DN22

The Poet's Tryst with Destiny

[not dated]

He is much more the sage or the prophet of two generations and many times the martyr for both. He is the master artist forever holding the heart in leash that it may not come in conflict with the head.

He must search for a new poetic language while experimenting with the old, with all its hackneyed symbols and trite phrases and many times-learned rhymes. Symbols change to each generation. What means life to one generation may mean death to the other or vice versa. The meanings of symbols are constant by being modified . . . or transposed altogether. Other gods than those we are accustomed to, make their entrance into his newer scheme of things. Old gods go. Although in most cases, the deeper, more primitive things of life remain, and will remain about the same as ever.

While not being boastful, the true poet must have a conception of a great pride and an abiding faith in his own destiny. He must be able to recognize good poetry at a glance and good poetic material by a word.

Many times, because of his aloofness to his surroundings, he is cut-off, not in harmony with his readers. But still he is always called upon at the crucial moment to supply the proper poetic medium for the expression of a world grown weary of prose. He is many respects the fabled alchemist of old, seeking some dark secret process whereby he can transmute base metals in the much-desired goal of human desires and aspirations.

He is more to be pitied than censored or criticized if he fails to find that precious element much needed in this transmutation. Very few of these word alchemists are successful in their search or use of this necessary media. Some say it is sorrow. Some say that it is a great discernment or perception, some say that it is a . . . gift; but not matter what very few have been known to possess it in a very great degree.

He must be one of the greatest word experts that is possible. He must feel, instinctively the different shades of meaning each word possesses. He must not fail. To him is never conceded the luxury of error. His meaning must be precise. To be successful, he must know the exact reactions of a reader to a certain word. Many times after all of his efforts, he finds at the end that it is a thankless task. 

One thing of which the poet is notoriously famous for is his ignorance or indifference to worldly matters, things mundane. He lifts up his head under the inspiration of the Muse, his mind soars into the stars and for the moment it matters not that there are holes in his shoes, or that his clothes are threadbare. His is the supreme indifference to things that be, even though they rack his body with pain, discomfiture, or hunger.

To him time is an error -- space is a lie -- the world a shadow. When first he learned to sing his simple song he met Fate and her older sister, Destiny. Said Fate: "O gifted one, I have a tryst with you, somewhere in later years." Said Destiny: "Here, I do perceive an error, your tryst is with him now -- mine yet to be." And so he travels through the years, keeping his tryst with Destiny.

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