GABRIELA MISTRAL.

Press, Volume LXII, Issue 18674, 24 April 1926, Page 13

GABRIELA MISTRAL.

(By Wm. A. Blake, in the "Literary Review.")

THE CHILIAN SAPPHO.

In publishing ("through the Columbia University Press) the complete verse and prose of that most attractive of South American poetesses, Gabriela Mistral, the Instituto de las Espanas has forged another dependable, and in this case subtle, link in the chain of intellectual sympathy by 'which it aspires to unite the two Americas. A book like Gabriela Mistral's "Desolacion," for those who read it, will do more to awaken a proper respect for the.culture and character of our Hispanic neighbours than a library of trade reports; and reciprocally a just appreciation of this poet's very considerable talent will contribute more towards effacing the discrepancies which divide the sister continents . than a dozen economic-treaties, a score of diplomatic visits/ and a mixed legion of sewing machine' salesmen, agricultural experts, mining engineers, rubber kings, live-stock princes, United Fruit inspectors, filibusters/ soldiers of fortune, and fugitives from justice have contrived to accomplish in the past. ■ The average North American's disrespect for Spanish American literature as sporadic and tentative is as fallacious as the Hispanic Amercian presumption that the United States is too much oocupied with the business of multiplying dollars to spare, any time to culture. Thero exist cultural and literary excellencies on each continent that the other has not yet begun to surmise. The South Americans, with their prejudiced gaze on Trance, do not realise that in the United States an' indigenous culture has emerged from the heterogeneous elements of our national life and is slowly extending across the oceans. The North Americans, rofnote from the Latin temperament and still holding a sort of oper.a bouffe idea of the southern republics, do not apprcci? ate to what extent the Hispanic American writers have thrown off' the influence of their, early French models, and have found their own level of creation.

Thq poems of Gabriela Mistral, howevor, were certainly not published bp the Institute. de.- las Eapanas because they accurately represent the author's native Chile. Their value, on the contrary, resides in the tremendous universality of their appeal. Gabriela Mistral is the most personal of poets. She . may perhaps be best, compared with the Russian Anna Akhmatova or the Italian Ada.Negri: a little lower on the scale of excellence than the one and considerably higher than the other. A poet who has already become a popular and, romantic figure in Spanish America, she has not as yet approached greatness; but'she has achieved a rare and positive degree of artistic excellence. Each of her verses is a gem, and her poems in prose aria beyond dispute the, most perfect in the language. Gabriela Mistral !s inspiration is exclusively feminine and lyrical. Her address is never formal, and gives little —sometimes too little—evidence of having been either premeditated or studied. She speaks spontaneously and outrightly in her own person to her familiar, whether her mythical beloved or that unseen auditor which to most poets is s realised audience, but to her remains her attentive'self. 'Her' poems are filled with the warmth of life and with its fundamental, .sadness. Possessed of an exceptional, natural beauty .of style and a rare ' technical mastery of her medium, she nevertheless writes simply and directly, with a singular candour of phrase. These unusual qualities combine, in ' the talent of Gabriela- Mistral, to produce an almost perfect lyricist, sensitive yet calm, passionate yet restrained, loving- the common benefits of love and home, children and familiar places s<j utterly as to become ih. a sense symbolical of femininity. , •: . A pure artist anfl a woman in every fibre of her being, with a power of intonse expression, which, with all its shortcomings, is unmatched by any of her living compatriots, Gabriela Mistral, in these scant 170 pages of verse and these'seventy of prose, has unquestionably made a contribution of outstanding excellence to the already considerable glory of Hispanic poetry. Hiere aresome samples of her method and manners,■ translated, a little freely, from "Poemas de.Eytasis" El Mundo. "They do not love," they said, '.'for they do not yearn. .They.have not yet kissed, for g'lie is still chaste." They do not know that we have yielded oursolrcs in a single glance! Your duty is far from mine and my place is not at your feet: and yet as I go about my tasks I feel as if I were weaving you. in the woof of my softest wool, and you feel where you are far away that my gaze is bent.on your bowed head. And your heart is bursting with tenderness! Dead tho day: we shall meet for one instant; but the sweet hurt of love will sustain, us until another twilight. And thoso others, who bury themselves voluptuousness without being able to become one, do not know how in one glance we have been wedded! Habladan de ti.... They spoke to me of you, abusing you with many words. Why will the tongues of men weary themselves uselessly! I closed my eyes and beheld you in~my heart. And you were pure as the hoar-frost that sleeps in crystals at dawn. They spoke to me of you, praising you with many words. Why will the generosity of men weary itself usfe» lesslyf ... I remained silent, and praise arose in my breast as the mists of the sea rise luminously. On another day they did not speak your name, but proclaimed others. in ardent glorification. ' The unfamiliar names fell upon my ears inertly, emptily. And your name, which none had uttered, was with me like the spring, which covered the valley at that very hour, although none was singing of it. Espetandote. I await for you in the field. The sun is setting. The night descends upon the plain, and you come forth to meet me naturally, as falls the night. Make haste, for I wish to see the twilight on your face! How slowly you approach! It seems as if you were sinking into the heavy ground. If at this moment you were to linger, iny pulse would stop from anguish, and I should stand white and still. You come singing as the brooks descend to the valley. I can hear you now ... Make haste! The day which is departing wishes to die on our united faces.