BOOKS OF THE DAV.

Otago Witness, Issue 3961, 11 February 1930, Page 68

BOOKS OF THE DAV.

MODERN POEMS.

“Twentieth Century’ Poetry”: An anthology chosen by- Harold Monro. (Cloth; 3s Cd net.) London: Chatto and Windus. “The Gully.” By Furnley Maurice. (Cloth; 3s 6d net.) Melbourne: Frank Wilmot.

The chief value of Mr Monro’s anthology lies in the fact that, as a whole, it gives a very comprehensive impression of the sort of poetry most characteristic of our century—at least, as written by those conscious of the spirit of the age. As the introduction says: In the future, the present period may not be noted for any one poet at all,* but, perhaps, for a kind of composite poet embodying the hundreds of poetical persons who are writing at the moment; “ there may be 500 excellent poems proceeding from 100 poets mostly not so verv great, but well worth remembering a century’ hence.” The tone of modern poctrv is certainly different from that of last century. Facts and fancies which, in the past, were disregarded, are here made use of. and metres and forms of verse hitherto ignored are the subjects of numerous experiments. On the whole, one feels, when perusing such an anthology as this, that the capture of beauty is stiil the main urge of those who write; but it is beauty seen through different eyes and pursued with different weapons from those used by past writers. Nowadays, poetry has to be read with the head as well as the heart; it is intellectual as much as emotional. And sometimes it is not emotional at all; all it does is to present a picture or a state which appeals to the mind and leaves the heart untouched. But w-hat is beautiful is extremely beautiful —especially from the point of view of ryhthm and sound. Harold Monro has obviously gone to much trouble in the compiling of this excellently produced anthology (one of Messrs Chatto and Windus’s Pheenix Library books, suitable alike for the pocket and the shelf, printed on choice paper, and stoutly bound), for he claims

it to be “ the product of a wide and diligent investigation of nearly all the books published in this century—about GOO volumes having been read—and not, according to frequent custom, made up from the multitudinous other anthologies of the past 20 years.” He has tried, in short, “to make this ‘ warlike and tragical age ’ speak as (dearly and authentically’ as it can through the mouth of its own poetry’,” and has succeeded admirably.

The poems cover a wide range of subject matter. “ War Poems ” interlock with and overlap all others right through, “ for the young authors who suddenly (as it were) burst out in flame through a fierce indignation against the war, are like a central pivot to the period, and were more than partly instrumental in the fresh impulse given, thus, indirectly, to our English poetry.” There are also many’ poems on love and death and Nature—lyrics chiefly these—some, reminiscent of ballads, and some, pieces of pure description. To quote any would be unfair to the rest. It is enough to say tliat here is a book for study and thought, especially’ by’ one who is concerned with modern poetry, wishes to know’ just what modern poetry is, and is desirous of connecting it-with the poetry of other periods and conjecturing as to its comparative worth.

Mr Furnley Maurice, writer of “ The Gully,” is seen to be distinctly- a modern when his work is laid side by side with the anthology’ just mentioned. His use of certain verse forms, his disregard for old conventions, and his absorption with the mental, as well as the emotional, value of his subject matter make him worthy to be recognised as a poet typical of his age; while the fact that he is an Australian and that his exquisitely’ bound and printed volume was produced in Melbourne, adds further interest to him from our own New Zealand point of view.

“ The Gully.” from which the book takes its name, is a sequence of 13 poems all in different forms to suit the mood of the writer, and all connected in theme with a gully in which beauty and inspiration are born. Those who have ever known a similarly quiet place and have experienced the wonder of being away from people and close to Nature, w-ill be specially’ drawn to these 13 lyrics which express so aptly so many of their own unuttered feelings; but anybody will delight in them for, their rhythm and music quite apart from their theme, are those of true poetry. The last of the 13 reads:

Now I have touched your soil I will go back Chastened and cleansed ; the plover calls his mate I’m bright with ardour, faithful till the wrack Of hurtling Time is piled at Heaven’s gate.

You are sufficient, bird and stone and fern: From you I have gained fortitude and drawn Serenity to suffer those who spurn ; I move through dullness, visioning the dawn.

