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The Problematic of Art
Defining literature, particularly poetry, is perhaps one of the most difficult tasks ever
attempted by human intellectuality. Perhaps the most apparent reason for this is the
fact that any definition of the nature of art necessarily involves a definition of taste,
the most variable and individual amongst human faculties.
It is variable; because it most often depends on the socio-cultural value-system
prevalent in one era or another, in one nation or another, in one community or
another. What might be considered great art in one nation, might also, with the same
convection, be considered not so great by another. Even within every single nation,
what might be viewed as art in one particular era, might be considered differently in
another according to the social and cultural values prevalent in that era, not to
mention the changing economic and historical circumstances.
Taste is also individual; because no matter how many characteristics we actually share
with one another as humans, as members of the same nation, community, or even
family, we still differ, sometimes quite dramatically, in our particular tastes not just in
terms of our favorite colours, musicians or brands of fragrant, but, more significantly,
in the ways we each choose to activate our own individual heritages of experience and
in those very moments of action defining our own identities.
Yet, the variability and individuality of taste applies not just to poetry but to most
known genres of art including music. What makes literature so particular is its use of
language. Language is the main vehicle of this particular brand of art and, as such, it
is also very particular to each nation, or rather, to each particular tongue.
One aspect in the dilemma of translation is that each language, or tongue, carries
within it a set of significances and meanings that are very particular to this tongue’s
identity, to this tongue’s specific views of the world, involving its historical background as well as its socio-cultural mentality.
Here is another very significant variable involved in the definition of literature, as a
particular branch of art, that is; the nature of human language itself, the main fabric of
all written arts? What is it? Is it the sounds we produce, the mental concepts related to
those sounds, the psychological sensations and subconscious tunes triggered by them,
or is it something beyond the visible combination of all such elements?
What makes up the literariness of literature; the artistry of that written art; the words,
phrases and lines written on a sheet of paper? In other words, does this artistry or
literariness lie in the forms and formats themselves, or does it lie in our reception of
it? Do we actually make the artistry of art by our own hands? Do we actually
manufacture the literariness of literature by activating our own experiences to receive
astonishment, well-being and jubilation? Does such process, then, involve the actual
literary material we are dealing with; the particular language of that literature; or does
it depend completely on our own reception?
All such questions, however, and they are too many, speak directly to the dilemma of
language itself; its very nature, both in terms of its individual and social aspects. In
other words, we might be sharing our language with our community, even with our
nation, but still our use of it is like a finger-print, defines our very particular identity.
But, what makes poetry so particular amongst all other known genres of literature?
What is a genre of literature, anyhow? The most apparent characteristics of one
particular form of writings might not, as such, be so particular when we attempt to
break down or specify its mentioned elements into applicable procedures of
definition. For example, the Britannica Concise Encyclopedia defines poetry as:
Writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in
language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through its
meaning, sound, and rhythm. It may be distinguished from prose by its compression,
frequent use of conventions of metre and rhyme, use of the line as a formal unit,
heightened vocabulary, and freedom of syntax. Its emotional content is expressed
through a variety of techniques, from direct description to symbolism, including the
use of metaphor and simile.
And it defines prose as:
Literary medium distinguished from poetry especially by its greater irregularity and
variety of rhythm and its closer correspondence to the patterns of everyday speech.
Though it is readily distinguishable from poetry in that it does not treat a line as a
formal unit, the significant differences between prose and poetry are of tone, pace, and
sometimes subject matter.
The definition of poetry in the first quotation speaks of concentration and regularity as
particular characteristics of poetry. Perhaps what ought to have been stated is that
such elements are particular to most conventional poetry. All written arts do have,
with varying degrees of intensity, the same sorts of linguistic contractedness and
regularity, not to mention imaginativeness. They also mostly evoke the same,
sometimes more, emotional response from their audiences. So, why are they not
considered poetry?
Similarly, the definition of prose, in the second quotation, speaks of irregularity and
colloquialism as particular aspects of prose, when we know that some of the greatest
poetry ever written was written in the colloquial tongues of each individual nation, or
community. The same applies to regularity, which, as a principle, defines most
writing, literary or otherwise thought?
Perhaps, the main, if not the only, aspect of real difference between poetry and prose,
lies in poetry’s conventionally rhythmic identity. That is, the traditionally
recognizable musicality of poetry, known otherwise as prosody. But, who is to say
that the poeticness of poetry lies only in the music of its sound combinations? There
are, in other words, two kinds of rhythms.
The first is affected by the regular recurrence of syllabic stresses and non-stresses
among words and phrases. The other, is a more profound, and therefore significant,
type of rhythm, affected by the mental weight of meanings and the psychological
impacts of connotations and impressions. It is the rhythm made by the sequence of
meanings’ produced in poetry.
We know, for sure, that perhaps all contemporary poetry is non-rhythmic; does that
make it less, or more, poetic? But, more generally, however, does the poeticness of
poetry lie in the realm of another artistic medium all together; in music? In order for
poetry to become so, it has to be musical? Does more music mean more poetry or
poeticness?
This does not make much sense, since literature's musicality is not only produced by
the actual sounds of its phraseology, but also by its underlying meanings and
significances. As such, this musicality is not particular to one form or one genre, but
is an element of language itself; inescapable as it is inseparable from its very nature
both in terms of its sounds and in terms of its syntaxes.
But, perhaps the solution to this dilemma lies not in selecting one or more standard,
factor(s) or element(s) attempting to look to poetry through it (or them). Perhaps, the
closest attempt to finding the meaning of poetry as a medium of artistic expression
lies in a more wholestic approach, in which all such elements, standards and factors
somehow participate.
Poetry, in other words, is not any one single element, or the partial combination of a
selected number of those elements, but is rather a combination of all such factors and
elements with the distinct possibility of future improvement and inclusion.
Poetry’s nature, as is art's at large, is predominantly paradoxical. It is mostly prosodic
or musical, but also sometimes non-musical or prosodic which does not necessarily
make it any less poetic. It is mostly regular in form, but also, sometimes very
irregular.
It is mostly non-narrative, but also sometimes very narrative. The fact of the matter is,
poetry entertains the very souls of human intellectuality and spirituality which
sometimes includes, and / or excludes, whatever seems appropriate to the conditions
present at the time.
As such it changes whenever such conditions change in order to become relevant to
the texture of its own material and responsive to the language of such conditions. It is
not, therefore judged, or judge-able, by any given set of rules. History alone, has
taught us that such rules change every era, with every poet, sometimes even with
every poem!
This is reflective only of the human nature itself, both in its abstinent uniqueness and
in its permanent drive for change.
Professor: Nagy Rashwan