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A Conspectus of Poetry
Part II
Elder Olson
We have seen, now, that there are poems which are depictions of single
elementary actions, and we have seen something of the principles by
which they achieve their effects. Such elementary actions, together with
the means and methods of their depiction, contain in germ, so to speak,
all the more complex forms: and we may now consider these latter in
their growingcomplexity.
To begin with, let us go back to our no. 5 and compare it with
Tennyson's poem.
THE EAGLE
With crooked hands
The eagle
Claspsthe crag.
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374 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 375
ever the case, the poem of the sort we have called "momentary" can
depict only one moment in motion or change. Motion or change is
thus, in effect, reduced to a circumstance of the perception. In poems
involving succession, however, there are various possibilities.
Here are two poems, both about parachutists:
JUMPER
He plunges toward a world become a map;
Slowly the map becomes a world once more.
JUMP
A dot explodes; is dome with hanging dot;
The dot becomes a doll, the doll a man.
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376 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 377
probably feel or do is far more general than what the Duke might prob-
ably feel or do.
11
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378 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 379
Magnitude (1): most lyrics, a few short stories, such as Virginia Woolf's
A Haunted House; short dramatic sketches, such as Chekhov's Tobacco.
Magnitude (2): all lyrics not belonging to (1); many short stories and
longer dramatic sketches; some one-act plays.
Magnitude (3): some short stories; tales, epic episodes; tragedies with
short plots, like those which make up the Oresteian trilogy.
Magnitude (4): full-length plays; novels; epics.
13
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380 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
side Pope's The Rape of the Lock, and it is at once clear that their actions,
similar in magnitude-they are both episodes-are dissimilar in quality,
for the former is serious, while the latter is comic.
It is usually easy to tell whether something is serious or comic, for
our natural reactions inform us. To say what the serious and the comic
are, and what makes them what they are, however, is a matter of some
difficulty. In life we take seriously anything we estimate as significantly
good or evil, and likely to befall us or those whose fortunes can give us
pleasure or pain; also, whatever may cause such good or evil, or increase
or decrease it; and also whatever indicates that such good or evil has
happened, is happening, or is about to happen. It is evident, thus, that
when we take something seriously, we make certain value judgments: we
evaluate the good or evil involved, the probability of its occurring, to-
gether with any circumstances which may affect either the amount of
good or evil, or its probability. Hence we take any ordinary action, even,
with a certain amount of seriousness-buying chewing gum, opening an
umbrella, and things of the sort-so long as all circumstances concur to
give it whatever value it may have as action. The circumstances of an act
are the act, the agent, the person or thing acted upon, the manner of
action, the instrument if any, the purpose, the result, the time, the place;
and when the act and the result are such as suit the purpose, when the
agent, instrument, and all other circumstances are fitting, and when the
purpose is an achievable one, whether good or bad, the act has some
degree of importance whether as good or evil, and we take it seriously to
that degree. When, on the contrary, the action has one or more of its
circumstances completely opposite to the concurrence required for ef-
fectiveness, in such a way as to rob it of all value, and when this opposi-
tion manifestly involves absurdity, the action is ridiculous. There will be
such manifest absurdity, for example, in someone so ill-equipped for the
part that it is absurd to suppose him as agent, or when the act is so far
from the one proper to achieve the purpose that it is absurd to suppose
that anyone would do it or that it could succeed, or when the purpose
itself is absurd, or when the result, manner, instrument, time or place
involves similar absurdities. But mere absurdity is not of itself sufficient
to produce the ridiculous; it must be absurdity which completelycancelsthe
value of the action, that is, anything in terms of which it might be taken
seriously.
The ridiculous action will never be absurd in all its circumstances;
those which are not absurd are required to set the standard by which we
judge the others, or, to put this somewhat differently, they lay a claim to
be taken seriously which the others negate. The comic action may be
described as a self-devaluating one, part of which proposes itself as seri-
ous, part of which annihilates that claim. The two parts are either pre-
sented simultaneously, as frequently in cartoons, or the claim is pre-
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 381
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382 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry, II
14
Both the serious and the comic admit of degree; that is, something
may be more or less serious or comic. The comic ranges from that which
produces quiet mirth to that which produces the convulsive guffaw; the
serious, from that which simply invites serious consideration to that
which calls forth the profoundest emotions of which humanity is capa-
ble. The supremely serious is either the tragic or the heroic. As the comic
is the product of jesting and lightheartedness, and the serious the prod-
uct of earnestness and gravity-in other words, of two contrasting views
of human life and action-so the heroic and the tragic, as we shall use
the terms here, are two contrasting views of human life and action as
supremely serious. The tragic view sees human life in terms of the grave
ills to which man is subject, which he may even bring upon himself by
erroneous action, and the tragic effect involves pity and fear and other
dolorous emotions. The heroic, on the other hand, excites the more
spirited and sanguine emotions. Arnold's "Sohrab and Rustum" is tragic;
Tennyson's Morte d'Arthur is heroic. Both involve sorrowful incidents;
but the attitudes which they express are different. Browning's "Childe
Roland to the Dark Tower Came" is also heroic. The point is not the
difference between tragedy and epic; all of the poems just mentioned
are epic episodes, and among full-length epics, the Iliad is tragic,
whereas the Odysseyis heroic.
