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On hearing the title of this address, some of you who have followed the long scribbling career of your speaker probably mumbled to yourselves in consterna tion, "Oh dear, wasn't this just about where I came in?" For the title may have reininded you of an essay entitled "Literature And Knowledge" published in The Sewanee Review, oh, ages ago, that you tried to understand and finally gave up in defeat. This old essay is one of the most profound treatments of the subject that has ever been written, since it approaches almost complete unintelligibility?even for the writer, today. I am entitled to say in exculpation for treating the subject again tonight that it was chosen for me by the man through whose invitation you honored me to address you, your president, Professor Pres cott Johnson. I accepted the invitation, the subject and the title, not only because of the honor involved but also because I surrendered to the hope that after brooding on the problem for years I might be able to convey my thoughts on it in a more superficial way, that is to say, in an intelligible manner. Paradoxical as it may seem, the least egocentric way of presenting these thoughts is to put them as an autobiographical story, while reminding you that a purely autobiographical statement, a purely idiotic one, in the primitive sense of the term, cannot be true unless it is also accepted objectively. It is then as a candidate for citizenship in The Republic of Knowledge, and not as a non participating citizen, that I venture to offer you, offer some of you again, the fruits of a lifetime of dallying with "poetry" while being sacramentally married to Philosophy until my Mexican divorce of a few years ago. Let me begin my story with the remark that I think of myself as a post Carnapian, by which I mean that I use the term "knowledge" in a narrow sense to refer to a body of interrelated propositions of which it can be asked what is

Poetry and Philosophy