The other 24 poems in the volume deal with such varied subjects as do those of Mr Monro’s “Twentieth Century Poetry ” —beauty, people, love, Nature, and so on —mostly of the descriptive variety which, seeing and feeling, record the impressions of the eyes and heart and brood upon them with the mind. There are also two narrative poems, the shorter of which—“ The Prying Slave ” —we quote in conclusion, in order to illustrate the command of lyrical language which is one of the chief characteristics of Mr Maurice: I saw the wood-light gleam Upon her arm As playfully toward the sluggard stream She let a leaf fall down. A light leaf small and brown Oh, then it seemed my heart rang With alary:; Spears leaped: I heard gyves clang Down the dark corridors of dream. I saw the dusk embrace Her body of light As she slipped down the stones with timid grace And swam beside her leaf. Oh. beautiful Oh, my grief ! Now haunted by her comeliness Day and night I feel her white feet press Upon my burning face. TWO TRANSLATIONS. “ The Hoax.” By Halo Svevo. Translated, with an introduction by Beryl de Zoete. (Cloth; 6s net). London: The Hogarth Press. “On the Ramparts of Paradise.” By Celine Lhotte. Translated by Olive Wadsley. (Cloth; 5s net.) London: Cassell and Co.

The two books —the first translated from the Italian, the second from the French—are both outstanding; the first because it is an example of the work of a writer now hailed by the Italian press as a literary star of the first magnitude; the second because, it won the Northcliffe Prize for 1929. Both are simple, well-written and excellently translated. In theme, they are dissimilar.

“The Hoax” is the much more appealing book of the two on account of the limpid, leisurely beauty of its style, the

correspondingly gentle nature of its plot, and its humour. “On the Ramparts of Paradise ” is too human, too realistic, too painful to be read with entire pleasure. Yet it gives an even more faithful picture of its time than does “ The Hoax ” —which perhaps explains the difference between the two.

The story of Italo Svevo’s book —the old writer making his fables, composing his novel, and reading to his invalid brother, the enemy who comes to make a practical joke of him by suggesting that his work is worth publication, the joy which such an announcement brings, and the subsequent happenings—is one of rare charm, and, told in a manner which never departs from being lucid and beautiful, cannot help but catch at the reader’s sensibilities. That of Celine Lhotte’s —the poor, tired woman who acquires a hovel as a home, brings up her family in the midst of poverty, and sees them one by one depart on their own ways and leave behind a heritage of joy, disappointment, or shame, as the case may be—is one of great strength and profound truth. As a belief in the power to create beauty in the face of all hurts is the main theme of the former book, so is a steadfast faith, courage, and hope that of the latter. Both are of the type to enrich English libraries bv their translation, and both are well worthy of the name of literature.

IN QUEST OF A DREAM. “ The May of Ecben.” By James Branch Cabell. (Cloth; 6s net.) London: John Lane (the Bodley Head, Lt±). book—a typically Cabellian one—King Alfgar, who, b’v right of warfare, had won the hand" of Ettaine, the greatly desired daughter of Thordis, forsakes his bride, his title, and his all to follow after Ettarre the witch-woman. Nobody but Mr Cabell would dare, in this prosaic age, to form such a denouement, and nobody but him would carry it through to such an unusual end. Admirers of the work of this gifted American writer will not be disappointed in this, which, as an epilogue savs, is probably his last Poietesme store. "

there are daringly su fT<T cstive books on the James Branch Cabell shelf of the library, straightforward novels dealing " itli modern life, short stories ranging through periods of history, and one or two extremely beautiful, extremely appealing romances. Of these last is lhe Way of Ecben. ’ In some respects it is reminiscent of James Stephens’s “Crock of Gold”—fluid, rolling and nimble as to language, and possessing a description of character not unlike those in that book. On the other hand, it is entirely Mr Cabell’s own, bearing his own stamp and defying anybody else to produce anything like it. The old trick of mentioning fictitious reference books with an air of thoroughly believing in them, and the ability to use words cleverly (as seen, for example, in the sonnet which forms the synopsis) are here as always. Moreover, there are numerous exquisite decorations by Frank C. Pape to add interest to each chapter, lhe Way of Ecben”—“a comedietta involving a gentlemen ” —is in the nature of a swan song, and hence all the more interesting to readers. The air of melancholy which, begun by the tale itself, is carried on into the epilogue, makes a fitting accompaniment to the author’s announcement that he will write no more. But surely he is not in earnest! A pen which can create such things as this should be chary of ceasing 'work even though it were‘wielded bv'a hand 50 years of age.