Comic works devaluate action and character to produce comic ef-
fect; serious works invest their characters and action with importance.
Comic poems of all sorts, therefore, depend primarily upon deprecia-
tion, whereas serious works depend upon magnification, understood as
the opposite of depreciation. The best way to understand the distinction
between these is, let us say, to compare Giraldi Cinthio's II Moro de
Venezia (The Moor of Venice), which is the seventh story of the third de-
cade of hisHecatommithi(a revolting police-blotter tale of murder because
of sexual jealousy) with Shakespeare's Othello,which transforms the story
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 383
15
Thus far we have been concerned with what the poem imitated or
depicted: differences in the actions and characters imitated, and dif-
ferences among poems as they depict one kind or another. But poems
differ, not merely in what they depict, but also in how they depict it; and
such differences we may call differences of representation,that is, dif-
ferences in the manner or way in which poems depict.
The broadest difference between methods of representation-one,
that is, which underlies all others-is that between the narrative and the
dramatic methods. From the point of view of the reader or spectator the
difference between the narrative and the dramatic methods is the dif-
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384 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 385
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386 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
stances which make it probable; and so, too, with matters that obstruct or
promote the intended emotional effect. For example, it is not generally
probable that, by a single speech, a man can convert a hostile audience to
opinions and emotions completely contrary to their original ones, and so
Shakespeare has to show us Mark Anthony convincing the Roman rab-
ble; and an audience which has seen an innocent and defenseless old
man callously murdered in his sleep is not likely to sympathize in future
with the murderer, and so Shakespeare does not show us Macbeth actu-
ally murdering Duncan.
There is, finally, the question of scale of representationin both narra-
tive and dramatic forms. The events of a relatively short span of time
may be dwelt on at length, or, conversely, events over a long period may
be presented with extreme brevity. In Conrad's Under WesternEyes, for
example, more than a third of the novel deals with the events of a single
day, while the events of months are given only a few sentences. Even in
lyrics, the thought or feeling of a moment may be dealt with more
extensively than the thoughts or feelings over a longer period of time.
Scale, too, is determined by probability and emotional effect.
16
Poems differ, not merely according to what they depict and how
they depict it, but also according to the kind of diction employed (this
includes the kind of rhythm or meter as well, since rhythm and meter
are aspects of diction as spoken sounds). People-including critics-have
long supposed, and continue to suppose, that poetic diction is a diction
of a special kind, set apart from the language of ordinary or oratorical or
scientific prose by some special quality; and many theorists have pursued
the elusive quality, and some have built whole theories upon it when they
thought they had found it.
In all such questions it is well to look at the facts; and the facts do not
seem to support the supposition of any one special quality, or even a
complex of qualities. If one examines any considerable body of poetry,
one discovers diction-as diction--of an extraordinary heterogeneity,
ranging from language of a childlike simplicity to language of almost
inconceivable ornateness and complexity. Any quality discovered in the
diction of one poem, one may find absent or even replaced by a contrary
quality in another.
The truth of the matter would seem to be, not that there is some
special quality which sets poetic diction apart from other diction, but
that--far from poetic diction renderingthepoempoetic-it is ratherthat thepoem
rendersits dictionpoetic. The one thing in common between all the vari-
eties of diction to be found in poetry is that they have been used to make
poems. It is their use in a particularpoemthat makes them poetic within that
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 387
poem; outside it, they have no more claim to be called "poetic" than clay
or paint or marble have to be called "artistic materials," for clay and
paint and marble are in actuality such only when used in a particular
work of art. They are potentially artistic materials, of course, as almost
anything else may be; in this sense any diction whatsoever is poetic
diction, potentially. These matters should be particularly clear in the
present day, when painters and sculptors have used anything and every-
thing as the media of their arts, and when poets have used language of
every sort.
Probably, therefore, it is time that the chimera of "poetic quality"
and "poetic diction" should be dismissed. We must not, however, rush to
the opposite view and suppose that there is no difference between the
use of language in poetry and the use of language for any other purpose.
The differences in use make for differences in the characteristics of
language which are relevant to that use. The differences between the use
of marble or steel as building material and the use of either as the matter
of a work of art would lead to quite different considerations of, con-
ceivably, quite different characteristics; so it is with language considered,
say, as the medium of communication, or the medium of demonstration
or proof, or the medium of persuasion, or the medium of poetry.
