Assignment #33: Prose walks, poetry dances. For the Departments of English & Media Studies by Prof Dr Sohail Ansari
Form of
poetry, in effect, is like the doughnut that may be said to be nothing in a
circle of something or something around nothing; it is either the outside of an
inside, as when people speak of “good form” or “bourgeois formalism,” or the
inside of an outside, as in the scholastic saying that “the soul is the form of
the body.” Taking this principle, together
ادب کی قوت اور اسلامی تحریک
ڈاکٹر شاہ رشاد عثمانی
ادب
کی طاقت کا پرتو تمام
آسمانی کتابوں میں موجود ہے، بلکہ یہ تقاضا کیا گیا ہے کہ اس کےعلَم بردار
ادب کی طاقت کو معرکۂ
خیروشرمیں استعمال کریں۔ خود مدینہ منّورہ میں جب اسلامی مملکت کا قیام عمل میں
آیا اور بزم رسالت سجائی گئی تو آخری پیغمبر حضرت محمد مصطفیٰ صلی اللہ علیہ
وسلم نے ارشاد فرمایا:’’جنھوں نے اللہ اور رسولؐ کی مدد تلواروں سے کی ہے، آخر
وہ شعر و ادب سے اس مقصد ِخاص کی اشاعت کیوں نہیں کرتے؟‘‘
یہ سنتے ہی حضرت حسّان بن ثابت ؓ [م:۶۷۴ء] جو اپنے زمانے کے جلیل
القدر شاعر تھے ،اُٹھے اور عرض کیا: ’’میں اس خدمت کے لیے حاضر ہوں‘‘ ۔
چنانچہ اس دور میں جب حق و باطل کی قوتیں نبر د آزماتھیں،اس بات کی ضرورت محسوس ہوئی کہ مخالفین کا سر نیچا کرنے کے لیے فن ہجو گوئی سے بھی کام لیا جائے۔عرب میں یہ صنف بہت زیادہ مقبول اور مؤثر تھی۔ اس وجہ سے مشرکین قریش کی ہجو شعراے اسلام نے لکھی۔ حضرت حسان بن ثابتؓ اس فن میں زیادہ دست گاہ رکھتے تھے۔ رسول اکرم ؐ نے ان کے بارے میںفرمایا کہ: ’’حسان کے اشعار مخالفین اسلام پرتیرسے کہیں زیادہ ضربِ کاری لگاتے ہیں‘‘۔ حضرت حسّان بن ثابت ؓ، کعب بن زہیرؓ [م: ۶۶۲ء] اور نابغتہ الجعدی [م: ۶۷۰ء] وغیرہ نے اپنے شعر و ادب سے اس عہد کی تحریکی ضرورتوں کو خوب خوب پورا کیا ہے۔
چنانچہ اس دور میں جب حق و باطل کی قوتیں نبر د آزماتھیں،اس بات کی ضرورت محسوس ہوئی کہ مخالفین کا سر نیچا کرنے کے لیے فن ہجو گوئی سے بھی کام لیا جائے۔عرب میں یہ صنف بہت زیادہ مقبول اور مؤثر تھی۔ اس وجہ سے مشرکین قریش کی ہجو شعراے اسلام نے لکھی۔ حضرت حسان بن ثابتؓ اس فن میں زیادہ دست گاہ رکھتے تھے۔ رسول اکرم ؐ نے ان کے بارے میںفرمایا کہ: ’’حسان کے اشعار مخالفین اسلام پرتیرسے کہیں زیادہ ضربِ کاری لگاتے ہیں‘‘۔ حضرت حسّان بن ثابت ؓ، کعب بن زہیرؓ [م: ۶۶۲ء] اور نابغتہ الجعدی [م: ۶۷۰ء] وغیرہ نے اپنے شعر و ادب سے اس عہد کی تحریکی ضرورتوں کو خوب خوب پورا کیا ہے۔
“Anyone with a watch can tell you what
time it is,” said Valéry, “but who can tell you what is time?”
