VAGRANT VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 20886, 23 September 1929, Page 6

VAGRANT VERSE

THE ORETI ANTHOLOGY.

238. —The Question.

(Written for the Southland Times.) “Who else is there?” Mr Epstein Why should a man who said, “I rest silent in my work,” Speak out in such harsh tones, And his own statement shirk?

“Who else is there?” Indeed! Others, perhaps, less loud, Who serve a different need, And cannot shock the crowd.

Are these less true and fine? Are they less of the gods? Are their sculptures less divine Than your stupendous frauds?

Epstein; with all your worth, Your noble portraiture, And all your pagan mirth, You are, in part, obscure!

And your barbaric groups Which puzzle, as they must, Arc modernistic freaks To go the way of rust.

But you, serene, cocksure Shout “Innocence,” like one Who seeks no way to cure The evil he has done.

Since Art cannot count time, And life and death are one In that great sphere of mine Which is man’s other sun.

And Art's creator lives But in that silent form Which gives and ever gives, A centre to its norm.

We can at least reclaim Some glory from white stone, Venus de Milo shall remain, Complete, unnamed, alone.

Wordless and without name, Unplaced but by hand skill; A pinnacle of fame, The perfect craft men will.

“Who else is there?” Who knows? Mankind is not yet done, Art’s battle forward goes, Is ever lost and won.

Its past has given leaves To Beauty’s golden flower, But who knows who achieves At this, or any hour.

For out of every age Time only winnows youth; Not yours to judge or rage, But wait for the whole truth.

And if you give your share To Beauty’s timeless cause, What other end is there, What need of mixed applause? —Southerner. Invercargill, September 23, 1929.

Note. —Jacob Epstein was born in 1880 of Russian-Polish parents. He was brought up in New York, and his early experiences of life are American. In 1902 he was in Paris, where he did not like the teaching, but was interested in the sculpture collections at tho Louvre, and museums. Chaldean, Egyptian, and primitive work had a strong appeal for him. At about 25 years of age he came to London, and immediately made an impression. He made a success of architectural sculpture and decorated many public buildings. But his art had not general acceptance. People who admired his bust of Joseph Conrad, for Instance, could find neither sense nor art in his memorial to W. H. Hudson. An Epstein controversy is now raging in London. The writer admires Epstein and admits his genius, but there are reservations.