15
By his criticism of H.D.’s poetry in the chapter “Badness in Poetry” in Principles of Literary Criticism, Richards implies a method for reading modernist poetry as a whole that Riding and Graves repudiate in A Survey of Modernist Poetry. Richards exposes the poverty of H.D.’s poetry: what results from its “tenuousness and ambiguity” “is almost independent of the author.”1 Riding and Graves – no fans of H.D. – may be somewhat thankful for this, but Richards exposes here assumptions about the nature of what is communicated in poetry that Riding and (now) Graves vigorously reject. They imply that Richards is representative of critics who fear the freedom that poems like H.D.’s confer on the reader and that he is at the head of those who prefer to find in poetry – to use Riding’s phrase criticizing the conception of words that she finds in The Meaning of Meaning – a “neutral region of literalness between reality and its human perception.”2 Their point in A Survey of Modernist Poetry is that the freedom-fearing professional critic’s valuation of poetry as a neutral conduit of concrete reality is wrong-headed. The poem is a reality in its own right, precisely the autonomous aesthetic entity, independent of the poet, that Richards fears in general and that he fears H.D. in particular tends to produce.
Just as Richards seems to have paid close attention in Principles of Literary Criticism to Graves’s essay “What is Bad Poetry?”, so in A Survey of Modernist Poetry Riding and Graves seem to have paid particular attention to Richards’s chapter in Principles of Literary Criticism on “Badness in Poetry.” They follow his analysis of H.D.’s poem “The Pool”–
Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you – banded one?3
– which Richards foregrounds in explanation of his complaint about confusions in contemporary critical terminology: “Sometimes art is bad because communication is defective … sometimes because the experience communicated is worthless; sometimes for both reasons. It would perhaps be best to restrict the term bad art to cases in which genuine communication does to a considerable degree take place, what is communicated being worthless, and to call the other cases defective art.”4 According to Richards, H.D.’s poem is “an instance of defective communication … in which it is likely that the original experience had some value.”5
Riding and Graves follow Richards in observing that questions of communication and questions of value are confused in contemporary criticism. Like Richards, they would prefer that the term “Bad … be the only possible critical term by which a poem could be categorically dismissed.”6 And like Richards again, they note that many critics short-circuit their evaluation of the poem as good or bad by a smug, stultifying comment about its defective communication: “at the present time, regardless of the possible classification of a poem as good or bad according to the standard it suggests, it is enough for a critic to call a poem obscure to relieve himself of the obligation of giving a real criticism of it.”7
For Riding and Graves, however, Richards is just such a confused critic. When he judges “The Pool” obscure (defective in communication), he shirks his real work as critic, for he relieves himself of the obligation of determining whether or not the experience communicated by H.D.’s poem has any worth by merely gesturing toward “the original experience” that “likely … had some value.” Riding and Graves insist that better criticism of H.D.’s work is possible and necessary. As we shall see, Riding and Graves react to the inadequacy of Richards’s criticism of H.D. by proceeding to what they agree with Richards is a “real criticism” of poetry: her poems fail not because they are obscure – she is not “incomprehensible” so she is not failing to communicate experience – but rather they fail because they are bad, for the experience they communicate is worthless.8
As an example of poetry “in which communication is successful, where the objection lies to what is communicated,” Richards offers Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s sonnet “Friendship After Love.”9 According to Richards, Wilcox’s poem communicates experience effectively but ought not to have done so, for the impulses that her sonnet evokes are not genuinely reorganized or balanced or reconciled. Comparing a couple’s progress from feelings of love to feelings of friendship with the year’s progress from the heat of summer to the coolness of autumn, the sonnet has achieved “the soothing effect of aligning the very active Love-Friendship groups of impulses with so settled yet rich a group as the Summer-Autumn simile brings in,” and so “the restless spirit is appeased, one of its chief problems is made to seem as if … it is no problem but a process of nature.”10 Or so at least it seems to the bad reader: “Only for those who make certain conventional, stereotyped maladjustments … does the magic work.”11 Such readers are in the grip of “stock conventional attitudes.”12 The reaction of good readers to such bad poetry is very different, however, for “those who have adequate impulses as regards any of the four main systems involved, Summer, Autumn, Love, Friendship, are not appeased.”13 Sadly, we recall, saving bad readers from their stock responses is not as easy as simply introducing them to good poetry: “a reader who … thoroughly enters into and enjoys this class of verse, is necessarily so organized that he will fail to respond to poetry. Time and much varied experience might change him sufficiently, but by then he would no longer be able to enjoy such verse, he would no longer be the same person.”14
