Words of wisdom needn’t sound portentous, like the narration in a biblical epic from the 1950’s. That tone is likely to sound parodic to contemporary ears. Better to keep it serious but colloquial, or even amusing and colloquial. Or at least homely, heavy on one- and two-syllable words, and avoid the high-falutin’ boilerplate. Don’t try to sound wise, which is never wise. With that in mind, you’ll find wisdom in unexpected places. Here is N. John Hall writing in Max Beerbohm: A Kind of a Life (2002):
“Frivolous subjects? Well,
and thank God for it, not everyone can be writing about big, so-called
important issues: population, genes, semantics, sex, death [climate change,
diversity, capitalism . . .]. Surely there is value in anything that makes us
laugh, that makes us understand ourselves more. A shrewdness of observation
coupled with common sense can amount to a kind of wisdom. Good sense about
trivialities, Max once said, is better than nonsense about things that matter.”
I think of Beerbohm as among
the wisest of writers, as is Charles Lamb, despite his seeming silliness and stupid
anti-Semitism. Consider Kay Ryan’s “Shift” (The Best of It, 2010):
“Words have loyalties
to so much
we don’t control.
Each word we write
rights itself
according to poles
we can’t see; think of
magnetic compulsion
or an equal stringency.
It’s hard for us
to imagine how small
a part we play in
holding up the tall
spires we believe
our minds erect.
Then north shifts,
buildings shear,
and we suspect.”
A wise poet who wisely never
preaches. To be wise is not to find solace. No, wisdom is its own reward and doesn’t
always bring comfort. In Robert Alter’s translation of Qohelet (the book we
know as Ecclesiastes) he writes: “For in much wisdom is much worry, and he who
adds wisdom adds pain.”
[Alter’s translation can
be found in The
Wisdom Books: Job, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes: a Translation with Commentary (2010).]
No comments:
Post a Comment