Style is the material body of lyric poetry, Hellen Vendler suggests. To cast off an earlier style is to perform an act of violence on the self.
(Introduction)
Robert Lowell complained that pieces of his earlier driven and violent style kept turning up like flotsam and jetsam when he was trying to write the ironic, mild, and distanced lines of Life Studies. The invention of a new phase of style, then, is often less a voluntary act than an involuntary one. One is repelled by one's present body and cannot inhabit it any longer.
Keats, striking out the influence of Milton from Hyperion, declared, with no hyperbole intended, “Life to him would be death to me” {Letters, II, 212). And he wrote himself a new body in The
Fall of Hyperion.
The positive aspect of the breaking of style, when it appears, must, as much as the negative one, have a convergent set of creative causes. “English ought to be kept up,” said Keats (Letters, 11, 167), suggesting that if he did not positively keep it up, English might fade and die, “I
had long had haunting my ear the echo of a new rhythm,” Hopkins wrote to Richard Watson Dixon, explaining why the prosody of “The Wreck of the Deutschland” differed so from the
metrics of his early verse (Correspondence, 14).
There must be, in short, espousals as well as rejections in the invention of the new stylistic body, not only when the new body is a permanent one but also when it is provisional, when it is adopted for a single volume or even for a single poem.