Apologia
We stand on others’ shoulders. That is why
I sometimes speak a thought already spoken.
It’s tradition. Truth endures unbroken
and belongs to poets; others lie.
So why disparage metre, form and rhyme
as habits of a hidebound intellect?
What pleased yesterday, today rejects;
but canons and conventions are no crime.
Don’t waste your prejudice. Although I strive
to conjure art from feelings, fancies, words,
my modest aspirations may survive
one weakling echo—or expire unheard.
But all sincerity is purity;
and purity is ageless poetry.
Valediction
Dear Contemporary,
Dear Contemporary, as we part
I leave you to the flaccid formlessness
your floozy muse persuaded you is art.
Yes, in retrospect I might express
a grudging interest in the avant-garde;
but we reactionaries act our age,
indifferent as you play the novel card
or bow to passing fashions of the page.
And so farewell. While you peddle prose
I’ll stick to verse. You mean well, I suppose,
so if we meet in some anthology
let each bear each without apology.
Who cares a jot that you and I exist?
Yours, I remain
Yours, I remain A Counter-Modernist
Martin Briggs lives in Suffolk, England. He only began writing in earnest after retiring from a career in public administration, since when he has been published in various publications on both sides of the Atlantic.
Well expressed, Martin. I like the phrase, “the flaccid formlessness/your floozy muse persuaded you is art.” Even more pleasing is the gracious attitude toward the free-verse composer.
Thank you Mary. Live and let live….
Martin, you have composed two excellent poems directed at modernist writings that may not even reach the cellar level we call prose. Certainly “canons and conventions” are no crime,” as we continue to write our poems with a rhyme.
Thanks for the appreciation, Roy.
Poems in epistolary form are not common today, and “Valediction” is a flawless example of how it should be done. The salutation and closure are set off perfectly, without any metrical glitch, and since this is a sonnet, we have a carefully arranged line break between octet and sestet. The grammar, syntax, and diction are strikingly elegant (if I may join those two words), and “floozy muse” is a brilliant touch. And there is just the right seasoning of alliteration (“flaccid formlessness,” “peddle prose,” “passing… page”). I’m really delighted by this piece.
Also, the speaker does not hesitate to speak of himself as a “reactionary” and “counter-modernist.” “RIGHT ON!” as we used to say in the 1960s. It’s about time that we sloughed off apologies about the kind of work we do, and about our aesthetic loyalties. And Briggs makes a thoroughly aestheticist statement at the end when he says “Who cares a jot that you and I exist?” We don’t work for money and fame; we work for the pure love of our art and its criteria in a world that has mostly forgotten us.
I’ve dealt with “Valediction” first, to set the stage for my criticism of “Apologia.” It is also an excellent sonnet demonstrating a high level of craftsmanship. There isn’t a single thing wrong with the octet, and I have no argument at all with its substance.
The sestet ends in a way that irritates me. There’s nothing at all wrong with its metrics or English, both of which are just as polished as the octet. But this closing couplet is my stumbling block:
But all sincerity is purity;
and purity is ageless poetry.
My first problem is the use of three abstractions in two lines, especially at the very sensitive point of a poem’s closure, and the problem is aggravated by the fact that they all pretty much end alike (-ity and -etry). This makes the closure lame, and not up to the quality of the rest of the sonnet.
The other thing is the idea being expressed here. What does “sincerity” have to do with the fictive art of poetry? And it is a tedious bourgeois notion that “sincerity” is “purity,” or that “purity” is “ageless poetry.” Poetry is not always sincere, and it is not always pure. The only thing that it is required to be is aesthetically excellent.
Persons familiar with my criticism know that I normally judge a poem by its structure and craftsmanship, and that I avoid arguing about its “meaning” or “viewpoint.” Yes, yes, I know — you can dig up plenty of times here at the SCP when I have argued vehemently about what a poem says, but that was always on current politics or some in-the-news controversy.
But because these two poems by Briggs are so lovely and polished, and because one of them ends with what I consider an unfortunate aesthetic statement, I felt impelled to raise the above points. When one says that poetry is about “sincerity” and “purity” one is stepping into the terrible Platonic-religionist trap that poetry is supposed to speak the truth and support bien-pensant views and “do the right thing” and be child-friendly and edifying.
