English 5522 - Literary Theory and Criticism
Can the Blind Lead the Blind?
Horace spends the first part of Ars Poetica prescribing theoretical precepts to the striving poet. His advice doesn't seen too different than the other writers studied thus far. Much of what he said overwhelmed me with confusion. I didn't understand a good deal of it. On page 131, however, he switches gears in order to address the individual poet.
Thanks to the philosopher Democritus, the alleged poet must cast any care for social decorum aside, along with his sanity. Horace also asserts that function and duty can be taught be one (namely by him) who has not taken the office of poet himself. Horace claims that he can write as well as any poet, yet refuses because the price is too high. How does this refusal speak to the "poet-in-the-making"? How does this affect the morale of the student who exhibits genuine promise as a true artist of poetry? Should he not be concerned that his instructor (Horace) lives the circular life of a whetstone, forever turning over the same area over and again? That his instruction comes from an instructor who writes theory, yet lacks sufficient practice?
Because I am not very familiar with any of Horace's work, I don't know if he was just being humble or he truly had little practice in the field of poetry. Either way, his analogy of the axe and whetstone has a major flaw. If the axe is the poet, then the whetstone is the critical element of his work. A poet is sharpened because of his ability to take criticism and improve because of it. In this analogy, Horace would make a great axe. He could lead by example by showing the other axes how they should perform. If they strike the tree (the object of the poem) with dullness, the audience will turn the whetstone by criticizing the axe. It is only until the lumberjack (the will of the poet) chooses to place the axe under the pressure of the whetstone that the axe will be sharpened.
Even with this objection, one cannot argue too heavily that Horace has some wise advice for the working artist. His comments on mediocrity were well spoken. Mediocrity in minimal measure is a forgivable fault unless the said vocation is that of a poet. The poet, unlike the lawyer, must be continually mindful that he is entrusted with the responsibility of constructing a delicate object for the pleasure of heart and mind. A small degree of deficiency is perceived as quickly as the mind passes over it, and causes in the mind of the recipient irreparable harm to the poem in its fullness. But does his lack of practice as a serious poet not disqualify him from this kind of discussion? Should he not first be a well-rehearsed poet in his own right, before creating a manual for the rest of us? I still feel a bit apprehensive taking the advice from the axe who has not chopped down many trees in his life.