Common Sense, 11 (Oct 1942) 351
Not very long after the present war began, people were writing to the newspapers asking : “Where are the war poets?” Various answers were offered, some blaming the younger poets for not turning at once to this subject, others excusing them on one ground or another; but most of the people who interested themselves in the matter seemed to agree that if a nation possesses any literary genius at all, a war ought to produce war poetry. I think that the question was finally dropped, partly because nobody could think of anything more to say, partly because there were plenty of other things to think about. I suspect that most of those who asked the question were not the sort of people who take an intelligent interest in poetry in time of peace. Nevertheless I think that the question is worth considering for a moment, if only to show why it should not be asked. For it does not concern this war only, but all wars; not this country alone, but all countries which pride themselves on their poetry.
When we ask for “war poetry,” we may be asking for one or the other of two different things. We may mean patriotic poetry, that is to say poetry which expresses and stimulates pride in the military virtues of a people. Or we may be asking for poets to write poetry arising out of their experience of war. As for the first, we must consider, how very little first-rate poetry of this kind there is in any language – and how little of that has ever been written in the middle of a great war. The greatest war poem of Europe is Homer’s Iliad: it was not written during the Trojan War; and, although Homer was a Greek, I think that he makes the Greeks appear rather more unpleasant than the Trojans. Dante, no one can doubt, was passionately devoted to his native Florence, and he certainly lived through a period of disorder; but I think that his love of Florence is revealed, not by a recital of her glories, but by his vehement lament over her corruption. At the time of the Napoleonic Wars, both Wordsworth and Goethe were living and working : neither of them can be accused of lack of public spirit, but neither is conspicuous for having made poetry out of the wars of his time.
So, in general, I should say that while a poet, as a man, should be no less devoted to his country than other men, I distinguish between his duty as a
1. Eliot in Stockholm, lecturing for the British Council in AprMay 1942, with further lectures and readings in Uppsala, Lund, and Gothenburg. Jarlos Foto; © Ahlen & Akerlind Studio, Stockholm
A black-and-white photo, from just below the waist up, of Eliot in Stockholm, lecturing for the British Council in Apr-May 1942, with further lectures and readings in Uppsala, Lund, and Gothenburg. Jarlos Photo; © Ahlen & Akerlind Studio, Stockholm He is seated behind a desk, in three-quarters profile, facing left with his head turned toward the front. He wears a three-piece suit and polka-dotted tie, with a handkerchief drooping from the breast pocket. His left hand, with a ring on the little finger, is resting on the calf of his crossed right leg, and his right hand is placed alongside a typewriter, resting on the bottom of its portable case, on the desk. Two books and several sheets of paper on the desk can be seen in the front of the photo. A portion of an upholstered couch, with a light-colored antimacassar, is visible behind Eliot, with a sheer-curtained window to the left of it. There is a bright reflection of light in the center of the multipaned window. ![]()
2. Cover ofThe New English Weekly, to which Eliot contributed commentaries and reviews after the closing ofThe Criterion in 1939 and in which appeared the first printings ofEast Coker, The Dry...
