs would hardly contend that the inhabitants of the Stone Age, though they had their rhythmic chants and dances, conversed in tropes,

ballads and sonnets habitually. "Purple and fine linen" were not

the original materials of man's wearing apparel. Adam's "coat of skins" came before Joseph's "coat of many colors." The American Indian is innately poetic, is naturally eloquent, as is the aborigine of other lands; but these qualities differ in degree, according to the origin, descent and environment of these primitive peoples. The American Indian was not originally a barbarian. He is the legitimate though degenerate product of ages of civilization. In his veins, according to our "Mormon" view, runs the blood of the Hebrew prophets, the greatest poets of antiquity. But no untutored Indian could have written the Book of Job, the Psalms of David, or the prophecies of Isaiah. The authors of those sublime poems — were not primitive men savages and barbarians. Neither were Homer, Shakespeare and Dante. Of course, the Professor does not mean to imply that they were —does not mean to say that such poetry as theirs is crude and primitive. He "would not decry the great singers of the centuries." But he does say, in effect, that poetry as a whole is inferior, when compared with prose in its present perfected state. This is where I take issue with him. I do not regard the prose

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form as superior to the poetic. I do not think Homer, Shakespeare and Dante would read better if rendered into modern English by Ruskin, Pater or Newman, or by any prose writer of equal genius with themselves. I cannot believe that our heaven-inspired, soul- stirring hymns and anthems rest upon a false basis. I cannot believe that the mission of poetry is at an end. I cannot believe that all the songs and ballads of the future will be written in prose. To me, there is still force in Fletcher's wise saying, "Let me write the ballads of a people, and I care not who makes their laws." While I am not a stickler for any particular form of verse, and believe that much that is old will pass, is passing, and has passed, I cannot concede that all that is old is unworthy of preserva- tion or present use, and that the experience, arts and methods of the world's song-makers and versifiers count for nothing in the presence of Ruskin, Pater and Newman's "ideal prose." It is just

as wise now as it was in Paul's day to "prove all things and hold fast that which is good." At the same time, I do not contend that the old verse forms should prevail to the utter exclusion of the new. I find no fault with that part of the Professor's argument which maintains that literary truth is truth to nature, and that artificiality and insincerity in poetry are passing. Let them pass; the sooner the better. "Ring out the false, ring in the true." But that all poetry is false, and only prose true, I cannot agree. To prove the opposite, let us take his favorite Kipling —not a great poet, but certainly a strong and brilliant one, whose verse is "the nearest approximation to ideal prose" that the Professor knows of, and whose "truth," he thinks, "is the secret of his grip." The highest point yet touched by Kipling is in his beautiful ode, the "Recessional:"

God of our fathers, known of old Lord of our far-flung battle line Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. Lest we forget — lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting dies The Captains and the Kings depart Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart.

——— — —

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Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget

Far-called, our navies melt away On dune and headland sinks the fire Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget!

If,drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the law Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet. Lest we forget — lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard All valiant dust that builds on dust. And guarding, calls not Thee to guard; For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on thy people. Lord! Amen.

Does anyone believe that those inspired and inspiring stanzas, so clean cut and precise, so perfect in rhythm and rhyme, would sound better, be more impressive, or convey a clearer meaning, if recast and rendered into prose? Great and worthy as are the thoughts in themselves, is it not evident that they owe much of their power and effect to their expression in verse form? I care not how near Kipling shall approximate to "ideal prose," if he always gives us such poetry as that. English verse is in little danger of passing so long as it presents itself in such pleasing form. The "Recessional" is worth many times all the "Barrack Room Ballads," all the "Rimed Gossip" and "Rimed Fighting" that Kipling has produced; nor have I seen anything of his in prose that can compare with it. And yet his verse forms are neither new nor original. "In- deed," says Walter Rice, "hardly one of his meters has an ascer- tained origin, but hearkens back to the days before written history or unchanted poetry. It requires no education of the ear to detect

the stress in such songs as these; savages have been found without a belief in God, but none without knowing how to chant and dance, if only to the noise of sticks knocked together; our very hearts

