{"id":2546,"date":"2013-07-13T01:42:21","date_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:42:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost\/?p=2546"},"modified":"2013-07-13T01:42:21","modified_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:42:21","slug":"46-guidance-in-writing-poetry-vol-27-letters-on-poetry-and-art","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/01-works-of-sri-aurobindo\/03-cwsa\/27-letters-on-poetry-and-art\/46-guidance-in-writing-poetry-vol-27-letters-on-poetry-and-art","title":{"rendered":"-46_Guidance in Writing Poetry.htm"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n\n\n
\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n


\nSection Three <\/font><\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nPractical Guidance
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/b><\/b><\/p>\n


\n\t\t\t<\/b>
\n<\/font>for Aspiring Writers<\/font><\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n


\n\t\t\t<\/b>
\n<\/font>Guidance in Writing Poetry<\/font>
\n\t\t\t<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nThree Essentials for Writing Poetry<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI have gone through your poems. For poetry three things are necessary. First, there must be emotional sincerity and poetical
\nfeeling and this your poems show that you possess. Next, a mastery over language and a faculty of rhythm perfected by a
\nknowledge of the technique of poetic and rhythmic expression; here the technique is imperfect, some faculty is there but in the
\nrough and there is not yet an original and native style. Finally, there must be the power of inspiration, the creative energy, and
\nthat makes the whole difference between the poet and the good verse-writer. In your poems this is still very uncertain,
\n―in some
\npassages it almost comes out, but in the rest it is not evident. <\/p>\n

I would suggest to you not to turn your energies in this direction at present. Allow your consciousness to grow. If when the consciousness develops, a greater energy of inspiration comes,
\nnot out of the ordinary but out of the Yogic consciousness, then you can write and, if it is found that the energy not only comes
\nfrom the true source but is able to mould for itself the true transcription in rhythm and language, can continue. <\/p>\n

6 June 1932 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Suggestions for Indians Writing English Poetry<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf you want to write English poetry which can stand, I would suggest three rules for you to observe: <\/p>\n

1. Avoid rhetorical turns and artifices and the rhetorical tone generally. An English poet can use these things at will because
\nhe has the intimate sense of his language and can keep the right proportion and measure. An Indian using them kills his poetry
\nand produces a scholastic exercise.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-567<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

2. Write modern English. Avoid frequent inversions or turns of language that belong to the past poetic styles. Modern English poetry uses a straightforward order and a natural style, not different in vocabulary, syntax, etc., from that of prose. An
\ninversion can be used sometimes, but it must be done deliberately and for a distinct and particular effect. <\/p>\n

3. For poetic effect rely wholly on the power of your substance, the magic of rhythm and the sincerity of your expression
\n―if you can add subtlety so much the better, but not at the cost of sincerity and straightforwardness. Do not construct your
\npoetry with the brain-mind, the mere intellect ―that is not the source of true inspiration; write always from the inner heart of
\nemotion and vision. <\/p>\n

17 November 1930 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhy erect mental theories and suit your poetry to them?1<\/font><\/sup> I would
\nsuggest to you not to be bound by either [of two models<\/i>], but to write as best suits your own inspiration and poetic genius. I
\nimagine that each poet should write in the way suited to his own inspiration and substance; it is only a habit of the human mind
\nfond of erecting rules and rigidities that would like to put one way forward as a general law for all. If you insist on being rigidly
\nsimple and direct as a mental rule, you might spoil something of the subtlety of the expression you now have, even if the delicacy
\nof substance remained with you. Obscurity, artifice, rhetoric have to be avoided, but for the rest follow the inner movement. <\/p>\n

I do not remember the precise words I used in laying down the rule to which you refer,
\n―I think I advised sincerity and
\nstraightforwardness as opposed to rhetoric and artifice. In any case it was far from my intention to impose any strict rule of
\nbare simplicity and directness as a general law of poetic style. I was speaking of “twentieth century” English poetry and of
\nwhat was necessary for an Indian writing in the English tongue.2<\/font><\/sup><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t1 This is the revised version of a letter that is printed in its unrevised form (with the<\/i>
\nomission of one paragraph) on pages 467 \u00ad 68. ―Ed.<\/i> <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t2 Sri Aurobindo is referring here to the advice he gave in the letter of 17 November<\/i>
\n1930 published on pages 567 \u00ad 68. ―Ed.<\/i>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-568<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\n

English poetry in former times used inversions freely and had a
\nlaw of its own ―at that time natural and right, but the same thing nowadays sounds artificial and false. English has now
\nacquired a richness and flexibility and power of many-sided suggestion which makes it unnecessary for poetry to depart from
\nthe ordinary style and form of the language. But there are other languages in which this is not yet true. Bengali is in its youth, in
\nfull process of growth and has many things not yet done, many powers and values it has still to acquire. It is necessary that its
\npoets should keep a full and entire freedom to turn in whichever way the genius leads, to find new forms and movements; if they
\nlike to adhere to the ordinary norm of the language to which prose has to keep and do what they can in it, they should be free
\nto do so; but also they should be free to depart from it, if it is by doing so that they can best liberate their souls in speech. At
\npresent it is this that most matters. <\/p>\n

\n

8 December 1930
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Help to Young Poets <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Yes, of course, I have been helping Jyotirmayi. Always when
\nsomebody really wants to develop the literary power, I put some force to help him or her. If there is faculty and application, how
\never latent the faculty, it always grows under the pressure and can even be turned in this or that direction. Naturally, some are
\n\u00af  \u00af<\/i> more favourable ādhāras <\/i>than others and grow more decisively
\nand quickly. Others drop off, not having the necessary power of application. But on the whole it is easy enough to make this
\nfaculty grow, for there is cooperation on the part of the recipient
\nand only the tamas of the apravrtti <\/i>and aprakāśa <\/i>in the human
\n.<\/i>
\ninstrument to overcome which are not such serious obstacles in the things of the mind as a vital resistance or non-cooperation
\nof the will or idea which confronts one when there is a pressure for change or progress in other directions. <\/p>\n

\n

10 June 1935 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n[X’s] poems are only attempts ―good attempts for his age ―so I encourage him by telling him that they are good attempts. It
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-569<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

is his English poems I correct, as he has talent, but his mastery of the language is still naturally very imperfect. The other three
\nare masters of language and [Y] is a poet of a very high order. I give my general opinion only when they want it. I never make
\nsuggestions. It is in English poetry that I give my opinions or correct or make suggestions. <\/p>\n

\n

22 November 1933 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Criticism of Bengali Poetry
\n<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

I do not know that I can suggest any detailed criticisms of Bengali poetry, as I have to rely more on what I feel than on any expert
\nknowledge of language and metre. <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Sri Aurobindo’s Force and the Writing of Poetry <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

You give me Force for English poetry
\n―some lines come all right, others are jumbled, wrong, etc., and these things you
\ncorrect by outer guidance, i.e. by correcting, checking, etc. till I become sufficiently receptive and then only a few changes
\nwill be necessary. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI do so in your English poetry because I am an expert in English
\npoetry. In Bengali poetry I don’t do it. I only select among alternatives offered by yourself. Mark that for Amal I nowadays
\navoid correcting or changing as far as possible ―that is in order to encourage the inspiration to act in himself. Sometimes I see
\nwhat he should have written but do not tell it to him, leaving him to get it or not from my silence. <\/p>\n

10 April 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I can understand your yogic success in Dilip’s Bengali poetry, because the field was ready, but the opening of his channel
\nin English has staggered me. I can’t understand whether it is your success or his. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat do you mean by Yoga? There is a Force here in the atmosphere which will give itself to anyone open to it. Naturally
\nit will work best when the native tongue is used ―but it can do big things through English if the channel used is a poetic
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-570<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\none and if that channel offers itself. Two things are necessary ―no personal resistance and some willingness to take trouble about understanding the elementary technique at least so that the transcription may not meet with too many obstacles.
\nNishikanta has a fine channel and with a very poetic turn in it ―he offers no resistance to the flow of the force, no interference
\nof his mental ego, only the convenience of his mental individuality. Whether he takes the trouble for the technique is another
\nmatter. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I had written to you that Nishikanta bows in front of your
\nphotograph before he sits down to write, and that I am ready to bow a hundred times, if that is the trick. You answered that
\nit depends on how one bows. Methinks it does not depend on that. Even if it did I don’t think Nishikanta knows it. Or was
\nit in his past life that he knew it? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWell, there is a certain faculty of effacing oneself and letting the
\nUniversal Force run through you ―that is the way of bowing. It can be acquired by various means, but also one may have the
\ncapacity for doing it in certain directions by nature. <\/p>\n

10 December 1935
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We feel that your Force gives us the necessary inspiration for
\npoetry, but I often wonder if you send it in a continuous current. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOf course not. Why should I? It is not necessary. I put my Force from time to time and let it work out what has to be worked
\nout. It is true that with some I have to put it often to prevent too long stretches of unproductivity, but even there I don’t put
\na continuous current. I have not time for such things. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If it were so, we would not write 15 to 20 lines at a stretch
\nand then go on for days together producing only 3 or 4 lines. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThat depends on the mental instruments. Some people write
\nfreely ―others do so only when in a special condition.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-571<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

Had your special Force been constantly acting, why should we have this difficulty? We should be able to feel the inspiration
\nas soon as we sit down with pen and paper, shouldn’t we? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNo. At least I myself don’t have continuous inspiration at command like that in poetry. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I don’t think a latent faculty brought out by Yogic Force would
\nachieve such a height of perfection as a faculty which manifests in the natural way. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOf course, not so long as it is latent or not fully emerged. But once it is manifested and settled, there is no reason why it should
\nnot achieve an equal perfection. All depends on the quality of the inspiration that comes and the response of the instrument. <\/p>\n

12 June 1935 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When the current of inspiration comes to a stop, I think sometimes that perhaps you have forgotten me in your busy
\nmoments. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt does not depend on that at all. It depends on a certain state of
\nreceptivity ―an opening of the channel between the inner plane where the inspiration comes and the outer through which it has
\nto pass. <\/p>\n

27 March 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As regards the “opening of the channel”, can it be done
\nsooner by more concentration, meditation, etc., disregarding the literary side for the time being? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One can get the power of receptivity to inspiration by concentration and meditation making the inner being stronger and the
\nouter less gross, tamasic and insistent. <\/p>\n

29 March 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I tried to write a poem, but failed in spite of prayer and call.
\nThen I wrote to you to send me some Force. Before the letter had reached you, lo, the miracle was done! Can you explain
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-572<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

the process? Was it simply the writing that helped establish the contact with the Grace? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe call for the Force is very often sufficient, not absolutely necessary that it should reach my physical mind first. Many get
\nas soon as they write ―or, (if they are outside), when the letter reaches the atmosphere. <\/p>\n

Yes, it is the success in establishing the contact that is important. It is a sort of hitching on or getting hold of the invisible
\nbutton or whatever you like to call it. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When you send the Force, is there a time limit for its functioning or does it work itself out in the long run or get washed off
\nafter a while, finding the ādhāra <\/i>unreceptive? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no time limit. I have known cases in which I put a
\nForce for getting a thing done and it seemed to fail damnably at the moment; but after two years everything carried itself out
\nin exact detail and order just as I had arranged it, although I was thinking no more at all of the matter. You ought to know
\nbut I suppose you don’t that “Psychic” Research in Europe has proved that all so-called “psychic” communications can sink
\ninto the consciousness without being noticed and turn up long afterwards. It is like that with the communication of Force also. <\/p>\n

21 May 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Opening to the Force <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

All I can say is that opening is a mysterious business! <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWho says it is not? Some people have the trick of always opening
\nto a Force (e.g. Dilip, Nishikanta for creative literary activity), some have it sometimes, don’t have it sometimes (you, Arjava,
\nmyself). Why make it a case of kicks and despair? <\/p>\n

19 September 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sending Inspiration <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But what precisely do you mean by sending the inspiration?
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-573<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

The inspiration comes from above, ―through your inner being who, very evidently, is not only a Yogin and a bhakta but a
\npoet of Yoga and bhakti. The Yoga-force which woke up the power in you came from me. It was when you were translating
\nmy poems that you got into touch and the power woke in you because you came inwardly into my Light. Since then I have
\nbeen acting on you to develop this poetic power, and as there is a large opening there it has been an easy matter. As for the
\nPower itself that works, that gives you words and rhythms, you ought to know or at least your inner being knows very well that
\nall divine powers are the powers of the Mother. But the way in which these things work is the occult and not the physical (not
\nthe crudely mediumistic) way, and it works in each according to his nature and the material and capacities, actual or latent, it
\nfinds there. <\/p>\n

