BY
Witold Gombrowicz would be more sensitive of me not to disturb one of the few rituals that still remain. Although we have come to doubt almost everything, still practicing the cult of poetry and poets, and is probably the only Deity that we are not ashamed to worship with great pomp, with deep bows and high-sounding voice, "Ah, Shelley! Ah, Stowacki! Ah, the word of the poet, the mission of the poet and the soul of a poet myself, and yet I am forced to pounce on these statements and the extent of my ability, damage this ritual in the name ... just in the name of elemental rage aroused in us any error of style, any misrepresentation, any escape from reality. But since you can take the fight involved an exalted, almost heavenly, I must take care not to elevate myself as a balloon and keep the land under my feet.
suppose that the thesis of this essay: that almost nobody likes the verses and the world of poetry in verse is a fictional world and distorted, as bold as it may seem flippant. Yet I stand before you and declare that to me the verses do not like at all and even bored me. Tell me maybe I am a poor ignorant. But on the other hand, I much time working on art and its language is not completely alien to me. Nor can you use your favorite argument against me saying I do not own poetic sensibility, precisely because the own and in large quantities, and when poetry seems to me not the verses, but mixed with other, more prosaic, for example, in the dramas Shakespeare, in the prose of Dostoyevsky or Pascal, or simply during a sunset power, I begin to tremble like other mortals. Why, then, I am bored and tired that extract pharmacist called "pure poetry", especially when it appears in a rhyming? Why I can not stand that song monotonous always sublime, why me numb that rate and those rhymes, why the language of poets seems to me the least interesting of all possible languages, why this little beauty is so seductive to me and why I do not know anything worse in style, nothing more ridiculous than the manner in which the poets speak about themselves and their poetry?
But I might be willing to recognize a particular lack of me in this regard ... but for some experiments ... some scientific experiments ... What curse to art, Bacori! I advise you not try to ever do experiments in the field of art, as this field is not supported, all the pomp on the subject is possible only on condition that no one be so indiscreet as to ascertain to what extent they correspond to reality. Things that we would go if we started to investigate, for example, to what extent a person has the right enchants with beautification Bach to Bach, that is, to what extent is able to capture some of the music of Bach. Have I not come to take (although I can not play the piano or even "Arroz con leche), and not without success, two concerts? Concerts consisting of myself banging on the instrument, after having secured the applause of a few experts were aware of my intrigue and after announcing he would play music modern. How fortunate that those who run the art with the grand style of Valéry not stoop to such confrontations. Which analyzes our mass aesthetic on this side you can easily explore this realm of apparent maturity is just the most immature field of humanity, where there's bluff, the mystification, the snobbery, falsehood and folly. And be very good gym for our rigid thinking occasionally imagine the same as Paul Valéry Immaturity priest, a priest barefoot and in shorts.
I performed the following experiments: combining individual sentences or sentence fragments, building a nonsense poem and I read to a group of loyal fans as a new work by poet, raising the general rapture of those fans, or put me to question them in detail about this or that poem, may well find that the 'fans' do not even have read the entire . How so? Do you admire so much without even reading to the end? Delight "both with" mathematical precision "of the poetic word and not realize that this precision is set dramatically upside down? Show matches as pundits, extend both of these issues, enjoy not know what subtleties and nuances, so while committing such serious sins, so basic? Naturally, after each of such experiments there were large protests and anger, while Fan and perjured sworn in reality things are not like that ... that ... yet, but their arguments were nothing against the hard reality of experiment.
I felt, therefore, face the following dilemma: thousands of men write poems, hundreds of thousands admire this poem, great geniuses have been expressed in verse, from time immemorial, the poet is revered, and with all this mountain of glory I I find my suspicion that the mass poetry unfolds in a total vacuum. Ah, if I did not have fun with this situation, would probably very terrified. Despite this, my experiments have strengthened my moods, and more value and I began to seek an answer to this tantalizing question: why I do not like pure poetry? Why? Could it be for the same reasons that I do not like pure sugar? The sugar used to sweeten coffee and not to eat with a spoon to a plate and custard. In pure poetry, poem, tired excess: an excess of poetic words, excessive metaphors, excessive sublimation, the excess, finally, condensation and purification throughout antipoetic element, which makes verses are similar to a chemical.
The song is a very solemn expression ... But here along the centuries the number of singers is multiplied, and these singers to sing must adopt the position of cantor, and this stance over time becomes increasingly rigid. And a singer excites the other, one strengthens the other in his stubborn and frantic song, in short, no longer sing more for the crowds, but you sing to the other, and between them, in a constant rivalry, in a continuous refinement of the song, comes a pyramid whose summit reached to heaven and admire from below, from the ground, lifting the nose up. What would be a temporary lifting of the prose has become the program in the system, the profession, and today is the same poet who is an engineer or doctor. The poem has grown to a monstrous size, and no longer dominate us, to him, but he to us. Poets have become slaves, and could describe the poet as a being who can not express himself because he has to express the Verso.
