Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations
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"The Republic of Letters," noted Alfred de Vigny, "is the only one which can be composed of truly free citizens, for it
is formed of isolated thinkers." Such isolation need not mean sheer withdrawal, but that detachment of the one from
the many which is the necessary precondition of all original thought. The relation between the poet and the multitude,
according to Vigny, is a perpetual ostracism. That is a hard lot, and this has been a sad chronicle; yet it is not a
disheartening one, I believe, since exile has often proved to be a vocation, reinforcing other gifts with courage and
looking forward to a final triumph of independence over conformity.
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Republic of Letters
"The Republic of Letters," noted Alfred de Vigny, "is the only one which can be composed of truly free citizens, for it
is formed of isolated thinkers." Such isolation need not mean sheer withdrawal, but that detachment of the one from
the many which is the necessary precondition of all original thought. The relation between the poet and the multitude,
according to Vigny, is a perpetual ostracism. That is a hard lot, and this has been a sad chronicle; yet it is not a
disheartening one, I believe, since exile has often proved to be a vocation, reinforcing other gifts with courage and
looking forward to a final triumph of independence over conformity.
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