Evening Post. SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1909. COLONIAL POETRY.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVIII, Issue 9, 10 July 1909, Page 4

Evening Post. SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1909. COLONIAL POETRY.

It is only to a limited circle of English literary men that Australian or New Zealand poetry is known. In fact, with the exception of a few Canadian poets, not many of the singers in the Dominions overseas are known even by name in the Mother Country outside of the company of ex-colonists, and that knowledge is almost in the inverse ratio to local popularity. In the rush of new literature the thin and often undistinguished looking books from "the colonies" may easily be lost sight of and wait long for notice — perhaps to be dismissed at last with a few hasty lines. But there is certainly no deliberate neglect or intentional unfairness, as any one can testify who remembers the reception of "Ranolf aDd Amohia" by English reviewers, the kindly arid generous appreciation of Kendall's early work by the Atbenseum, or the recognition by the Spectator of the talent of Miss Jessie Mackay. The London Times seems to have awakened to the fact that colonial poetry is not as well known in Britain as it deserves to be, for in its fine special "Empire " issue it devotes special articles to Australian and New Zealand verse and to South African poetry. The former of these is of interest here, but would be of greater value if an English critic had been the writer. Presmnably none with the requisite knowledge were available, so the task was assigned to a New Zealander. From the literary side little exception is likely to be taken to his criticisms, but we are far from agreeing with his opening contention that home critics are reluctant to say"pleasant things" of colonial work. It is true that the favourable comment is not usually bestowed on the .books locally most in vogue, but surely his admission that 'Uhe mass of their countrymen care little more for refined poetry than do the vast majority of those who read, or do not read, in the United Kingdom " is sufficient justification. And his candid confession that under the shaping influence of the Bulletin the "national" school has become an echoing repetition of the themes and measures ol Bret Harfce and Lindsay Gordon — that in fact the work is no longer spontaneous and unaffected, but artificial and slangy — is enough to account for the fact that its defects " seem to jar in some ( peculiar manner on the nerves of English critics." The truth seems to be that the j Australian poet's lot is no harder than j that o£ his brother im older lands, if, indeed, it be as hard. He can not gain at the same time the admiration of the literary world and the shillings of the crowd. The scholarly .and refined bard can not compete in the market with the impressionist jingler, but each has his reward — one in the appreciation of the judicious; the other in the publishers' recurring cheque. New Zealand, happily, has not thought it necessary to follow Australian poetic convention. It has not felt that dne must be parochial to be patriotic. Therefore, all its poets who really count appeal to a wider field than do the Australian brotherhood of to-day, and can be read with appreciation and understanding wherever the language is spoken. Somewhat regretfully The Times writer points out that we lack "both a great desert and a great Bulletin." So much the better. Deserts are not inspiring; and poetry, fashioned ito fit convention, is not vital. The schoolboy who does not look beyond his own work shoves a steadily deterior- [ ating series of "copies" to the foot of the page, and the "young writers" who have "been scolded into having a good conceit of each other, and into indifference to London models and London criticism," lose by degrees such power and insight as they once possessed ; and even in Australia we hear the alarm sounded that the poetic fountain is drying up. A deplorable amount of recent Australian verse reads like a speech from the Queen's Statue in slovenly metre and faulty rime. Our living writers are still doing good work, and three, according to The Times, ore "of interest." These are Miss Mackay (whose "Gray Company" is specially named), Mr. Arthur | Adams, and Mr. Arnold Wall. But Mr. Adams is now among the Australians, nofc only literally, but in his acceptance of the conventions. Mr. Wall's scholarly and original work is described as characterised by "academic convention." But the name of Hubert Church — which is not mentioned — stands out honourably, and David Ross may at least rank with Adams. Probably the author of "Shingle Short" is not known to The Times writer, but in her work we have a new note, clear, strong, and unconventional. As yet, happily, we have no "school," no clique. Our writers are not afraid to deal with the great themes, as old as humanity. The more popular have never been in the front rank. Bracken — perhaps the best known name and the best selling — was very unequal, and has left little that will live. His familiar phrases have become catchwords, and are already quoted half-jestingly. Wills, fluent and profuse, was once popular, but never rose above mediocrity. lie wrote no line that he need wish to blot, but none that will be remembered. Our literature is not yet hampered and choked by artificial theory. Mr. Bliss Carman lately accounted for the genius of Wordsworth descending to "solemn inanity," and even "sounding tho depths of bathos" by the fact that the poet was "led

astray by theories," and showed how Whitman's "pet doctrine" "vitiated his whole artistic life." There may be a barren period in Australia just now ; but there are no signs, so far as we can see, of failure in the New Zealand literary harvest at present, and so long as ! in our free air and sunny prospect of land and sea, our poets find their material around them and "look into their hearts and write," we do not fear but that our literature will be worthy of our land and people.