Esta semana, Joseph Epstein (n.1937) foi assunto-twitter pelas piores razões: foi impertinente e snob com a esposa do futuro Presidente. Isso não significa que não diga coisas interessantes. Este ensaio, mesmo que discordemos, ajuda a pensar:
I am not about to say of poetry, as Marianne Moore once did, that “I, too, dislike it,” for not only has reading poetry brought me instruction and delight but I was taught to exalt it. Or, more precisely, I was taught that poetry was itself an exalted thing. No literary genre was closer to the divine than poetry; in no other craft could a writer soar as he could in a poem. When a novelist or a dramatist wrote with the flame of the highest inspiration, his work was said to be “touched by poetry”—as in the phrase “touched by God.” “The right reader of a good poem,” said Robert Frost, “can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken an immortal wound—that he will never get over it.” Such quasi-religious language to describe poetry was not unusual; not so long ago, it was fairly common. “The function of poetry,” wrote Robert Graves, “is religious invocation of the Muse; its use is the experience of mixed exaltation and horror that her presence excites.”
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