NEW ZEALAND VERSE

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 66, 19 March 1938, Page 10 (Supplement)

NEW ZEALAND VERSE

THAT the novelty has worn off Mr. C. A. Marris' "New Zealand Best Poems" makes \ reviewing more difficult. The public is less surprised that this country can produce so much good verse by so many writers, and it has grown accustomed to the broad characteristics of these anthologies—the mingling of tradition with experiment and the general with the local. This, however, does not detract at all from the value of Mr. Majris' editing. One may be sure that there is little, if any, material reward for him, and though one may sometimes question his choice, he deserves the thanks of those who are interested in our infant literature. Less Exciting "New Zealand Best Poems, 1037," are perhaps a little less exciting than some of the previous volumes, but the collection shows a similar advance from the general attitude and methods of the poet a generation or so ago. Poets are freer in their choice of subject and in their measures. They are at times a little too free in their metres. Verse has too great a tendency to be prose cut into lengths; the singing quality is neglected. For instance, there is Mr. Henry Brennan, who has strength and imagination. His pictures of Wellington hills are finely imagined. These hills "should be a plaything for a giant's babies," for "they are gentle, gentle hills, without the malice of sharp crags or scowling steep*." tut they are I,aofoon, faith strangling, twilling roads half burled in their flfsh. The great bee of the Strait wind drones in the gullies.

"Colour" ia also arresting. Colour is the very voice of light. See it burst boldly into song as the sun touches it. These two lines, however, hare the rhythm of prose rather than of verse, and in lines like To those poor others -who never may have worth enough To be given things for nothing there are halts in the movement that jar. Another noticeable weakness —found in much modern English veree—is an overpacking of imagery and. thought. Eve Langlcy's talent would be the better for more subjugation of emotion and a calmer use of flight. There are poems in this volume that remind one of the wool that' goes into the press as two bales and comes out as one. "Robin Hyde" is, if anything, more original than ever, but also more difficult to follow. It may be that she is writing too much. Arnold Wall goes on ploughing his own intellectual furrow successfully—cool, detached, ironical. Gloria Rawlinson, not so long ago a child of promise, is justifying the hopes placed in her. Helena Henderson achieves a simple pathos in "The Charwoman," and Una Auld uses old njaterijil to obtain a genuine lyrical success in a traditional style. A white cloud like a seagull. Effortless, drifting by, ADd a gull like a white cloud gliding Down shining lanes of sky. Gently they moved together In high blue fields of tpace— The gull with a cloud's white beauty, The cloud with a gull's slow grace. It may be noted with legitimate pride that the "Auckland Star" is again among the sources to which acknowledgment is made. Harry H. Tombs, Ltuf, publish ' the volume in the familiar and attractive format.