\n

8 September 1931 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Please send me some inspiration to complete my Triumph of<\/i>
\nDante<\/i>. What is the best way of receiving it? I’ll be thankful if you’ll teach me how to be able to fill up those gaps. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nGood Lord! it is not a thing that can be taught. As for the best way ―well, silence of the mind, relative silence if one can’t get
\nthe absolute. <\/p>\n

6 November 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You give inspiration only for supramental poetry? Startling
\nnews, Sir! <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhere have I said that I give inspiration for supramental poetry
\neither only or at all? You said that your inspirer for this or for any other poem of yours was my supramental self. I simply said
\nthat it can’t be, because a supramental self would produce or inspire supramental poetry
\n\t―and yours is not that, nor, I may
\nadd, is Jyoti’s or Dilip’s or my own or anybody’s. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We fondly believe that you give inspiration, set apart a time
\nfor it, and now you say that you are not the Inspirer?   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-574<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nI say that my supramental Self is not the inspirer ―which is a very different matter. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pray explain the mystery to me. Why shirk the responsibility now, because a surrealist poem has come out? You are
\nresponsible for it, I think. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nExcuse me, no. As the Gita says, the Lord takes not on himself
\nthe good or the evil deeds (or writings) of any. I may send a force of inspiration, but I am not responsible for the results. <\/p>\n

19 January 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tThe Necessity and Nature of Inspiration <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I hope to be able to write not only good but very good and very fine poems as a part of Yoga. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nTo write such poetry, one must first be open to a high or strong or beautiful source of inspiration and secondly one must not be
\ntoo facile ―one must be careful of the quality. <\/p>\n

30 May 1934
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I am doubting if there is even one drop of poetical faculty in
\nme. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is evidence of literary talent in your poems ―what has
\nnot yet come is the inspiration that vivifies the writing. It may come hereafter. <\/p>\n

20 September 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nAs for the “urge”, if you resist the inspiration, the chances are that you will lose both the urge and your meditation. So it is
\nbetter to let the flood have its way ―especially in this case, of course, for there is no harm in
\nthis <\/i>kind of urge. <\/p>\n

7 February 1931 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*
\n<\/b><\/font><\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nBut that happens to everybody who is in the habit of writing. The suggesting forces write in the mind without regard to outward
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-575<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

opportunity and it is also quite usual for a line to come without any sequel. <\/p>\n

\n

3 April 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Would you suggest a way to increase thought-power in poetry? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no device for that. You have to open from within to a
\ndeeper or higher source of inspiration or grow from within into a deeper or higher consciousness
\n―there is no other way for it. <\/p>\n

4 May 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today another poem by Jyoti. I’m staggered by her speed in writing. She says lines,
\nchanda<\/i>, simply drop down, and she
\njots them down. She feels as if somebody is writing through her. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut that is how inspiration always comes when the way is clear and the mind sufficiently passive. Something drops or pours
\ndown; somebody writes through you. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I don’t know that by one’s mind one can write such things.
\nWhat do you say? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNot possible. There would be something artificial or made up in
\nthem if it were the mind that did it. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

How has she opened to the mystic plane? Something akin to
\nher nature or one just opens? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt may be either. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Even when a thing drops down, isn’t it rather risky to accept it as it comes, specially the
\nchanda <\/i>part of it? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf anything is defective, it can be only by a mistake in the transcription. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Does the chanda <\/i>also come down with inspiration or has one to change it afterwards?
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-576<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nYes, it comes and is usually faultless ―if the mind is passive and the source a high, deep or true one. Of course metre as the
\nSupraphysicals understand it! <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I shall illustrate my point. Jyoti says she sometimes rejects lines
\nbecause she doesn’t understand their meaning. But since they repeatedly throw themselves on her, she accepts them. When
\nthe poem is completed the meaning becomes clear. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe mind ought to be quiet till all is written. Afterwards one can
\nlook and see if there is anything to be altered. <\/p>\n

27 July 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Isn’t it a fact that the best poetry almost always comes down
\nwithout any resistance at all? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nUsually the best poetry a poet writes, the things that make him
\nimmortal, come like that. <\/p>\n

28 July 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After reading Jyoti’s whole poem, I realised it would have been
\nimpossible to write it simply from facility. It is an inspiration-poem. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOf course it is impossible. There must be inspiration. The value of the poem does not rise from the labour or difficulty felt in
\nwriting it. Shakespeare, it is said, wrote at full speed and never erased a line. <\/p>\n

29 July 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n


\nInspiration and Understanding <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Everything depends on the inspiration. But then I can’t change any line or word since I don’t understand what I am writing. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nFrom your explanations you seem to understand all right. The question is about the inspiration itself. It is sometimes more
\nsuccessful, sometimes less ―for various reasons. What one has to see is whether what has come through is quite satisfactory in
\nlanguage, image, harmonious building, poetic force. If not, one   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-577<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

can call a farther inspiration to emend what is deficient. At first one allows the inspiration to come through without interference,
\nto establish the habit of free flow. But that does not mean one must not afterwards alter or improve
\n―only it should be done
\nnot by the mind but by a fresh and better inspiration. If in the course of writing itself, a correcting inspiration comes, that can
\nbe accepted ―otherwise one does the perfecting afterwards. <\/p>\n

\n

23 February 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

The poet herself says that, as far as she can tell, the sestet has
\nno relationship to the previous lines. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat does that matter? Is she the intellectual creator of these
\npoems or is she the medium of their transmission? If the latter it does not matter a penny damn that she does not intellectually
\nunderstand her poem ―provided she transmits it correctly. <\/p>\n

7 December 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Does it help a writer to know the particular source of inspiration from where he or she writes? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNot at all necessary. <\/p>\n

18 July 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some poems that come are unintelligible to the mind. Why? Is it because they come from higher planes? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYes, the mind is used as a medium: it may be an understanding ―transcribing agent or it may be only a passive channel. If an
\nagent, it transcribes what comes from above, understands but does not pass its opinion
\n―only transmits. If it is only a channel,
\nthen it sees the words and passes them but knows no more. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If one could understand it when it comes, would that not help
\nto improve the poem?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNot to improve ―for that would mean the mind interfering,
\nrefusing to be a medium and trying to do better in its own active<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-578<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

account. But to understand is desirable. If the mind is watchful
\nand awake to the symbols being used or the images it can acquire the habit or knack of understanding. <\/p>\n

\n

27 January 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

But seriously, how can I write this surrealist sort of stuff better? What is the trick?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe trick is to put your demand on the source for what you want. If you want to fathom (not understand) what you are
\nwriting, ask for the vision of the thing to come along with the word, a vision bringing an inner comprehension. If you want
\nsomething mystic but convincing to the non-mystic reader, ask for that till you get it. <\/p>\n

17 February 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So you are getting plenty of surrealist poets, eh? Happy at the prospect? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNot at all. Look here, sir, two are enough in all conscience, with an occasional Nishikantian outburst thrown in. If others cut in
\nI will have to strike. I can’t spend all my life from set to dawn explaining the inexplicable. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nInspiration and Effort <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I have ceased even to aspire, believing that you will give me
\ninspiration. I refuse to make even a mental effort. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nMental effort is one thing and aspiring and holding yourself in
\nreadiness is another. <\/p>\n

10 May 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If I have discovered some lines I must not think of the next
\nlines, but try instead to keep absolutely silent so that with a leap I find that the Greater Mind has simply dropped the necessary rhymed lines, like a good fellow, and I finish off excellently without a drop of black sweat on my wide forehead? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThat is the ideal way; but usually there is always an activity of the   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-579<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

mind jumping up and trying to catch the inspiration. Sometimes the inspiration, the right one, comes in the midst of this futile
\njumping, sometimes it sweeps it aside and brings in the right thing, sometimes it inserts itself between two blunders, some
\ntimes it waits till the noise quiets down. But even this jumping need not be a mental effort
\n\t―it is often only a series of suggestions, the mind of itself seizing on one or eliminating another, not by laborious thinking and choice, but by a quiet series of
\nperceptions. This is method no. 2. No. 3 is your Herculean way, quite the slowest and worst. <\/p>\n

\n

31 March 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Inspiration leaves one sometimes and one goes on beating and beating, hammering and hammering, but it comes not!
\nInspiration failing to descend, perhaps. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nExactly. When any real effect is produced, it is not because of
\nthe beating and the hammering, but because an inspiration slips down between the raising of the hammer and the falling and gets
\nin under cover of the beastly noise. It is when there is no need of effort that the best comes. Effort is all right, but only as an
\nexcuse for inducing the Inspiration to come. If it wants to come, it comes ―if it doesn’t, it doesn’t and one is obliged to give up
\nafter producing nothing or an inferior mind-made something. I have had that experience often enough myself. I have also seen
\nAmal after producing something good but not perfect, beating the air and hammering it with proposed versions each as bad
\nas the other, ―for it is only a new inspiration that can really improve a defect in the transcription of the first one. Still one
\nmakes efforts, but it is not the effort that produces the result, but the inspiration that comes in answer to it. You knock at the
\ndoor to make the fellow inside answer. He may or he mayn’t ―if he lies mum, you have only to walk off swearing. That’s effort
\nand inspiration. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You proclaim the force and inspiration from the house-top,
\nbut fail to see that one has to work hour after hour to get it. What would you call this labour?
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-580<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nHammering, making a beastly noise so that Inspiration may get excited and exasperated and fling something through the window, muttering “I hope that will keep this insufferable tinsmith quiet.” <\/p>\n

\n 6 March 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\n Mentalisation of Inspiration <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You have spoken of the original inspiration becoming “mentalised”. Could you tell me how it gets mentalised? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThis mentalisation is a subtle process which takes place unobserved. The inspiration, as soon as it strikes the mental layer
\n(where it first becomes visible) is met by a less intense receptivity of the mind which passes the inspired substance through
\nbut substitutes its own expression, an expression stressed by the force of inspiration into a special felicity but not reproducing or
\ntransmitting the inspired beat itself. <\/p>\n

6 April 1938
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nCapturing Lines and Expressions <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As regards poetry, I am invaded by hazy ideas for two or three
\ncompositions and many lines seem to peep out. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat is the meaning of this “seem”? Do they peep or do they
\nnot peep? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But they seem more bent on tantalising me than meaning any
\nthing serious, because as soon as I sit down to transcribe them, they evaporate like ether or camphor. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat do you mean? Why should you sit down to transcribe them? Keep hold of the lines and expressions by the nose as
\nsoon as they peep out, jump on a piece of paper and dash them down for prospective immortality. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It appears so easy to catch all these amorphous beauties and put them into morphological Grecian statues! . . . <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhy amorphous, if they are lines and expressions ―lines and   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-581<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

expressions are either morphous or they don’t exist. Explain yourself, please. <\/p>\n

\n

5 December 1935 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

You ask why “amorphous”? The lines, expressions, words that I feel swarming all around me, but I cannot put into
\nform, what else shall I call them? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf you simply feel things swarming without a shape, then you
\ncan’t call that lines and expressions ―it is only the chaotic potentiality of them. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One begins with the morphous lines hoping that the amorphous chaos will sweep in ecstatically and help me build a
\nsplendidly original cosmos, and what do I find? Either they elude me or what comes is something commonplace. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That’s another matter. It’s like dreams in which one gets splendid lines that put Shakespeare into the shade and one wakes up
\nand enthusiastically jots them down, it turns out to be “O you damned goose, where are you going While the river is flowing,
\nflowing, flowing” and things like that. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do you mean that I should scribble down all these expressions
\nas soon as they hop in? Good Lord! there will be parts and pieces only. How shall I make a whole poem out of them? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nMany poets do that ―jot down something that comes isolated in the hope that some day it will be utilisable. Tennyson did it, I
\nbelieve. You don’t want to be like Tennyson? Of course it is always permissible for you to pick and choose among these divine
\nfragments and throw away those that are only semi-divine. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Already words and lines of four or five poems in halves and
\nquarters are lying in a comatose condition, without any hope of resurrection. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWell, well ―all that shows you are a poet in the making with hundreds of poems in you also in the making, very much so. The
\nmountains in labour, you know ―what? <\/p>\n

