Helen Gardner, in her "The Art of T.s. Eliot", states, with no reservation whatever, that bulk is one of the fundamental requisites of a major poet, that one "cannot claim the title of a major poet on d handful of lyrics however exquisite". This inexo...
Helen Gardner, in her "The Art of T.s. Eliot", states, with no reservation whatever, that bulk is one of the fundamental requisites of a major poet, that one "cannot claim the title of a major poet on d handful of lyrics however exquisite". This inexorable bulkist theory will irresistably remind one of some poets who left behind them slight bulks of compositions the slightness of whose bulks seems to be the very result of their supreme quality. Catullus is one such classic instance, the very supreme quality of whose handful of lyrics seems to destine him to the slightness of his bulk. Coleridge is a modern instance that rises definitely above the bulkist statement. And if to Dante Gabriel Rossetti with his questionable bulk of compositions, "Scott would have appeared a mere loose narrator with neither concentration nor the ecstatic beauty, Wordsworth a rustic proser without dignity or conception of execution, Byron a gifted amateur" (A.C. Benson. Rossetti) it might not be altogether just for us to attribute this pride of his exclusively to his lack of reverence.