AMERICA’S “CAL.” The Autobiography of Calvin Coolidge.” (Cloth; illustrated; 10s 6d net.) London: Chatto and Windus, Ltd. The only way I know to drive out evil from the country is bv the constructive method of filling it with good.

Mr Coolidge was a safe President: there was nothing spectacular about his occupancy of the White House. Unlike some of his predecessors he did not advertise, but he did things. His autobiography is true to type—it is a plain unvarnished tale told in homely and restrained language. He was Vicepresident when Mr Harding died, .and the vice-presidency is regarded as the end of all presidential dreams. Mr Coolidge remained President for five years and then did “ not choose to run.” Even his recital of his repression of the Boston police strike, which was really a notable achievement, is told without enthusiasm. His book is, nevertheless, a human document. He tells of the scenes of his childhood, his efforts in seeking an education, he deals with the law and politics, describes his entry into national politics; he has interesting chapters on “ Entering and Leaving the Presidency,” and “ Some of the Duties of the President.” He will probably be remembered longest in the popular mind for his unexpected declaration, “ I do not choose to run,” at a moment when he was confidently expected to enter the lists for a third term. Strangely enough he expresses surprise that his unexpected decision created such widespread discussion. He is certain he did the right thing, and one feels that he did it for the good of his country and not from any personal feelings. “The right thing to do never requires any subterfuges: it is alw’ays simple and direct.” His declaration in regard to his decision was direct enough, but it w’as not quite so simple. A restrained American is always original, and an American politician who can content himself with an address of 42 words (as he did on one occasion) cannot fail to interest discerning readers.

“ Cool Cal ” is an interesting type of the small species of silent and able public men, and his autobiography will find many admirers.

FOUR READABLE REPRINTS. lhe Thunderer.” By E. Barrington, London: George G. Harrop and Co., Ltd. (per Robertson and Mullens, Melbourne). “The Leisure of an Egyptian Official.” By Lord Edward Cecil. “M’Lean of Scotland Yard. ’ By George Goodchild. “ The Female of the Species.” By Sapper. London: Hodder and Stoughton, Ltd. (Each, cloth; 3s Cd net?) Each of these books has been reviewed at full length before; now we meet them again in reprint editions, which make them likely to reach an even wider public than when they were first issued. The first, “ The Thunderer,” is the romance of Napoleon and Josephine, as told by that clever writer of similar romances, E. Barrington. Mrs Barrington’s glowing narrative of the passion and conflict that led up to the famous divorce’Enables the reader to live again in imagination with some of the great figures of modern history and to realise that even the giant Napoleon was no more than human. The other three books are published by Messrs Hodder and Stoughton. “ The Leisure of an Egyptian Official ” is a charming book of sketches describing Lord Edward Cecil’s 18 years of service with the Egyptian people, who were brought out of squalor and oppression to prosperity and justice by him and others like him. who wholeheartedly gave their lives and the best that was in them to the regeneration of Egypt. The gaiety of the sketches and the fun they portray conceal the ardent effort and intense power of work which they barely mention. The book helps one to understand some-

thing of the general work of the men of our race in the outer world, and throws a gleam of comedy on the class of Oriental rulers who succeed the English when they withdraw their help and protection from the weaker races.

“ M’Lean of Scotland Yard," and “ The Female of the Species,” are two detective stories by those well-known writers of mystery fiction, George Goodchild and “ Sapper.” They are both excellent, the first describing an intricate case of “ sleuthing.” the other showing Bulldog Drummond in a totally new kind of siuation. All four lawks are issued at reprint price—3s Gd.