“I have found quite a universal rule which in this matter seems to me valid above all other, and in all human affairs whether in word or deed: and that is to avoid affectation in every way possible as though it were some rough and dangerous reef; and (to pronounce a new word perhaps) to practice in all thing a certain sprezzatura (nonchalance), so as to conceal all art and make whatever is done or said appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it.”
(Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of Courtier, apud wikipedia)
Sprezzatura, then, is something that can intuitively be linked to the act of writing poetry.
Some poets appear to be graced with an innate gift of poetic fluency which allows them to effortlessly move from one metaphor to another in a most surprising manner.
It’s a context that we’ve often found ourselves in, taken aback by the blandishments of an author’s imagination and his/her ability to tinker with vowels and consonants.
I’d like to move through the paradigm of sprezzatura in poetry in step with the verses of two Canadian poets:
"The Black Spruce
point to it: clarity
becomes us, melting into ordinary morning. True
north. Where the sky is just a name,
a way to pitch a little tent in space and sleep
for five unnumbered seconds."
as an illustration of the courtly & mesmerizing affability of poetry.
An affability which we can carry with us, with nonchalance, into everyday life.