quote:
"Ah, the old style," Prylig said dismissively. "These days, Lady, we seek harmony of words rather than mere volume of sound.""You should seek both," Guinevere said sharply. "I've no doubt this Taliesan is a master of the old style as well as being skilled a metre, but how can you hold an audience enthralled if all you offer them is clever rhythm? You must make their blood run cold, you must make them cry, you must make them laugh!"
"Any man can make a noise, Lady," Prylig defended his craft, "but it takes a skilled craftsman to imbue words with harmony."
"And soon the only people who can understand the intracacies of the harmony," Guinevere argued, "are other skilled craftsmen, and so you become ever more clever in an effort to impress your fellow poets, but you forget that no one outside the craft has the first notion of what you're doing. Bard chants to bard while the rest of us wonder what all the noise is about. Your task, Prylig, is to keep the people's stories alive, and to do that you cannot be rarefied."
"You would not have us be vulgar, Lady!" Prylig said and, in protest, struck the horsehair strings of his harp.
"I would have you be vulgar with the vulgar, and clever with the clever," Guinevere said, "and both, mark you, at the same time, but if you can only be clever then you deny the people their stories, and if you can only be vulgar then no lord will toss you gold."
In light of recent discussions, I found this to be a profound allegory.
Thoughts?
From http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/130.html
"SONNET 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare."
In a time when poets wrote flattering love sonnets to their goddess-like lovers Shakespeare wrote of the earthly mundane beauty of mortal women and satirized his contemporaries' exuberant and befurbelowed prose.
[This message has been edited by extrinsic (edited June 22, 2008).]
tacked on: according to Wikipedia, it originated in Vaudeville, and was later used on the Howdy Doody show with a slightly altered meaning. NOW i feel better.
[This message has been edited by debhoag (edited June 23, 2008).]
It's great to exercise your ability as an artist. However, don't expect readers to care if all you offer is great technique.
It's like the show/tell factor. Sometimes, you have to do both. However redundant it is in a literary community, average readers want to have it spelled out and to see it.