19 April 21 Ars Poetica #7: Horace and Jane Kenyon

Ars Poetica #7: Horace – He’s Baaa’ak!

Well, write poetry, for God's sake, it's the only thing that matters.

e. e. cummings                           

I consider myself a poet first and a musician second. I live like a poet and I'll die like a poet.  

Bob Dylan 

I told you that our friend, Horace, and his Ars Poetica would be back. And here he is with continuing advice to writers! This is the seventh post in the series. As we’ve said in past posts, Horace’s purpose in writing Ars Poetica was to provide advice to writers, dramatists, and poets. (Not necessarily in that order.) All breeds of writers have claimed Horace for a couple thousand years, and now these posts make him accessible to you.

By now, you can pretty much read and interpret Horace for yourself, even though the exposition of the essay’s topics is rather chaotic, and a multitude of obscure references to gods (and goddesses) and men (and women) make for blank spaces in understanding Horace, and the reason I’ve provided end notes.

Something important occurred to me as I was gathering the pieces for this post. Horace gives plenty of advice and direction to writers on writing. What he fails to do is explain why we write at all. Why have we gone from grunts, to augmenting gestures and expressions, to (perhaps) song, to rudimentary language, and on to the stages of un-riddled pre-history. That said, the development of written language is a toddler in comparison to these. But I digress. (I do have a chart of this subject, should anyone be interested.)

What I’m saying is that Horace doesn’t, in any part of Ars Poetica, explicate the reasons that human beings write at all. I decided to take this one on, and after much searching, came upon the following to supplement our friend’s work. See what you think of what I found, and then go on to the seventh segment of the AP.

And don’t miss Jane Kenyon’s poem about writer’s block, a dreaded subject to a writer’s heart – or should I say the wolf at the door of the poetic heart.  Imagine! If we as a species had never “learned” to write, we wouldn’t be concerned with either writer’s block, or why we write at all.

Here’s my selection of many on “why writers write.”

I once heard a writer talk about how she eventually realized that the daily stuff we all have to do, "like picking up the dry cleaning" is eternal and NEVER, EVER done, so that writing had to be placed before it, or writing would NEVER, EVER happen. For me, I believe that doing the other stuff first is really just a form of stalling because writing is SO important to me that it scares me. The fantasy that I can, will or should finish the STUFF first, reminds me of the fantasy that really feeling something painful is risky because the feeling might never end (all feelings, good and bad, come and go). Each of these fantasies keep me from doing something truly important. The writer also said she realized that the daily stuff would always BE there because it goes on and on, so why not do the writing first and then go back to the stuff--what's the hurry to do something that will never go away? If you wait and wait to write, you're a waiter, not a writer. 

Jane Kenyon

Seventh Excerpt from Horace’s Ars Poetica

Let a play which would be inquired after, and though seen, represented anew, be neither shorter nor longer than the fifth act. Neither let a god interfere, unless a difficulty worthy a god's unraveling should happen; nor let a fourth person be officious to speak.

Let the chorus sustain the part and manly character of an actor: nor let them sing anything between the acts which is not conducive to, and fitly coherent with, the main design. Let them both patronize the good, and give them friendly advice, and regulate the passionate, and love to appease those who swell [with rage]: let them praise the repast of a short meal, and salutary effects of justice, laws, and peace with her open gates; let them conceal what is told to them in confidence, and supplicate and implore the gods that prosperity may return to the wretched, and abandon the haughty. The flute, (not as now, begirt with brass and emulous of the trumpet, but) slender and of simple form, with few stops, was of service to accompany and assist the chorus, and with its tone was sufficient to fill the rows that were not as yet too crowded, where an audience, easily numbered, as being small and sober, chaste and modest, met together. But when the victorious Romans began to extend their territories, and an ampler wall encompassed the city, and their genius was indulged on festivals by drinking wine in the day-time without censure; a greater freedom arose both, to the numbers [of poetry], and the measure [of music]. For what taste could an unlettered clown and one just dismissed from labors have, when in company with the polite; the base, with the man of honor? Thus, the musician added now movements and a luxuriance to the ancient art, and strutting backward and forward, drew a length of train over the stage; thus likewise new notes were added to the severity of the lyre, and precipitate eloquence produced an unusual language [in the theater]: and the sentiments [of the chorus, then] expert in teaching useful things and prescient of futurity, differ hardly from the oracular Delphi.[1]

