The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1882-11-24
POETS AND POETRY,
The Old buffers Who Warm Over
Their Sentimental Episodes in
Verse :.

~~-~
The Old buffers Who Warm Over
Their Sentimental Episodes in
Verse. :
Penelope" in Indianapolis Review.
The poet is such an old OGnd well founded
institution that one may well hesitate to make
him the target for comment or criticism; so
long has he had the freedom of all themes that
it must needs be a fearless hand that would
attempt to limit the fight Of his fancy at this
late day Private individuals of untarnished
lineage are, however, still privileged to in
dulge occasionally in few mild and harmless
reflections on his general behavior
To the prosaic mind the poet is queer fell
low There is something totally Incompetent
sible in the way in which he comes boldly to
the front to utter sentiments and tell secrets
which he would never dream of presenting to
us in everyday prose. These eccentricities of
thought and speech, clothed in garb Of
mellihuous jingle, escape condemnation
as being the result of what is
termed poetic license In short poetry and
the poet are supposed, like beauty, to be,
each its own excuse for being If the most
arrant bosh that ever entered the mind of
man has rhyme, rhythm, and taking title
the public swallow it without blinking and
say, "Oh how sweet" Let me not be sus-
pected of wishing to lay impious hands
upon the poets corner. Such irreverence
would merit the wrath of gods and men.
I would, however, humbly beseech the
linz 1aif 81 nj
to increase the tax on the theme of love that
we may get long breath occasionally. The
poet is generally supposed to be of finer clay
than ordinary mortals; to dine on moonbeams,
sip ambrosia, and slumber on rose-tinted
clouds, rocked by considerate and attentive
zephyrs However ethereal and diaphanous
his requirements may be- he certainly has a
tougher spinal column than ordinary beings, or
he could not always survive having his poetic
conceptions of love stare him in the face How
he can turn the shrine of his inmost affec-
tions inside out to the gaze of q SOOTHING
world, and then meet his neighbors as if moth
ing had happened, is q mystery i can not
fathom. My curiosity on this head nothing
will assuage and long ago determined that if
| ever caught poet outside the city limits, [
would wrench from him the secret of this inn
perturbation or perish in the attempt. One
would think poets keep key of love on tap
and took out license every year to dispose of
the same. A married poet Of my acquaintance
lately found faded rose bud pressed in a
book and long since forgotten. 1t had been a
token Of reconciliation from a girlish sweet
heart He fell a-dreaming over ii. and re-
called the time, the place, the dress she Wore,
her trustful blue eyes, the tears which gilt
tered in their lashes, the fond kiss Of recon
Citation, and whole lot of such stuff which
was eminently proper under the circumstances.
He would have been tough old dutfer ii he
had not felt sentimental, but why in the name
of common sense must he write the whole thing
out in mediocre verse, sign his own name,
and send it to a local paper for publication?
Is this colossal heroism, temporary insanity,
or umnitigated foolishness? Atany rate the
poem set the whole neighborhood agog with
curiosity, and one old lady says that she will
not rest in her bed until she finds out who the
girl was; and she will find out you may de-
pend on it, In poetry locality counts for a
great deal more than is generally supposed.
We can preserve our equanimity when Rich
ard Realf, in California, sings:
''She kissed me, my beautiful darling,
drank the delight of her lips.
The universe melted together,
Mortality stood in eclipse"
But if Tom Jones, who lives next door to us,
babbles of such goings on, we will find out all
about it, if it occupies the entire season.
AlhO POOIo dliu POOIIJ3 DuOOuu VI IO0PCCb W
the fitness of things I do not wish to get too
near the inspired presence. The poet who
wishes to keep his halo ever bright and fair
must climb peak in Darien and stay there, if
he has 10 be fed by the ravens Adoring
multitudes will then clothe him in glitterng
fabrics woven of the imagination; but if he
ever comes down so they can see that he wears
ready-made clothes, and has not always
linen as chaste as the icicles in Diana's
temple, he is ruined indeed. and his crown
of glory gone forever. He should exist
like Wordsworths cuckoo. simply 90 o
wandering voice." with no local h.
ton, and merely fragmental name. If
he only keeps out of sighg, he can walk
pigeon-toed, cut cabbage, and do all manner
of unpoetic things, and his reputation en-
dures. We may then chant endless
praises of the tender passion and we will not
say him nay; but while he lives where we can
see him every day, and know that he goes to
market and has bunions, we must insist that
he confine his poetic flights to the seasons, the
amendments, or some equally innocuous and
unirritatng theme
Ella Wheeler says "Love is enough" With
us, o sweet singer of Wisconsin, it is getting
to be entirely too much
0poet, sing no more of love!
SHOULD it not be shame to thee to harp on
such q mouldered string?"