(no subject)

[proximoception]

I like when an author plays self-consciously off their own reputation, earned or not. Two examples:

O'Neill's play Ah, Wilderness!, his only comedy. Even if you know it's a comedy, if you know O'Neill you know how to read that title. The title may even be too good: I haven't read it because I feel I don't have to.

Relatedly, this poem of Housman's:

They say my verse is sad: no wonder;
Its narrow measure spans
Tears of eternity, and sorrow,
Not mine, but man's.

This is for all ill-treated fellows
Unborn and unbegot,
For them to read when they're in trouble
And I am not.

He's defending himself from the charge that he sees the world through a distorted lens, a charge a reader would probably have heard before experiencing any of his poems. The implicit equation Trouble = Existence in the last lines is made easier to see by the fresh reminder of his extreme pessimism - or whatever the word is for things being awful right now (and how interesting that there isn't one). And once you do see that his non-apology is even stronger: his stance toward life is extreme only to the extent life is, and others refuse to see that equals sign even if it's right in front of their face the way this one is.

Trouble is one of his favorite words, and it's almost always used like this, as an understatement so very far under it calls attention to itself, hence to the truth understated, hence does more than state that truth - it points our thoughts in the very direction we were trying to avert them from.

Both of these are late works. It takes a while to get a reputation of any kind, at least one that attaches to you rather than specific writings.

Comments

[nightspore.livejournal.com]

This is just great, especially what you say about "trouble."

I think Byron would fit too. There's that prelate-poet he refers to, who has a reputation as "a sort of moral me."

[proximoception.livejournal.com]

Yes, definitely - Don Juan and his late, great prose get much of their energy from that. Reminds me a bit of Bloom's contention that Montaigne and Shakespeare characters hit the heights by self-listening, though I guess it's closer to how Sancho and the Don change each other?

When you're talking about your reputation in public you're usually defying it, whether by argument or mockery, but along with the defiance comes a self-clarification that has a tinge of that Renaissance conversation with oneself.