And yet, there can be probably the most important art made just this: to express himself. We should never lose sight of the truth that says that any style, any definite position, is formed by elimination and the fund is an impoverishment. Therefore, we should never allow any position that would reduce our chances too became a vice, and when it comes to a position so false, it is almost pretentious, like a "singer" with more reason should we beating about the eye. But we, so far as art is concerned, we spend a lot more effort and time to perfect in one way or another, in either position, which they maintain with internal autonomy and freedom, and to develop an appropriate relationship between us and our position. It might seem that form is for us a value in itself, regardless of the degree to which we enriched or impoverished. Perfected the art of love, but do not worry too much about the question of how far still has a link with us. Poetry grow without attention to the fact that beauty does not need to 'promote'. So if we want that culture does not lose contact with humans, we should break from time to time our laborious creation and see if what we believe we express.
There are two contrasting types of humanism, one that could be called religious, try to take the man kneel before the work of human culture, compels us to worship and respect, for example, music or poetry, or the State , or the Godhead, but the other school of our spirit, more insubordinate, just try to restore to man his autonomy and freedom with respect to these gods and muses that, after all, are his own work. In the latter case, the word "art" is written in lowercase. There is no doubt that the style can encompass both trends is more complete, more genuine and more accurately reflects the character of our nature antinomian style than blind extremism expressing only one of the poles of our feelings. But, of all artists, poets are probably harder to prostrate on their knees, praying more than others-are priests and ex professio par excellence, and thus established becomes poetry simply a celebration free. It is precisely this uniqueness that makes the style and attitude of the poets are so drastically insufficient, as incomplete.
Let's talk a moment about the style. We have said that the artist must express himself. But, to express itself, must also take care that their speech is consistent with the real situation in the world, must express not only their attitude toward the world, but also the world before him. If being a coward, I take a heroic tone, style I make a mistake. But if I sound as if it were respected and loved around the world, while men do not really appreciate me and I have sympathy, too I make a mistake in style. If, however, we become aware of our true situation in the world, we can not avoid confrontation with other realities different from ours. The man only made contact with men who resemble him, the man who is an exclusive product of their environment, have a way worse and narrower than the man who lived in different environments and have lived with different people. However, in the poets not only that religious irritates you, not offset by anything, that absolute devotion to poetry, but also its ostrich policy in relation to reality because they defend themselves from reality, do not want to see or recognize , abandon specifically to a state of bewilderment that is not strength but weakness.
poets Do not think for poets? Do not look only to the faithful, that is, men like them? Do these verses are not the exclusive product of a particular man and restricted? Do not sealed? Obviously, do not blame them that they are "difficult", do not mean to write "a comprehensible manner for all" or to be read in poor peasant households. Would like to pretend that voluntarily renounced the most essential values \u200b\u200bsuch as conscience, reason, a greater sensitivity and a deeper understanding of life and the world to down to medium, oh, no, no art is respected ever accept! Who is intelligent, subtle, sublime and profound should talk intelligently, subtle and profound, and who is refined must speak in a refined, because the superiority exists, and not to stoop. Therefore, it is bad that contemporary poetry is not accessible to anyone, so it is bad that have arisen from unilateral and restricted coexistence of worlds and vats identical men. At the end of the day, I myself am an author who stubbornly defends its own level, but at the same time (I say to not throw me in the face that I practice a genre that battle), my works not for a moment forget it was my little world there are other worlds. And if you do not write for the people, however I write as someone threatened by the people or dependent people, or created by the people. Neither ever happened to me over the head to adopt a posture of "artist" of "writer", mature and renowned creator, but, just play the part of candidate artist, who just want to be mature, in a incessant and bitter struggle with everything that slows my development. And my art has made no contact with a group of people related to me, but precisely in relation and contact with the enemy''.
And the poets? Can he save the poem by a poet if he falls into the hands not of a poet friend, but from an enemy, a non-poet? Like any other expression, a poem should be designed and constructed so as not to dishonor his own creator, even if it did not have to like anybody. Moreover, it is necessary that the poems do not dishonor the creator even in the event that he does not like. For no poet is only a poet, and every poet lives a non-poet who does not sing and who does not like the song ... but man is more vast than the poet. The style emerged among the followers of one religion is killed by the crowd of infidels, is incapable of defending themselves and fighting, is unable to live a real life, a narrow style.
