{"id":31304,"date":"2020-06-09T05:00:45","date_gmt":"2020-06-09T04:00:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/?p=31304"},"modified":"2024-12-14T21:10:34","modified_gmt":"2024-12-14T20:10:34","slug":"boileaus-poetic-art","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/boileaus-poetic-art.html","title":{"rendered":"Boileau’s poetic art"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Boileau signed it with a D ***, yes, but it’s his. And it’s mine too. Humbly I followed in the footsteps of the great man. What he calls poetic art, I call it the art of writing and saying. Here is an excerpt from Nicolas Boileau’s poem<\/a>, followed by my comments.<\/span><\/p>\n

Commence!<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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Poetic Art<\/h3>\n

(First Song, extracts)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

There is a kind of writer pleas’d with sound,<\/em><\/div>\n
Whose fustian head with clouds is compass’d round,<\/em><\/div>\n
No reason can disperse ’em with its light:<\/em><\/div>\n
Learn then to think, e’re you pretend to write,<\/em><\/div>\n
As your idea’s clear, or else obscure,<\/em><\/div>\n
Th’ expression follows perfect, or impure:<\/em><\/div>\n
What we conceive, with ease we can express;<\/em><\/div>\n
Words to the notions flow with readiness.<\/em><\/div>\n
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Observe the language well in all you write,<\/em><\/div>\n
And swerve not from it in your loftiest flight.<\/em><\/div>\n
The smoothest verse, and the exactest sence<\/em><\/div>\n
Displease us, if ill English<\/span> give offence:<\/em><\/div>\n
A barb’rous phrase no reader can approve;<\/em><\/div>\n
Nor bombast, noise, or affectation love.<\/em><\/div>\n
In short, without pure language, what you write,<\/em><\/div>\n
Can never yield us profit, or delight.<\/em><\/div>\n
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Take time for thinking; never work in hast;<\/em><\/div>\n
And value not your self for writing fast.<\/em><\/div>\n
A rapid poem, with such fury writ,<\/em><\/div>\n
Shews want of judgment, not abounding wit.<\/em><\/div>\n
More pleas’d we are to see a river lead<\/em><\/div>\n
His gentle streams along a flow’ry mead,<\/em><\/div>\n
Than from high banks to hear loud torrents roar,<\/em><\/div>\n
With foamy waters on a muddy Shore.<\/em><\/div>\n
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Gently make haste, of labour not afraid;<\/em><\/div>\n
A hundred times consider what you’ve said:<\/em><\/div>\n
Polish, repolish, every colour lay,<\/em><\/div>\n
And sometimes add; but oft’ner take away.<\/em><\/em><\/div>\n

\n<\/em><\/em>Nicolas Boileau, Poetic Art, cantum 1 — trans. by Alexander Chalmers & <\/span>J. Johnson<\/span>, 1810
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My comments<\/h4>\n

Poetic art is only part of the work. In its entirety, the book is called The Treaty of SUBLIME<\/em> … Friend Nicolas, you are sublime. Beyond the limits. Your prose shows me the way and carries me away. Your genius awakens the senses and amazes the mind. There, I do you justice so that others read you. To get high and rise. And … surprise!<\/p>\n

Learn then to think, e’re you pretend to write<\/span>
\nSo before you write, learn to think<\/em>.<\/p>\n

This verse can mean several equally just things.<\/p>\n

Before embarking on the art of writing, make sure that you master logic, the art of reasoning, the best enemy of naivety. In this predatory universe<\/a>, it is essential to learn to think. Everyone thinks they know. But daydreaming is not thinking. And to think is not to think.<\/p>\n

But also before writing a letter or email, think about it. Make a draft. How many times we answer too quickly, just what should not be said, too late, the email is gone. Turn your tongue seven times in your mouth before speaking. Turn your pencil seven times in your nose before writing …<\/p>\n

We will find the spirit of this advice a little further with the famous: Hurry slowly<\/em>.<\/p>\n

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What we conceive, with ease we can express;<\/span><\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
Words to the notions flow with readiness.<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n

What is well conceived is clearly stated,<\/span>
\nAnd the words to say it come easily.<\/span><\/p>\n