Richards’s analysis of poems by H.D. and Wilcox foregrounds his conviction that the real value of poetry resides in its reorganization of the reader’s experience. Against the background of psychological utilitarianism, Richards explains the function of literature in terms of its ability to reorganize readers towards “free, varied and unwasteful life”: “the organization and systematization of which I have been speaking in this chapter are not primarily an affair of conscious planning or arrangement … We pass as a rule from a chaotic to a better organized state by ways which we know nothing about. Typically through the influence of other minds. Literature and the arts are the chief means by which these influences are diffused.”15 Riding and Graves regard Richards as simply asserting here the superiority of what Riding calls the individual psychological real over what she calls the collective social real. They regard both what Richards defines as good poetry and what he defines as bad poetry as the product of a scientific imperialism that colonizes readers by planting the flag of objective reality. Richards enslaves readers and poems alike, thwarting discovery by readers both of their own independence of mind or originality and of the poem’s own unreality or difference from reality.
•
Richards implies in his criticism of “The Pool” a method for reading modernist poetry that Riding and Graves dissect and reject. This is not to say that they were fans of H.D. On the contrary, they argue that “The only excuse for those who once found H.D. ‘incomprehensible’ is that her work was so thin, so poor, that its emptiness seemed ‘perfection,’ its insipidity to be concealing a ‘secret,’ its superficiality so ‘glacial’ that it created a false ‘classical’ atmosphere,” so they were not necessarily unhappy to find Richards similarly unimpressed by her.16 Speculating minimally about the experience that H.D. might be trying to communicate in this poem, Richards opines that “it is likely that the original experience had some value.”17 On this point, Riding and Graves disagree: they find in H.D.’s poetry only “a story of feeble personal indecision”; “She was never able … to reach a real climax in any of her poems”; “the personal reality of the poet … has been represented with false intensity to make a romantic appeal to the reader.”18
As we have seen, Riding rejects “personal reality” as the basis of a true poem. The problem for Riding and Graves here is not that H.D.’s “personal reality” – the original experience to which Richards alludes – did not actually have the value that Richards assumes it did. Their point is actually that H.D.’s mistake is to confuse her personal reality with the poem’s reality. She is twice in error: she not only infuses her poetry with the insipid, superficial personality that Riding and Graves insult, but she also perpetuates the mistake created by romanticism’s appeal to the personal reality of the poet as the basis of poetry. The deficient personality is an incidental matter; the deficiency of the aesthetic is the real problem. Presumably H.D.’s devotion to such an aesthetic makes her personality fair game for ad hominem criticism, but it is also the case that Riding and Graves can be cruel in their criticism of other writers.
Riding and Graves repudiate the aesthetic of “personal appeal” as scientific. It seems that under Riding’s tutelage Graves now recognizes that the refraction of romanticism through the new science of psychology simply makes it a new corruption of poetry before the altar of concrete fact. As antidote to H.D. in particular, and to the romantic aesthetic of “personal appeal” generally, they point to Emily Dickinson as an equally eccentric and extravagant poet “whose personal reality pervades her work, though she kept it strictly out of her work.”19 Their point, of course, is related to Eliot’s assertion in “Tradition and the Individual Talent”: the personality of the poet ought not to be confused with the personality of the poem.20 According to Riding and Graves, “the important part of poetry is now not the personality of the poet as embodied in a poem … but the personality of the poem, its quality of independence from both the reader and the poet, once the poet has separated it from his personality by making it complete – a new and self-explanatory creature”21 Therefore they can agree with Eliot that “the difference between art and the event is always absolute” and they can agree with Richards that just because “the original experience is presumably slight, tenuous and fleeting,” the form of the poem does not have to be correspondingly slight, tenuous and fleeting.22
And they can also agree with Richards that H.D.’s poem is incomplete. Insisting that the value of the poem consists in its communication of the poet’s original experience, Richards suggests that rather than translating the brevity and simplicity of the experience in question into the formal structure of the poem, H.D. ought to have compensated for the tenuous and ambiguous aspects of the original experience by making the poem longer, more specific, and more complex than it is. The point that Riding and Graves make, however, is not Richards’s point, effectively a complaint that the reader’s experience of the poem “is almost independent of the author,” but rather the opposite of his: their point is that the reader’s experience of the poem is not sufficiently independent of the author, for H.D. has not – like Dickinson – kept her personality strictly out of the poem: she has not completed the poem because she has not completed her separation from it.
