"Ruthless Force": James on Whitman's War Poetry

In 1865, in first issue of The Nation, a young Henry James pointedly critiqued -- better, criticized -- Walt Whitman’s Drum-Taps. James’s main points seem to be that Whitman’s poetry lacks both an appeal to more than feeling (i.e., the intellect) and taste (i.e., a sense of the aesthetic): “It is not enough to be grim and rough and careless. … it [his poetry] pretends to persuade the soul while it slights the intellect; because it pretends to gratify the feelings while it outrages the taste … Mr. Whitman sits down at the outset and counts out the intelligence.”  Whitman’s poetry, according to James, also lacks a seriousness that the nature of the occasion, the Civil War, demands. Further, it fails to demonstrate a deep personal involvement in the war and the self-commanded eloquence to speak about it by “possessing this possession.”  James may have been correct that Whitman’s poetry does not have a pleasing aesthetic sense. James is picking up on something noteworthy about Whitman's unorthodox style, but that uncommon poetic aesthetic is part of the seriousness that Whitman’s grasp of the disruption to ordinary life occasioned by the Civil War reflects.  The jarring event that was the war called for jarring poetry to capture it.

Poetry Today -- Some Thoughts

Recently I posted about medieval Chinese poetry, and I attempted to produce a poem of my own in one particular mode. However successful that endeavor was, it did start me to think about the state of poetry today.  In former times, poetry was read, recited, memorized, and exchanged.  It formed communal bonds, and it shaped society's worldviews and mores.  What is the state of poetry today?

The Ethical Imagination of Art

Why, when we see acts of apparent selflessness, do we often swell with emotion?

Why, to put an even finer point on this, when we observe even fictional gestures of sincere compassion, do we pause, tear up, reach for a tissue or a nearby loved one, and become seized with something that transcends admiration -- something that feels like melting?

Art, in its various forms, uniquely taps into the human imagination, grips our emotions, and, if we listen, instructs.  Take, for example, the following short video clip, which of late, and deservedly, has been making the social media rounds.

(The YouTube link for the video is here.

The brief article about the video from Gawker is here.)

Freud and Woolf on Art

In Civilization and Its Discontents (1929), Sigmund Freud argues that “[l]ife as we find it, is too hard for us; it brings us too many pains, disappointments, and impossible tasks. In order to bear it we cannot dispense with palliative measures” (CD 23). Art is one such “palliative,” one that features prominently in Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse (1927). Whereas for Freud art is merely one means of substituting pleasure for the pain of reality by escaping reality, in Woolf’s novel art also has a palliative function, but it intersects with and merges with reality to induce pleasure, satisfaction, and intimacy within it.

Wilson's Moral Sense

As I mentioned that I would in a prior post, I have picked up the late James Q. Wilson's The Moral Sense and have begun to make my way through it.  Some excerpts from and reflections on the book might appear in this blog in the process.

Professor Wilson's thesis is this:  "that most of us have moral sense, but that some of us have tried to talk ourselves out it.  It is as if a person born to appreciate a golden sunset or a lovely song had persuaded himself and others that a greasy smear or a clanging gong ought to be enjoyed as much as true beauty" (ix).  This thesis and the analogy attached to it are interesting for any number of reasons.