NEW BOOKS

Evening Star, Issue 25577, 1 September 1945, Page 10

NEW BOOKS

DOUGLAS STEWART-TWO VERSE PLAYS The most original, possibly the most important single writer's addition to New Zealand poetry in the last five years comes from Australia. Of three verse plays written by Mr Douglas Stewart, performed by the Australian Broadcasting Commission and since republished, two of them in an expanded form, one, ' Ned Kelly,' has been noticed in our columns. The others, ' The Fire on the Snow ' and ' The Golden, Lover,' appear in a single volumev Mr Stewart is a New Zealander, now on the staff of the Sydney ' Bulletin,' whose Red Page two "other New Zealand poets, Alfred H. Adams and David McKee Wright, edited before him. Poetic drama is a new departure in New Zealand literature. In English literature it has appealed more to readers than on the stage. The wireless should give it new opportunities.

Mr Stewart's plays certainly deserve that they should be read and also heard —more than once if this is a cultured community—on his own country's wireless. ' The Fire on the Snow ' tells the story of the last tragic phase of the Scott Antarctic Expedition. The last supporting party has been sent back; the heroic five, whose names should be household words—Scott, Wilson, Bowers, Evans, and Oates—trudge on to the Pole, to find that they have been forestalled by the Norwegians, with 800 miles to retrace. The background is given by an announcer, answering to the Greek chorus, who fills in the gaps between events. The play is poetry; there is no question of that. The bleakness of the wind-swept solitudes, the fury of the blizzard, the dazzle of the sun upon the snow, the rough going, made rougher to increasing weakness, are most vividly described. The characters are all individualised. Only in courage are they alike. In the loose metre which Mr Stewart uses for' his dialogue they speak as men do speak normally; there is no artificial raising of the utterance. Scott is the dreamer, dreaming greatly. It is Wilson who, by his understanding and sympathy, even humour, helps most to keep strength and patience in the rest, and by Wilson, even more than Scott, the* moral of the grim odyssey is expressed. We dreamed, we so nearly triumphed, we were defeated " As every man in some great or humble way "Dreams, and nearly triumphs, and is always defeated, And then, as we did, triumphs again in endurance. Triumph is nothing; defeat is nothing ; life is Endurance; and afterwards, death. And whatever death is, The endurance remains like a fire, a sculpture, a mountain, To hearten our children. 1 tell you, Such a struggle as ours is living; it lives after death Purely, like flame, a thing burning and perfect. That is high poetry, and through all Mr Stewart's play we are reminded of the prime object of tragedy, which is to " purify the emotions through pity." ' The* Golden Lover ' is comedy, with more variety of poetry and character —as much variety of character as 'Ned Kelly,' though with lightness, instead of vigour, of presentation. Jt is a Maori folk tale, and, boldly, but with perfect appropriateness, it is irradiated with humour; all Maoris are humorists. It is,still older folk story, a New Zealand ' Marpessa.' aud no doubt it is allegory, the interpretation being left to t7ie reader. The young Maori woman, Tawhai, who loves easily, finds her heart won from her fat, boastful, commonplace husband by her "golden lover," one of the fairy people, splendid as a god! She becomes the scandal of the pa. when she visits him, more especially for its women, who have little else than scandal to think of. But, after great perturbations, she decides that romance is for shining moments; one cannot forsake for ever one's own people, the husband who, for all his absurdities, is still toler-

able, and the humdrum that use endears, to live with gods. Life is not like that.' So the poem—it is as much a poem as a play—ends with humour, and the wise .tohunga who is earthly, not transcendental, has his wisdom approved. Some descriptive passages of this poem make delicious poetry, but they are long to quote. Words sing, as Mr Stewart uses them: '

Whana—how she steps towards me, pushing the bracken aside! And the way she holds herself, black hair 111 the sun Held high, a torch sweeter than the light; brown breast And shoulders leaning back from the chill of the fern, Mv little queen of the forest. Tawhai (calling). Whana, where are you ?

Whana: Sing, birds, my lady is coming to meet me! Three plays, all completely unlike. Here is richness!—Angus and Robertsou, Sydney, publishers.