The biggest problem for Riding and Graves here is that Richards’s criticism of H.D.’s poem shows that however much he finds fault with this particular Imagist poem, he nonetheless accepts Imagism’s main assumptions. His complaint is that the poem’s five short lines constitute “the whole link which is to mediate between the experiences of the author and of the reader” and that the poem’s “brevity” and “simplicity” make its communication of the poet’s original experience “ineffective”: “The experience evoked in the reader is not sufficiently specific.”23 On this point, Riding and Graves suggest that “Imagism took for granted the principle that poetry was a translation of certain kinds of subjects into the language that would bring the reader emotionally closest to them. It was assumed that a natural separation existed between the reader and the subject, to be bridged by the manner in which it was presented.”24
They attribute to Imagism here the aesthetic theory of communication both at the heart of Principles of Literary Criticism and at the heart of Graves’s own books and essays up to this point. Richards accepts that a poem (Imagist or otherwise) is a vehicle for communicating to the reader an experience outside and other than the poem itself, and so does the pre-Riding Graves. Now, however, Graves aligns himself with Riding in disagreement with such an aesthetic, and therefore with a central aspect of Richards’s theory of communication. Moreover, the two of them represent modernist poetry as a whole as disagreeing with such an aesthetic. Although Imagism was associated in practice with H.D., whom many regarded as the purest Imagist, it was associated in theory with Hulme and so it serves Riding and Graves in A Survey of Modernist Poetry as an example of poetry gone wrong through the new barbarism. That they identify a sympathy between Richards and Imagism, as they define it, is therefore no surprise, for from their point of view this sympathy is simply a case of one new barbarism saluting and supporting another. They regard Imagism as falling far short of the achievement of modernist poetry: “the modernist poet does not have to talk about the use of images ‘to render particulars exactly,’ since the poem does not give a rendering of a poetical picture or idea existing outside the poem, but presents the literal substance of poetry.”25 Richards exposes the poverty of H.D.’s poetry just as Riding and Graves do, but he also exposes assumptions about the nature of what is communicated in poetry that Riding and (now) Graves vigorously reject.
Richards concludes his criticism of H.D. by complaining that “the reader here supplies too much of the poem.”26 He speculates about what kind of poem a reader might have come up with “had the poet said only, ‘I went and poked about for rocklings and caught the pool itself.’”27 Richards substitutes for the poem a prose paraphrase. Regarding the value of poetry as consisting in its reorganization of our attitudes and impulses, Richards declares that there is not much difference between a reader’s experience of “The Pool” and a reader’s experience of Richards’s prose statement about a pool: “the reader, who converts what is printed above [the prose paraphrase above] into a poem, would still have been able to construct an experience of equal value; for what results is almost independent of the author.”28
Noting that “The Pool” lacks “magnitude,” suffers from “simplicity,” and sacrifices metre and formal structure for the sake of free verse, Richards implicitly condemns it as prose that has been insufficiently poeticized (not much different from, and not really any better than, his own prose statement). Implicitly in the case of H.D.’s poem, that is, and explicitly in the case of his own prose paraphrase of it, Richards understands readers of certain kinds of minimalist modernist poetry to be mandated to turn prose into a poem on their own. That is, since in this exercise Richards does not raise the question of whether the reader ought to bring anything to the poem but only the question of just how much the reader ought to bring to it, he implies that the interpretive process requires that readers make their own poems out of the prose statement that such a modernist poem constitutes.
