SCHOOLBOY POETRY.

Press, Volume LXI, Issue 18569, 19 December 1925, Page 15

SCHOOLBOY POETRY.

SOME EXAMINATION VERSES. ibv Aubrey de Selineourt. in the "Nineteenth Century.") [Abrideod.] Hnzlitt said somewhere that one of the surest signs of literary mediocrity whs to have been a University Prizeman. He was speaking, in'his petulant way, of the Prize Essayist; but without doubt he would havo- extended tho malicious criticism with equal or greater relish to tho Prize Poet. It is always pleasant to poke fun at established reputation, whether in individuals or in institutions; and Hazlitt in this instance must have enjoyed doing so in direct proportion to the feelings of glee on tho one hand and of indignation on tho other which ho hoped to arouse. It is worth observing, however, two things: first, that Hazlitt's criticism is probably true; secondly, that those who resent the implication that the universities are not the homes of learning which they had always supposed them to be are taking offence at an imaginary insult. Homes of learning they certainly arc, but not homes of literature; and the forms of activity which literature and learning respectively represent, are not only different, but often hostile the one to the other, and complementary, when they are complementary, not by necessity, but by a very fortunate' accident.

The poetry of young men between the ages of nineteen ;ind twenty-three, provided that these same young men have no title immediate or prospective to real greatness, is seldom poetry at all in any true sense. They have read too much and know too little. For them the age of poetry is past; they have left it behind, as they have left their riotous songs and their rich inventiveness of play, which arc a kind of poetry. Boys, on the other hand (and doubtless girls, too, in an eqnal degreo), frequently, between tho ages of ten and fourteen, make poetry which true criticism is forced to recognise as genuine. Many boys find little labour in metrical composition. This may be partly because their own minds are . unhampered by any external critical standard, so that they feel no compunction tn leaving in the rough such places in their work as cause them difficulty. This, however, explains nothing but tho defects of their work; its qualities aro only tho more remarkable. Tho following poem, by a boy of thirteen, was written against time in an examination for a scholarship—surely the most dismal circumstances which could possibly clog a poet's faßcy! The question was, "Write a short poem, beginning with, tho following linos:

I think I know what I would be If they would leave the choice to mo.**

The answor, which follows,, in spite of many bald patches and flat lines, is fall of spirit and speed:

I think I know what I would he If they would leave the choice to one; I would, I have no doubt at all.

Be excellent with bat and ball; A cricketer professional Like Gunn or Hardßtaff, Hobbs or Hitch: I really do not qui to know which. Or I'd be Alletsoa, and-hit Sixes, and watch the fielders flit Across the veld, and see the ball, Flying along, elude them all. A two, a three, a six, a four; Each over many runs I'd score, Until at last a hit would rise Higher and higher to the skies. "A six, a six!" the crowd would say; But every dog mußt have his day, For seel Along the boundary fence There runs a man with muscles tense: Ho stretches out his hand; the ball Into his palm doth swiftly fallHe keeps it there, a wondrous catch, Which, for their side may win the match. Or else I would a bowler bo. The scattered stumps I'd love to Or umpire's hand uplifted high Towards the lovely turquoise sky. But oh I hdv terrible to see The umpire gasing straight at me. And lifting up his hand eay, "Out!" When I have made precisely Nowt. (I hope you will excuse this rhyme; I'd change it if I had mora time.) You see, I know what I would be If they woald leave the choice to me. I do not envy a K. 0.: I never would be an M.P. Nor would I earn a lawyer's fee; A policeman's life, a sailor's free Existence, I'd not have;, you see I know what suits me to a T. 'Tis not to ride tho swift gee-gee, Nor yet to sail as an A.8.: Nor use the Editorial "We": But I'd excel with bat and ball, A cricketer professional. [Age tWrteen,]

