“Surely,” I said; “but I think it would hardly do in poetry, because it is too unsympathetic.”
“How about 23 skidoo?” asked Virginia. “Is that simile or metaphor?”
“That,” said I, “is less metaphor than nonsense.”
I said that in the modern play, which could not use the figurative language of poetry, the metaphor and simile were replaced by the symbol. I could not go into this, however, as none of them, except Florence, had read any modern plays. So I spoke of the fairy story, and how it often stood for something which was not itself. “Yes, like Brandt,” said Florence. I did not dwell on this point, but went on to the subject of taking sides in poetry. I said that good poetry could not possibly take sides; that all didactic and party poetry was poor.
“No,” said Florence, “he wouldn’t let me convince him of it the other day.”
Henry went on: “Take Whittier’s war-time poems; they were written with a purpose and taking sides.”
I said: “I don’t consider Whittier a great poet. But that’s not the point. His war-time poems are some of them good, perhaps, but the best are not partisan. A man may sing of freedom, and still not be partisan, as a man may sing of his native land, and need not therefore say mean things of his neighbor.”
“It seems to me,” said Henry, “that every work of art should have a purpose.”
“Surely,” I answered. “I never said it should not have a purpose. I said it should not take sides. Every work of art has the purpose of being beautiful, complete and true. So I suppose you might say that art is against ugliness. But ugliness is only a discord, a false vision which art overcomes with its beauty.”
“I understand,” said Henry. “You mean one might be for something without being against anything.”
“Yes,” I said, “one can be for completeness, for unity, for beauty, which includes all things. An artist pictures life; in telling a story he may see that some things lead to ruin and some to happiness, but he will not say he is for some and against others. He will stand far above them and see them all as they are, he will love them all, he will create a complete and individual world.”
Virginia said: “I suppose you don’t consider Burns a great poet.”
“Yes, I do,” I answered, “except in his didactic poems.”