“Baby, if you got to ask the question,
you’re never going to know the answer.”
The painter Marcel Duchamp’s elegant remark on what psychologists
call “the problem of perception”: “If no solution, then maybe no problem?”
Poetry, literature that
evokes a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience or a specific emotional response through
language chosen and arranged for its meaning, sound, and rhythm.
Exercise:
Can
you give any example of imaginative awareness of experience?
Arrange
meaning of language for a specific emotional response
Poetry is the other way of using language. Perhaps in some hypothetical beginning
of things it was the only way of using language or simply was language tout court, prose being
the derivative and younger rival
Exercise: .
Exercise:
Bad poetry walks and
a good prose dances. Discuss
The poet T.S. Eliot suggested that part of the difficulty lies in the fact
that there is the technical term verse to go with the term poetry, while there is no equivalent
technical term to distinguish the mechanical part of prose and make the
relation symmetrical.
Exercise:
Can you suggest any technical term?
Indeed, the original two terms, prosus and versus, meant, respectively, “going
straight forth” and “returning”; and that distinction does point up the
tendency of poetry to incremental repetition, variation, and the treatment of many matters and different
themes in a single recurrent form such as couplet or stanza.
Exercise:
Can poetry cease to be poetry if the
repetition is not incremental?
Can prose be called poetry if it tends
to return?
American poet Robert Frost said
shrewdly that poetry was what got left behind in translation,
which suggests a criterion of
almost scientific refinement: when in doubt, translate; whatever comes through
is prose, the remainder is poetry. And yet to even so acute a
definition the obvious exception is a startling and a formidable one:
some of the greatest poetry in the world is in the Authorized or King James Version of the Bible, which is not only a translation but also, as to its
appearance in print, identifiable neither with verse nor with prose in English but rather with a cadence owing
something to both.
Cadence synonyms: rhythm The
pattern
Exercise:
‘My work is called poetry because there is no word for it’ Can we apply this line to King James Version of the Bible
‘My work is called poetry because there is no word for it’ Can we apply this line to King James Version of the Bible
Exercise:
If poetry is what
got left behind in translation then poetry is limited to enlightened and
sophisticated and that limits its influence. Discuss
If poetry is not
susceptible of translation then how we can understand it?
In
place of further worrying over definitions, it may be both a relief and an
illumination to exhibit certain plain and mighty differences between prose and
poetry by a comparison. In the following passages a prose writer and a poet are
talking about the same subject, growing older.
Between the ages of 30 and 90, the weight of our muscles
falls by 30 percent and the power we can exert likewise…. The number of nerve
fibres in a nerve trunk falls by a quarter. The weight of our brains falls from
an average of 3.03 lb. to 2.27 lb. as cells die and are not replaced…. (Gordon Rattray Taylor, The Biological Time Bomb,
1968.)
Let me disclose the gifts
reserved for age
To set a crown upon your lifetime’s effort.
First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
As body and soul begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage
At human folly, and the laceration
Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment
Of all that you have done, and been….
(T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets.)
To set a crown upon your lifetime’s effort.
First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
As body and soul begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage
At human folly, and the laceration
Of laughter at what ceases to amuse.
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment
Of all that you have done, and been….
(T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets.)
In the following passages a prose
writer and a poet are talking about the same subject, growing older.
Indeed, the original two terms, prosus and versus, meant, respectively, “going
straight forth” and “returning”; and that distinction does point up the
tendency of poetry to incremental repetition, variation, and the treatment of many matters and different
themes in a single recurrent form such as couplet or stanza.
Exercise:
In above passages prose tends to incremental repetition if it is so then prose should be called poetry?
In above passages prose tends to incremental repetition if it is so then prose should be called poetry?