This is undoubtedly verse, and not poetry; but it is ao much better f&aa the semj-facotious, mock-GUbertian verse's for which many boys have an easy talent, that it deserves quotation in full in company with pieces which claim a more real merit. Part of its interest, moreover, derives precisely from the faet that the boy who wrote it so obviously does not possess the special temperament and abilities which would bo naturally associated with literary interests. Hfl ii a perfectly "normal" boy. Forced, to express himself in verse, ho has the good sense to do so literally and truthfully; and, with the help of the clear, direct vision, and of the Bense of rhythm, which are natural to most boys, be produces a set of verses which are admirable in their vigour and liveliness. Here are two poems, of a more strictly imaginative kind, on. a favourite subject—pirate ships: | Tito a stormy night and the -waves leapt hifca, Toward the dark and thundering sky. The lightning, herald of each roar, Revealed tho dark and wave-beat shore; And 'midst this awe-inspiring sight A ship went battling through the night. Her ancient sails of grey and brown In worn and tattered strips hung down, And masts and rigging torn by gales Lay in confusion with the sails. Then when the great Bhip nearer drew Upon her decks we sav hor crew, Clothed all in garbs of time long past, Stand silent 'mid the furious blast; And as the vesuel onward came In lettering dim wo saw her name. We shuddered. Men had often told Of Van der Decken, pirate bold. Doomed with his crew to try to sail For ever round the Horn, and fail. Then when the Dutchman saw oar craft Battling the waves, lie loudly laughed. I Then, urging on his ghostly crew, ,H© faded in the stormy blue. [Age fourteen.]

And this by a boy a year younger: Ever and ever I Mil these sea*. Ever and ever again. 1 sail through snow, white the fast winds blow, &nd through the driving rain. I lived my life as a pirate bold, A pirate bold was I. And now 1 am dead, whose hands art) red From" tho thousands .1 made to die. A horrible fate indeed is mine, A fate at horror untold, Kor ever to sail while the east winds blow. And the blood in my voias runs cold. And though my body is eonnted dead I ."till feel bodily pain; The hushing foam, like a fairy gnome, , Lcaos, o'er me again and again. I Thare acra times when I nearly round the Horn, And always the false wind turns. And I rave and ooree till my throat grows hoarse, And oh how my tierce heart burns I There is never » cabin on my ship, In my ship by the WiupesU blown; And my skeleton crew, who number fow. Make, many a dismal jroan. The sailors ahnays steor me wide. As wide, as thoy well can co. For if ever they sight my sbip all white, "Tia the sifrn of death, they know. Ay, it cv«r a- man should see my ship, My ship with it* ghastly crow. Who shriek and wail lit* a rendintr sail, litt him pray, for bis hours aro fow. Such Ibe.bfe I live: 'tis life in death To live on in this way. And I thrnk of the pain, and the oold. and tbo raja; And I lonp for judgment day. [Ape thirteen.] These two poems were written by hoys of unusual general ability; they have, it is true, the qualities cdnvruon to tho majority of hoy-poets, natural case, directness, lucidity; bnt the form in each casn is somewhat more elaborate and probably beyond the reach of lite average boy. The. ballad which follows is. I think, a more typical example of schoolboy pootry at its best: THE BLACK KKItiHT. Oh, mark him well, a pallant knisht, His armour glisteninp in the snn. Upon » charger, black a* night---No danger horse or rider nhtiu- —• The Black Knight Tides. A dusky plnmo his bounet bears; 'Tis ever seen in thickest fight. And on his' breast hn over wears A matchless rrwo of purest white —■ The Blaak Knight's pride. .Tfe freed the land from many a foe. And resenod damsels in distress. Seltbijr them free from shameful woe; The poor and aeed join to bless The Black Kniphfs deeds. In joust and tui,.iiey ever first — First is bo when the tranrpot 30*mds— He dares tho Norman do his worst: With blow on blow tho air resounds — The Black Knight reels. The moon looks down on Sonlae's field; On Saxon churl, on Norman knight; On broken lance, on battered shield. Bathed in a flouil of moonlight bright The Blaok Knight lie*. (/go thrrteeaj Theso fow poems should bo enough to indicate the grounds of tho beliof—a belief somewhat surprising to many people who are not familiar with tho mental life of small boys at school—that schoolboys of tho preparatory school ago havo a natural aptitude for writing verses. Much that is interesting might also be said about their feeling for the poetry which ie truly groat Nobody, indeed, eon teach boys either to write poetry or to appreciate what is written; the most that a teacher can do is to see that fine and true poetry is presented to them in an intelligent manner, and to unaorstand that, even with schoolboys, delight in good literature is the condition of any subsequent knowledge of it which is worth, possessing.