Which came first philosophy or poetry?

Foreign language section at Downtown Books & News

Someone asked how many of today’s poets are also philosophers?[1] The question presents some assumptions. One assumption is that poets merely express themselves in literary work through distinctive style and rhythmic fashion. This notion tends to present the  emotional aspect of poetry, but ignores the intellect of poetry. There is a dichotomy to poetry that mingles and merges into philosophy. The study of knowledge, reality and existence is at the core of philosophy, and the expression of these ideas is at the center of poetry.

Readers of poetry know that the subject matter of most serious literary poetry is an investigation of knowledge, reality and existence. One might argue, that light verse also presents a philosophical truss and girder to the support of the work. Truly, poetry puts a face on ideas, clothes abstractions in tangible, beautiful garments and builds images from the exploration of the meaning of life.[2]

Western philosophy began in 6th century BCE. It interesting to me that before philosophy there was poetry. Hesiod composed Theogony more than 100 years before Thales of Miletus and the Pre-Socratics. About that time period Homer released the Iliad. It is not by accident that poetry informs philosophy nor that poets birth philosophical conversations.

To address the question that sparked this post, I’m still considering the question of who I might regard as a great modern poet philosopher. My mind runs in two veins: one is the craft of the poet (i.e. the strength of the literary work) and two is the ideas of the poet (i.e. the strength of the logic and rhetoric of the argument). A couple of modern poets come to mind, but they have long since passed from this world. Two names of living poets simmer in the back of my mind. What do you think? How many of today’s poets are also philosophers? Are you a poet? Do you consider yourself a philosopher? What examples of philosophy do you find in poetry?

NOTES: [1] Gael, “Wondering how many poets are also philosophers and intuitives as well as creative.?” LinkedIn, April 21, 2013 accessed May 6, 2013 http://www.linkedin.com/group.
[2] There is a whole discussion that could be had regarding avant-garde poetry and the challenges with poetic forms that are not accessible to the average reader, but this post deals only with the question of philosophy as it relates to poetry.

Advertisements

Letter writing, a vanishing art

A book is more than a collection of letters and pages.

The week before Fathers Day I completed a book design project that is a “legacy of letters from a decorated World War II hero…” Or so the back copy states.

Reading a manuscript like that, at times, seems voyeuristic. The compelling part of the book is the context of knowing that the author was three when his father passed away suddenly. He grew up hearing friends and family tell him “You sure look like your Daddy” or “I knew your Dad, he was one of the best.” The letters that the author collected for the book shares who is father was and what kind of man he was. But most importantly, for the author, it was the only way to hear the voice of a father he never knew.

At times, during the process of designing the cover and page layout, I glimpsed that boyish tenderness of the author (now in his sixties) as he ached for the presence his father. I cherished Fathers Day all the more as I thought of the author.

A couple of things come to mind as I wrap up this project and send it to press. First, the art of letter writing seems non-existent. The last letter I received was from my oldest child who placed it in my boot for me to find one morning. It was a simple note written in colored pencil. It is placed in my journal. I glance at it periodically.

Last time I received a hand-written letter was years ago. There are the seasonal holiday letters that begin filling my mail box every year between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. They usually arrive as letters printed out on decorative stationary purchased at Kinkos or Office Depot. But hand-written letters? Do people still do that in our culture?

Secondly, the legacy left behind of those letters written prior to, during and after a major historical event impresses me. What kind of legacy might we leave our children and grandchildren with a mountain of un-memorable text messages. What will our tweets and status updates mean a half century from now? Will Twitter be obsolete by then? Or Facebook? Can you imagine your grandchildren asking you, “What’s Twitter?” After you explain the whole social media birth of micro blogging they giggle and say, “Twitter is so 2012. I can’t believe how primitive that seems.”

Emails may convey some of the gravitas as a written (or typed) letter. However, as Luddite as this sounds, I still have hand-written letters from family and friends placed in an old shoe box. Letters and notes from a woman who became my wife are stored in a similar fashion. A typed note from my grandfather, when age had crippled his hand-writing, is placed in a book of his poems as a reminder and memento. As a child, my grandmother wrote a brief letter to me each birthday and placed a stick of gum in between the folds. I looked forward to that letter each year. You can’t attach a stick of gum to an email.

Besides, I doubt anyone in our culture would wait, anticipate and enjoy a letter that arrives annually. Everything is so urgent… almost panicked. Why isn’t someone responding to my emails, texts, tweets? It’s been 30 seconds! (Place emoticons here.) In my own life, I notice how differently I process social media and online content. There lacks a linear stretch of the intellect when processing clusters of data points from Twitter, Facebook, HuffPo, etc. My attention span fatigues when I have to wade through a barrage of emails, updates and tweets.

Yet I enjoy the long articles in the Atlantic Monthly, London Review of Books, The New York Review of Books or the like. It stimulates my mind. 700-word news articles for the most part bore me. There’s nothing there but a nut graph. No context. No history. No personality or narrative trajectory. Just a Google-like, or Wikipedia-like, democratized collection of information. There’s nothing there to engage my mind. Nothing that challenges my mind, beliefs or values. A book on the Battle of Agincourt offers nuances that blog posts, tweets and texts don’t offer.

Reading through a legacy of letters, like the book I am ready to send to press, captures the exchange of ideas in a sustained, generational conversation between a father and a son. The more our culture engages in the scatterbrained conflagration of data items, I suspect civil, engaging conversation (like letter writing) may become obsolete.