6 December 1935
\n   <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-582<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n Inspiration during Sleep <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

Of late my poetic inspiration has shifted from the waking to
\nthe sleep state. I often compose poetry in sleep but cannot remember exactly what I write. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Concentrate in the will to remember before going to sleep ―when you wake remain quiet a little before moving and try to
\nremember (not struggling to do it but leaving your mind open with a will that it should come back). You say sometimes a line
\nremains. Of what kind? any good? Sometimes these subliminal compositions are pure rubbish. If so, it is not worthwhile making
\nan effort to remember. <\/p>\n

3 October 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This morning a little before 5.30 I got a poem which seemed to
\nme grave and rich at the same time. Suddenly my eyes opened and the poem faded. But I had a very strong sense that it was
\nreally good. Is there any way to make good the loss? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThese things do not come back. The feeling that it was very
\ngood is not reliable. Unless you remember the thing, it cannot be decided. I have more than once woken up with a line which
\nseemed splendid to the subconscient, but which my waking mind found to be very flat. Of course it depends from what source it
\ncame. <\/p>\n

October 1933
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Variations in Inspiration <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It is queer that one writes a few lines in no time and the rest
\nperhaps at no time! <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThis is too cryptic for me. I may say however that inspiration for
\npoetry is always an uncertain thing (except for a phenomenon like Harin). Sometimes it comes in a rush, sometimes one has to
\nlabour for days to get a poem right, sometimes it does not come at all. Besides each poet is treated by the Muse in a different
\nway. <\/p>\n

24 August 1935 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

  <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-583<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

You wrote that today’s poem is only “good”. Where is the progress? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNo writer of poetry can count on keeping the same level of inspiration in all his poems. The results are sometimes good,
\nsometimes better, sometimes at his best. There can be failures also so long as one is not perfectly mature in capacity. <\/p>\n

11 July 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Writing and Concentration <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Which of these two methods is better: to go on writing till one comes in contact with the original source of inspiration, or to
\nconcentrate first and get the contact? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nDhyana is perhaps the best way ―for if you can get into the
\nconsciousness which makes all poetry which proceeds from it original, that is the best, even if it means postponement of the
\nactual writing of poetry. The habit of writing no doubt increases the skill and mastery of verse, but then it might only be verse
\n\u00b4<\/i> such as all good litterateurs <\/i>can write. A higher inspiration
\nis necessary. As for translation I don’t know ―if one has the translator’s gift like Dilip or Nishikanta, then it is all right
\n― but otherwise translation is more difficult than original writing. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I cannot come in touch with poetry or its source. My mind is full of the most ordinary things. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYou must put aside these things when you write. Every writer has to do that, to put aside his ordinary self and its preoccupations
\nand concentrate on his overhead inspiration. <\/p>\n

18 July 1936
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Receptivity and Silence <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My mind does not know precisely how to silence itself. The
\nsame is true of Dilip. How then does he manage to receive from Above? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe difference is that as his mind has opened to the Above, the   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-584<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nAbove can turn its activity into an activity of the Inspiration ―its quickness, energy, activity enable it to transcribe quickly,
\nactively, energetically what comes into it from the Above. Of course if one day it becomes silent also, it may probably become
\nthe channel of a still higher Inspiration. <\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

Is silencing the mind to be done only at the time of writing or
\nat other times too? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nSilencing the mind at the time of writing should be sufficient
\n\t― even not silencing it, but its falling quiet to receive. <\/p>\n

31 March 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Difficulty and Ease of Production <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sentence “the reason is rather the seeking for new inspiration which has not yet come” in your letter to Jyoti is rather enigmatic or cryptic to us. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf one wants a new inspiration or development there may very well be during the period of transition or attempted transition a
\nperiod of difficulty or suspension because the old feels itself no longer called for or not so much, while the new is not yet there.
\nThat is all I meant. <\/p>\n

3 January 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sense of difficulty made me feel an unwillingness and
\nsomehow I dread it even now. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf the inspiration comes, the sense of difficulty is not likely to
\nremain and the poem will take the form and tone which is the right one for the subject. <\/p>\n

26 January 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The same difficulty of transmission appears to hinder the proper finish. Will you tell me where the defect lies
\n―insufficient mastery over language and style, or insufficient inspiration? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAll writers have the difficulty ―it is the tamas of the physical   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-585<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

mind which finds it difficult to transcribe the inspiration. <\/p>\n

\n

29 August 1933
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Mind Fatigue <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Jyoti wants to know why or how the mind-fag has come in
\nand by what attitude or process it can quickly pass off. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is nothing serious in it. Very often when the mind has been
\ndoing something for a long time (I mean of course the physical mind), something which demands intensity of work or action,
\nnot what can be done as a routine, it finds itself unable to do it well any longer. That means that it is strained, needs rest so
\nthat the force may gather again. Rest or a variation. A little rest given to it or a variation of work should set it right again. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I thought that one or two hours’ work without undue effort might perhaps keep the channel open and at the same time
\nproduce no fatigue. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is not a question of ordinary fatigue by overwork ―but of
\na temporary inability to go on doing the same thing over and over any longer. That is what I mean by the mind-fag. It is not
\nthe mere writing of poetry of any kind but the intensity to bring down that kind of poetry that is in question. The channel in fact
\nis not working because of the fag ―it can work again only after rest, by not forcing oneself. <\/p>\n

17 August 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Poetic Influence and the Physical Consciousness
\n\t\t\t<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sometimes chandas <\/i>are at the tip of my tongue but I’m unable to express myself in verse. Is there no way for me to learn? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAny necessary power may come with the sadhana ―but many get the poetic impulse from within, but are not able to transcribe
\nit in really good poetic form ―it depends on how it comes out through the physical consciousness. <\/p>\n

22 December 1933   <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-586<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n

\n Aspiration <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

Jyoti says formerly she used to aspire for beautiful things, etc.
\ninstead of letting herself go. Now she remains passive ―and this poem is the result. Any answer? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no incompatibility between aspiring and letting the thing come through. The aspiration gives the necessary intensity
\nso that what comes has a better chance of being a true transcription. In this case probably the pain she felt in the neck etc. was
\na proof of some fatigue in the physical parts which spoiled the transmission. <\/p>\n

30 July 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dilip had to work in spite of your Grace. My aspiration for your Grace in this mental occupation is as great as for spiritual
\nprogress. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAspire for the opening to the right plane of inspiration. You
\nforget that Dilip got his opening by grace and never lost it ―all his work only helps him to utilise and develop what is already
\nthere. <\/p>\n

22 May 1934
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nPassivity of Mind <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If I don’t surrender more or less passively, all is spoilt, I can
\nnot produce anything real. Yet the mind struggles and I feel depressed and heavy in the head. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhy should the mind struggle? In all these things the mind has to remain passive and only a witness consciousness behind
\nwatching what is passing. It can be seen afterwards if anything has to be altered, but the mind interfering can only hamper the
\ninspiration or pervert it. <\/p>\n

27 July 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I seem to force and hurry myself rather than surrender to
\nthe Force above. The result is annoyance, mental labour, headaches and nervous irritation. Also, the desire to write this
\nand that, this way or that way.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-587<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

The remedy is to draw back and let the inspiration flow, keeping the attitude of the instrument and witness not involved in the
\nwork. <\/p>\n

\n

19 December 1936
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

The Joy of Creation <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

I had a unique experience in the realm of poetry. <\/p>\n

Last night the inspiration came and as I sat down to write the whole thing dropped, so to say. I simply let myself be led to
\nsee how and where it would end. Never before have I written a whole poem in this way. I was very joyous and recovered all
\nlost hope. <\/p>\n

Why is it that people get so much joy out of writing a
\npoem? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is the joy of creation partly, partly the joy or “enthousiasmos<\/i>“,
\nthe sense of exaltation and Ananda which always comes when one is freely and powerfully used by a greater Force. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Does this spontaneous, automatic inpouring depend on some inner state? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt does not depend on any inner spiritual state, but on an opening to some supraphysical plane of inspiration. <\/p>\n

21 April 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I will put in any amount of labour and that should be enough for things to pour down. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nLabour is not enough for the things to pour down. What is done with labour only, is done with difficulty, not with a downpour.
\nThe joy in the labour must be there for a free outflow. You have very queer psychological ideas, I must say. <\/p>\n

14 December 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nRapture and Application <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Would you advise me to cease trying to write poetry for some time? The one or two recent failures (what you call “a good
\npoem” falls for me more or less in the same category) perhaps shows that I am pumping when the well is dry? The poetry <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-588<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

I really want to write
\n\t―miraculous and perfect ―seems so
\nimpossible at present. I wonder and wonder whether I shall ever be able to offer you the rapture and the glory I dream of. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI don’t see why you object to writing good poems or why you call them failures. The rapture and the glory are all right, but how
\nare you to arrive at them if you don’t write? <\/p>\n

6 October 1934
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Practice, Cultivation, Regularity <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dilip and others say I should practise writing, but can one
\nwrite by practice? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWriting improves with practice ―there comes a greater mastery
\nover language, provided one has the faculty and you seem to have it. <\/p>\n

5 February 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Am I a “writer by nature” and should I cultivate writing like Dilip? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nDilip got the power of writing poetry through the inspiration awaking, otherwise he might have laboured all his life and never
\nproduced anything of any value. It was the grace of a sudden opening of power that he got, it was not the fruit of cultivation. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nirod writes as well or even better than I do, why then do you say he is not a writer by nature? Has he not the faculty? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI said that to Nirod because he wanted to do these things as part of his development in sadhana. Apart from that one can by
\ncultivation learn to write well in an ordinary way, but inspiration and the power to write things worth writing do not come in that
\nway. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As a help in the beginning Dilip suggests that I should write
\nlong letters to friends, translate others’ poems and writings, read a lot of books etc. And Amal says I should write essays
\nand criticism of poems and of others’ writings. Please tell me if these are the right ways to begin.
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-589<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

Of course you can do all that. If you can really do it it will at least be a lesson in work and application and patience, if nothing
\nelse. <\/p>\n

\n

27 August 1933 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What should I do in order to make everything perfect? Should
\nI work hard and go on writing or rather sit and wait for the inclination to write? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no rule about these things ―it acts differently with different people. Some acquire the capacity of writing regularly
\n\t―others can only do it when the push comes. <\/p>\n

31 March 1934
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nSilence and Creative Activity <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt would be a mistake to silence the poetic flow on principle.
\nCreative activity is a tonic to the vital and keeps it in good condition, and a strong and widening vital is helpful as a support to
\nthe practice of sadhana. There is no real incompatibility between the creative power and silence; for the real silence is something
\ninward and it does not or at least need not cease when a strong activity or expression rises to the surface. <\/p>\n

14 June 1932 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Periods of Incubation <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do you think it better for me to stop writing for four or five days in order to be quiet? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYou may stop for a few days. It is sometimes well to do so at times. <\/p>\n

11 August 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My ballad seems to have fallen between two stools
\n―it’s neither true ballad nor pure poem. Has it no saving grace at all?
\nWhat do you advise me to do with it? Limbo? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAs to the sentence on your poem, I told you I could not pronounce even a definitive verdict. There was a recommendation by Horace or some other impossibly wise critic that when you
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-590<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nhave written a poem the safest rule is to put it in your desk, leave it there for ten years and then only take it out and read and see
\nwhether it is worth anything. Perhaps with a mitigation of the segregation period, the rule could be applied here. <\/p>\n

\n 1932<\/font> <\/p>\n

\n *<\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

What about my poem? I hope it is mentally quite clear. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nVery fine indeed, very. You have suddenly reached a remarkable
\nmaturity of the poetic power. Which seems to suggest that the periods of sterility were not so sterile after all or were rather an
\nincubation period, a work of opening going on in the inner being behind the veil before it manifested in the outer. Let us hope the
\nsame is going on in the direct sadhana. <\/p>\n

