Bildungsromans; Germany -- Fiction; Poets, German -- Fiction
"Certainly. We cannot on the whole speak for poesy itself, but only for
her earthly means and instruments. If indeed there is for every single
poet a proper district within which he must remain, in order not to
lose all breath and vantage, then there is also for the whole sum of
human powers a determinate boundary line to the capacity for
representation; beyond which representation cannot retain the necessary
strength or form, but loses itself in an empty, delusive nonentity.
Particularly as a pupil, one cannot guard enough against these
extravagances; since a lively fancy loves too well to fly to the
extreme bounds, and arrogantly endeavors to seize upon and express the
supersensual and exuberant. Riper experience first teaches us to shun
this disproportion of objects, and to leave the investigation of what
is simplest and loftiest to worldly wisdom. The older poet rises no
higher than is needful to arrange, his vast stock in a comprehensible
order, and he is careful to omit the manifoldness, which afforded him
the requisite material, and also the necessary points of agreement. I
might almost say that in every line chaos should shine through the
well-clipped foliage of order. A graceful style merely renders the
richness of the thought more comprehensible and agreeable; regular
symmetry, on the contrary, has all the dryness of numbers. The best
poesy lies very near us, and an ordinary matter is not seldom the
object of its most tender love. With the poet, poetry is confined to
limited instruments, and just so far becomes an art. Language
especially has its fixed sphere. The compass of one's native tongue is
yet narrower. By practice and reflection the poet learns to understand
his own language. He knows exactly what he can accomplish by its aid,
and will make no fruitless attempt to strain it beyond its powers.
Seldom will he collect all its powers upon a single point; for
otherwise he becomes wearisome, and even destroys the rich effect of a
well applied exhibition of its strength. No poet, but a quack, aims at
wonderful efforts."[See Note III.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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