The poet, who first tried his skill in tragic verse for the paltry [prize of a] goat, soon after exposed to view wild satyrs naked, and attempted raillery with severity, still preserving the gravity [of tragedy]: because the spectator on festivals, when heated with wine and disorderly, was to be amused with captivating shows and agreeable novelty. But it will be expedient so to recommend the bantering, so the rallying satyrs, so to turn earnest into jest; that none who shall be exhibited as a god, none who is introduced as a hero lately conspicuous in regal purple and gold, may deviate into the low style of obscure, mechanical shops; or, [on the contrary,] while he avoids the ground, effect cloudy mist and empty jargon. Tragedy disdaining to prate forth trivial verses, like a matron commanded to dance on the festival days, will assume an air of modesty, even in the midst of wanton satyrs. As a writer of satire, ye Pisos, I shall never be fond of unornamented and reigning terms: nor shall I labor to differ so widely from the complexion of tragedy, as to make no distinction, whether Davus[2] be the speaker. And the bold Pythias, [3]  who gained a talent by gulling Simo; [4]  or Silenus, [5]  the guardian and attendant of his pupil-god [Bacchus[6]]. I would so execute a fiction taken from a well-known story, that anybody might entertain hopes of doing the same thing; but, on trial, should sweat and labor in vain. Such power has a just arrangement and connection of the parts: such grace may be added to subjects merely common. In my judgment the Fauns, that are brought out of the woods, should not be too gamesome with their tender strains, as if they were educated in the city, and almost at the bar; nor, on the other hand; should blunder out their obscene and scandalous speeches. For [at such stuff] all are offended, who have a horse, a father, or an estate: nor will they receive with approbation, nor give the laurel crown, as the purchasers of parched peas and nuts are delighted with.

Commentary

Lines 189 – 219: On the gods, chorus, and music (in tragic drama).

The actual purpose of the Ars Poetica has puzzled critics. As a treatise, it is far from systematic and, whereas Aristotle’s Poetics is analytical and descriptive. Horace is impressionistic, personal and allusive. The transitions from one subject to another seem to occur abruptly, and the subjects are arranged quite haphazardly. Its concentration on the epic and dramatic forms also seems somewhat irrelevant to the contemporary Roman literary scene of his day. However, the lively autobiographical approach of the Ars Poetica and its expression of personal standards in literature make it unique as a work of criticism in the ancient world.

Not Writing

Jane Kenyon

A wasp rises to its papery

nest under the eaves

where it daubs

at the gray shape,

but seems unable

to enter its own house

Background

Jane Kenyon (1947-95) was an American poet whose work evinces a spare, pared back style. This sparse style works particularly well in "Not Writing", Kenyon’s short poem about writer’s block. 

Explorations

Exploration 1: Look again at Jane Kenyon’s poem. Try to rewrite it describing explicitly her subject – writer’s block. What/who is the wasp? What is the nest? Why is it under the eaves? Why “papery” and “gray” and “house”?

Exploration 2: We are at the 7th post focused on Ars Poetica. At this point, can you articulate the purpose of the essay beyond advice to writers?

Exploration 3: I have to ask: What is your impression of the paragraph near the beginning that tries to tell us why writers write? 

NOTES

1. Oracular Delphi – Pronouncements by the Oracle at Delphi where a priestess supposedly delivered messages from Apollo to those who sought advice; the messages were usually obscure or ambiguous
2. Davus – Greek warrior
3. Pythias – specifically, Apollo Pythias, an oracular god, the prophetic god of the Delphic Oracle, also presided over all music, songs, dance, of course, poetry. Frequent companion of the Muses, functioning as their chorus leader in celebrations. Also, Pythia was the name of the high priestess of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Pytho was also the original name of Delphi.
4. Simo – tricked by his slave girl, Pythias, into giving money for his daughter; “the bold Pythias who gained a talent by gulling Simo . . .”
5. Silenus – old rustic god of wine-making and drunkenness; guardian and attendant of his pupi-god Dionysos (Bacchus)
6. Bacchus – (Roman) was a copy of the Greek god, Dionysus. God of agriculture and wine. He wandered the earth, showing people how to grow vines and process grapes to produce wine.