Before objecting that a simple comparison cannot possibly cover
all the possible ranges of poetry and prose compared, the reader should
consider for a moment what differences are exhibited. The passages are oddly
parallel, hence comparable, even in a formal sense; for both consist of the
several items of a catalog under the general title of growing old. The
significant differences are of tone, pace, and object of attention. If the
prose passage interests itself in the neutral, material, measurable properties
of the process, while the poetry interests itself in what the process will
signify to someone going through it, that is not accidental but of the essence;
if one reads the prose passage with an interest in being informed, noting the parallel
constructions without being affected by them either in tone or in pace, while
reading the poetry with a sense of considerable gravity and solemnity, that too
is of the essence.
Exercise:
How both passages are oddly parallel?
How both passages are oddly parallel?
What are the measurable properties of the process?
What is of essence and not accidental?
One might say as tersely as possible that the difference between
prose and poetry is most strikingly shown in the two uses of the verb “to
fall”:
The number of nerve fibres in
a nerve trunk falls by a quarter
As body and soul begin to
fall asunder
Exercise:
Can you give some other word than fall?
Can you give some other word than fall?
It
should be specified here that the important differences exhibited by the
comparison belong to the present age. In each period, speaking for poetry in
English at any rate, the dividing line will be seen to come at a different
place. In Elizabethan times the diction of
prose was much closer to that of poetry than it later became, and in the 18th
century authors saw nothing strange about writing in couplets about subjects
that later would automatically and compulsorily belong to prose—for example,
horticulture, botany, even dentistry. Here is not the place for entering into a
discussion of so rich a chapter in the history of ideas; but the changes
involved in the relation of poetry and prose are vast, and the number of ways
people can describe and view the world are powerfully influenced by
developments in science and society.
Exercise:
How can the description of world be influenced by developments in science and society?
How can the description of world be influenced by developments in science and society?
Poetic diction and experience
Returning to the comparison, it is
observable that though the diction of the poem is well within what could be
commanded by a moderately well-educated speaker, it is at the same time well
outside the range of terms in fact employed by such a speaker in daily
occasions; it is a diction very conscious, as it were, of its power of choosing
terms with an effect of peculiar precision and of combining the terms into
phrases with the same effect of peculiar precision and also of combining sounds
with the same effect of peculiar precision. Doubtless the precision of the
prose passage is greater in the more obvious property of dealing in the
measurable; but the poet attempts a precision with respect to what is not in
the same sense measurable nor even in the same sense accessible to observation;
the distinction is perhaps just that made by the French scientist and
philosopher Blaise Pascal in discriminating the spirits of
geometry and finesse; and if one speaks of “effects of precision” rather than
of precision itself, that serves to distinguish one’s sense that the artwork is
always somewhat removed from what people are pleased to call the real world,
operating instead, in Immanuel Kant’s shrewd formula, by exhibiting
“purposefulness without purpose.”
Exercise:
What is purposefulness without purpose?
What is purposefulness without purpose?
Does
poetry deal with effects of precision or of precision?
To much the same point is what Samuel Taylor Coleridge remembers having learned from his
schoolmaster:
I learnt from him, that Poetry, even that of the loftiest and, seemingly,
that of the wildest odes, had a logic of its own, as severe as that of science;
and more difficult, because more subtle, more complex, and dependent on more,
and more fugitive causes. In the truly great poets, he would say, there is a
reason assignable, not only for every word, but for the position of every word.
(Biographia Literaria, chapter 1.)
Exercise:
What are fugitive causes and assignable reasons?
What are fugitive causes and assignable reasons?
Perhaps this is a somewhat exaggerated,
as it is almost always an unprovable, claim, illustrating also a propensity for competing with the prestige of science on something like its
own terms—but the last remark in particular illuminates the same author’s terser
formulation: “prose = words in the best order, poetry = the best words in the
best order.” This attempt at definition, impeccable because uninformative, was derived
from Jonathan Swift, who had said, also impeccably and
uninformatively, that style in writing was “the best words in the best order.”