Grammar, for example, is concerned with language as permitting in-
telligibility, logic with it as permitting the statement of true or false
propositions as entering into proof or disproof, rhetoric with it as per-
mitting persuasive statement and argument, poetry with it as permitting
imitation; these are all different concerns with, on the whole, different
(though not unrelated) powers of language.
The principle on which all poetic diction is based is a simple one: the
diction should be determined by what is probable for the speaker and his
circumstances. Thus a man in some violent passion will not speak like
one who is calm, and two men of different disposition and moral charac-
ter will not speak alike even in the same passion, and a man engaged in
strenuous action will not speak like one who is resting, and so on,
throughout the multitudinous differences which may be found in per-
sons and in their circumstances.
Although diction is "determined by what is probable for the
speaker," it is not a replica of actual speech. Actual speech is full of false
starts, digressions, accidental interruptions, and the like; transcribed
verbatim, it is intolerably boring. Poetic diction, even when it seems to
approximate most closely to natural speech, is in fact artificial, since it is
employed, not to serve the natural ends of discourse, but the artificial
ends of a work of art. Even at its simplest and most "natural" it is lan-
guage heightened, developed, made more expressive and vivid, made
more concise and more strictly relevant, more characteristic of the
speaker and his emotion, than ordinary language. The most "natural-
sounding" dialogue in fiction-say, in Sinclair Lewis or Damon Runyon
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388 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 389
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390 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
possible thus, for a metaphor which is good in itself to be bad in its poetic
context; it is possible; conversely, for a metaphor not good in itself to be
excellent in context. For example, the very triteness of a metaphor may
show us the unoriginality of a character, or, while the likeness expressed
may not be striking, perhaps may even be nonexistent, it may be sig-
nificant that certain things seem alike to the character. Obviously, on the
same grounds, ordinary words in ordinary syntactical construction may
be best in certain contexts. Poetic diction on the whole is good in propor-
tion as it functions effectively in the poem.
The same conditions hold in verse. Verse in itself is good if the
sounds or rhythms are pleasant; as an element in a poem, it is good if it is
appropriate, and better still if it is significant. For example, a gay and
lilting rhythm would be inappropriate in a melancholy poem, as a feeble
and plodding rhythm would be in a gay one; and harsh sounds and
unpleasant rhythms might be excellent as setting before us most vividly
the agitation of the speaker. In general, any part should be as pleasant in
itself as it may be, consistently with its discharging its proper function
within the work.
17
In discriminating what a poem may imitate, how it may imitate, and
the means which it may employ in imitation (here simply diction and
verse, although other means such as music might be added), we have laid
a general basis for the discrimination of all forms of imitative poetry. All
imitations must imitate something,somehow,in a certain means or medium;
therefore, they also differ in these respects; by specifying each of these,
we may therefore approach the definition of a given kind.
The distinctions we have made are summarized in this outline:
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 391
These are, as we have suggested, very general heads, but they per-
mit the differentiation of many kinds of poems. There are, first, the
various kinds of lyric involving a single personage in a single situation
(first magnitude); these are momentary or sequential, imitate mental
experiences and activities (perceiving, reflecting, deliberating, etc.), or
an action performed on someone else, all of which either involve moral
character or do not; these are either serious or comic in varying degree.
Moreover, they are either dramatic or narrative in manner, or a mixture
of the two; and they have their appropriate kinds of diction, whether in
verse or prose.
Even very short lyrics may achieve, through nobility of thought or
emotion, the exaltation of the heroic or the tragic, and so must be said to
have as their object of imitation the supremely serious. At their simplest
such forms are exemplified by Issa's haiku "Granted this dew-drop
world / Is but a dew-drop world; / This granted, yet . . ." or Basho's
lament over the castle of Takadate, once the place where warriors lived
in splendor and now only ruin and wild grass: "Summer weeds / Of
heroic dreams / All that remains." The most massive of such forms is the
grand ode; Hopkins' The Wreckof the Deutschland is an example of the
heroic kind. There are many other shades of the serious; for example,
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392 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
Keats' odes are serious, though not on the heroic or tragic plane. Com-
parably, there are many shades of the comic. There are of course many
comic lyrics, as anyone can tell by looking around a little, although
people and even critics often speak as though all lyrics were serious.