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keep such time. Universal acceptance of such work was, there- fore, fairly inevitable." This, while it sustains Professor Triggs in his affirmation as to the antiquity of verse and rhythm, is flatly contradictory of his assertion that poetry is out of date and passing, or in any danger of passing. It is one with the view of the present writer, that there is a virile virtue in verse that will perpetuate it. Before poetry can pass, the human heart must change—must lose its innate love of rhythm and cadence — the human heart, that pedestal of Homer's fame, that immovable basis of Shakespeare's overmas- tering triumph. "Our very hearts", beat time, and rhythmical language is not necessarily artificial and insincere. On the con- trary, it is the true and appropriate form of expression for great thoughts and worthy emotions. Mr. Rice continues as to Kipling: "He has emboldened the hearts of the singers of the day, even while he teaches a thought- less and regardless world that poetry paves the one royal highway to the heart of man. For a generation the poet and the people have been growing far and farther apart. In Mr. Kipling they become united once more. He not only shows that they can be one, but he makes them one. This amounts to the discovery of a lost art. We learn that poetry can still make a universal appeal." In what way, then, does Kipling's grip "on the English-speaking world" prove that poetry—true poetry — is passing? It certainly will not pass as long as that "grip" continues to "hold its own." The secret of the success of Kipling's masterpiece, "The Reces- sional," is indeed its "truth" — truth of form as well as of sentiment and spirit. To teach and defend truth is the proper mission of poesy. As to Walt Whitman (a truly great poet and masterly artist in the main) who "evolved a style of verse which defied convention

— and sacrificed form to truth and efl^ect," is it not a fact that wherever he most shocks the reader, it is due to this very sacrifice of poetic form: a sacrifice not necessary to truth, except in its rudest phases, and not conducive to effect, save of a disagreeable kind? Whitman's crudities and commonplaces, his prosaic and almost slang utterances, are what mar his work and prevent much of it from being poetry. Such lines as, "I tucked my trousers in

— ;

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my boot-tops and went and had a good time," might pass in one of Bret Harte's or Will Carleton's eccentric ballads, but would hardly be tolerated by Whitman's greatest admirers in a serious poet of less genius and repute. It is prose, pure and simple whether — ideal or commonplace, I leave the reader to determine.

— Whitman's other improprieties defended on the ground that nature is equally immodest, equally "regardless of observation" are probably among the things that caused Carlyle to say what he did in praise of "the benignant efficacies of concealment" (Sartor Resartus —Chapter —Symbols). III It may sometimes be necessary to "call a spade a spade;" but not always — especially in a day of synonyms, that express truth quite as well. Shakespeare's vul- garity may be palliated on the ground of a limited vocabulary and a, less refined age than the present; but it cannot be maintained that it is his vulgarity which makes him great. He is simply great in spite of it, as is Whitman in spite of his. True, much of Shake- peare's vulgarity is that of the vulgar characters he portrays; and the same may be said of Whitman who, while ostensibly painting his own portrait, is in reality showing forth the composite man, the average American, democracy personified, with all its virtues and vices. His aim is to exalt the body, as suggestive and inclusive of the soul; to prove that all parts and processes of the human system and of nature in general, are equally honorable; and that the evil and imperfect, no less than the good and perfect, are necessary. It may be proper to call such work a portrait, a picture, a

presentation of things ideal and commonplace, (though great artists, as a rule, secure their ideal effects by sacrificing the commonplace) but is it right to call those parts poetry which disregard and defy all known poetic standards —which are not only violative of poetic form, but of the very spirit of poesy? While the world, at present, is rude and elemental in many of its phases, it is not necessary that we should* gloat upon its crudities. To properly clothe the body is not to be ashamed of it or to deny the decency of its func- tions. Why — to paraphrase Carlyle —why not be satisfied with the beauty and fragrance of the flower, without grubbing it up from the ground and exposing to public gaze the refuse clinging to its roots? To present the world just as it is, is to present imperfection. But the imperfect part is to be done away, and the perfect whole is