I'm currently reading Nick Tosches' In the Hand of Dantes - I think I like it, at least the more linear story line, but I'm a little luke-warm on the more Dante-related story line. But I digress...
Despite many attempts to explain to various people (colleagues, girlfriends, etc.) why I just can't stand poetry, I've never felt like I've quite hit the proverbial nail on the head. I've known what I meant, but I haven't been particularly articulate about it.
Thankfully, however, when one reads as much as I do, one occasionally come across the perfect words written in another's hand. Thus, I will let Mr. Tosches- via his criticism of Dante's Commedia- make my point for me.
"Dante had chosen a cage of rhyme and meter so confining that no majestic creation could survive within it, so often did it necessitate unnatural affectation to accommodate structure, so often were soul and beauty and power sacrificed to sustain the structure of the work, as might be done by one so cold as to value artfulness above art. As no beautiful wild bird born to soar free could survive in a cage, so it was with the beautiful wild bird of his poem."
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