T.S. Eliot begins his 1919 essay “Ben Jonson” with these words: “The reputation of Jonson has been of the most deadly kind that can be compelled upon the memory of a great poet.” Eliot explains:
“To be
universally accepted; to be damned by the praise that quenches all desire to
read the book; to be afflicted by the imputation of the virtues which excite
the least pleasure; and to be read only by historians and antiquaries—this is
the most perfect conspiracy of approval.”
A happy
confluence of factors spurred me in 2010-11 to read and come to appreciate and
enjoy Jonson’s poetry: immersion in the poems and criticism of Yvor Winters; my
friendship with the late Helen Pinkerton, a former student of Winters’;
publication of Ben Jonson: A Life (2011)
by Ian Donaldson.
Jonson
perfected the plain style of verse and became the master of epigrams in English
(followed closely by J.V. Cunningham). Unlike his contemporary John Donne,
Jonson’s poems are notably un-“metaphysical.” They are models of clarity and offer
little fashionable grist for the academic mill. With a few footnotes identifying
the people named by Jonson, any intelligent reader can appreciate his poems.
Take “To the Memory of My Beloved the Author, Mr. William Shakespeare” and “On My First Son.”
Jonson isn’t
the only writer to be so embalmed. Think of others who are “universally
accepted” (sometimes for the wrong reasons) and yet go unread. Among poets, Housman
comes first to mind, and I don’t include efforts to read him exclusively
through the lens of his homosexuality. Like Jonson, his verses are simultaneously transparent and profound. Larkin called him “the poet of
unhappiness,” which tells me he has something to say to any mature adult. We ought to
consider as well his enormous popularity during World War I, in the trenches
and on the home front. Housman, like Jonson, passes the inexhaustibility test.
Kingsley Amis writes of him in The Amis
Anthology: A Personal Choice of English Verse (1988):
“Of course I
think it ungrateful and wrong that Housman should never have been
conventionally admitted as a great English poet, one of the greatest since
Arnold, but not so surprising when you consider some of the people who have
been so admitted. What are the objections to him? . . . His themes are
restricted: I started to make a list of them until it occurred to me that the
same objection would exclude from the canon Milton, Herbert, Pope, Wordsworth,
Keats. . . . He turns his back on the modern world: next question. He made no
technical innovations: get out of my sight.”
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