This is the very process that Riding and Graves object to as virtually guaranteeing the misunderstanding of modernist poetry. They complain that the tendency to supply a poetical summary of a poem is a recent invention of contemporary critics, an interpretive strategy necessitated by the so-called obscurity of modernist poetry. Echoing Richards’s points about H.D.’s poem, they note that the modernist poem seems to the contemporary critic more prose than poetry – at best, a “prose idea in a slightly poetical form” – and so “the reader finds it necessary to make a poetical rather than a more strictly prose summary.”29
Riding and Graves speculate about how such a person might react to the first two lines of Riding’s poem: “The rugged black of anger/Has an uncertain smile border.”30 Perhaps the ostensible obscurity of these lines would lead readers to interpret them as concealing “an incidental satire on the popular poetical sentiment: ‘Look around and you will find/Every cloud is silver-lined.’”31 The point of such speculation is to declare that they do not accept what such an interpretation implies, that the two lines beginning “The Rugged Black of Anger” are “the prose idea as poem” that the reader needs “to amplify along suggested poetical lines.”32 Rather, they see “a discrepancy … appear between the poem as it stands and the reader’s poetical summary of it”; “we … have not two equivalent meanings but one meaning and another gratuitous meaning derived from it.”33 In other words, there is the “one meaning” and there is the heresy of its paraphrase.
So much for Richards’s claim that a reader who substituted the prose paraphrase “I went and poked about for rocklings and caught the pool itself” for the poem “would still have been able to construct an experience of equal value.”34 It would seem to be in response to Richards’s disparagement of H.D. that Riding and Graves announce both the independence and autonomy of the poem and the correlative warning about the heresy of paraphrase. According to Riding and Graves, “the ideal modernist poem is its own clearest, fullest, and most accurate meaning.”35 Agreeing with Richards that H.D. should be the poster-girl for the failings of Imagism, however, Riding and Graves displace defence of both the communicative abilities of “obscure” modernist poetry and the value of the experience communicated therein from H.D.’s poetry to Riding’s own. Perhaps alluding to Richards’s complaint that “The Pool” suffers from “simplicity,” they joust with an imaginary “advanced” critic whose criticism “is mere literary snobbery,” and who is imagined as disliking “The Rugged Black of Anger” for being “too simple,” “a common charge against the ‘obscure’ poem when its obscurity is seen to have been excessive clearness.”36
Richards is fingered by Riding in Anarchism Is Not Enough as the critic responsible for the contemporary perversion of poetic language into a stooge of science, an obedient perception of reality, as opposed to language as “assertion of the independence of the mind against … the sign situation.”37 According to Riding, “The difference between the collective-real and the individual-real as revealed by their respective methods of symbolism proves itself to be no more than a snobbish difference of degree: the art of the individual-real is self-appointed good art … The symbolism of the individual-real in its scientific aspects is best explained in C.K. Ogden’s and I.A. Richards’s The Meaning of Meaning.”38 Richards is her whipping-boy for the failings of all contemporary critics who are too beholden to a scientifically validated reality – “critics who, like I.A. Richards, wish to find a place for literature and art ‘in the system of human endeavours,’ to prove the unreal to be but ‘a finer organization of ordinary experiences’” – and he is also the type of the literary critic as snob that she excoriates in Contemporaries and Snobs.39 Moreover, “Mr Richards, we learn from his Principles of Literary Criticism (published in 1925, the first textbook of psychologico-lit-erary criticism) is interested in value rather than purity. Criticism is to him a minute and comprehensive gradation of what T.E. Hulme called the world of religious and ethical values; purity, a social rather than aesthetic attribute; a moral term, by which a work is described as a public act of its author … Mr. Richards … is plainly trying to discover … the laws of goodness in humanity.”40
Mind you, although he is the one through whom she focuses her main complaints about contemporary trends in criticism, Richards is not the only critic that Riding castigates. Herbert Read and Wyndham Lewis, for instance, between them illustrate the new barbarism. Riding observes that to Read, “criticism should use the same language about art as it does about reality; it should unite philosophy and art in Reality. Reason is personal, direct, conscious traffic in reality. It is enlightened magic (‘an inner conviction of necessity’). Primitive man, being more instinctively aware of reality, did not need to have his magic (his art) enlightened. The primitive artist was a seer, the civilized artist is a visionary.”41 She notes that “Mr. Lewis uses the same language of criticism … ‘For me art is the civilized substitute for magic.’”42 According to Riding, “To both Mr. Read and Mr. Lewis purity means that magical intelligence, that inspired (rather than primitive, stupid ‘objective’) literalness which may be philosophically defined as the individual-real … They are interested in getting man into proper focus in reality, and in his usefulness as an instrument of measurement: they are interested, that is, in psychology, in the language of criticism, the mathematics of synthesis.”43
