In the spirit of snarky humor, I today give you Robert Graves’ To an Ungentle Critic. Graves did things the way that he wanted to, and didn’t much care what anyone else thought. When I was first introduced to him back in college, my teacher described him as having enormous strength of character coupled with the ability to tune out criticism. His book The White Goddess was on our recommended reading list in that class, and our teacher urged us to read his poetry and his prose - such as his novel I, Claudius - to gain a better understanding of how one could write well in both forms.

I can’t say I’m behind his decision to leave his wife and four children to go shack up with Laura Riding - I’ve got this thing against abandoning your family and all - but the time he spent with Riding really helped focus his writings.

I always viewed this work as his “you damn kids, get off my lawn” poem. It’s a cranky affirmation of his writing style, and his intention to continue writing that way, *thank you very much. *It’s also a reminder that even though going off in a new direction is all well and good, there is a reason why the classics are…ummm, well the classics.

Also, he uses the phrase “old broken knock-kneed thought will crawl”….and that is just awesome.

To an Ungentle Critic #

BY ROBERT GRAVES

The great sun sinks behind the town
Through a red mist of Volnay wine . . . .
But what’s the use of setting down
That glorious blaze behind the town?
You’ll only skip the page, you’ll look
For newer pictures in this book;
You’ve read of sunsets rich as mine.
A fresh wind fills the evening air
With horrid crying of night birds . . . .
But what reads new or curious there
When cold winds fly across the air?
You’ll only frown; you’ll turn the page,
But find no glimpse of your ‘New Age
Of Poetry’ in my worn-out words.
Must winds that cut like blades of steel
And sunsets swimming in Volnay,
The holiest, cruellest pains I feel,
Die stillborn, because old men squeal
For something new: ‘Write something new:
We’ve read this poem – that one too,
And twelve more like ’em yesterday’?
No, no! my chicken, I shall scrawl
Just what I fancy as I strike it,
Fairies and Fusiliers, and all.
Old broken knock-kneed thought will crawl
Across my verse in the classic way.
And, sir, be careful what you say;
There are old-fashioned folk still like it.