Which may be much to the same effect as Louis Armstrong’s saying, on being asked to define
jazz, “Baby, if you got to ask the question, you’re never going to know the
answer.” Or the painter Marcel Duchamp’s elegant remark on what psychologists
call “the problem of perception”: “If no solution, then maybe no problem?” This
species of gnomic, riddling remark may be determinate for the artistic
attitude toward definition of every sort; and its skepticism is not confined to definitions of
poetry but extends to definitions of anything whatever, directing one not to
dictionaries but to experience and, above all, to use: “Anyone with a watch can
tell you what time it is,” said Valéry, “but who can tell you what is time?”
Exercise:
What does ‘competing with the prestige of science on something like its own terms mean? And what are the terms of science?
What does ‘competing with the prestige of science on something like its own terms mean? And what are the terms of science?
What
we say to if best words in the ordinary order or ordinary words in the best
order ?
Can we relate the statements below of Oscar with Valéry?
In Lady Windemere's Fan, Oscar Wilde had Lord
Darlington quip that a cynic was 'a man who knows the
price of everything and the value of nothing.' As with so much of what Wilde
wrote or said, it's more than just a nice turn of phrase – it hits at the heart
of the problems of society.
“Anyone
with a watch can tell you what time it is,” said Valéry, “but who can tell you
what is time?”
Happily,
if poetry is almost impossible to define, it is extremely easy to recognize in
experience; even untutored children are rarely in doubt about it when it
appears:
Little Jack Jingle,
He used to live single,
But when he got tired of this kind of life,
He left off being single, and liv’d with his wife.
Exercise:
If something is difficult to define then how
it is easy to recognize?
It might be objected that this little verse is
not of sufficient import and weight to serve as an exemplar for poetry. It
ought to be remembered, though, that it has given people pleasure so that they
continued to say it until and after it was written down, nearly two centuries
ago. The verse has survived, and its survival has something to do with
pleasure, with delight; and while it still lives, how many more imposing works
of language—epic poems, books of science, philosophy, theology—have gone down,
deservedly or not, into dust and silence. It has, obviously, a form, an
arrangement of sounds in relation to thoughts that somehow makes its agreeable
nonsense closed, complete, and decisive. But this somewhat muddled matter of
form deserves a heading and an instance all to itself.
Exercise:
How imposing work have gone down not deservedly?
How imposing work have gone down not deservedly?
What is agreeable nonsense closed?
What an instance all to itself mean?
Form in Poetry
People nowadays who speak of form in poetry almost always mean
such externals as regular measure and rhyme, and most often they mean to get
rid of these in favour of the freedom they suppose must follow upon the absence
of form in this limited sense. But in fact a poem having only one form would be
of doubtful interest even if it could exist. In this connection, the poet J.V. Cunningham speaks
of “a convergence of forms, and forms of disparate orders,”
adding: “It is the coincidence of forms that locks in the poem.” For a poem is composed
of internal and intellectual forms
as well as forms externally imposed and preexisting any particular instance,
and these may be sufficient without regular measure and rhyme; if the
intellectual forms are absent, as in greeting-card verse and advertising
jingles, no amount of thumping and banging will supply the want.
Exercise:
what is the importance of intellectual forms?
what is the importance of intellectual forms?
Form, in effect, is like the doughnut that may be said to be
nothing in a circle of something or something around nothing; it is either the
outside of an inside, as when people speak of “good form” or “bourgeois
formalism,” or the inside of an outside, as in the scholastic saying that “the
soul is the form of the body.” Taking this principle, together with what Cunningham
says of the matter, one may now look at a very short and very powerful poem
with a view to distinguishing the forms, or schemes, of which it is made. It
was written by Rudyard
Kipling—a great English poet somewhat sunken in reputation, probably on
account of misinterpretations having to do more with his imputed politics than
with his poetry—and its subject, one of a series of epitaphs for the dead
of World
War I, is a soldier shot by his comrades for cowardice in battle.
I could not look on Death, which being known,
Men led me to him, blindfold and alone.
Men led me to him, blindfold and alone.