Yet Riding always returns to Richards, for his criticism epitomizes better than any other the new barbarism in its scientific aspect: “Mr. Richards … condemns Beauty-and-Truth terminology – the criticism that treats civilized art as unintelligent magic, in fact. He not only recognizes Reason as man’s participation in the patterns of reality; he insists on Reason as social duty; criticism is to him morality. The mathematics of synthesis by which morality may be accurately apprehended is to be developed by turning the human world into a world of values: making conduct (communication, relation) achieve significant pattern. Conduct is then the training of the community as a whole in the traffic of reality, with the artist as band-master – ‘the arts are the supreme form of communicative activity.’ Value (the graded necessity of reality) is to be discovered by a ‘systematization of impulses.’”44
These critics are purveyors of “the nostalgic desire to reconstitute an illusory whole that has no integrity but the integrity of accident.”45 Oneness is their god, and knowing their god is their goal: “Deity to the collective-realist is reality as symbolic oneness; to the individual-realist, reality is rationalistic oneness. To the former therefore personality is an instrument for conceiving emotionally the mass character of this oneness; to the latter, an instrument for corroborating intellectually the individualistic character of this oneness.”46 Their criticism would make of the reader a “Simpleton” – in Richards’s case, a “Moral Simpleton” – whose goal is not “to become unreal” (that is, to recognize his difference from reality) but rather “to become more real.”47 “Instead of freeing the self to self, it frees it to Reason, to prove merely that intelligent civilized individuals can be in closer touch with reality than a stupid civilized mob: that they can know more, conform more perfectly to customs of more perfect taste, control what is unreal self in them more systematically, respond more respectfully, regularly (classical-poetically) to the stimuli of accidental reality. That they can behave, that is, by finding a civilized substitute for magic, like a perfect primitive mob of philosophy-fed art students.”48
And so “to the professional critic (Mr. Richards, for example) … Art … becomes a skilful thwarting of originality. The immediate shock to the consciousness which a work brings, which might be expected to encourage an independence in the consciousness, a dissociation from reality (influences) and a development of its differences from reality, is utilized to possess the consciousness for reality, to force it to organize itself according to its resemblances (responses) to the particular object-work by which it is attacked. Art is an exaggeration of the hostile operation of reality on the individual consciousness, an exaggeration proportioned to overcome the originality which offers a casual, disorganized resistance to ordinary objects.”49
This is precisely the function of poetry as Graves initially conceived it in his conflict theory, so we can see that Riding’s engagement with Richards on these points also functions as a displacement of her engagement with the early work of Graves. Empson ought not to have wondered why Graves did not develop his conflict theory further: Riding put an end to all that pseudo-scientific imperialism on behalf of objective reality.
Riding and Graves have Richards in mind as the kind of critic who would charge “The Rugged Black of Anger” with “obscurity,” a complaint deriving from the theory of language that Riding identifies in The Meaning of Meaning – the theory that “words … are certified scientific representatives of the natural objects, or constructions of objects called events, which man’s mind, like a dust-cloud, is assumed to obscure from himself.”50 Their point is that the critic’s search for the “neutral region of literalness between reality and its human perception” is wrong-headed.51 Poetry cannot be condemned as obscure because it fails at “making a separate approximation of the general sign conveying the object,” for the mind is an obscuring “dust-cloud only when perceptively organized to define reality.”52 In the poem of “disobedient perception” (in disobedient perception there is “a revulsion from the object or event concerned”), “the very genesis or utterance of a sign is an assertion of the independence of the mind”53
When Riding and Graves mock the critic who will dismiss “The Rugged Black of Anger” as obscure out of “mere literary snobbery” they anticipate the language of Contemporaries and Snobs and also the way Riding castigates Richards in Anarchism Is Not Enough as asserting an “intelligent, superior, adult … difference of degree in sophistication, manners” over “the stupidity, the hypocrisy of the fanatic mob.”54 Such a critic may dislike such a poem “because it is ‘too simple’ (a common charge against the ‘obscure’ poem when its obscurity is seen to have been only its excessive clearness).”55 According to Riding and Graves, such a poem is “The Rugged Black of Anger” and such a critic is I.A. Richards.