While all lyrics are either narrative or dramatic or a mixture of both,
the distinction is sometimes hard to make in a given instance, particu-
larly in very short pieces. This difficulty is increased by the fact that a
lyric may take its format (superficial form) from any kind of
discourse-hymn, prayer, letter, journal, oration, folk song, etc. The
simplest and surest way to determine whether a lyric is narrative or
dramatic is to observe whether the emotional effect is produced primar-
ily from the reactions and behavior of the speaker or from the nature of
what he recounts. If we react primarily to the behavior of the speaker,
the lyric is dramatic; if to what he recounts, it is narrative. Thus The
Wreckof the Deutschlandis dramatic, as Hopkins himself realized, for the
effect comes primarily not from the wreck itself, important and vivid
though the narration of it is, but from the thoughts and emotions of the
speaker reflecting on it. One single difficulty arises, however, in poems
which, although dramatic, suggest the speaker's thought or emotion
merely by stating the object of it. This point was discussed earlier (see
section 3) in our treatment of similarity and difference between the
response of the reader and that of the speaker. For example, Tennyson's
"The Eagle" imitates a man's reaction to an eagle, though the object of
his perception and emotion (the eagle) alone is given to suggest those
reactions; it is thus, a dramatic poem. The longer forms offer no dif-
ficulty in this respect: in the Homeric epics it is not hard to decide
whether we react primarily to the narrator or to the events he relates,
and there is no difficulty even in shorter pieces like The Rime of theAncient
Mariner. The narrator exists for the sake of the narrated; hence, if what
he recounts is more important than his own reactions, the poem is narra-
tive.
Lyrics of the first magnitude of action imitate, we said, either mental
experiences or activities, or else a single act of a single person in a single
situation. The former may be illustrated by "O Western Wind," "Spring
Day," Landor's "Dirce" and his Borgia poem, as well as by longer pieces
like Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind," Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale," etc.
The latter is exemplified in such pieces as Marvell's "To His Coy Mis-
tress"; the speaker in the poem is acting-that is, attempting to persuade
his mistress. This is clearly different from merely perceiving, feeling, or
thinking.
Were the response of the mistress given in this last poem-were
she to answer, "Not just yet," for example-we should have interactionof
the simplest sort, and we should at once be in the second magnitude of
action: two characters (or more) interacting in a single situation. The
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 393
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394 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry, II
J. Alfred Prufrock," and Yeats' "Sailing to Byzantium" are all within the
mental sphere purely (1). A difficulty sometimes arises in distinguishing
between actions of this kind and those of (2), because, as we said, lyric
poems can use the format of any kind of discourse. The poem may, for
instance, suggest that the speaker is addressing someone; the question is
whether he is really doing so or merely addressing him mentally, and
therefore figuratively only. If the former, it is possible that the action
constitutes an act upon another person (2); if the latter, it is purely
private reflection or something of the kind (1).
We have now a fairly full apparatus for the statement of the various
forms of imitative poetry; as we suggested earlier, any further forms can
be found by further specification of means, object, or manner of imita-
tion. Certain "forms," however, will not be found. What of the epigram,
the sonnet, the ballad, the pastoral or eclogue, the mock-epic, the elegy,
the love poem, the didactic poem, the poetic allegory? Are these not
forms of poetry?
The answer is that certainly they are "forms" that poetry may take;
they are not poetic forms as such. The epigram is aform of discourse;the
sonnet is a verse-form; the ballad, the pastoral, the eclogue, and the
mock-epic areforms of literaryconvention;the elegy and the love poem are
classifications according to subjectmatter, the didactic poem according to
purpose, the allegory according to the deviceused. What makes an epigram
is its pithiness and wit; whether it is or is not in verse is incidental. The
ballad is a set of conventions which can be used in many quite different
forms of poetry: that is, serious or comic, with actions of one magnitude
or another, narrative or dramatic; clearly, then, it is no one form. The
eclogue and pastoral similarly involve conventions of subject matter and
method which can be employed in a variety of forms; thus we have
pastoral poetry and pastoral drama and pastoral fiction. As to love poem
and elegy and things of the sort, we need only remember that "My
Darling Clementine" is an elegy and the "Lycidas" is one also. Classifica-
tion by emotion is always insufficient; all human beings have the same
emotions: how they feel them, aboutwhat they feel them, how theymanifest
them, and other matters make all the difference. No one is good or bad
simply because he feels an emotion, but he can be heroic or ridiculous in
feeling a certain emotion in certain circumstances. There is a difference
between a noble rage and a petty rage; there is the same distinction in all
the common emotions. We react quite differently to them; and that is
very much the concern of poetry. Thus tragedy exhibits what is truly
pitiful or fearful, as the man of utmost prudence would see it, as comedy
exhibits what is truly absurd.
The case of didactic poetry is somewhat different. Didactic poetry
either uses the devices-that is, the matter-of poetic art, or uses the very
forms and conventions of poetic art to a purpose beyond the ends of
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Critical Inquiry Winter 1977 395
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396 Elder Olson A Conspectusof Poetry,II
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