7 August 1936
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nLabour and the Appearance of Ease <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I can’t, for the life of me, get new expressions or thoughts.
\nWhat can be done? I break my head over them but they remain damn hard and unprofitable as the Divine! I am paying
\nthe penalty of trying to become an English poet and of facing a hard task-master. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat the deuce are you complaining about? You are writing very beautiful poetry with apparent ease and one a day of this
\nkind is a feat. If the apparent ease covers a lot of labour, that is the lot of the poet and artist except when he is a damned phenomenon of fluency. “It is the highest art to conceal art” “The long and conscientious labour of the artist giving in the result
\nan appearance of divine and perfect ease” ―console yourself with these titbits. As for repetitions, they are almost inevitable
\nwhen you are writing a poem a day. You are gaining command of your medium and that is the main thing. An inexhaustible
\noriginal fecundity is a thing you have to wait for ―when you are more spiritually experienced and mature. <\/p>\n

7 September 1938   <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-591<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

Dissatisfaction and Persistence <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

If one could express the Divine through poetry, it would have
\nsome value. Otherwise why should one bother? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is a general tendency in the vital to get dissatisfied with
\neverything. It is a restlessness that should not be encouraged. If one could be concentrated always on the Divine, then there
\nwould be no need of any admonitions, one would naturally do so. But until then it is no use dropping something that has
\nopened in you. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If the poems do not turn out to be of the highest grade, should
\nI write daily? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf one gives up writing whenever the writing is not always of the
\nhighest grade ―it would not be possible for anybody to develop his poetical power. <\/p>\n

30 July 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Writing and Self-criticism <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I concentrate or meditate for some time before writing. Even then I have to pause after every expression. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nPause to do what? Think? You have to cultivate the power of feeling instinctively the value of what you write
\n―either while
\nwriting or immediately you go over it when it is completed. <\/p>\n

23 February 1937
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nirod says my rhythm is sometimes not very smooth and
\nspontaneous, and that I should read the poem aloud when it is finished. I prefer to read it silently. What is the right way:
\naloud or silently? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is better always to read it aloud once so as to make sure of the
\nrhythmic sound. <\/p>\n

15 October 1933 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I have scratched the whole poem out of existence! And yet
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-592<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

when I completed it, I was so happy thinking it was something great! Fool! <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nEvery poet is such a fool. His work is done in an exalting excitement of the vital mind
\n―judgment and criticism can only come
\nwhen he has cooled down. <\/p>\n

6 April 1937
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nUsing Criticism from Others <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I do not like to show my poems to others; I’m afraid their
\ncriticism will take away all impulse to write. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf you do not show them and face criticism how will you improve? <\/p>\n

12 October 1933
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n


\nContact with Other Writers <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I notice some queer things happening in the realm of poetry
\nbetween Nishikanta and myself. I wrote a line: <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and did not follow it up. Two days later I find Nishikanta
\n\t\t\twriting a poem wherein occurs the line <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/font><\/sup><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some time back a similar thing happened. These are about
\nexpressions; similar things are happening about chanda <\/i>also. Strange, isn’t it? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNothing queer about that. You dropped the inspiration and did not work it out; so it went off and prodded N who let it through.
\nThat often happens. <\/p>\n

31 July 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I thought I have so far avoided taking any beautiful expressions used by others. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t3 “The moon-boat is sailing on the ocean of the blue sky.”
\n\t―Ed.<\/i>
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t4 “Who made it sail, the moon-boat?” ―Ed.<\/i>  
\n<\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-593<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

As a rule it is better to avoid taking over special expressions used by others. <\/p>\n

\n

15 February 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Sameness and Variety <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Harin has suns and moons in plenty in his poetry. A friend of Amal’s has remarked that stars come in almost every one of
\nhis poems. This seems to be one point against spiritual poetry. Another is that spiritual poetry is bound to be limited in scope
\nand lack rasa vaicitrya<\/i>, to use Tagore’s expression. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOrdinary poems (and novels) always write about love and similar things. Is it one point against ordinary (non-spiritual) poetry? If there is sameness of expression in spiritual poems, it is due
\neither to the poet’s binding himself by the tradition of a fixed set of symbols (e.g. Vaishnava poets, Vedic poets) or to his having
\nonly a limited field of expression or imagination or to his deliberately limiting himself to certain experiences or emotions that
\nare clear to him. To readers who feel these things it does not appear monotonous. Those who listen to Mirabai’s songs, don’t
\nget tired of them, nor do I get tired of reading the Upanishads. The Greeks did not tire of reading Anacreon’s poems though
\nhe always wrote of wine and beautiful boys (one example of sameness in unspiritual poetry). The Vedic and Vaishnava poets
\nremain immortal in spite of their sameness which is in another way like that of the poetry of the troubadours in mediaeval
\nEurope, deliberately chosen. Rasa vaicitrya <\/i>is all very well, but it is the power of the poetry that really matters. After all every
\npoet writes always in the same style, repeats the same vision of things in “different garbs”. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When Sahana sent some of her poems to Tagore, he replied
\nthat the poet’s mind should not be confined to a single preranā<\/font><\/i>, however vast it might be. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut Tagore’s poetry is all from one
\n. He may write of different things, but it is always Tagore and his
\npreranā <\/i>repeating
\nthemselves interminably. Every poet does that.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-594<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

He hints that a poet’s creation should not be confined to spiritual inspiration dealing with things spiritual and mystic. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWell, and if a poet is a spiritual seeker what does Tagore want him to write about? Dancing girls? Amal has done that. Wine
\nand women? Hafiz has done that. But he can only use them as symbols as a rule. Must he write about politics,
\n―communism,
\nfor instance, like modernist poets? Why should he describe the outer aspects of world nature,
\n, for their own sake, when his vision is of something else within
\n or even apart from her? Merely for the sake of variety? He then becomes a mere litterateur<\/i>. Of course if a man simply writes to get poetic
\nfame and a lot of readers, if he is only a poet, Tagore’s advice may be good for him. <\/p>\n

15 May 1938 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nWhat the deuce is Yogic poetry, not to speak of too Yogic? Poetry is poetry, whatever the subject. If one can’t appreciate
\nthe subject one can at least appreciate its poetical expression. One may not love wine-drinking yet appreciate the beauty of
\nAnacreon’s lyrics and one may be a pacifist and yet appreciate the poetic power of your father’s war-song. However, perhaps
\nsince there is a conversion in other things, there may be an eleventh hour repentance here also. <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n


\nRepetition <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Words or phrases may be reiterated provided they acquire by
\ntheir content a new colour each time. The word white has been fairly common of late in my work though perhaps the line in
\nwhich it occurs, “A white word breaks the eternal quietude”, is not so stale as the other. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nObviously, it is desirable not to repeat oneself or if one has to it is desirable to repeat in another language and in a new light.
\nStill even that cannot be overdone. The difficulty about most writers of spiritual poetry is that they have either a limited field
\nof experience or are tacked on to a limited inspiration though   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-595<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

an intense one. How to get out of it? The only recipe I know is to widen oneself (or one’s receptivity) always. Or else perhaps
\nwait in the eternal quietude for a new white word to break it ―if it does not come, telephone. <\/p>\n

\n

30 August 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut why should not one repeat oneself sometimes ―provided it is done with a difference? It is better, unless there is imperative
\nneed for change or unless a very striking improvement offers itself, not to make any small alterations in a thing that has come
\nout well ―for then the better one tries after tends to spoil the good that has already been achieved. <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nIt is not possible always to say something quite new. If one has a
\nsubject old or new worth treating and treats it with originality, that is all that is essential. <\/p>\n

18 August 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Spontaneity
\n<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAll poetry is not necessarily spontaneous, and if all poetry that is not spontaneous were to be put aside, the stock of the world’s
\npoetic literature would be much reduced; so let the sonnet stand. <\/p>\n

25 October 1934
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Originality <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n<\/b>
\nIt is a good poem; its rhythm and expression are sufficiently
\nchaste and strong to convey an effect of restrained power and give a poetic body to the thought
\n―and the thought itself is on
\na high level and has the emotion and truth of what comes from the higher mind. Judged independently, the one defect is that the
\nstyle has not the note of perfect originality, the intensity of discovery in it; I find too much echo of my own poetry in
\nAhana<\/i>. But
\nthis derivativeness is inevitable when one is learning how to write ―it is only when you have got a certain mastery of the medium
\nthat you can express in your own way. <\/p>\n

6 December 1932 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*
\n  <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-596<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

Once you wrote to me that the occasional failure of inspiration I experience is due to my mind having learned too much and
\nbeing too ingenious [see page 12<\/i>]. Has that characteristic given a subtly
\n\t\t\t<\/span>
\nr\u00e9chauff\u00e9<\/span>
\n\t\t\t<\/span>
\n<\/i>
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\tturn to all my style? Do you find it at its
\nbest an inspired pastiche? I should be grateful to realise what particular influences I ought specially to outgrow. I sometimes
\ndoubt if I am not, except of course in the insight kindled by you, almost wholly derivative, full of traditional mannerisms. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNo. I find no pastiche in your poems and I could not lay my hand on any special influence to be outgrown. What I meant
\nwas that the contriving mind (intellectual and ingenious) was too busy and blocked the way of the poetic intuitive inspiration
\ntoo often. I did not mean at all that it was wholly derivative or full of traditional mannerisms. <\/p>\n

10 September 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I feel Jyoti’s poem is an exceedingly fine piece and some expressions are remarkably original, aren’t they? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYes, quite so. It is the freedom from the intellectual limitations which bring in these original expressions
\n―as in many English poets. Ordinarily in French, or in Bengali, (French before
\nMallarm\u00e9 and the Symbolists) there is too much lucidity and rationality to let these things get through. <\/p>\n

29 October 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Poetry Writing and Fiction <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Can I, without losing the force needed for fiction or poetry, carry on both
\n<\/i>at the same time? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no rule for these things. You must see for yourself, for with each person it is different. There is no general or necessary
\nincompatibility between fiction and poetry. <\/p>\n

28 March 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t*<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If a writer devoted part of the day to stories and part to poems,
\nwould the two sorts of writing come in each other’s way? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOne cannot say what will be the immediate effect. But it is not
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-597<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

likely that the poetic consciousness once opened will stop ―though it may be suspended if the concentration is strongly to
\nsomething else. <\/p>\n

\n

7 January 1937
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

Poetic Inspiration and Prose-Work <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

I am at present too much caught in the prose-work. No wonder
\npoetry is impossible. I suppose the prose has to run its course before the poetic inspiration gets a chance to return? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhy the deuce should your poetic inspiration wait for the results of the prose canter? The ground being still cumbered ought to
\nbe no obstacle to an aerial flight. <\/p>\n

16 March 1935
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Literary Ambition and Aspiration <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If a poem does not come up to expectation, all is dark. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThat is a weakness that ought to be overcome. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I want to write in many ways and many forms; to write long
\npoems as well as short ones; to write expressing many and various ideas; in the future to write books even
\n\t―and so to
\nprepare myself for this now by doing shorter works. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut surely you do not expect to do all that all at once? One has
\nto grow in consciousness and ability before these things can be done. Because all that is not yet done, is not a ground for being
\ndissatisfied with the present work done. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I hold before myself the example of Sri Aurobindo, Tagore,
\nKalidasa, Shakespeare ―of all the great poets. I am afraid this is all ambition.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAmbition has to be outgrown, if one wants to succeed in sadhana. The will to use the energies for the best, not for ego but
\nas a work for the Divine must replace it.<\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-598<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