I think, from what I have seen of his work, that Martin Briggs is an excellent poet. I just felt that even the best poetry is in danger when we hear the false idea that poetry is supposed to be linked to Truth and Goodness and Sincerity and Purity.
I notice that “sincerity” is a big thing in Anglo-Saxon countries. As a Sicilian I can say that sincerity is considered a pathetic weakness in Latin nations.
Thank you very much Joseph. I’m grateful for such a thoughtful and detailed response to my two pieces, which I feel scarcely warrant such attention. I appreciate the time and thought you’ve invested in them.
For the record, I’d like to be known as Martin, rather than by my surname, which is ugly, and which anyway seems a frigid form of address amongst the SCP community.
I naturally don’t agree with your comments about the closing couplet of “Apologia”. The thoughts expressed there are deliberately contrasted with the rest of the work, and isolated for the sake of emphasis; and their scansion is faultless. If poetry doesn’t embody truth, sincerity and honesty (I don’t use the word “goodness”), we’re all wasting our time. What we write is either sincere or insincere; and if the latter, it’s worthless. I’m the first to admit that what I write might be tedious, but “we stand on others’ shoulders / That is why I sometimes speak a thought already spoken” – this is an apologia, after all. But why bourgeois, why platonic, why religionist? And is all poetry necessarily fictive? Poets express truths that come to them, or are revealed to them. Without such truths, what we write is worthless and we had better shut up. I’m in no position to assess the relative value placed on sincerity in Latin cultures.
I greatly enjoy reading your critiques of the contributions posted on the SCP website, and I’m sure you won’t object to some good natured push-back on this occasion. I’ve also just seen Susan’s interesting comments below. Anyone else care to weigh in?
Kindest regards,
Martin
I love both of these sonnets for their creative skill and for the subject matter that makes me smile as I think. Like others, I especially like your mellifluous ‘floozy muse’ and I like the way the sonnets are littered with highly effective yet unobtrusive alliteration. I also love the layout of the second. Thank you, Martin.
Joe, I am really interested in your “sincerity” and “purity” point. I’m interested because I am always drawn to “truth” in poetry. By truth I mean an authenticity to poetry’s integrity – an integrity that prevents poetry from being used as a vehicle for an ideology. Just like a banana taped to a wall isn’t art, a poem that’s the equivalent in words isn’t art either. This type of art – art that veers more towards propaganda with an agenda doesn’t have art at the heart of its existence – doesn’t explore the complexities of what it means to be human. It dehumanizes and that (to me) is insincere. The complexities of being human can be ugly, bawdy, banal, and downright offensive, but they are still “pure” in the sense that they depict human nature in its raw honesty – they’re not written to dehumanize the poem or the reader, they’re there to make a valid, very human point. A poem that feels like, looks like, tastes like, and smells like a banana taped to a wall mocks the integrity of poetry.
I’m not sure whether I’m right, wrong, or halfway there because I don’t know Martin’s intentions with those words… I only know how I read them, and because I felt differently to you, Joe, I thought it might make an interesting conversation. I am always curious and always happy to learn from my betters.
I enjoyed how you express “Valediction” in letter format. It made for an interesting twist.
Than you Cheryl. I’m glad you approve!
Dear Susan and Martin —
I’m very glad to have the comments of both of you, and I’ll do my best to clarify what I mean. Martin, I will always address you by your first name from now on; and Susan, I don’t consider myself anyone’s better in a place like the SCP, which has so many highly talented poets. I have learned many things from the poems and comments of persons who post here.
Martin, I have no criticism at all of the scansion or rhymes or diction of either of the two poems posted here. They are the work of a serious poet who knows his business, and who has a tremendous command of language. What I did in my comment was to take the risk of stepping out of character as a critic, and addressing myself to an idea rather than to the details of a poem’s composition. Normally I wouldn’t do this, since we all have varying opinions on some subjects and there’s no point in hashing out those differences in endless debates. In fact, one of the major plagues of discussion at poetry websites of this nature is the unconscious and unspoken assumption that poetry is about what I call “the three miseries” — meaning, message, and morals. This plague is why so many websites are either scenarios of violent controversy, or places of politically correct orthodoxy where everyone is as rigidly conformist as Communists at a high-level party meeting.
