Dear Keston ---
Of different minds we are. The roads diverge sharply. Old and young carry
themselves about the world, yammering at each other.
The 20th century I have made note of. Of course, I'm an isolationist. Don't
read much outside Palgrave's Golden Treasury.
Suggest it should be imperative for every poet to write poetry that endures.
Rather than seek out the flimsy, the trifle of mere language for its own
sake.
I suspect the criteria for poetry's merit has not changed and will not
change. We seek it our futures, find in it what beauty and truth we know of
this world. If there might be a second world, find it in a poem.
Eternal truth in the larger sense--- that we are mortal is not a fallacy.
Neither is eternal beauty of truth/honesty a fallacy. Inspiration.
Revelations. Moral or evil testimonies to the human spirit are not
fallacies.
You write
"And music -- don't you see how music has
changed? Would Boulez have been 'musical' to Haydn?"
There are many variations, no real births or literary revolutions have come
to bear. And even if they did the real issue is one of value. What greater
good does poetry serve? Still remains the issue of endurance. How does a
poet's work survive a time?
To leave such a question unanswered is not invite mediocrity. No standards
exist so I can do whatever I wish. It's carte blanche. My generation's
superiority is obvious because we are alive. And that makes infinitely
wiser, better looking and quite the life of the party.
The old are merely around, dressing for the town.
First we see them on the hill or coming down,
carry they their crooked walking sticks around ---
one fine day lost and one day found,
each thoughts not shallow or lofty or profound
but home sweet home in the ground.
Ernest Slyman
HomePage
www.geocities.com/soho/7514
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"All around the hours run swift
their foolish errands."
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