Something within wants to shake off this bondage to the old
\nhabits and old ways of writing, wants to soar higher, bring in newer, deeper, truer and more beautiful things: but I feel
\nbound and full of despair. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no harm in such an aspiration, but despair is not the
\nway to it. You have to aspire and grow into these new things ―already there is a distinct progress, a new writing of a stronger
\nkind. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A peculiar hopelessness now and then will not let me concentrate; how shall I be able to break into a newer region of inspiration by myself and my own aspiration and concentration? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYou can’t do it by hopelessness and the consequent inability to
\nconcentrate. It is precisely by aspiration and concentration that it can be done. Nor are you called upon to do it “by yourself”. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I don’t want to write poetry in the same forms and metres. But I cannot help myself; there seems to be a canal cut and things
\ncome in that way, that form, and no other. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOne can try new forms and metres and they will come, but
\nit is to be observed that the greatest poets have written in a few forms and metres
\n―e.g. Shakespeare, dramatic blank verse,
\nsonnet, short lyric. In narrative he was a failure. Milton, blank verse, narrative, sonnet, long meditative lyric, ode. His drama
\nform is not dramatic. Kalidas, narrative epic, drama, one elegiac poem, one poem of nature description
\n―not an inexhaustible variation of metres. Valmiki, Vyasa epic only ―anustubh <\/i>and
\ntristubh <\/i>metres. Dante, terza rima <\/i>metre ―little variation of
\n..<\/i>
\nkind in his poetic writing. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I am rejecting the impulse to do other literary work
\n\t―stories,
\nnovels etc. ―simply for the sake of producing maturer work in poetry, though novel-writing would have been easier. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI do not know that there is any reason why you should not   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-599<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

write other things. You have now a great mastery of poetry in its constituent parts of language, rhythm, building
\n\t―it is only
\nthe variation that is needed. Perhaps by doing other work that variation might be assisted. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lastly, I want to have your guidance, as when you told Nirod what were his drawbacks. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIn your case I do not find any drawbacks of importance ―except the one fact that you are bound within one channel or stream
\nof poetry with always the same images and ideas as the base of your work. The construction in that base varies and is always
\nfine. But the base and the kind are always the same. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Neither Arjava nor Amal are guided by anybody except you.
\nWhy should not that be the right thing for me? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nArjava and Amal write in English and I can guide or suggest
\nthings to them in detail as well as in general. I can’t do that with Bengali poetry; I can only pass judgment on points put before
\nme. <\/p>\n

Consultation with Nolini might be useful
\n\t―he has a different mind from Nirod’s and can see things from another angle. Nirod’s help is, I think, indispensable. As for Nishikanta, I do not
\nthink it advisable ―he has a strong individuality of his own as a poet and at the same time a great assimilative power. With the
\nfirst he would make suggestions which would be good poetry but not kin to your individuality; with the other he would absorb
\nyour poetry and produce Nishikantisations of that ―I don’t think you would like such drawings upon you. <\/p>\n

20 March 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ambition and the Desire for Fame <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I cannot deny that along with my urge for acquiring a fine style etc., there is hiding some desire for fame as a good writer
\nwhich, however, one can reject, at least one can hope to. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBetter not force the inspiration. You have some literary gift and
\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-600<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\ncan let it grow ―but no desire for fame, if you please. <\/p>\n

4 October 1933
\n\t<\/font><\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\n *<\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\nThere should be no “desire” to be a “great” writer. If there is a
\ngenuine inspiration or coming of a power to write, then it can be done but to use it as a means of service to the Divine is the
\nproper spirit. <\/p>\n

14 May 1934 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\n*<\/b><\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nEvery artist almost (there can be rare exceptions) has got some
\nthing of the public man in him in his vital-physical parts, which makes him crave for the stimulus of an audience, social applause,
\nsatisfied vanity, appreciation, fame. That must go absolutely if you want to be a yogi; your art must be a service not of your own
\nego, nor of anyone or anything else, but solely of the Divine. <\/p>\n

14 September 1929
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\n*<\/b><\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is your aim to write from the Divine and for the Divine
\n―you
\nshould then try to make all equally a pure transcription from the inner source and where the inspiration fails return upon your
\nwork so as to make the whole worthy of its origin and its object. All work done for the Divine, from poetry and art and music
\nto carpentry or baking or sweeping a room, should be made perfect even in its smallest external detail, as well as in the spirit
\nin which it is done; for only then is it an altogether fit offering. <\/p>\n

11 November 1931
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Public Exposure <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With Dilip as a patron, the “poetess” will no longer remain
\nunknown and unheard of. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nDo you want fame? If one succeeds, it means much meaning
\nless and insincere adulation on one side, on the other hatred, jealousy, backbiting, adverse criticism, attack and unjust depreciation. Are you ready for all that? <\/p>\n

18 March 1937
\n   <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-601<\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n

Public Reception <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI don’t know how many people will understand Jyoti’s poems. If they
\n\t\t\twere published, I am sure people will howl at her. It will only be a
\n\t\t\tcentury later that she will be appreciated, as in the case of Blake. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat you predict is extremely probable ―unless she writes hereafter
\n\t\t\tsomething they can understand. Then they will say these were her
\n\t\t\tmystic amusements by the way. A great poetess, but with a queer side
\n\t\t\tto her. <\/p>\n

27 October 1936
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Reading Things in Manuscript and in Print<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is curious but true that one can often get a more final judgment
\n\t\t\tof a thing written when one surveys it in print or even typescript
\n\t\t\tthan in manuscript. Perhaps in the latter what is active but
\n\t\t\tirrelevant in the personality of the writer comes in and evokes the
\n\t\t\tpersonal response of the reader and so prevents detachment?
\n\t\t\t<\/p>\n

1932<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nPrefaces and Reviews
\n <\/i>
\n<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIs it good to have a preface, introduction or bhūmikā <\/i>to
\n\t\t\tone’s book? I would prefer any appreciation to be published
\n\t\t\tseparately as a review or criticism. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is not a question of principle but of feeling and circumstances.
\n\t\t\tOne can do either way. To do without anything of the kind (which
\n\t\t\tseems like a recommendation or advertisement) seems the finer way
\n\t\t\t―letting one’s creation stand on its own merits. But the other is
\n\t\t\tthe fashion nowadays and I suppose there is something to be said for
\n\t\t\tit. <\/p>\n

28 October 1935
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some Metrical Matters <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is very necessary to learn metre and to arrange your
\n\t\t\tthoughts ―not have them pell-mell, as you yourself describe them
\n\t\t\t―otherwise no amount of poetic substance or imagination will   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-602<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nmake your poetry effective. <\/p>\n

9 July 1935 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tAfter scanning this poem I showed it to Nolini. He has scanned some
\n\t\t\tlines differently, I am quoting only three lines because I want to
\n\t\t\tknow which scansion is right: <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAs the poem is intended to be in the orthodox iambic metre, your
\n\t\t\tscansions are quite correct. At the present time there are many who
\n\t\t\twrite in less even metres and to this kind of writing Nolini’s
\n\t\t\tscansion would apply. But it is better for you to learn the regular
\n\t\t\tscansion and metre first so as to have a firm base. <\/p>\n

14
\n\t\t\tApril 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is absolutely necessary in order to learn the trochaic rhythm to
\n\t\t\twrite at first strictly regular trochaic metres with equal lines.
\n\t\t\tThere can be irregularities in the verse, but this type of metre
\n\t\t\tleast of all can bear a free licence ―variations must be occasional,
\n\t\t\tnot altered about with a free hand. Such variations are an
\n\t\t\tadditional syllable at the beginning, an occasional dactyl ―but
\n\t\t\tthese must be occasional only. . . . A word like glorious can be
\n\t\t\tscanned either as a dactyl or a trochee, the two vowels in the
\n\t\t\tlatter case being run into each other as if
\ni <\/i>were y<\/i>. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI understand that trochees are to be avoided in an iambic anapaestic
\n\t\t\tpoem. But I may be wrong. I find in a metre-book   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-603<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nthat the trochee is a common modulation for the iamb, especially in the first
\nline. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nTrochees are perfectly admissible in an iambic line as a modulation
\n\t\t\t―especially in the first foot <\/i>(not first line), but also
\n\t\t\toccasionally in the middle. In the last foot a trochee is not<\/i>
\n\t\t\tadmissible. Also these trochees must not be so arranged as to turn
\n\t\t\tan iambic into a trochaic line. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIn one of my poems you changed the line "Crystals at her feet" 
\n\t\t\tto "Is a crystal at her feet", saying that
\n\t\t\t, with two trochees,
\n\t\t\tcould not come in an iambic anapaestic poem. Does this mean then
\n\t\t\tthat in an iamb-anapaest poem every line must have at least one
\n\t\t\tiambic-anapaest foot? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nMy dear sir, this is an instance of importing one’s own inferences
\n\t\t\tinstead of confining oneself to the plain meaning of the statement.
\n\t\t\tFirst of all the rules concerning a mixed iambic anapaestic cannot
\n\t\t\tbe the same as those that govern a pure iambic. Secondly what I
\n\t\t\tobjected to was the trochaic run of the line. Two trochees followed
\n\t\t\tby a long syllable, not a single iamb or anapaest in the whole! How
\n\t\t\tcan there be an iambic line or an iambic anapaestic without a single
\n\t\t\tiamb or anapaest in it? The line as written could only scan either
\n\t\t\tas a trochaic, therefore not iambic line, or thus
\n,
\n\t\t\tthat is a trochee followed by an anapaest. Here of course there is
\n\t\t\tan anapaest, but the combination is impossible rhythmically because
\n\t\t\tit involves three short syllables one after another in an unreadable
\n\t\t\tcollocation ―one is obliged to put a minor stress on the "at" and
\n\t\t\tthat at once makes the trochaic line. In the iambic anapaestic line
\n\t\t\ta trochee followed by an iamb can be allowed in the first foot;
\n\t\t\telsewhere it has to be admitted with caution so as not to disturb
\n\t\t\tthe rhythm. <\/p>\n

22 December 1935 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tYou have not got the metrical movement or the rhythm right. In
\n\t\t\tEnglish poetry one has to be careful about that ―merely ideas or
\n\t\t\tgood writing will not make it poetry. The free verse was better. <\/p>\n

1
\n\t\t\tOctober 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*
\n  <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-604<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nThis is my first attempt to write a poem from imagination. I tried to give a
\nvivid picture of Spring. I feel that the rhyme and metre is lacking. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is true there is no rhyme and no metre. If you want rhyme and
\n\t\t\tmetre you must put them there ―they don’t come of themselves. <\/p>\n

5
\n\t\t\tMay 1933
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tNishikanta wants to know how to get the right rhythm and the right
\n\t\t\tpoetic style. I said by reading English poetry. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYes, reading and listening with the inner ear to the modulation of
\n\t\t\tthe lines. <\/p>\n

12 December 1935
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Comments on Some Experiments in Metre<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI think you failed [in an experiment to write in a classical
\n\t\t\tmetre<\/i>] not for any of the reasons you suggest but because you
\n\t\t\thad no unwritten rhythm behind your mind when you started writing
\n\t\t\tand none came through by accident ―or what seems one ―as sometimes
\n\t\t\thappens. There is an inspiration of language and there is an
\n\t\t\tinspiration of rhythm and the two must fuse together for poetic
\n\t\t\tperfection to come. As it is, you set out to manufacture your
\n\t\t\trhythm and piece together its parts ―that must be the cause of this
\n\t\t\tresult. Your failure does not predestine you to eventual failure.
\n\t\t\tMost people fail at first when they try this kind of departure from
\n\t\t\tthe established norms ―this rejuvenation of the old in the new. I do
\n\t\t\tnot remember my own previous attempts in the classical metres, but I
\n\t\t\tfeel sure they were failures of the kind I stigmatise. If I succeed
\n\t\t\tnow, it will be by the Grace of God, in other words the established
\n\t\t\tYoga consciousness, for in that consciousness things come through
\n\t\t\tfrom behind the veil with ease, ―so long as a veil exists at all. Of
\n\t\t\tcourse with genius too in its moments of inspiration ―surer than
\n\t\t\tthe layman imagines; but genius also is a kind of accidental Yoga, a
\n\t\t\tcontact, an opening into an occult Power. <\/p>\n

25
\n\t\t\tNovember 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-605<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

This liability to be read as an iambic pentameter is the pitfall of this metre [quantitative
\ntrimeter<\/i>] ―everything else is easy, this is the critical point in the
\nmovement. All the same, it seems to me that it is only the standing convention
\nwhich imposes the iambic movement here. The reason why it can do so at all, is
\nthat in both the lines you keep up what one accustomed to the ordinary rhythms
\nwould take to be three successive trochees and would be irresistibly tempted to
\ngo on on the same lines. In order to get the right pace, the reader in dealing
\nwith these transplanted classic metres must be prepared to make the most of
\nquantities and stresses (true ones) and then, if the verse is well executed,
\nthere should be no difficulty. One can help him sometimes by a crowding of
\nstresses in the first part of the line and a refusal of all but the lightest
\nsounds in the close with of course a strong stress at the end. <\/p>\n

\n

22 October 1933
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Writing Poetry in French <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

If you want to write French poetry, the first thing you have to do is to learn
\nthe principles and rules of French prosody. Good verse is the first requisite
\nand good rhythm. <\/p>\n

