Marianne Moore — Poetry

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond         all this fiddle.     Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one         discovers in     it after all, a place for the genuine.         Hands that can grasp, eyes         that can dilate, hair that can rise             if it must, these things are important not because a high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because         they are     useful. When they become so derivative as to become         unintelligible,     the same thing may be said for all of us, that we         do not admire what         we cannot understand: the bat             holding on upside down or in quest of something to eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless         wolf under     a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse         that feels a flea, the base-     ball fan, the statistician--         nor is it valid             to discriminate against "business documents and school-books"; all these phenomena are important. One must make         a distinction     however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the         result is not poetry,     nor till the poets among us can be         "literalists of         the imagination"--above             insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them,"         shall we have     it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,     the raw material of poetry in         all its rawness and         that which is on the other hand             genuine, you are interested in poetry.


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