'Poetry That Is Not Noticeably Eccentric'

Two poets seldom linked came together in the New York Times on September 8, 1912. The writer was Joyce Kilmer, known forever as the author of “Trees,” who would die six years later during the second battle of the Marne. His subject was Edwin Arlington Robinson, age forty-one, by then author of four collections of poetry and such poems as “Miniver Cheevy” and “Richard Cory.” 

 Kilmer hailed Robinson as “a classic poet.” “Not as a prophet, not as a teacher,” he writes, “but as a student of mankind does Robinson hold his place among poets. Always he looks at humanity patiently, earnestly, searchingly. His poems . . . are compounded of sympathy and humor.” That’s as good an encapsulation of Robinson’s sensibility as I’ve encountered. He has a fiction writer’s devotion to character that recalls Chekhov’s. In a thank-note to Kilmer, Robinson wrote: “You say things in it that I have been waiting for someone to say.”

 

Almost four years later, on April 9, 1916, the Times published Kilmer’s interview with Robinson. “But why is it,” Kilmer asks, “that a great poet is without honor in his own generation where mediocrity is immediately famous?” Robinson replied: “It’s hard to say. Many causes prevent poetry from being correctly appraised in its own time. Any poetry that is marked by violence, that is conspicuous in color, that is sensationally odd, makes an immediate appeal. On the other hand, poetry that is not noticeably eccentric sometimes fails for years to attract any attention.”

 

Acknowledging that free verse was already in its ascendancy, and after taking a swipe at Robert Browning’s “eccentricities,” Robinson says: “I can’t get over the impression that these post-impressionists in painting and most of the vers libristes in poetry are trying to find some sort of short cut to artistic success. I know that many of the new writers insist that it is harder to write good rhymed poetry. And judging from some of their results, I am inclined to agree with them.”

 

Asked if the work of Robert Frost, Edgar Lee Masters and Rupert Brooke reflected “a real renascence of poetry,” Robinson agreed and said, “I am sufficiently childlike and hopeful to find it very encouraging.” Kilmer questioned him on the state of poetry in England. Robinson at first demurs then says: “Within his limits, I believe that A.E. Housman is the most authentic poet now writing in England. But, of course, his limits are very sharply drawn, I don’t think that anyone who knows anything about poetry will ever think of questioning the inspiration of A Shropshire Lad.”

The interview concludes: “Sometime ago you asked me how I accounted for our difficulty in making a correct estimate of the poetry of one’s own time. The question is a difficult one. I don’t even say that it has an answer. But the solution of the thing seems to me to be related to what I said about the quality of finality that seems to exist in all real poetry. Finality seems always to have had a way of not obtruding itself to any great extent.”