\n

10 July 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nThe point is that in French you must express yourself straightforwardly and
\nclearly so that your meaning is at once apparent to the reader. <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n


\nSome Questions of Diction <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tThe diction of my poems is childish, too simple. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nGood poetry can be written in a very simple style. Yours are quite
\n\t\t\tgood for a beginner. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPlease do not forget to say something about why I do not succeed in
\n\t\t\tpoetry: also if I should devote my time more to the stories etc.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-606<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nThat is a matter for yourself to decide. It is always easier to succeed in one’s
\nown tongue than in a foreign language. <\/p>\n

\n 25 March 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n *<\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\nThese last two stanzas [of a poem submitted by the correspondent<\/i>]
\nhave a very poor diction with commonplace and overworn expressions; it sounds
\nlike an imitation of Scott, Moore and other poets who have no style. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI would like to have your comments on the poetic quality of these
\n\t\t\tpoems. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is an improvement, but the recurring fault is a diction that
\n\t\t\tseems to be caught from the second-rate poets and made still more
\n\t\t\tcommon and conventional in imitation ―it becomes what anybody trying
\n\t\t\this hand at verse might write. When you escape this snare, your
\n\t\t\timages and turns of language are very good, though not often quite
\n\t\t\tperfect. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI am not intimate with the English tongue. What should I do in order
\n\t\t\tto acquire the required delicacy of language? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nStudy the more subtle and delicate writers ―their language, their
\n\t\t\trhythm; don’t imitate, but draw into your mind their influence. <\/p>\n

19
\n\t\t\tOctober 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI am reading what you wrote and shall send [it back] in a few days
\n\t\t\t―it has merit, but the style needs chastening. English style cannot
\n\t\t\tbear too much crowding of images as it creates a coloured mist and
\n\t\t\tblurs the outline of the thought, the line of the thought has to be
\n\t\t\tkept strong and clear, neither draped in too much diffuse wording
\n\t\t\tnor blurred by excess of images. There are also some errors in the
\n\t\t\tuse of the language, but these are of less importance. If you read
\n\t\t\tthe best writers, observe their way of writing and absorb their
\n\t\t\tinfluence, that might help you. <\/p>\n

10 January 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-607<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

The one stumbling block in the way of perfect poetic expression for you now is
\nthe difficulty in combining clear directness and lucidity with your turn for a
\nrichly packed and imaged thought. There is a tendency sometimes to put too many
\nimages together, shooting them into each other in a way which is not always easy
\nto carry off ―even the greatest masters of poetic style have sometimes stumbled
\nin this kind of effort. And generally there is a tendency to pack the thought
\nand clip the expression to the utmost and sometimes this goes to an excess of
\ncompression which makes it a little difficult to seize at once the significance.
\nWhen you do combine the lucidity with the pressed thought, the result is often
\nvery fine. <\/p>\n

\n

20 May 1931 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Rhetoric and Eloquence<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

The style of these two prayers is too rhetorical ―the meditations ―addresses to
\nthe mind ―were better in this respect. <\/p>\n

\nA rhetorical style fails to convey the impression of sincerity in the thoughts
\nand feelings: it gives the opposite impression that phrases are being turned
\nonly for the sake of good writing. This should be avoided. <\/p>\n

9
\nJuly 1932 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI want to produce something Upanishadic. But I get no glimmering at
\n\t\t\tall of the sovereignly spiritual-poetic. The poem,
\nYoga<\/i>, which I am sending you, almost tells me what I should do to solve
\n\t\t\tmy difficulty; but the manner in which it tells seems to drive home
\n\t\t\tthe fact of my being so far from what I want ―the sheer stupendous
\nmantra<\/i>. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI fear it is only eloquence ―a long way from the mantra<\/i>.
\n\t\t\tFrom the point of view of a poetic eloquence there are some forceful
\n\t\t\tlines and the rest is well done, but ―there is too much play of the
\n\t\t\tmind, not the hushed intense receptivity of the seer which is
\n\t\t\tnecessary for the mantra<\/i>. <\/p>\n

11 April 1933 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tThis fineness in details is an imperative need for your poetry; you <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-608<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

have too often a false note (rhetorical) or a just adequate expression ―every
\nturn, all the minutiae must be fine if the whole is to be exquisite. Otherwise
\neven a fine poem can miss its effect by the inequality of its movement ―as a
\nfine dance can be spoilt by even two or three false steps or stumbles. A few
\nchanges here and there in a poem, slight in themselves, can make all the
\ndifference between a tolerable and a perfect whole ―as a touch or two with the
\nbrush can transform a picture. <\/p>\n

\n

4 September 1931
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

The Right Words in the Right Places <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tHow I struggled with the line, and you, Sir, by just a touch here
\n\t\t\tand there fixed it up! I wish I could do that. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is a question of getting the right words in the right places
\n\t\t\tinstead of allowing them to wander haphazard. Naturally it depends
\n\t\t\ton inspiration, not on any clever piecing together. One sits still
\n\t\t\t(mentally), looks at the words and somebody flashes the thing
\n\t\t\tthrough you. <\/p>\n

24 May 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nHow can "anything" be used in a poem? A slight change makes all the difference
\nbetween something forceful and a mere literary expression that misses its mark. <\/p>\n

27 May 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

\n*<\/b><\/font><\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI am sending you another weak poem. Please correct and tell me what
\n\t\t\tyou think of it. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe lines have poetic substance, but are imperfect in expression. A
\n\t\t\tvery slight refinement in these respects is enough to bring out the
\n\t\t\tpoetic substance. The exact word or turn, the exact rhythmic
\n\t\t\tmovement needed is all-important in poetry and a slight change makes
\n\t\t\ta big difference. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIn the poem I’ve sent you today, the first line of the third stanza
\n\t\t\tshould run:   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-609<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nWith tones of fathomless joy we instil <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tinstead of <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\nOur tones of fathomless joy instil. <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nIf you alter in that way, the whole beauty is gone. When a perfect
\n\t\t\tinspiration comes, to alter it is a crime and usually carries its
\n\t\t\town punishment. The alteration you propose makes a deep and solemn
\n\t\t\tpsychic truth turn at once into an intellectual statement. <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n


\nSome Questions of Word-Use<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIs there any advantage in changing the phrase ―<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tas though a press <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tOf benediction lay on me unseen ―<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tto <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tas though the press <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tOf a benediction lay on me unseen? <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\nNo, no. The first was immeasurably better. "A press of benediction"
\n\t\t\tis striking and effective; "the press of a benediction" is flat and
\n\t\t\tmeans nothing. Besides it is not good English. You can say "a press
\n\t\t\tof affairs", "a press of matter"; you can say "the pressure of this
\n\t\t\taffair", but you cannot say "the press of an affair". <\/p>\n

1931 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tHere is a sonnet for your judgment. It deals with the massive
\n\t\t\tspiritual light descending into the brain like an inverted pyramid.
\n\t\t\tThe final phrase has a historical allusion: <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\ta conscious hill <\/p>\n

\nDown-kindled by some Cheops of the skies <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tTo monument his lordship over death. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tYou must have heard of Cheops, the Egyptian King who built the Great
\n\t\t\tPyramid at Gizeh? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nOf course I have heard of Cheops, but did not expect to hear of him
\n\t\t\tagain in this context. Don’t you think the limiting proper   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-610<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nname brings in an excessive touch of intellectual ingenuity, almost as if the
\npoem were built for the sake of this metaphor and not for its subject? I would
\nmyself prefer a general term so as to prevent any drop from sublimity, e.g. <\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tDown-sloped by some King-Builder of the skies. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut it is a good sonnet and there is certainly both vision and
\n\t\t\tpoetry in it. <\/p>\n

25 September 1933 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n"Revealed her mateless beauty the (or their) true paradise" is not
\n\t\t\tpermissible in prose, but it is one of those contracted expressions
\n\t\t\twhich are allowed in poetry and it is quite intelligible. The other
\n\t\t\tform "revealed their mateless love as their true paradise" seems to
\n\t\t\tme rather tame and prosaic. <\/p>\n

8 October 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tAnd if great music rolled from his far mouth, <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\nThis doesn’t sound right. Either "rolled" must be changed or it
\n\t\t\tshould be something like "A mighty music rolled": that is to say,
\n\t\t\trolled is too sonant unless what precedes it is sonant also. <\/p>\n

16
\n\t\t\tApril 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tYour remark about my fifth line ["And if great music . . . "] is
\n\t\t\tliable to seem hypercritical but really there is a subtle truth in
\n\t\t\tit. However, it is not possible to begin the line with an "A" ―for
\n\t\t\tthen the connection with the rest of the stanza is not so direct nor
\n\t\t\twill the balance between the two quatrains be very clear. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI do not agree about the hypercriticism ―the reason I gave is of
\n\t\t\tcourse a mental account, but the main test is the fall and feel of
\n\t\t\tthe words either on the "solar plexus" or on the receptive intuition
\n\t\t\tand here a slight alteration makes all the difference. "a great
\n\t\t\tmusic rolled" is obviously unconvincing whether as expression or
\n\t\t\trhythm. I had thought of "when" in view of the   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-611<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

intellectual construction of the lines, but dropped it because it lowered the
\nrhythm and impressiveness of the line. If "when" however is to be there, I don’t
\nknow whether "mighty" is any longer the right word though better than "great".
\nFor inevitability (of whatever height) everything depends on the combination of
\nwords and the suggestive sound rhythm. <\/p>\n

\n

17 April 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

On Writing Sonnets
\n<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

A sonnet is a poem of fourteen iambic pentameter lines arranged either in an
\noctet and sestet with a particular arrangement of the rhyme-structure
\n―two-rhymed octet (of eight lines) abba abba and the sestet (of six lines) three
\nrhymed, the arrangement according to choice, except that a closing couplet is
\navoided ―or else in three quatrains with alternate rhymes and a closing couplet.
\nThe building of the thought in the sonnet must be very carefully worked out. A
\nthought is built up or prepared in the octet and its culmination or outcome
\nexpressed in the sestet ―. Or else it is worked up in the three quatrains and
\nthe climax or culminating point reached in the closing couplet. The first is the
\nMiltonic, the second the Shakespearean form of the sonnet. Other forms can be
\nmade but these are the two classic sonnet structures in English literature. <\/p>\n

\nShakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Keats are the greatest sonnet writers in
\nEnglish. You can find the best sonnets in the
\nGolden Treasury<\/i>. There are others also who have written sonnets of the
\nhighest quality e.g. Sidney, Shelley ―you will find there these also. <\/p>\n

17
\nApril 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tHas it struck you that these sonnets are rather simple as regards
\n\t\t\ttheir rhythm? Should not there be variations in pauses and
\n\t\t\toverflows, different rhymes, etc.? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is the Shakespearean model, three quatrains each with alternate
\n\t\t\trhymes and a couplet. Pauses and overflows are not usual in this
\n\t\t\ttype. Variations ―depends on what variations.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-612<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nFor example, the rhymes in the sestet could be CDE, CDE. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt would no longer be the Shakespearean model. In the Miltonic form
\n\t\t\tthe sestet is rhymed anyhow, the one you prefer being only one
\n\t\t\tsequence, provided there are three rhymes and no couplet; but then
\n\t\t\tthe octet has to follow a fixed system of two rhymes only ABBA ABBA.
\n\t\t\tNowadays however people throw the sonnet into all sorts of irregular
\n\t\t\tforms, I believe. <\/p>\n

20 December 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Ode <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWhat is meant by an ode? Is it another name for an invocation? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNo. It is a lyrical poem of some length on a single subject e.g.
\n\t\t\tthe Skylark (Shelley), Autumn (Keats), the Nativity (Birth of
\n\t\t\tChrist) (Milton) working out a description or central idea on the
\n\t\t\tsubject. <\/p>\n

14 June 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lyric, Narrative, Epic <\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI am having much difficulty with the aksara-vrtta <\/i>(yaugika <\/i>
\n\t\t\tas
\n\t\t\tit is now called). I can manage svara-vrtta <\/i>and
\n\t\t\tmā<\/font>tra-vrtta<\/i>, .<\/i>
\n.<\/i> but not the other. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is a question of the inspiration adopting the form proposed. At
\n\t\t\tfirst there may be a little difficulty as it is the more lyric
\n\t\t\tmovements in which it has been accustomed to flow. <\/p>\n