•
Richards’s complaint that H.D.’s poem not only allows but actually requires a response “almost independent of the author” leads Riding and Graves to affirm the autonomy of the poem as “the crucial complication in the adjustments to be made between poetry itself and the reader of poetry”: the latter “is unable to have a free and straightforward personal intimacy with a poem but is continually haunted by the idea of the presence of the poet in the poem.”56 In his fear of the freedom that a poem like H.D.’s confers on the reader, Richards is the kind of critic-reader that Riding and Graves find inadequate to modernist poetry, the kind who “is not at his ease with the poem: it is never entirely his own … The reader cannot get over the idea that the poet had designs on him in writing the poem, to which he must respond.”57 In short, for his complaint in the face of a poem that he mistakenly fears has become “independent of the author,” Richards is mocked by Riding and Graves as a coward: “the plain reader does not really want to be left all alone with poetry … The real discomfort to the reader in modernist poetry is the absence of the poet as his protector from the imaginative terrors lurking in it.”58
1 I.A. Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner and Co., 1924; New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1925), 200.
2 Laura Riding, Anarchism Is Not Enough (London: Jonathan Cape, 1928), 54.
3 H.D., “The Pool.” Richards reproduces the poem in full in Principles of Literary Criticism, 199.
4 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 199.
5 Ibid.
6 Laura Riding and Robert Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry (1927; repr. New York: Haskell House, 1969), 137–8.
7 Ibid., 138.
8 Ibid., 122.
9 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200. See Ella Wheeler Wilcox, “Friendship After Love.” Richards reproduces the poem in full in Principles of Literary Criticism, 200–1.
10 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 201.
11 Ibid., 202.
12 Ibid.
13 Ibid.
14 Ibid., 204–5.
15 Ibid., 57.
16 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 122.
17 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 199.
18 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 123, 122, 121–2.
19 Ibid., 122.
20 See T.S. Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” in Selected Essays, 3rd ed. enlarged (London: Faber and Faber, 1951), 21.
21 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 124.
22 Eliot, “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” 19; Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200.
23 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200.
24 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 118.
25 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 118. Riding and Graves quote Amy Lowell’s “Preface” in Some Imagist Poets: An Anthology, ed. Amy Lowell (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1915), vii.
26 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200.
27 Ibid.
28 Ibid.
29 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 145.
30 Laura Riding, “The Rugged Black of Anger,” in The Laura (Riding) Jackson Reader, ed. Elizabeth Friedmann (New York: Persea Books, 2005), 24.
31 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 143.
32 Ibid., 144, 145.
33 Ibid., 145.
34 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200, 199, 200.
35 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 118.
36 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200; Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 138.
37 Riding, Anarchism Is Not Enough, 55.
38 Ibid., 53–4.
39 Ibid., 63.
40 Ibid., 95.
41 Ibid., 101–2.
42 Ibid., 102.
43 Ibid., 102–3.
44 Ibid., 103.
45 Ibid., 104.
46 Ibid., 67.
47 Ibid., 104, 104, 104, 104
48 Ibid., 105.
49 Ibid., 113.
50 Ibid., 54.
51 Ibid.
52 Ibid., 55.
53 Ibid.
54 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 138; Riding, Anarchism Is Not Enough, 103, 104–5.
55 Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 138.
56 Ibid., 134.
57 Ibid., 135.
58 Richards, Principles of Literary Criticism, 200; Riding and Graves, A Survey of Modernist Poetry, 136.