THE DIFFICULTIES OF WRITING POETRY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5582, 4 June 1896, Page 1

THE DIFFICULTIES OF WRITING POETRY.

The following is the text of an address delivered at the Christchurch Savage Club by Mr G. P. Williams :— < We are all fond of poetry • but I never yet met 'anybody who could define it satisfactorily. If you' ask one of the new school of poets what poetry is, he will 'first of all inform you that what he writes is poetry, and what all the other fellows write isn't j and if you proceed to suggest that, beyond a few erotic allusions, you cannot understand his poetry, ho will ; tell fyou that that is not his business, that you must, at any rate, admire the beautiful' flow and quaint metre of his Verses, but that you don't go to poetry to learn common sense. If this is a correct vieV of poetry, then all I can say is, the old adage that a poet is born and not mado, isi all wrong; for when I was a small boy I .was at a public school where they turned \>ut hundreds of those sort of poets every year. Every other day was devoted to writing Latin jioetry, and in the early stages you wrote what were-. called " nonsense verses ;" that is, you were allowed to" jumble up verbs and pronouns and nouns and adjectives, of any mood or declension, the only condition being that the thing must scan ; and if you made a false quantity you had to look out for yourself. At a later stage we wrote what we were pleased to call Latin verses, by the aid of abeautif ullittle machine called the " gradus ad Parnassuin,"> or " gradus" for short ; which was simply a Latjn dictionary containing every conceivable epithet which could possibly apply to every noun in the Latin language. All you had to dp was to frame the skeleton of a sentence— you had to give them a verb or two— and then fill in with threel or four epithets to every noun, quite regardless of the sense, and if you couldn't get one to. fit in, it was very hard if you couldn't find another. Thus, if you were to talk about a " hill," you might describe it as a great, high steep grassy hill, or a broad, flat round snowy hill, or a big, brown, curly hill, or any other kind s of hill that made your line scan. It seems to me then that if yon have been trained to write nonsense verses as a boy, it cannot be very difficult to write nonsense as a man. I know that's how I find it myself. If you ask someone else what poetry is, he may tell you. that you must have graphic description, dramatic effect, &'c. ; but I do not think that is everything; When I was a boy there, was, I recollect, a great advertising tailor called Moses.; I suppose he was the pioneer of the readymade clothing business* at all events he did a large enough business to keep a, poet, whose poems were published each' week; in the London papers. " I recollect one verse which impressed itself on me. y "There's a fault in tlio make of some people's trousers, •■';'.. Which makes you feel nervous whenever tliey bow, sir's; I -. But the trousers of Moses are so very pliant, 7 If; •'■ They never would split with the stbo:> of a giant I should like to know how you can beat that, f orographic description, or drapw^)^ effect! eibhei*. r * "• . '77? ■*■■'*• But if you ask someone else what poetry is, he will tell yon you must have beautiful ideas clothed in beautiful language. Well, I am not sure that that is everything. At all events, if you exclude as mere rhyming or versifying everything which does not come up to this ideal, you exclude some ofthe cleverest and most entertaining reading in the English language, such as the " Ingoldsby Legends"" and " Bon Gautier Ballads"; and if it isn't poetry, what is it ? ' ; • I do not know any other word in the English language that describes it. Take a good deal of Pope, or take a well-known poem of Byron's— the one that made his name — " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers ;" it would be a bold man who would say that it is not a very fine poem ; there is a good deal of wit in it, and a good deal of hard hitting, but there is positively not a beautiful idea in it from beginning to end. I suppose the' fact is that there are several arts of poetry, just as there are several arts which are commonly classed under the name of painting, and that one kind of poetry bears the same relation to another as the art of etching, say, does to the art of painting in oils. What is lost in richness of effect and brilliancy of colour may be gained, perhaps, in force and precision of touch. However, that may be, there is one feature common to all kinds of poetry. You must have imagery Or allegories, or metaphors or similes of some sort. That is, you must always say something is like something else ; especially something which it never has been, and never can belike. That is where the trouble comes in. For example, if you were to write a poem about a camel, you must not describe him as a great, over-grown looking kind of pack-horse, with an elongated ewe-neck, and standing about five-and-twenty hands high ; that is commonplace ; and you must not say anything about his having "the hump"— that's colloquial. No, you must say he is like a ship of the desert, gliding about from one haven to another ; that's poetry. I once wrote some verses myself about this difficulty of finding suitable metaphors, as it applies to the colonies ; and I was reminded of the subject by hearirig the very crude but vigorous verses of the Australian bush poet whom Savage Dondy unearthed there, and whose verses he quoted here the other night. I call my lines "WANTED, SOME METAPHORS." Pity the would-be colonial poet. Yearning to sing of the beauties he sees ; Filled with emotion, but fearful to show ifc, Not knowing whether his efforts will please. Who from the fact that poetical patter Conies not within his colonial reach, Finds it a de'ucedly difficult matter Where to get suitable figures of r-poecli. Say that he feels himself called to deliver Lines on a theme that is thrilling and sad ,* Take, for example, a fresh in a river ; This he will picture as—" tearing like mad." How can he jiaint his ecstatic sensation Bqrn of the health-giving breeze from the sea ? When tho sole imago employsd in narration Is the familiar one— "lit as a flea." Being accustomed to say "hot as blazes," When he alludes to the heat of the sun, How can he write ih poetical phrases ? No other motaphor's known' on tke run. Only in case of a regular scorcher, There is an image it pains me to tell, Fit for the lips of some drunk- n debauoher, Days such as these he describes, "hot as— hell." Not much impressed by this style do you feel, aud Sorry to find that your poet's begun, When he observes, on " a night in New "Zealand," " Hark to the moropork ! "lis crying-like- fun." " Strangely the st illness of nieht it surprises, Vain the" demand that it plaintively hoots ; Weirdly tho wail of the weka BrisfS, Calling away to its mate lik —'old boots.' " Shrilly responding, inerensivg the Babel. Wekns boluted and love-lorn are heard;" Weka's an nptery_, therefore unable Swiftly to fly to its love—" like a bird." " Mark ! how the shadows of clouds are concealing Forest and fern with one uniform cloak ; Mark now tho scene which tho rcoon is revealing, Chasing away all those shadows" — "like smoke." Nov aro you likely much linger to tarry ; ' Soon you'd be sated with similar rot ; So you will probably bo!. 1 - liko -" Old Harry," "Lamplighter," *!- rabbit," or " redshank," 01 "shot." Pity tlie wonlcl-bi; colo*ii;il port, Yeiirniui* io -inir of tlio beauties be sec:-, Fillcil with <.'!ii)t;o::-, but Tearful to show it; i Don't be se'-orj' on Ins metaphors, plcascj.