11
\n\t\t\tAugust 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIt is quite natural that the narrative should flow less than the
\n\t\t\tlyrical ―it is a work that demands more strenuous qualities and a
\n\t\t\twell-built preparation. But it is by overcoming the difficulties
\n\t\t\tthat the poetic capacity grows. If one is satisfied with the lyrical
\n\t\t\tvein it is all right ―but if one wants to do great work in more
\n\t\t\tdifficult forms, one must face the difficulties. <\/p>\n

24
\n\t\t\tJuly 1937
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

  <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-613<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nNarratives then can be made or written very poetically, not like a mere
\nfact-to-fact storytelling? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut what do you mean by poetically? A fact-to-fact storytelling can
\n\t\t\tbe very poetic. Poetry is poetic whether it is put in simple
\n\t\t\tlanguage or freely adorned with images and rich phrases. The latter
\n\t\t\tkind is not the only "poetic" poetry nor is necessarily the best.
\n\t\t\tHomer is very direct and simple, Virgil less so but still restrained
\n\t\t\tin his diction; Keats tends always to richness; but one cannot say
\n\t\t\tthat Keats is poetic and Homer and Virgil are not. The rich style
\n\t\t\thas this danger that it may drown the narration so that its outlines
\n\t\t\tare no longer clear. This is what has happened with Shakespeare’s
\nVenus and Adonis <\/i>and Lucrece<\/i>; so that Shakespeare cannot be
\n\t\t\tcalled a great narrative poet. <\/p>\n

13 July 1937
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tAs narrative poetry and epic are not the same, why should the former
\n\t\t\tgive me a training in the latter? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is necessary to be able to work out a subject at length in a
\n\t\t\tclear well-built way ―epic is usually of a narrative build ―so
\n\t\t\tnarrative poetry is the best training for that. The narrative writers you speak of did not aspire to be epic poets. <\/p>\n

6
\n\t\t\tJune 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tHow may I learn the epic style of blank verse? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI suppose it is best done by reading the epic writers until you get
\n\t\t\tthe epic rush or sweep. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIs it too early for me to learn it? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nEpic writing needs a sustained energy of rhythm and word which is
\n\t\t\tnot easy to get or maintain. I am not sure whether you can get it
\n\t\t\tnow. I think you would first have to practise maintaining the level
\n\t\t\tof the more energetic among the lines you have been writing. <\/p>\n

3
\n\t\t\tMay 1937 <\/font>  <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-614<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nIs your Love and Death <\/i>an epic, and Urvasie <\/i>and
\nBaji Prabhou<\/i>? <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nLove and Death <\/i>is epic in long passages. Urvasie <\/i>is
\n\t\t\twritten on the epic model.
\nBaji Prabhou <\/i>is not epic in style or rhythm. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tAre your twelve recent poems too in the epic style? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNo, they are lyrical, though sometimes there may come in an epic
\n\t\t\televation. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWill reading Paradise Lost <\/i>and Paradise Regained <\/i>help? <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\nParadise Lost<\/i>, yes. In the other Milton’s fire had dimmed. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tKindly mention all the epic writers in all the languages ―it is good
\n\t\t\tto know, at least. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIn English Paradise Lost <\/i>and Keats’ Hyperion
\n<\/i>(unfinished) are the two chief epics. In Sanskrit Mahabharata, Ramayana,
\n\t\t\tKalidasa’s Kumarsambhava, Bharavi’s Kiratarjuniya. In Bengali
\n\t\t\tMeghnadbodh. In Italian Dante’s Divine Comedy and Tasso’s (I have
\n\t\t\tforgotten the name for the moment) are in the epic cast. In Greek of
\n\t\t\tcourse Homer, in Latin Virgil. There are other poems which attempt
\n\t\t\tthe epic style, but are not among the masterpieces. There are also
\n\t\t\tprimitive epics in German and Finnish (Nibelungenlied, Kalevala) ― <\/p>\n

4
\n\t\t\tMay 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tThis afternoon, in a kind of sleep, I read a whole passage of an
\n\t\t\tepic in English. All fled like vapour on waking up. I caught only
\n\t\t\tthis: <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tThis is only part of a line, three feet ―the blank verse line is
\n\t\t\tfive feet. As far as it goes, it is quite correct. Full lines could
\n\t\t\tbe something like this: <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-615<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

A foot in the pentameter blank verse is of two syllables; normally the accent is
\non the second syllable of the foot, but for variety’s sake it can fall on the
\nfirst. e.g.
\n we|.
\nOr there can be a foot without stress e.g. 
\n.
\nfollowed sometimes by a foot of double stress as
\n.
\nSometimes an anapaest, very light, can be put in in place of the 2 syllable
\nfoot, e.g. In the
\n 
\n.
\nOther variations there can be, but they are more rare. <\/p>\n

\n

5 May 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIs there a difference between blank verse and poetry which is quite
\n\t\t\tepic and blank verse and poetry which is written only in the epic
\n\t\t\tstyle, model or manner? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI don’t quite understand the point of the question. Poetry is epic
\n\t\t\tor it is not. There may be differences of elevation in the epic
\n\t\t\tstyle, but this seems to be a distinction without a difference. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tSurely there must be some difference between an epic, true and
\n\t\t\tgenuine throughout and a poem which is only in the epic style or has
\n\t\t\tthe epic tone? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAn epic is a long poem usually narrative on a great subject written
\n\t\t\tin a style and rhythm that is of a high nobility or sublime. But
\n\t\t\tshort poems, a sonnet for instance can be in the epic style or tone,
\n\t\t\te.g. some of Milton’s or Meredith’s sonnet on Lucifer or, as far as
\n\t\t\tI can remember it, Shelley’s on Ozymandias. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWhat are the qualities or characteristics that tell one "This is an
\n\t\t\tepic"? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI think the formula I have given is the only possible definition.
\n\t\t\tApart from that, each epic poet has his own qualities and
\n\t\t\tcharacteristics that differ widely from the others. For the rest one
\n\t\t\tcan feel what is the epic nobility or sublimity, one can’t very well
\n\t\t\tanalyse it.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-616<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nIn Sanskrit epics, e.g. Kumarsambhav<\/i>, what has made up the rhythm? And
\nhow does it sound so grave, lofty, wide and deep? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is a characteristic that comes natural to Sanskrit written in
\n\t\t\tthe classical style. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tHow can one have all these qualities together? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhy not? they are not incompatible qualities. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tEnglish seems to have the necessary tone more easily, but is it
\n\t\t\tpossible in Bengali? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI don’t know why it shouldn’t be. Madhu Sudan’s style is a lofty
\n\t\t\tepical style; it is not really grave and deep because his mind was
\n\t\t\tnot grave or deep ―but that was the defect of the poet, not
\n\t\t\tnecessarily an incapacity of the language. <\/p>\n

11 May
\n\t\t\t1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI would like my present poems to come in a few lines, but the epical
\n\t\t\ttone to be more and more perfect every day. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe epic movement is something that flows; it may not be good to
\n\t\t\ttry to shut it into a few lines. There might be a danger of making
\n\t\t\tsomething too compact. If that can be avoided, then of course it is
\n\t\t\tbetter to write a few lines with a heightened epic tone than many
\n\t\t\twith the lesser tone. <\/p>\n

13 May 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tOne day after reading something you wrote about epics and epic
\n\t\t\tpoetry, a flaming aspiration entered my heart that one day I must
\n\t\t\twrite an epic. [Details of the proposed epic given.<\/i>] Please
\n\t\t\ttell me what an epic should consist of. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere must be a great subject ―the one you propose is obviously a
\n\t\t\tvery big one; there must be what is called an architecture of the
\n\t\t\tpoem, each part of it clearly planned and in its right place so as
\n\t\t\tto create a perfect harmony, like the noble or magnificent mass   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-617<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

and detail of a great building; there must be a perfect working out of the
\nsubject. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWill the study of the structure and characteristics of the great
\n\t\t\tepics help me to learn about the building and technique? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is not necessary to read all the epics ―two or three if properly
\n\t\t\tappreciated, i.e. if you see and feel the right things in it to
\n\t\t\tlearn from would be sufficient. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI shall wait till I hear from you whether you approve of the
\n\t\t\taspiration at all. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThe idea you have given is a very vast one, but if the epic faculty
\n\t\t\tdevelops in you there is no reason why you should not carry it out.
\n\t\t\tOnly there must be no impatience. Milton waited twenty years before
\n\t\t\the started the epic he had dreamt of. Also from the point of view
\n\t\t\tand kind of style in which you want to write it, you will have not
\n\t\t\tonly to get the access to the inspiration of the overhead poetry but
\n\t\t\tto be quite open to the flow of that consciousness ―otherwise you
\n\t\t\twould only do small poems in it like Amal’s, such a vast work would
\n\t\t\tbe impossible. At present go on with your development ―you have the
\n\t\t\tepic flow but not as yet the epic building, that must come in small
\n\t\t\tthings before you can do it in large ones. It will come in time, but
\n\t\t\ttime is necessary. <\/p>\n

21 May 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPlease tell me why I often jump back to the sonnet source instead of
\n\t\t\tsteadily keeping to the epic source. The more I try to be "fine" the
\n\t\t\tmore I lose the epic source. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIt is a matter of habit. Also the attempt to be "fine" is not good
\n\t\t\tfor epic writing. None of the great epic poets wrote "finely"
\n\t\t\t―nobility or power or a clear and great strength of style and
\n\t\t\tsubstance and spirit is their characteristic. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWhat shall I do in order to get access to the inspiration of
\n\t\t\toverhead poetry? And more especially, "to be quite open to<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-618<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n\t\t\tthe flow of that consciousness" [see letter of 21 May 1937, p.<\/i>
\n618<\/i>]? What is this over-consciousness? Will it come to me so early? Or
\n\t\t\twere you speaking only with regard to the future? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI spoke of the future. This is a thing that can only be done by
\n\t\t\tgrowth of consciousness through sadhana. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWhy did Milton wait so long? To prepare himself? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nIf he had written it when he first conceived the idea, he would
\n\t\t\thave written a beautiful and noble romance, but not an epic. He felt
\n\t\t\the was not ready. For a long time afterwards he was engaged in
\n\t\t\tpolitics and wrote only a few sonnets. <\/p>\n

27 May 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tWere all the epic poets quite advanced in age when they began their
\n\t\t\twork? Has age anything to do with one’s best work? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nAt a more advanced age the mind is more mature and capable of a
\n\t\t\tlarge and great subject. The greatest works in literature have
\n\t\t\tusually been done at such an age. <\/p>\n

14 June 1937 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tMust I wait till I am 48 or 50? By doing sadhana, may I not be ready
\n\t\t\tbetween 35 and 38? Forty or after is too far. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is no fixed age, but most work (great work) of that kind has
\n\t\t\tbeen done at 40 or 50 or after. Sadhana is another matter, but as I
\n\t\t\thave said sadhana cannot be done with the sole object of writing an
\n\t\t\tepic. <\/p>\n

29 June 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nAn Epic Line <\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tDo you think the blank verse here [in the poem <\/i>Agni
\n\t\t\tJatavedas] has any epical ring? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNo ―there are sometimes epic or almost epic lines, but the whole or
\n\t\t\tmost of it has not the epic ring. There is one epic line <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tAn infinite rapture veiled by infinite pain.   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-619<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

Perhaps the first three lines are near the epic ―there may be one or two others. <\/p>\n

\n

19 May 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

The Line and the Poem
\n<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

In English poetry it will not do only to string beautiful lines together ―the
\nsubject must be thought out to the end ―there is necessary a harmonious
\nbuilding, idea structure or feeling structure or vision structure. It is
\nnecessary to learn this also for the epic poetry. <\/p>\n

\n

29 May 1937 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n

*<\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tThe first line [in a poem sent for approval<\/i>] is one I have
\n\t\t\tused before, but it didn’t stir you so much, perhaps because the
\n\t\t\tnecklace of which it was one jewel was not harmoniously beautiful. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nNaturally ―poetry is not a matter of separate lines ―a poem is
\n\t\t\tbeautiful as a whole ―when it is perfect each line has its own
\n\t\t\tbeauty but also the beauty of the whole. <\/p>\n

