[BNP/E3, 13A – 36-38]

Catullus.

Some little way back I have spoken of representative versification, and I think it here due to the reader to explain it. This kind of art, which is very popular, consists in causing the verse to represent as far as possible the passion or action described. If you be sure of becoming a genius, or so to be considered, you need not trouble about this kind of art; the critics will find it in you. Thus a famous poet can write a love poem in smooth verse or in harsh: if the first, the critic points out that he is but representing the tenderness of the passion; if the latter, the poet cannot but be imitating its excitement. If the bard describes a waterfall in troubled numbers, why! he does not give us its sound, if in very smooth verses, dilts, only that he hears it from a distance of several miles.

        In fine, the real aim of modern representative versification — scrupulously fulfilled by every modern poet — is, in one phrase, that the sound be an echo to the nonsense. No more is needed.

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[36^v]

Charles Robert Anon

Charles Robert Anon

Charles Robert Anon

Charles Robert Anon

I am in receipt

Charles Robert Anon

Charles Robert Anon

Charles

[37^r]

I now pass on to one other matter which might interest the inspired youth — of course I refer to words and to poetical style. On this point I am sincerely glad to agree with Mr. {…} when he states that English poetry should generally be written in a language somewhat like English. There are, certainly, and have been, men calling themselves poets who wrote and have written in a most horrible and barbaric language. Take for instance a man calling himself Bruno, who lived more than a century ago. Here is a specimen from the poems of this gentleman: —

(From Aman’s a man for a trap).

And I might quote many other examples.

Now, although I advise you to write, as far as possible, in English, I must likewise admonish you to use such words as are not easily understood; this is a most essential part of poetry, for it causes you to have the praise of the reading public and the speedy approbation of the entangled critic. Sometimes however the critic prefers to be silent and pretend to treat your book with contempt; in your next work do you point out to the public that the contempt of the critic arises from his ignorance and you will invariably be right.

        And though it may seem strange that in the age of Kipling any man should dare to mention grammar, I must beg the patient reader to enter with me upon this subject. I wish merely to say that grammar is, in poetry, absolutely unnecessary; the darker and more uncertain the parts of your sentence (if you be so unpoetical as to write in sentences or periods), the more impressive will be your verse, the more evident your philosophic depth.

[37^v]

Gaveston.

I now come to that most important part of verse, which consists in the metaphors, the epithets, the similes — in fact, the whole dress of poetry. Poetry, like a society woman, is better seen dressed, {…}

        Similes are found everywhere, a writer on composition informs us; the gentleman is right — they are. I should confine myself, however, to informing the would-be poet that it is not advisable to find these in books that are very much read (nor can they there be much found).[1] I should think it safe however for him to take them from old poets, now forgotten. To suggest a few names, unknown to present-day readers, Publius Vergilius Maro, Quintus Horatius Flaccus, and, more modern, John Milton, John Dryden and Alexander Pope. As nobody now-a-days is acquainted with any of these, similes gathered from their works will appear quite new.

        Metaphors are obtainable in the same way.

[38^r]

Before concluding I wish to add[2] a few words on a subject of no small importance to the poet, though not directly concerning the structure or life of his compositions. I would merely point out that to attain a full reputation as a poet, the beginner must of course have his portrait published in fashionable papers, and must see that paragraphs about himself, his habits, his whims and eccentricities are published in suitable journals. Now it must be clear that, for this to be well done, the learner must look like, and act as, a poet, information about which things I here shall render masked. First, as regards personal appearance, I think no one can deny that a thin, stooping gait is indispensable. Moreover, clothes too large for the wearer, an unwashed face and uncombed hair, a hat put on wrong side foremost, and a general air of shabbiness and misery are everywhere allowed to be marks of a poetic temperament. As to the face of the poet, it must be ornamented by long hair falling on the shoulders, by dark eyes, arched eyebrows and a pale and sallow complexion. It is absolutely indispensable that the bard should have a Greek nose with a knot at the end of it, or, in default of this, a nose with the bridge somewhat sunken but not lacking the inevitable knot. The Grecian nose cannot be easily obtained but if your nose be arched and you wish it to be of the second poetic type, a way has been found to obtain it and also to remedy a prominent chin, a thing which must not appear in a poetic face. The way suggested is a “communion of spirits” with the wife of an athletic friend. For this method however I cannot say much in advantage inasmuch that, of the two friends of him who tried it, one lost all semblance of a face and the other bolted before the crucial moment. On this subject there is but little to add, unless it be that mouth ought to be either small, large or regular — a poetic feature which I think all of us possess. Finally, a poet with physiognomic leanings once told me that a great characteristic of a great poet was a long and pointed ear, a fact I consider true, for[3] a friend of mine once told me that between the poet and the ass there is only a small difference, namely the wiser of them walks on 4 legs.

[38^v]

As to the habits, whims and such things, I need but remark that it is not held to be poetic to show interest in poetics and in outdoor matters, and that if an impertinent reporter ask your[4] opinion on the situation in the Far East, the best thing to do is to stretch out your guileless hearts, unworldly and worn by wringing, and say with an extramundane intonation: “My sort is above earth and the earthly and the vileness and the slime with the struggle of men’s existence.” Your character must not be good, for licentiousness and indecency are the most flagrant marks of an advanced civilization, choicest indication of most intellectual culture and of poetical genius. When you take a portrait for the papers let it be with head leaning on your hand or the writing at your desk or in any intellectual position that may occur to you. And when you talk to anyone in front of you be it your constant endeavour to hear nothing of what he says and to fix your eyes behind him on infinity.

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[1] (nor can they there be much found). ^{/not they can there be much found, not that by benefit there right be seen there.\}

[2] add ^/(say)\

[3] for ^/since\

[4] ask ^/(you)\ your