[To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.]
SIR,—As a constant reader, will you allow me to express my
sympathy with Mr. Ward's impulse to " write to the Spectator about it " when he reads a poem by Miss Edith Sitwell or some others of your " difficult " contributors. But actually to do so is a self-indulgence which I have hitherto denied myself : partly, perhaps, because it seems inherent in human nature to be less ready to bestir itself to the stimulus of pleasure than of pain ; partly, because to write to you unprovoked :
REGULAR READER."
does more, you will admit, than verge on the ridiculous. But I would venture to suggest that I am not alone in my hitherto inarticulate support : and that as lovers of the Greek Anthology, Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats, and certain of the Victorians we have equal right with Mr. Ward to claim the title of traditionalists. Whatever may be one's opinion of Miss Sitwell's magnitude as a poet—a question no contemporary can pretend to decide—one must admit that she is in the direct tradition : surely the only way to read her is in the traditional manner. Let Mr. Ward imagine himself brought face to face with the works of Keats for the first time, with no preparation but a thorough-going affection for Pope and Johnson. It is a difficult thing to imagine, because Keats's mind has become so inextricably merged in the national consciousness : but is he absolutely certain that he would not be revolted at the poet's obscurity, alembications, juggling with words ?
Would he not be likely to be shocked at such a conceit as,
for instance, " Charmed magic casements opening on the foam of perilous seas " ? For my own part, I have no doubt whatever that had I lived a hundred years ago I should have been as much on the side of the Edinburgh Review as I was enthusiastic in my dislike of the first poems of Miss Sitwell's that I happened to read. Further, I would suggest that it is impossible to explain Miss Sitwell's meaning in language simpler than her own. Will Mr. Ward prove himself so amiable as to take up the challenge if I ask him to explain in simple language what is so much admired in such conceits as " Where palsy shakes a few sad last grey hairs " to an intelligence which professes itself unable to make head or tail of such stuff ? By confessing my own inability to do
so I am revealing myself a hopeless tyro in critical theory, no doubt.
Surely the only way to read original poetry in any age is to continue to absorb it in increasing doses until its meaning becomes plain as a pikestaff : as it will if there is any meaning there at all. It is unlikely that any one line of Miss Sitwell's will shock Mr. Ward more than any other line. He will, therefore, soon find all surprise, all shock wear off : and allow himself to surrender to the easy influence of the associations and implications of the language used, as he would in reading poetry in any other familiar style. Let him look forward to the day when he can throw aside Miss Sitwell's poems as dull and platitudinous : that is a poem's only true judgment- day. But he may ask : " What guarantee have I that Miss Sitwell is not pulling my leg ? That there is any meaning to be appreciated ? " One can only reply that if a so-called poet is a charlatan, he is also a fool : for who but a fool would go to such infinite pains in order to acquire such a barren possession as an undeserved reputation as a poet ? And if he is a fool, he will not have the wit to be a successful charlatan. From this same principle arises one's reply to Mr. Ward's accusation that modern poetry avoids the main currents of human life. I would deny this as fact : but even regarding it from the theoretical point of view I would deny its pro- bability. Let Mr. Ward remember that the writing of an original poem provokes the acutest mental pain that the human mind is able to suffer : child-birth is nothing to it : is the poet likely to undergo this for a bagatelle ?
I apologize, Sir, for writing to you so largely, and for attempting a reply to Mr. Ward when your own Poetry Editor has already made such an effective one : but perhaps Mr. Ward will look with less suspicion on a brother reader than on a professional critic.—I am, Sir, &c.,
GARIIEGFAWR.
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