Let me show you the next scene ... Imagine that a group of more than ten of them stands up and starts singing. Her singing is boring for the majority of listeners, but the singer does not realize it, no, he behaves as if charmed everyone, wants all to their knees before this Beauty, requires unconditional recognition of its role of Vate, and although no one gives more importance to his singing, he adopts an expression as if the word had a decisive significance for the world, full of faith in his Poetics Mission launched anathemas, thunder, waves in a vacuum, but Moreover, does not want to admit to people or to himself that this song until it bores you, haunts you and irritated, since he is not expressed in a carefree, natural and direct, but in an inherited form of other poets, in a way that long ago lost direct contact with human sensitivity, and so not only sings Poetry but also captivates with Poetry, being a poet, loves the grandeur and importance of the poet, not only wants others to their knees before him, but he falls to his knees to himself. Could it not be that he has decided to carry excess weight on their backs? Since not only believes in the power of poetry, but forces himself to this faith, not only offered to others, but forcing them to receive this divine gift like a host. In a spiritual state so tight, where a crack may arise which could penetrate from the outside life? And after all we are not talking here of a singer's third row, no, this also refers to the most famous poets, the better.
poet If at least knew treating her singing as a passion, or as a rite, if at least sing as they have to sing, knowing that they sing in a vacuum. If instead of a proud "I, Poet" be capable of pronouncing these words with shame or fear ... or even with disgust ... But no! The poet has to love a poet!
This powerlessness reality convincingly characterizes the style and attitude of the poets. But the man who flees from reality and is not supported by anything ..., it becomes the plaything of the elements. From the time when the poets lost sight of the concrete human being to set eyes on Poetry abstract, nothing could stop it at the slope that led directly to the precipice of absurdity. Everything started to grow spontaneously. The metaphor, deprived of any brake, broke to the point that today in the verses there is more than metaphors. The language has become ritual: those "roses", these "sunsets", those "yearning" or those "pains" which once had a freshness, a result of excessive use have become empty sounds, and this same applies to modern "lights" and other "spiral." The narrowing of the language is accompanied by the narrowing of the style, which has led to today's verses are nothing more than a dozen "experiences" consecrated combinations served in strongly meager vocabulary. As the narrowing was becoming ever more closely, including the Beauty is not restricted by anything was becoming more beautiful, the depth deepening, increasingly Nobility Noble, Purity Pure growing. If on one hand verse, bereft of brakes, has swollen to the size of a giant poem (similar to a real jungle known by only a few browsers), on the other hand began to condense reduced to a size too synthetic and homeopathic. It also began to make discoveries and experiment with face to be the only aware, and, I repeat, nothing can stop this boring orgy. Because this is not about creating a man to stop another man, but a rite celebrated at an altar. And for every ten lines will be at least one dedicated to the worship of the Power of the Word Poetics or the glorification of the poet's vocation.
We agree that these pathological symptoms are not only of the poets themselves. In prose this religious position has also made great havoc, and if we take such works as The Death of Virgil, Broch, Ulysses and some works of Kafka, we experience the same feeling: that the "eminence" and "greatness" of these works are done in a vacuum, which belong to these books that everyone knows they are great ... but we are somewhat distant, inaccessible and cold ... because they were written on her knees with the no thought put into the reader, but in the Arts or other abstraction. This prose came from the same spirit that illuminates the poets, and undoubtedly its essence, is "poetic prose."
If we leave aside the work and take care of the people of poets and the scene that these people create with their faithful and their acolytes, we feel even more suffocated and crushed. Poets do not just write 'for poets, but also praised each other and each other are honored each other. This world, or rather, this world, not unlike other specialized scene and sealed: chess chess players consider as the pinnacle of human creation, they have their nests, they talk about Capablanca with the same religious feeling which the poets Mallarmé and one confirms the other in the conviction of his own importance. But chess players do not pretend to have a role as universal, and what after all can be forgiven for chess, it becomes unforgivable in the case of poets. As a result of such isolation, everything here is swollen, and even mediocre poets swell so apocalyptic, while insignificant take on major issues exorbitant. Recall, for example, the tremendous controversy about the issue of assonance, and the tone in which they discussed the matter: it seemed then that the fate of humanity depended on whether it was lawful so assonance rhyme. This is what happens when the spirit of the guild comes to dominate the universal spirit. Another
no less shameful is the number of poets. For all the excesses mentioned above, add excess vates. These ultra-democratic figures blow up from within the proud and aristocratic poetic strength, it really is quite fun to see them all together at a conference: how many more unusual creatures! But is that art which takes place in a vacuum is not the ideal spot for those who just are not anyone whose personality vent empty delighted in these limited ways? And what it is really ridiculous are these criticisms, these little article, aphorisms and essays in the press on the subject of poetry. Now that's vanilocuencia, a vanilocuencia pompous and naive, so childish, you can not believe that men who engage in writing not perceive the absurdity of such publicística. So far these designers have not understood that poetry can not be written in poetic tone, so your newsletters are full of such speculations poetizantes. It is also very great absurdity that accompanies recitals, competitions and manifestos, but I guess not worth say more on this.
