j***@gmail.com
2018-01-22 00:30:34 UTC
[Jeffrey Rubard, 2004]
The function of literature, the basis of its cultivation by humanity, is clearly not solely a matter of enjoyment. Although it is possible to read a work of literature with profound pleasure, from whence the pleasure derives and its ultimate effect upon the formation of an aesthetic deserve a thorough examination. But the fundamental question of literature is perhaps that of poetic form: what is it for a work to have poetic form? What differentiates a piece of writing with notable poetic form from ordinary discourse, and why do we prefer one to the other? The answers to such questions clearly derive from the character of literature as a whole, the reasons we turn to it for edification and relief; so perhaps a brief examination of literature’s formal status can shed light upon the question of poetic form in particular.
Literature is coextensive with the real. It is not so much that we ought to like it, as that we should like some parts of it given our worldly dealings: if a particular genre suits our fancy, it is hardly impossible that we maintain some practical connection to the subject-matter, if only from a comfortable distance. Broadly speaking, we like literature because we find language to be the omnipresent mediator and divider of our affairs it obviously is, and literature counts as something like “sympathetic magic” with respect to the felicity of our utterances and our place within the whole of speech, a safeguard against the inability of a form of words to have their appropriate purchase upon us. It is true that language and literature are not so easily divided: separating a classical work from the commonplace analogies made to it is hard going, and this is the point.
So it would not be beside the point to specify poetic form as an attempt to imbue a going form of words with a certain character, a stipulation of a discourse’s purchase within the social totality: this is exactly what the aim of all language is, and literature in this estimation turns out to be the conscious cultivation of the arts of language, a notable attempt to impress upon the reading public a certain sensibility in practical dealings. The edification experienced by the reader of literature is coextensive with the practical education of life in general, and to cultivate a taste for the existent is by no means a foolish endeavor but rather a specifically literary activity. With this in mind, it seems that the formal analysis of literature is in fact an extremely pragmatic discipline permitting of many applications to everyday cares: but perhaps we can say that here we have a motive for plot, and leave it at that.
The function of literature, the basis of its cultivation by humanity, is clearly not solely a matter of enjoyment. Although it is possible to read a work of literature with profound pleasure, from whence the pleasure derives and its ultimate effect upon the formation of an aesthetic deserve a thorough examination. But the fundamental question of literature is perhaps that of poetic form: what is it for a work to have poetic form? What differentiates a piece of writing with notable poetic form from ordinary discourse, and why do we prefer one to the other? The answers to such questions clearly derive from the character of literature as a whole, the reasons we turn to it for edification and relief; so perhaps a brief examination of literature’s formal status can shed light upon the question of poetic form in particular.
Literature is coextensive with the real. It is not so much that we ought to like it, as that we should like some parts of it given our worldly dealings: if a particular genre suits our fancy, it is hardly impossible that we maintain some practical connection to the subject-matter, if only from a comfortable distance. Broadly speaking, we like literature because we find language to be the omnipresent mediator and divider of our affairs it obviously is, and literature counts as something like “sympathetic magic” with respect to the felicity of our utterances and our place within the whole of speech, a safeguard against the inability of a form of words to have their appropriate purchase upon us. It is true that language and literature are not so easily divided: separating a classical work from the commonplace analogies made to it is hard going, and this is the point.
So it would not be beside the point to specify poetic form as an attempt to imbue a going form of words with a certain character, a stipulation of a discourse’s purchase within the social totality: this is exactly what the aim of all language is, and literature in this estimation turns out to be the conscious cultivation of the arts of language, a notable attempt to impress upon the reading public a certain sensibility in practical dealings. The edification experienced by the reader of literature is coextensive with the practical education of life in general, and to cultivate a taste for the existent is by no means a foolish endeavor but rather a specifically literary activity. With this in mind, it seems that the formal analysis of literature is in fact an extremely pragmatic discipline permitting of many applications to everyday cares: but perhaps we can say that here we have a motive for plot, and leave it at that.