NEW ZEALAND POETRY

New Zealand Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 6176, 6 April 1907, Page 8

NEW ZEALAND POETRY

(From Our Special Correspondent.) LONDON, February 2*i. Mr Arthur Waugh has just discovered Die collection of New Zealand verse made by Messrs W. F- Alexander and A. F. Currie, issued as a, volume of the Canterbury poets series by Messrs Walter Scott some three months ago, and reviewed by your correspondent at the time of publication. Mr Waugh waxes quite enthusiastic over the volume, which, he says, “contains an astonishing quantity of delightful and suggestive verso." He continued: —“A\ o are astonished/ not with any self-conscious air of British patronage, as who should Imply ’Can anything that is good come out, of New Zealand?’ for, indeed, if natural beauty and innate romance are the fou.utaiu-h.eads of poetry, what laud should inspire its sous and daughters more eloquently than Maorilaud, , the country of a dying race aud an imperishable imagination? But, as a. matter of fact, some experience of colonial verso has forced one, even against one's hopes, to expect little from tho pages of a collection such as this. A recent anthology of Australian poetry, reviewed in these columns, revealed a vast amount, of rather tiresome verbiage, and Canada lias put forth a good deal of pretentious expression which seems to-cover, in too many cases, a minimum of thought. If, thou, one anticipated not too much of Nejv Zealand, it was only in the light of experience: all tho pleasanter to bo so effectually surprised. For New Zealand has done right well in verse, aud that precisely in tho field where so much colonial poetry fails; it is natural and it is sincere. It is true that wc find hero no 'full-throated' utterance, no really great poetry; nor do tho compilers make any such claim for their constituents. ‘They can write/ they soy, 'with more or less felicity what wo agree to call, mingling praise with blamo, minor poetry/ It is a modest claim, and wo should have been content to endorse one much more emphatic. We should say that they write of the life they know with a keen sense of its privileges and its shortcomings; that they have the singing voice in no uncertain degree; and that a deep tenderness and wistfulness brood continually over their pages, whispering of the half-articulato voices of the woods and waters, once so eloquent to the native, and not even yet silenced by the steady advance of commercialism. To catch these echoes is to share in tho universal inspiration of high poetry, and there is much in this little volume that may claim kinship with tho gods." Ensues a half-column of quotations in dicativc of tho. variety of themes attempted and tho method of treatment, after which Mr Waugh concludes thus “There is nothing of a very high note in all this. Much of it is clearly derivative; one can catch the echoes, now of Mr Swinburne, now of Adam Lindsay Gordon, now again of Mr Rudyavd Kipling. Aud, indeed, so far as manner is concerned, the compilers admit that Durr poets are forced to copy, partly for want of training, partly from narrowness of medium. But what is not copied, nor derived, but inspired solely by the poofs own heart is the simple naturaFpathos and human tenderness of much of the feeling, and the broad, open grandeur of many of the descriptions. The beauties of wood and wave aro always at the heart of New Zealand poetry. . . And it is here that the New Zealand poet of the future has his great opportunity. Ready to his hand, yet slowly fading into forgetfulness, is material for a great national epic, a much greater ‘ Hiawatha/ which shall enshrine the legends of tho Maori race, that ghostly nation 'doomed to pass/ which has peopled the springs and hillsides of the country with a glimmering fairyland of romance. It is a great opportunity, a goodly heritage. Which of the poets here marshalled before ns will be the first to enter the promised land and possess it?” This is very pleasant, but here is the “Daily News" review: “'My Pipe is Small/ the title of one of the poems included in this little anthology (The Walter Scott Publishing Company, Is), might truthfully be applied to New Zealand verse in general. With the exception of some poems hy Alfred Domett, the life-long friend of Browning,' and Thomas 'Bracken's 'Not Understood’ there is nothing in this collection that will live or gives much promise of any notable achievement in the future. At present the Now Zealanders are much better at football than they aro at writing poetry/' JETSAM (By “Topchston-e.”) According to tho “Feildinsc Star,” a particularly fine tomato has been named “Towlor’s Beauty,” and, adds -the “Star,” “it richly deserves the title/’ It is even hoped, “Touchstone” believes, that tho tomato will iu time bo sufficiently improved to warrant its being rc-namcd “Buggins’s Beauty/’ A body of Christchurch scientists in-