I have explained about why poetry in verse does not seduce me. And why the poets have been totally devoted to poetry and have had this institution throughout its existence, forgetting of concrete human existence and closing his eyes to reality, they are (for centuries) in a catastrophic situation. Despite the trappings of success. Despite all the pomp of the ceremony.
But I have yet to refute some charges.
The unusual simplicity with which they defend the poets (usually men anything stupid, but naive) when attacking his art, can only be explained by a willful blindness. Many of them seek to save themselves by arguing that writing poetry for pleasure, as if all his actions did not contradict such a claim. There are those who contend earnestly for the people who write and that the hieroglyphics are the food recherche Spiritual simple souls. However, all firmly believe in the social resonance of poetry, and of course it will be difficult to understand how they can attack from this side. They say: - What! Perhaps can you doubt? Can not you see the crowds who attend our performances? The amount of issues that get our volumes? Do the studies, articles, dissertations published about us? "The admiration that surrounds the famous poets? Are you precisely who did not want to see things as they are ...
What answer? That all this is wishful thinking. It is true that the recitals are multitudes, but it is also true that even a highly educated listener is not able at all to understand a poem recited in a recital. How many times I've attended these boring meetings, which recited a poem after another, when each of them would have to be read with the utmost attention at least three times over in order to decipher its contents. As for the issues, we bought thousands of books to be read not ever. On poetry writing, as we have said, the poets. And the admiration? Are the horses in races not arouse even more interest? But what has to do with sports fans who will witness all kinds of rivalries and all national ambitions, or other-that accompany these races, what does all this with a real artistic emotion? However, such an answer, but just would not be enough. The problem of our coexistence with art is much more profound and difficult. And no doubt, at least in my opinion, that if we understand some of it, we must break completely with this idea too easy for "the art we love" and that "we enjoyed the art." Not the art we love only to a point, while providing us with the pleasures are rather dubious ... And can it be otherwise, if living with the great art is a living with men mature, vast horizons and stronger feelings? We delight, rather try to delight ... and do not understand ... but we try to understand ...
How shallow is thought to which this complicated phenomenon is reduced to a simple formula: love art because it is beautiful.
"Oh, so many snobs ... but I'm not a snob, I frankly admit when something 'I do not like it," says the naivete and it seems that everything is fixed.
However, we can see here clearly are factors that have nothing to do with aesthetics. Do you think that if the school had not forced us ecstatic art, he would later, much admiration, an admiration that is given to us? Do you think if all our organizational culture imposed on us not art, we would so much for him? Is not our need for myth, worship, what is this admiration vent ours and not at the top worship, we magnify ourselves? Above all, these feelings of admiration and ecstasy, "arise" us "or" between us "? If a concert of applause breaks out, that does not mean at all that each of those who applaud this enthusiasm. A timid applause causes another, excite each other, until at last you create a situation where everyone has to fit inside a collective madness. All "behave" as if they were excited, but "truly" no one is excited, at least not until that point.
It would be a mistake, a pathetic naivete to claim that poetry, or any other art, was simply a source of human pleasure. And if from this point of view we see the world of poets and their fans, then all its absurd and ridiculous seem justified: it apparently has to be, and is consistent with the natural order of things, art, As the enthusiasm, is more the product of the collective spirit that not a spontaneous reaction of the individual.
And yet, no. However, this approach does not succeed to save the poets, or provide the colors of life and reality to his poetry. Because if reality is just so they do not realize. For them, everything happens in a simple way: the singer sings, and the listener, enthusiastic, listen. It is clear that if they were able to recognize these truths and make them all the consequences, would have to radically change its attitude towards the song. But you can rest assured that nothing ever changes among poets. And no illusions that yourselves to these collective forces we distort our individual perception displayed a will to resist at least for that art is a fiction and a ceremony, but a true coexistence of man with man. No, these monks prefer to bow!
Monks "? That does not mean that I am God's adversary or its numerous religious orders. But even religion dies from the moment it becomes a ritual. Actually, we sacrificed too easily in these altars the authenticity and importance of our existence.
Extract from ANNEX 1 Journal,
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