The aim of the following observations and reflections is to
distinguish as clearly as possible—distinguish without dividing—the
feelings evoked by the subject, so grim, horrifying, tending to helpless sorrow
and despair, from the feelings, which might better be thought of as meanings,
evoked by careful contemplation of the poem in its manifold and somewhat subtle
ways of handling the subject, leading the reader on to a view of the strange
delight intrinsic to
art, whose mirroring and shielding power allows him to contemplate the world’s
horrible realities without being turned to stone.
Exercise:
what is the shielding power and how it can stop one from turning to stone?
what is the shielding power and how it can stop one from turning to stone?
There is, first, the obvious external form of a rhymed,
closed couplet in iambic pentameter (that
is, five poetic “feet,” each consisting of an unstressed followed by a stressed
syllable, per line). There is, second, the obvious external form of a single
sentence balanced in four grammatical units with and in counterpoint with the
metrical form. There is, third, the conventional form belonging to the epitaph
and reflecting back to antiquity; it is terse enough to be cut in stone and
tight-lipped also, perhaps for other reasons, such as the speaker’s shame. There
is, fourth, the fictional form belonging to the epitaph, according to which the
dead man is supposed to be saying the words himself. There is, fifth,
especially poignant in
this instance, the real form behind or within the fictional one, for the reader
is aware that in reality it is not the dead man speaking, nor are his feelings
the only ones the reader is receiving, but that the comrades who were forced to
execute him may themselves have made up these two lines with their incalculably
complex and exquisite balance
of scorn, awe, guilt, and consideration even to tenderness for the dead
soldier. There is, sixth, the metaphorical form, with its many resonances ranging
from the tragic through
the pathetic to irony and apology: dying
in battle is spoken of in language relating it to a social occasion in drawing
room or court; the coward’s fear is implicitly represented as merely the
timorousness and embarrassment one might feel about being introduced to a
somewhat superior and majestic person, so that the soldiers responsible for
killing him are seen as sympathetically helping him through a difficult moment
in the realm of manners. In addition, there is, seventh, a linguistic or syntactical form,
with at least a couple of tricks to it: the second clause, with its
reminiscence of Latin construction, participates in the meaning by conferring a
Roman stoicism and archaic gravity
on the saying; remembering that the soldiers in the poem had been British
schoolboys not long before, the reader might hear the remote resonance of
a whole lost world built upon Greek and Roman models; and the last epithets,
“blindfold and alone,” while in the literal acceptation they clearly refer to
the coward, show a distinct tendency to waver over and apply mysteriously to
Death as well, sitting there waiting “blindfold and alone.” One might add
another form, the eighth, composed of the balance of sounds, from the obvious
likeness in the rhyme down to subtleties and
refinements beneath the ability of coarse analysis to discriminate. And even
there one would not be quite at an end; an overall principle remains, the
compression of what might have been epic or five-act tragedy into
two lines, or the poet’s precise election of a single instant to carry what the
novelist, if he did his business properly, would have been hundreds of pages
arriving at.
It is not at all to be inferred that the poet composed his poem
in the manner of the above laborious analysis of its strands. The whole
insistence, rather, is that he did not catalog 8 or 10 forms and assemble them
into a poem; more likely it “just came to him.” But the example may serve to
indicate how many modes of the mind go together in this articulation of an
implied drama and
the tension among many possible sentiments that
might arise in response to it.
In this way, by the coincidence of forms that locks in the poem,
one may see how to answer a question that often arises about poems: though their
thoughts are commonplace, they themselves mysteriously are not. One may answer
on the basis of
the example and the inferences produced
from it that a poem is not so much a thought as it is a mind: talk with it, and
it will talk back, telling you many things that you might have thought for
yourself but somehow didn’t until it brought them together. Doubtless a poem is
a much simplified model for the mind. But it might still be one of the best
models available. On this great theme, however, it will be best to proceed not
by definition but by parable and interpretation.
Exercise:
How can we proceed by parable and interpretation?
How can we proceed by parable and interpretation?
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