The Poets' Last Hope
Speaking Poetry. By Geoffrey Crump. (Methuen. 12s. 6d.)
Now that the publishing of books of verse, other than anthologies, is an uneconomic proposition owing to the high cost of production
and the unwillingness of the public to buy a pig in a poke, poets are hard put to it to bring their work before their fellow-citizens. The result is pathological, for a poet without an audience means an equal obscuration at the other end, and society is cut off from its singers, its makars, and thus from its only medicine against the influence of politicians, theologians and scientists. Happily, this state of affairs has created an increased interest in the hearing of poetry. The B.B.C., the English Festival of Spoken Poetry, the Apollo Society and many small bodies and private individuals up and down the country are meeting this demand for poetry to be performed. This revival of the original contact between bard and listener is having an effect upon the nature and quality of the work. Poets begin to realise that verse has tended to become too private, too much a concern of the poet with his own heart-strings. Obscurity is no longer a virtue. It has become a stumbling-block. The youngest generation of poets know that, and are seeking to write verse whose simplicity (that difficult attainment) will carry it at once through the ear of a listener to the understanding, and a rapturous satisfaction.
This performance of the poetry, however, is a part of the art which has had to be revived. During the days of the printed word a dreadful activity called "elocution" has settled upon us; a hair- raising embarrassment. But that is now disappearing. We can hear poetry spoken so that the physical attributes of the speakers are subordinate to the nature and authority of the poem. Many books intended to educate speakers in this process are to be had, and the latest of these, by Mr. Crump, is amongst the best of them.
It is a full approach to the subject, opening with an enquiry into the nature of poetry that really poses the whole problem. He says: " Sensuous imagination is really the fundamental requisite in poetry- speaking. If the poet is to move us emotionally, he must do so through our senses; though we must know what the poem means intellectually, this is only in order that we may know what it purposes emotionally." But—and this is the crux of the matter—Mr. Crump points out that "the speaker of poetry must have the ability to understand and to share in his imagination the emotional and mental experience of the poet, and the ability to transmit this through his art—the art of speech. But he must transmit it faithfully, not exploit it. Just as he must not exploit the experience and thought underlying the poeni, by trying to make them appear his own, so he must not exploit the technical beauties of the poem by drawing attention to his presentation of them." That is a frontal attack upon "elocution," of unhappy memory. If there be any elocutionists about, I hope they will read those words, and sweat with remorse, instead of sweating on the stage during their violent performances. But I doubt if they find an audience today, for the public is growing accustomed to hearing verse, by broadcast Of from speakers properly educated in this subtle art, spoken with an ease that conceals the art, as a graceful woman wears her clothes.
The major part of Mr. Crump's book concerns itself with the details of that art; and in this matter he speaks from long experience, having spent his life in teaching and examining students of poetry, drama and speechcraft. His book thus passes from a consideration of the nature of poetry to the job of presenting it without distortion through ignorance, philistinism, physical clumsiness, nervousness and all the other deterrents that accumulate to make a perfect rendering of any poem so infrequent an experience. All this is done by Mr. Crump with an urbanity, a touch of humour, that bring savour to his seriousness and lighten his scholarship. RICHARD CHURCH.
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