torriowod Dio Mum ter for Marino in riirbitchuroh with Dm object of having tin* Him'moa seni to the southern is--lands for scientific purposes. At first • iho Minister was disinclined to grant tho request,” but Dr Cockayne said “that from tho money point of view alono it was desirable that the Government should help the scientists, ns the result ef their investigations would bo watched all over tho civilised world, and t,lu> colonv would receive an adver. tisement on a larger .scale than that given by Dio triumphant tour of the famous football team/ 1 The Minister promptly changed his tone, and agreed to bring tho matter before Cabinet. “Not simple love of knowledge is Tho purpose of our colleges. Such notions are a trifle antiquarian; Not idly our reliance is Reposed in Arts and Sciences— Our energy is quite utilitarian. “When the 'Blacks’ returned victorious, The aspect really glorious (Wc mention hero that nothing that could hurt is meant) Was not, to the majority, A mere superiority, But the admirable, excellent advertisement. “Mere Art is but an attitude And learning just a platitude, And love of them entirely indefensible. Why keep an aim ethereal? Our ends are quite material; We're practical and eminently sensible. “For, see, our lofty intellect Will make the country scintillate: There’s money, tourists, trade, in notoriety!" Tims they vanquished his resistance. And the State must give assistance To so practical a Scientists’ Society. Prior to dancing a baka for the entertainment of the Japanese sailors, Mr James Moore hoped that “they would learn all they possibly could j about the colony.” It is believed that the hint has been taken, and that the Mikado, in a message to Mr Moore, has expressed his thanks for the timely reminder of an opportunity which was quite overlooked nhen Dio vessels were despatched to New Zealand.

In this connection, it may be said that it has always appeared singular that, while the Japanese know nothing of New Zealand beyond what they have gathered from reports and harbour and fortification plans secured by Japanese emissaries, Mr Moore and other New Zealanders know all there is to be known of the simple and charming little people who sing such pretty songs and use., fans so daintily, as described by Mr W. &. Gilbert in his great historical work on the subject. In tho course of tho discussion at the Trades and Labour Conference upon a motion describing certain statements by Mr Millar and Dr Findlay as “uncalled-for, offensive, and contemptible,” ?Ir Hampton (Wellington) said they were speaking Die truth to a certain extent in the amendment just carried. They could speak it more strongly, but they did nob want to be offensive. When Hampton tallo?, Thero’a a flutter in the dovecots, and, alarm throughout the State, And tho man who laughs at Labour thinks affrighted thoughts of Fate; Tho boiling flood of rhetoric outscorchcs molten lead, And tho foo is left for dead, With a horrid torrid adjective a-sticking iu his head. But—the things ho could'have said if he had cared about it! Lawks I Let us shiver —Hampton talks. But when Hampton talks. When, ho ‘'shakes her up" a trifle, when,! in fact, he really frisks, j The coalmen garden adjectives give way I . to asterisks, | And the Council room thermometer goes up by ten degrees. But—your blo:d would fairly freeze j If it weren't that he’s really calm and j courteous, quit© at ease. From the vials of his language ho has ' not yet drawn the corks: Faint not yet— he merely talks. But should Hampton really TALK, Should ho jerk the valve wide open, aud in passion hurl aside Tho trammels of politeness, and determine to collide With tho language to tho limit of his utmost epithet—,My brow is cold and wet When I think of th© disaster should he once got fairly Let us praise his moderation, let us delicately walk Lest our friend should rcallv TALK.

“An’ thim pampered wurrkers is boldin’ a conf’rincc t’ demonstlieratc thoir wrongs. It makes me feel ba-ad,” said Mr Dooley, “f think iv th’ attintioii that’s given t’ th’ wurrkcr an’ th’ old-age pensioner whin a lar-rgo an' sufferin’ class is neglected amidst us/’ “Who aro they?” asked Mr Henncssy. “Tli’ tourists, Jawn. Ye uiver hear iv a tourists’ conf’rincc, an’ yet Ink at what they have t* bear. I’vo just r-read another wail iv agony. ’Tis tlx’ beds this time, th’ callous colonial bod. ‘Fr’m wan ind iv th’ country t’ th’ other/ saj T s Mr Soton Karr, ‘th* beds won’t tuck in, an’ they’re har-rd and shorrt/ ho says ‘an’ totally onfit f’r a tourist. How/ he says, ‘how can yo find pleasure in roughing it whin yo have/ he says, 't* really rough it?’ ’Tis turr-ble t’ think, Jawn, that th’ rain falls on th’ tourist, an’ th’ win’ blows on him as if he was an ord’nary man, an’ th’ harbaryans that infest th’ scenery think a bod that th’ ould New Zealander slep’ on is good enough f’r th* haughty duke that gladdens our hearrts bo comin* an’ admirin’ th’ view. W 7 an day th* tourists will rebel, an’ pass a res’lution demandin’ that th* weather-must change an’ th* colony reeliso that .its firrst duty is t’ shrew roses on th* tourist routes, an* level Mount Cook- flat so as not t’ hurrt th* tourists’ corrns, an’ move th' harrbours into more convaynient places, an’ fill up th* river beds, an* sell th* fac’trics t’ raise money f’r feather bods. Th’ day will come whin th’ tourist will rebel an’ demand that th’ counthry he designed afresh. Why, Jawn, th* Gov’mint hasn’t even begun t’ reeliso that while labour is rollin’ in wealth an’ makin* a song about its woes, th’ tourist is actually enable t’ get a twinty.five course dinner at Pukearubo or get a bran' new specially-ordered sunset every day. An’ yet th* Gov’mint wastes money on th’ backblocks people that have no

arrtistic souls, an’ whose low tastes is saDsfiod with a road. Me blood wild boil it’ I wur a tourist.”