Too many messy speakers, confident in their presence, believe that threading words at the end of each other takes the place of intelligence. Too many pseudo-scholars, champions of thought, have no song or word that is not borrowed. Too many so-called wise men torment page after page of an undrinkable gibberish, riddled with abstruse words worthy of Picabia, outmoded terms that C\u00e9line would have damned, impossible turns, laughable burns, Mister false thinker who keep your reader as foolish as yourself. No one will notice the absence of thought, presume these hijackers, these clowns, these pretenders.<\/p>\n

They are not friends of wisdom as good philosophers but swollen copies of the mire and morons. They will pass, be quickly forgotten, sad consolation. But the good, the precise, the useful will pass as well<\/a>. You see me sorry.<\/p>\n

In short, without pure language, what you write,<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
Can never yield us profit, or delight.<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n

Without pure language, the most divine author<\/em>
\nWhatever he may do, remains a bad writer.<\/em><\/p>\n

Far be it from me to reopen the Quarrel of the Ancient and the Modern<\/a>, but it turns out that our friend Nicolas Boileau was the quarrel instigator, with as main ally another great poet, friend of animals, belles lettres<\/em> and ancient authors : Jean de La Fontaine.<\/p>\n

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It is important to choose between the young contemporary scribblers and the classic supporters of Ancients. There was a tap, and not least. Besides La Fontaine and Boileau, MM Racine, Moli\u00e8re and his prot\u00e9g\u00e9 the old Corneille, La Bruy\u00e8re, Bossuet represented the classic camp. The moderns were boiled down to Charles Perrault and a few forgotten people in search of recognition.<\/p>\n

These quarrels ever return. My generation, that of the sixty-eighters<\/a>, had the motto: “Never trust anybody above thirty<\/em>“. The ancients found no favor in our eyes. We only support our generation. The music – classical, romantic or modern – broke our ears. Rock, yes, but not that of Elvis, too old, already yesterday. The texts of the great authors of the past make us bored with boredom. It will have taken a lifetime to radically change my point of view.<\/p>\n

The pure and beautiful language of which Boileau speaks is not prehistoric. It is of its time. Languages \u200b\u200bare alive, they change according to the winds, according to people’s taste. Each era embellishes the language to enrich the legs of previous generations. Speaking good French does not limit the vocabulary to the dictionary of the french academy, which nobody reads, serves them right. Academicians are too oldstyle. Though elder, I’m much younger than they are. Anyway, whatever the language you use, you have to speak clear and nice. Clearly enough to be understood, and nice enough to be loved.<\/p>\n

The new generation of poets is to be sought in rap or comics. Popular forms of expression are not without poetry, quite the contrary. Each year new poets amaze new fans, who reinvent a world of living magic. Thanks to both of them, double guarantee that poetry is alive and well.<\/p>\n

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Gently make haste, of labour not afraid;<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
A hundred times consider what you’ve said:<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
Polish, repolish, every colour lay,<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n
And sometimes add; but oft’ner take away.<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n

Hurry slowly, and without losing courage,<\/em>
\nTwenty times on the trade hand over your work:<\/em>
\nPolish it over and over again;<\/em>
\nAdd sometimes, and erase often.<\/em><\/p>\n

This last quote from Nicolas Boileau could just as well be signed Jean de La Fontaine. His fables look so natural, his tongue flows so easy and dapper, his lightness and simplicity, believe me, is the result of a very long work. La Fontaine was a perfectionist, you can hear it in his verses.<\/p>\n

\"\"I am too, without having a quarter of the talent of the great man. Some of the articles you read here have received over 500 corrections. Twenty times, a hundred times, a thousand times on the loom I submit my work. It’s the wind that carries me away, it’s the lightning, it’s the storm. Life knocks on my door and supports my courage. You need seas, skies, giant beans, sharks, porpoises and gaping chasms. I learned the lesson. I will grow modest away from viruses, bloodletting, plague.<\/p>\n

Hurry slowly because murderer time will respect nothing you would do without it. My way of writing is devoid of expectation. I throw everything that comes to the screen, and piece after piece I take off. I withdraw. I deflate the patch. We always say too much.<\/p>\n

Of all those who have nothing to say,\u00a0the nicest are those who keep silent.<\/p>