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Or he can work it out as a metrical and formal exercise, but he will be disappointed in its content. The New Year's prospect fairly chills his daunting breast.

John Crowe Ransom

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John Crowe Ransom
Age: 86 †
Born: 1888
Born: April 30
Died: 1974
Died: July 3
Critic
Editor
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Poet
Teacher
Writer
Pulaski
Tennessee
John Crowe Ransom
Years
Formal
Breasts
Metrical
Disappointed
Chills
Content
Daunting
Perspective
Prospect
Exercise
Chill
Year
Breast
Work
Fairly

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But we moderns are impatient and destructive.
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And how can poetry stand up against its new conditions? Its position is perfectly precarious.
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The arts generally have had to recognize Modernism - how should poetry escape?
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I would not knock old fellows in the dust But there lay Captain Carpenter on his back His weapons were the old heart in his bust And a blade shook between rotten teeth alack.
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And a wandering beauty is a blade out of its scabbard.You know how dangerous, gentlemen of threescore?May you know it yet ten more.
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In all the good Greek of Plato I lack my roastbeef and potato. A better man was Aristotle, Pulling steady on the bottle.
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Captain Carpenter rose up in his prime Put on his pistols and went riding out But had got wellnigh nowhere at that time Till he fell in with ladies in a rout.
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I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss.
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Too much is demanded by the critic, attempted by the poet.
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And if no Lethe flows beneath your casement, And when ten years have not brought full effacement, Philosophy was wrong, and you may meet.
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God have mercy on the sinner Who must write with no dinner, No gravy and no grub, No pewter and no pub, No bellyand no bowels, Only consonants and vowels.
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And yet what is Modernism? It is undefined.
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Till now poets were privileged to insert a certain proportion of nonsense - very far in excess of one-half of one per cent - into their otherwise sober documents.
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For no art and no religion is possible until we make allowances, until we manage to keep quiet the enfant terrible of logic that plays havoc with the other faculties.
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He can develop sense and style, in the manner of distinguished modern prose, in which event he may be sure that the result will not fall into any objective form.
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Would you ascend to Heaven and bodiless dwell? Or take your bodies honorless to Hell? In Heaven you have heard no marriage is, No white flesh tinder to your lecheries
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Two evils, monstrous either one apart, Possessed me, and were long and loath at going: A cry of Absence, Absence, in the heart, And in the wood the furious winter blowing.
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