But I decided to address myself to the “meaning” in that closing couplet of “Apologia” because it touches upon an issue that I feel many of us don’t discuss (or don’t want to discuss), or that hasn’t even occurred to us to discuss. I don’t mind at all that you have given me push-back on what I have said, because I think it is better to get this question out in the open, rather than let it fester in silence. The question is this: Do we write poems to TELL people things and EXHORT them to act properly, and to NUDGE them to feel and think in certain ways, or do we write poems because we are loyal to the art of poetry, and wish to practice it in the most excellent manner that we can, without concern for audience reaction?
It’s clear that our opinions differ on this point. You want your poetry to embody “truth, sincerity, and honesty.” Well, there’s nothing wrong with poems that do that on occasion. But my view is that these things are secondary or even tertiary to a poem’s primary task, which is to be aesthetically perfect, imaginatively intriguing, very exciting, and highly provocative. I think fictive mimesis is the best way to accomplish these ends. We will never agree on this matter, so I won’t press the point any further. But I will try to answer your question about the adjectives bourgeois, Platonic, and religionist. I use those words to describe the immense dead albatross that hangs around the neck of much poetic practice today, whether free verse or formalist: bourgeois because it reflexively attempts to be acceptable to a conformist middle-class readership; Platonic because it thinks that the abstractions of ideology are important guidelines for thought and writing; and religionist because it looks upon poetry as a convenient place to insert catechism answers and scriptural admonitions for homeschooled children.
It comes down to whether one sees a poem as a mere vehicle for sending messages, or as a verbal artifact that is beautiful in itself, no matter what it might happen to say.
Susan, you have raised a very important point about “truth” in poetry. I’m not a skeptical relativist like Pontius Pilate, with his “Quid est veritas?” reply to Jesus. There are some very real truths that I acknowledge and honor. But the absolutely white-hot problem today is the savage combat between many different conceptions of “Truth,” and the vast, gaping gulf that lies between those of us who accept one brand of truth, and the many others who accept completely contrary and irreconcilable brands. You and I will NEVER accept the idiocies of left-liberal Wokeism passionately spouted by our enemies, and they will NEVER accept our way of thinking.
So here’s the crux of the problem: if we are going to compose only poems that are expressions of our truth, and the enemy is only going to compose poems that express his, then poetry will be reduced to a slugfest between different teams of punch-drunk fighters, struggling for advantage and points in the ring. You can say that the enemy’s art produces only propaganda, but they will say the same thing about our art. It will just be people flinging anathemas and excommunications and cancellations at each other. And what has brought it about is both groups clinging to Categorical Imperatives that they think are more important than art itself.
I totally agree with what you say about “purity.” When the word is used as a kind of moral abstraction (as many religionists use it), it is degraded and empty. As you rightly say, “The complexities of being human can be ugly, bawdy, banal, and downright offensive, but they are still ‘pure’ in the sense that they depict human nature in its raw honesty.” We can take any subject we like and make it into a beautiful poem, but when you have (on BOTH SIDES!) ideologists, moralists, Platonists, and religionists who talk about abstractions like “truth” and “sincerity” and “what is morally proper,” then poetry no longer does what it does best. It just plays second fiddle to someone’s idea-system.
I hope I have made my thoughts clearer for both Martin and Susan.
Thank you, Joseph and Susan, for the care and trouble you’ve both taken to lay bare the issues raised by these pieces. I never imagined my two throw-away sonnets would generate such heat. Joseph, I of course agree that poets might have different motives for writing, and that in their extreme forms those motives are not usually compatible. And Susan, you have grasped completely what I mean by sincerity and purity in poetry. At the risk of boring the pants off anyone out there who’s still following this, I too would like to clarify my position.
I’m sure most of us have had the experience of discovering that someone else has written the poem we were ourselves formulating; or has used an image we thought was uniquely ours, or a phrase that we had arrived at after much hard thought, and were pleased with. But my fellow poet’s achievement does not invalidate my own: “originality” owes nothing to “uniqueness”. My poem may overlap his, but it is still “sincere” and “pure” because it came from within me; it is “true” because it is faithful to my personal poetic vision; and it is “ageless” because Truth itself is outside time.
