Plain Talk
Tradition versus innovation: it is the subject of perennial debate. Yet first we must define the terms tradition and innovation. Innovation is often confused with modernity, while tradition is invariably taken to mean classicism. But both these definitions are, at best, incomplete.
Innovation is an ever- changing and endless process in literature, modernity merely a particular state. And what do we mean by tradition? The tradition of today, after all, is yesterday's innovation. When poets dig up the past in search of forms do we call this tradition or innovation?
Then we come to the problem of communication. A writer writes to be read. He cannot write in isolation. This sounds so obvious that it may be a waste of time to dwell on it, yet a great deal of contemporary poetry is utterly opaque. It leaves us untouched. Then we cry out that poetry is dying. If poetry is dying it is because the poet has lost his ability to communicate.
Arabic poetry is particularly embedded in the problem of tradition and innovation in a way that, for instance, the novel and the play are not. This is because these latter forms are new while poetry is the oldest literary form in the life of the Arabs.
There are always two kinds of poetry, one written in classical Arabic and one recited in colloquial. Throughout our history the two have gone hand in hand. The first produced poet laureates, the second produced popular singers. Popular poetry is a record of people's moods; their pleasures, their sadness, their love, the expression of their dissatisfaction with the state of things -- in short it is a record of daily life.
But this does not mean that classical poetry has become moribund. It has had, at times, moments of vitality. One such moment came in 1882 during the Orabi Revolt. It was an army revolt supported by peasants and among the officers were some poets whose poetry became the record of the revolt. Outbursts of this kind have kept classical poetry alive.
It is interesting that the 1952 Revolution gave rise to poetry written in colloquial. The major poet of that revolution was Salah Jahin, some of whose forceful poems were set to music and sung by Abdel-Halim Hafez. Others remained essential reference points in the history of revolution. Jahin's was a salutary voice, the voice of the people rising abruptly from the prosaic tenor of dissident conversation to the dulcet tones of nationally oriented song. It was certainly a tribute to the vernacular, and an honour to its people.
The battle between the classical and the colloquial has been going on for many years now. The protagonists of classical poetry are opposed to the initiators of colloquial. The latter believe in the functional value of poetry. Their concept of poetry is that it is part of life and as such it must have a function. It is written by active members of society for other active members of this same society and with an aim beyond that of simply giving pleasure. They believe that it is life that determines the style, the form and the impulse of the poem. They do not believe in pouring new wine into old casks. They attack the belief that poetry depends for its effects solely on the actual sounds used. The grandeur of their poetry does not derive from the rhythm alone, but from the compatibility of rhythm and content. They use an elevated form of ordinary speech and are careful to include the idioms that go with a spoken language.
This does not mean that they discard rhythm. They simply reject the idea that content should be the slave of traditional poetic forms. What contemporary poets are trying to do is to keep abreast of events and in a sense this can be described as a revolutionary project. They are trying to take Arabic poetry away from the plodding rhythm of the camel's step to the vibrating sound of the machine. And this is where innovation comes in. It embraces the novel. It originates not in an attempt to escape society, but rather from the poets throwing themselves right into it.
Al-Ahram Weekly Online : 20 - 26 March 2003 (Issue No. 630)
Located at: http://weekly.ahram.org.eg/2003/630/cu3.htm