December 12th, 1952
Dear Comrade Arnold,
I would like to thank you very much for your comment but I am sorry you passed my brief criticism of Comrade Alick West back to him. I am afraid little good can come out of such a methodology for, in my opinion, it all too often results in personal exchanges between two individuals, usually ending in acrimony, completely sterile. For few of us in this country are deeply versed in the fundamentals of Marxism, hence I have always thought that any discussion which touches on things fundamental should be brought, whenever possible, before a Group, out in the open. But please do not accept this view as a reproach against yourself, I fully realise such a method is customary in this country.
Now as to yourself. I wish you would elaborate on your criticism, especially through concrete example. For instance, you say many of my poems are “only personal,” but surely all poetry is personal? In fact we can go further and say that all knowledge is conveyed and communicated through the personal. And the personal effort, what is it? Is it not the result of personal experience and meditation about life, enriched by the varied personal experiences and meditations of others? But, and this is the point you may have in mind, the point where I may have failed, when a poet fails to pass on to others his own reaction to experience and meditation, or when it is done in such a fashion as one must have to grope and burrow–the charge I make against T. S. Eliot and much of Mayakovsky’s verse–then such poetry is a failure.
If, for example, my own poem “Adolescence” conveys little to you but puzzlement requiring the utmost concentration to make it out then obviously it is a failure, even though your own knowledge of a mining town is limited. Of course, it goes without saying that a poem which reflects an experience familiar to the reader will afford greater pleasure. It is also true that the work of a truly great poet undergoes this, mostly unconscious, subjective examination. Thus, poetry permeated with the spirit of Marxism would arouse little but hostility in the mind of a bourgeois critic. Or a poem extolling the beauty of the countryside would fall unheeded by a city worker whose sense of beauty as far as nature is concerned is largely undeveloped. In brief, great poetry must be many-sided, touch on a thousand and one things, hence its universal appeal.
I would also like you to elaborate in your brief note about language: “Not enough use is being made of current speech and words.” I am afraid that unless you refer to colloquialism I don’t follow you, for the speech you use is moulded, consciously or unconsciously, by your own day and age, and in minor part moulded to suit your topic. Should your day and age include an upper-class background then class mannerism is almost inevitable. Should the poet lean heavily on literary language then the mannerisms to which I have referred crop up in his poetry no matter what class he is from, for the prevailing literature is bourgeois literature.
A great deal of modern poetry has departed from the classical heritage with its emphasis on a discernible rhyme, artificiality has crept in and oddness for the sake of oddness. Form for the sake of form, has affected a good deal even of the verse of the Left. Many of us have blinded ourselves to this situation because these poets are ’shouters,’ they politicalise everything they lay their hands on. I sometimes feel it is impossible for such people to make love without covering themselves with a bright Red Sheet.
I see no defence for such art, for when you break the laws governing a particular art form you inevitably debase it, degrade it even as Picasso has debased and degraded painting, Epstein sculpture. And, as far as poetry is concerned, when you leave a discernable rhythm–and, like melody in music, endless is wonderful variation, never ending, ever developing the art–you are in danger of the sinking-sands. Even in such a splendid poet as Heine, in his Tales to the North Sea, you feel the element of artificiality, neither prose nor poetry, nor is it true poetic prose, for that is prose but with poetic feeling surging through it. Whitman is an example par excellence of artificiality. But you will have to forgive me, not often do I get the chance to discuss such things. Most comrades are horrified when I broach the subject. I will never forget one girl at Marx House, possibly around twenty. I made a passing reference to my dislike of Picasso. She almost spat in my face in her stupid anger, rationality was thrown out of the window. I listened to her furious ranting in silence but as long as I live I shall never forget that young girl.
There is much madness in humanity.
Yes, you are right, there will be people, many of them, furious over my Foreword. It cannot be helped. I am of the opinion that sooner or later the Soviet Union will produce one or two critics worthy to compare with Belensky and Dubrolyubov. So far they have failed, for the geniuses thrown up by the Revolution are limited in the fact that they are human, and first things must come first.
I am glad you had a good discussion over Professor Thomson’s pamphlet, I had occasion to severely criticise it awhile back, in so doing I trod heavily on the toes of certain comrades, including Professor Thomson. His pamphlet departed widely from reflecting reality. If you are interested I will resurrect a copy of the article–I sent it to the Party.
I agree wholeheartedly with what you say about getting my poetry into the struggle, I have been trying somewhat unsuccessfully to convince the Party that I am a poet, and that poetry can be quite useful. But I am sorry you comrades gave up so quickly and easily on the magazine, without it all your efforts will be minimised. I am of the opinion that if necessary one of the Party’s publications should be dropped and the funds saved used toward establishing a broad cultural journal. But I don’t think that would be necessary providing the will was there. I am afraid such magazines as “Our Times” and “Arena” have left a sour taste in our mouths. I will get in touch with your poetry group and send them some of my stuff. No, I haven’t read Gwyn Thomas. I shall try and get hold of him.
A. H. EVANS.