Poets borrow Truth when they perceive it. Naturally they express it in their own way, according to their epoch, environment, personality or passing whim; thus, themes recur throughout literary history. But it is the perception of Truth that makes the poem. It can be manifest in any form, from haiku or limerick to an epic of multiple cantos; but if the poem is not founded firmly on some part of Truth – however simple or unassuming – it is neither “pure” nor “sincere”. In short, it isn’t a poem, it’s hot air.
I concede that the offending final couplet of “Apologia” is obscure, and stands out from the rest of the piece like a sore thumb. Readers might not understand it, and might not agree with it if they do. But I believe I’m in good company: remember Keats’s “Beauty is truth, truth beauty”? Cryptic, laughably trite, or one of the most powerful statements in poetry?
Thank you, and good morning….
Martin, I find this a magnificent apology. The title leads me to expect exactly what I find, a personal statement, presented through logical argument, not by intuitive response to images or sensory or emotional appeal. It doesn’t expect universal agreement, and indeed the tone is both tough and firm in the face of expected disagreement. This kind of poetry is rare at present, though the presentation of literary theory or criticism in verse (usually longer than a sonnet) is an established classical genre.
Your structure is admirably tight; the concluding couplet is strong and specific in words you choose to follow up on what you have laid out, and to inspire expansive reflection in receptive readers. It is neither vague nor weak, but the terms you use may be offensive and reprehensible to some. Why?
The first quatrain explains. And it challenges with “others lie.” Now, don’t some persons other than poets at least sometimes convey some simple truth? Sure they do, but “others lie” refers back to the unbroken truth of reality, which very many deny or disregard. They are the “my truth,” “your truth,” “his truth,” “her truth” individuals. Liars all, if truth is real and not relative. The first quatrain of the Apologia says Martin Briggs strongly opposes the relativism that surrounds us. He is a realist about truth (not easy to see in its fullness), and claims for poets an extraordinary capacity to convey it.
Martin, what I’m doing here is reading your poem back to you. I am not interested in any argument with others. I hope I have understood you fairly so far. As the site has been rather slow and sticky with comments recently, I will go later on in another box or two or three.
Martin and Joe, thank you both very much for your thoughtful and engaging viewpoints. They have made me think long and hard — something I truly enjoy.
I don’t read Apologia as drawing a line between realists and relativists. Poetry can arise from many viewpoints — realist, symbolic, religious, sceptical, and more — and still be sincere and compelling. What matters most is that it expresses human experience authentically and it is crafted with care. It should never be used as a vehicle for philosophical alignment. The diversity of perspectives is a plus on this site – the variety of excellent poetry is what drew me to the site. I love reading the poetry and have benefited greatly from the discussions prompted by it.
Susan, what you have said prompts me to add something else to the discussion. It’s true that poetry can arise from many different viewpoints, and the poetry’s value depends not on some absolute, eternal, and universal criterion of measurement, like the Fahrenheit scale of temperature or the metric system of lengths. The truth and value of a poem are rooted not in epistemology, metaphysics, or scientifically gathered evidence (and certainly not in scripture or religious dogma), but in the poem’s fidelity to its own structure and style as a fictive artifact. Does it fulfill its genre expectations? Does it follow a metrical and rhyming contract with the reader? Does it make intelligent use of certain traditional poetic conventions? Does it adhere to the strictures of grammar and syntax in its chosen language? Does it employ diction in the best and most elegant manner?
Above all, is it a work of art? Does it show the “virtu” of its maker? Is it interesting, exciting, intriguing, humorous, sad, frightening, sexy, sharp, troubling, unexpected, arresting, or any other adjective that indicates the poem’s capacity to reach out and entertain the reader and grab his attention? Not “teach” him. Not “edify” him. Not “regulate” him. Not put him through his moral paces and keep him on his best behavior. Not send him to Sunday School, and remind him of Superman’s “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.”
Susan, your poems are always interesting, compelling, and effective in the very best ways.
Martin, after listing in the second stanza a good array of traditional features you use and approve, you change tactics in the third stanza. “Don’t waste your prejudice.” I would say you mean “don’t bother attacking my apologia because you reject its statements and principles–as soon as or even before you read it.” And why not bother? Let that adversary not bother because you, Martin, defend truth unbroken, which stands whether defended or not. You are yet more realist, in declaring that you are one weak echo among many, or possibly one unheard at all. You are too modest to attack. This will guarantee scorn from the bullies.