4 November
\n\t\t\t1938 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n


\nSri Aurobindo’s Critical Comments <\/p>\n

\non Poetry Written in the
\n\t\t\tAshram<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYou seem to demand a very rigid and academic fixity of meaning from
\n\t\t\tmy hastily penned comments on the poetry sent to me. I have no
\n\t\t\tunvarying aesthetic standard or fixed qualitative criterion, ―not
\n\t\t\tonly so but I hold any such thing to be impossible with regard to so
\n\t\t\tsubtle and unintellectual an essence as poetry. It is only physical
\n\t\t\tthings that can be subjected to fixed measures and unvarying
\n\t\t\tcriteria. Appreciation of poetry is a question of feeling, of
\n\t\t\tintuitive perception, of a certain aesthetic sense, it is not the
\n\t\t\tresult of an intellectual judgment. <\/p>\n

\nMy judgment does differ with different writers and also with different kinds of
\nwriting. If I put "very good" on a poem of Shailen’s, it does not <\/i>mean
\nthat it is on a par with Harin’s or Arjava’s or yours. It means that it is very
\ngood Shailen, but   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-620<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nnot that it is very good Harin or very good Arjava. "If `very good’ was won
\n<\/i>by them all," you write! But, good heavens, you write that as if I were a
\nmaster giving marks in a class. I may write "good" or "very good" on the work of
\na novice if I see that it has succeeded in being poetry and not mere verse
\nhowever correct or well rhymed ―but if Harin or if Arjava or you were to produce
\nwork like that, I would not say "very good" at all. There are poems of yours
\nwhich I have slashed and pronounced unsatisfactory, but if certain others were
\nto send me that, I would say, "Well, you have been remarkably successful this
\ntime." I am not giving comparative marks according to a fixed scale. I am using
\nwords flexibly according to the occasion and the individual. It would be the
\nsame with different kinds of writing. If I write "very good" or "excellent" on
\nsome verses of Dara about his chair, I am not giving it a certificate of
\nequality with some poem of yours similarly appreciated ―I am only saying that as
\nhumorous easy verse in the lightest vein it is very successful, an entertaining
\npiece of work. Applied to your poem it would mean something different
\naltogether. <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tComing from your huge P.S. to the tiny body of your letter, what do
\n\t\t\tyou mean by "a perfect success"? I meant that pitched in a certain
\n\t\t\tkey and style it [a certain poem<\/i>] had worked itself out very
\n\t\t\twell in that key and style in a very satisfying way from the point
\n\t\t\tof view of thought, expression and rhythm. From that standpoint it
\n\t\t\tis a perfect success. If you ask whether it is at your highest
\n\t\t\tpossible pitch of inspiration, I would say no, but it is nowhere
\n\t\t\tweak or inadequate and it says something poetically well worth
\n\t\t\tsaying and says it well. One cannot always be writing at the highest
\n\t\t\tpitch of one’s possibility, but that is no reason why work of very
\n\t\t\tgood quality in itself should be rejected. <\/p>\n

15
\n\t\t\tNovember 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\nI see no earthly use in producing something that is just "all right" when I am
\nobsessed with an intuition of some hitherto unrevealed miraculous poetic
\ncreation existing on a plane I absolutely despair of reaching. . . . I beg to be
\nexcused, again,   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-621<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nfor this much ado about nothing but I am awfully disgusted with myself. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nYou should get rid of the disgust. The sonnet in its amended form
\n\t\t\tis fine enough ―if I do not shoot up into enthusiasm about it, it is
\n\t\t\tfor two reasons ―1st because I am becoming cautious about the use of
\n\t\t\tsuperlatives nowadays, not for poetical or critical but for other
\n\t\t\treasons and secondly because I expect you to do much better than
\n\t\t\tyour present best and if I use high expressions, what the devil
\n\t\t\tshall I do when you rise to yet unexpected summits. So you need not
\n\t\t\tbe damped by my "all rights" etc. ―on the contrary you should give
\n\t\t\tfull value to both the all <\/i>and the right<\/i>. <\/p>\n

1
\n\t\t\tMay 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tCould you just mark for me the nuances of "very good", "very fine"
\n\t\t\tand "very beautiful"? Sometimes you write: "exceedingly fine and
\n\t\t\tbeautiful". <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut these remarks of mine are not intended to summarise a
\n\t\t\tconsidered and measured criticism ―they simply express the
\n\t\t\timpression made on me at the time of reading. I shall be very badly
\n\t\t\tembarrassed if you insist on my explaining the nuances of such very
\n\t\t\tsummary expressions. "Exceedingly" for instance does not convey that
\n\t\t\tthe poem was "inevitable", it simply means that I was exceedingly
\n\t\t\tpleased with it for some reason or another. If I wanted to pronounce
\n\t\t\ta measured criticism or appreciation, I should do it in more precise
\n\t\t\tlanguage and at greater length than that. <\/p>\n

17
\n\t\t\tSeptember 1934 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIf I could be told what exactly to change in order that my recent
\n\t\t\tlines might achieve full success and become "very fine", I would be
\n\t\t\tthankful. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI have told you once that I have become more subdued in my
\n\t\t\tappreciations of poetry ―so "fine" may very well be changed to "very
\n\t\t\tfine". The poem you wrote was without a flaw positive or negative
\n\t\t\t―to alter it would be to spoil it. <\/p>\n

11 October 1934
\n\t\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

  <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-622<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nThe word "fine" means not, of course, "full of flaws" but there is something,
\nsomehow, somewhere wrong ―for the following reason. "Good" means some
\nimperfection, some flaw. Now, when I asked you whether the terms" very good",
\n"very fine", "very beautiful" indicated different levels of excellence or merely
\ndifferent kinds on the same level, you said different kinds rather than levels.
\nThis means, analogically, that "good" and "fine" indicate also the same level.
\nErgo, "fine" means, too, some imperfection, some flaw<\/i>. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat an extraordinarily sinuous and fantastic knowledge! My
\n\t\t\tlanguage would indeed be peculiar if the words I use mean just their
\n\t\t\topposites ―i.e. good = bad, fine = flawed, beautiful = ugly. A poem
\n\t\t\tmay be good poetry without being a complete success, but if it is
\n\t\t\tvery good then it is a complete success. Fine cannot possibly mean
\n\t\t\tsomething that is not fine, as it always implies a high excellence.
\n\t\t\tNaturally the kind of fineness may vary and the degree also. There
\n\t\t\tis no new unprecedented superior shade or transvaluation of values.
\n\t\t\tI mean just the same thing as when I speak of fine lines ―i.e. lines
\n\t\t\treaching a high level of excellence. These words are only summary
\n\t\t\twords giving the general impression. <\/p>\n

11 October 1934 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tOriginally you said [of a certain poem<\/i>], "it is a fine poem"
\n\t\t\tbut when I asked whether that meant any inferiority to those you had
\n\t\t\tdesignated as "very fine" or "very good" etc., you answered "No."
\n\t\t\tDoes that imply that I might add "very" here also? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nReally, I don’t <\/i>measure my appreciations or rather my
\n\t\t\timpressions in the dreadfully professorial way you suggest. What is
\n\t\t\twrong with "fine"? A fine poem is not worth keeping? <\/p>\n

11
\n\t\t\tMay 1936
\n\t\t\t<\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tNow if one poem you have considered "very fine" and another only
\n\t\t\t"fine", is it illogical of me to suppose that there is some
\n\t\t\tdifference of quality between the two? Even if I keep the poem I
\n\t\t\tcannot feel that I have done my best ―but the situation   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-623<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nbecomes strange if by "fine" and "very fine" you mean the same thing sometimes.
\nDoes it really amount to asking you to be "dreadfully professorial" if I beg you
\nto let this distinction, created by "very" or some such expression, be clear? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nBut, again, what is wrong with fine? How is fineness a failure? ―It
\n\t\t\tis professorial because, when you insist on the curious distinction
\n\t\t\tbetween very fine and "only" fine, it seems to be like an examiner
\n\t\t\tgiving marks, alpha class, beta class, gamma, delta class etc.
\n\t\t\tPoetry can’t be marked in that way, that’s why I objected. If any of
\n\t\t\tyour poems is unsatisfactory, I generally say so and sharply enough
\n\t\t\ttoo. <\/p>\n

May 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tJyotirmayi confided to me that when you call any of her poems "very
\n\t\t\tsuccessful" she feels quite depressed for not being able to write
\n\t\t\tsomething "very fine" or "very beautiful". I told her that as soon
\n\t\t\tas she saw "very" anywhere she must shoot straight up to the seventh
\n\t\t\theaven of joy. But surely, surely, if that blessed word is pointedly
\n\t\t\tomitted, even a pachyderm like me might feel a little pricked! <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhat an importance to give to an adverb! Fine by itself is quite
\n\t\t\tequal to "very good" ―shall I start other categories e.g. "very
\n\t\t\tvery" and "very very very"? <\/p>\n

2 August 1936 <\/font><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tIt is a fact that "very good" doesn’t appeal as much as "very
\n\t\t\tbeautiful", "very fine". <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nThere is some difference of course but the words must not be taken
\n\t\t\tas exact weight measures. They simply record an impression. <\/p>\n

6
\n\t\t\tAugust 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tYou’ve said that the poem now is "very fine", but why is it so? <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nWhy is a poem fine? By its power of expression and rhythm, I
\n\t\t\tsuppose, and its force of substance and image. As all these are
\n\t\t\tthere, I call it a fine poem. <\/p>\n

5 December 1936 <\/font> <\/p>\n

\n   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-624<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\nYou all attach too much importance to the exact letter of my remarks of the kind
\nas if it were a giving of marks. I have been obliged to renounce the use of the
\nword "good" or even "very good" because it depressed Nirod ―though I would be
\nvery much satisfied myself if I could always write poetry certified to be very
\ngood. I write "very fine" against work which is not improvable, so why ask me
\nfor suggestions for improving the unimprovable? As for rising superior to
\nyourself that is another matter ―one always hopes to do better than one has yet
\ndone, but that means not an avoidance of defects ―I always point out ruthlessly
\nanything defective in your work ―but to rise higher, wider, deeper etc., etc. in
\nthe consciousness. Incidentally, even if my remarks are taken to be of
\nmark-giving value, what shall I do in future if I have exhausted all adverbs?
\nHow shall I mark your self-exceeding if I have already certified your work as
\nexceeding? I shall have to fall back on roars "Oh, damned fine, damned damned
\ndamned fine!" <\/p>\n

\n 15 May 1937
\n<\/font><\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\n Sri Aurobindo’s Comments on Poetry <\/b><\/p>\n

\n Written Outside the Ashram<\/b><\/b><\/p>\n

\n  <\/p>\n

\nAs to Suhrawardy, you can if you like send the complimentary portion of my
\nremarks with perhaps a hint that I found his writing rather unequal, so that it
\nmay not be all sugar. But the phrases about "album poetry" and chaotic technique
\nare too vivid ―being meant only for private consumption ―to be transmitted to
\nthe writer of the poems criticised; I would for that have expressed the same
\nview in less drastic language. As I have already said once, I do not like to
\nwrite anything disparaging or discouraging for those whom I cannot help to do
\nbetter. I received much poetry from Indian writers for review in the
\nArya<\/i>, but I always refrained because I would have had to be very severe.
\nI wrote only about Harindranath because there I could sincerely, and I think
\njustly, write unqualified praise. <\/p>\n

\n 25 May 1931 <\/font><\/p>\n

\n *<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nI hope Dilip is not sending Kshitish Sen my adverse criticism of   <\/p>\n

\n <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-625<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

\n

his translation ―it was not meant for him. I do not like to discourage people
\nuselessly, ―that is to say, where I cannot show them how to do better; where I
\ncannot encourage, I prefer to say nothing. For the rest (omitting the sentence
\nabout rhetorical flatness) he can do as he likes. <\/p>\n

19 November
\n1930 <\/font> <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tI don’t want to say anything [about a certain book<\/i>], because
\n\t\t\twhen I cannot positively encourage a young and new writer, I prefer
\n\t\t\tto remain mum. . . . Each writer must be left to develop in his own
\n\t\t\tway. <\/p>\n

31 May 1943  <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\tPage-626<\/font><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Section Three   Practical Guidance for Aspiring Writers   Guidance in Writing Poetry   Three Essentials for Writing Poetry   I have gone through your…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[51],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2546","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-27-letters-on-poetry-and-art","wpcat-51-id"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2546","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2546"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2546\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2546"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2546"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2546"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}