Then the couplet. As the poem is an apologia, the reader may suppose it represents a conclusive statement by the author of his modest opinion–based on that unbroken truth he characterizes as more than hot air. “All sincerity is purity.” The idea of purity is a red flag to any contemporary bully because he sees no fight in it. The struggle of self-discipline to acquire or maintain purity is nothing. But traditional culture contradicts, as do I. There is a noble and ennobling struggle for purity, and sincerity accompanies it, though not always, I would say, as the achievement of the virtue. But this is your apologia, Martin, and when you say all sincerity is purity, I accept and respect that.
And purity is ageless poetry? A sincerely acceptable and meaningful conclusion, with expansive explanations of how this can be. It’s a joy to the receptive reader to take up the poet’s direction.
Although your above post is addressed to Martin, I get the distinct impression it is addressed to me. If so, I must be an unusual “bully,” since I spent the bulk of my comments on Martin’s two poems praising his poetic skill unreservedly, saying that the first piece is a “flawless example” of its genre, and that the second demonstrates “a high level of craftsmanship.”
Indeed, my only criticism had nothing at all to do with the technical excellence of either poem, but only with an idea contained in the lame closing couplet of “Apologia.” And lame it is, as even Martin himself has admitted by saying that it “stands out from the rest of the poem like a sore thumb.” Three abstractions stating a rather obscure equivalence of “sincerity,” “purity,” and “poetry” makes for a very weak closure, besides being logically opaque. Just like Homer, every poet nods, but this nod was very prominent and noticeable.
Everything that I have said in my three comments posted above was polite, respectful, and designed to be serious literary criticism of a fellow poet’s work. I pointed out what I saw as a structural weakness in a couplet, and I expressed an aesthetic viewpoint that is obviously somewhat different from that of Martin. We disagreed without rancor.
But your two posts seemed animated by a deep-seated resentment and hostility. You have basically suggested, in an offhand and indirect manner, that I am a liar, a bully, a relativist, and impure. Well, we all can say what we choose. But you might have made a less incoherent statement of your literary position if you had actually addressed the serious points that I raised in my posts, and if you had been straightforward enough to direct them to me.
A little about my own non-relativist realism. It’s supported very much by the study of physics, which is the study of nature. You can’t proceed very far before learning of natural limits to human knowledge. The limits cannot make unknowable truth unreal. They just produce unreliable theoretical physicists!
Margaret, we seem to be on the same page as far as subject matter is concerned. Your close reading has enabled you to penetrate and expand what I was trying to convey. Forgive me if I say no more in response to your very detailed analysis, but I think the time has come to draw a line under these pieces. Both you and Joseph have given me a lot to think about, and I am grateful. All serious criticism, from any quarter, positive or negative, is welcome. I hope I learn from it.
Don’t miss my next offering, which extols the innocence of an adorable ginger kitten.
I enjoyed reading both of these poems and all the commentary that accompanied it. Thanks for sharing.
With lines both long-winded and terse,
my poetry often you curse!
Yes! Meter and rhyme
may be worth a dime,
but I’m gonna stick to free verse.
An anachronistic poem, Martin, from someone, as always, stuck somewhere midway.
Thanks for the reads.
Thank you Paul. Smiley face!
Prior to all of the meta-discussions of these poems, I felt that they preached to me as a member of the choir, and I agree with the core points they make. No poem is ever more than 99 44/100 percent pure. We are all crazy persons who happen to think that words should mean something, and that’s the core of the issue.
Thanks for these poems. You voiced something I’ve often thought: that literature (any art form, for that matter) doesn’t have to be either/or. You said it eloquently.
But all sincerity is absurdity
And ageless poetry is obscurity
“All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic.”
― Oscar Wilde
I’m very glad to have come across this discussion. Mr. Salemi, your remarks coalesce into a remarkably cogent mini-thesis on effective poetical analysis and criticism. First, we have the surgical precision and perspicuity of the specific critical comments you make on the poems in question. Then, you offer us the hermeneutics of your own poetical criticism in a nutshell. And finally, there is your statement of aesthetic imperative in poetry that rings as true to me as any I’ve ever read. Very illuminating. Well done, Mr. Salemi.
Thank you, Mr. Franklin. The quote you give from Oscar Wilde is apropos.