The BOOKMAN

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 507, 9 November 1928, Page 14

The BOOKMAN

Reviews! & Notes|

THIS POETRY BUSINESS

(Written for THE S UN) ■ DON’T want to be disagreeable. I don’t really. But certain of Mr. Anderson’s remarks on this page the other week in his “apologie for modern poesie” made me rather curious as to the nature of his poetic standards. He refers, for instance, to “true poetry, i.e., lyrical poetry.” Any other sort of poetry is apparently not “true” poetry. What, then, are we to make of narrative poems such as Housman’s “Hell Gate,” Morris’s “Haystack in the Floods,” or Browning’s “Childe Roland?” If these pieces, among the greatest in the language, are not poetry (in any sense of the word you like), what are they? Green cheese? I don’t know whether or not Mr. Anderson is, as he hints, in the pay of the devil. If he is, then Hell must be a quaint little village. For one thing I should like to discover what dictionaries are in use among the intelligentsia of the place, and what meaning they attach to this word “poetry.” My curiosity arises from the fact that Mr. Anderson’s “true” poetry, according to him, “must he capable of being sung.” Well, one could sing almost anything at a pinch. For a suitable fee I would undertake to sing anything at all, even “The Dynasts,” though I advise public-spir-ited persons not to encourage me in the notion. I presume Mr. Anderson means “sung with reasonable ease and appropriateness.” In that case, most of Browning and Hardy would be excluded from the select little list, to go no further. No, I’m sorry, but I can’t accept a theory of poetry which bars all but the lyrical variety. It’s like saying that cricketers are always bowlers, and that no batsman is a “true” cricketer; or that all parents are fathers. Mr. Anderson’s remarks on the emotional basis of poetry are extremely curious. He says, “True poetry appeals to the emotions. Poetry has no concern with truth, or even with thought.” Tut! Tut! Later he quotes Masefield”s trifle, “Cargoes,” as ah example of good modern verse. The point of this poem depends largely upon the setting up of a sense of contrast between the images evoked by each of the three verses; and not merely the images, but the ideas associated with them, of which they are the symbols. By a purely intellectual process these associations and this comparison are completed in the mind of the reader, and the poem has meaning for him. In addition there is the music of the words, the phonetic appeal, which is chiefly emotional. A fusion of the two is found in all poetry, in varying proportions. Browning is more intellectual, Swinburne more emotional. Neither is entirely devoid of one element or the other. Of course, Mr. Anderson and I may be talking at cross purposes. I have used the word “emotional” in a loose sense. What exactly does he mean by it? Perhaps he means sensuous, in the way that music is sensuous, since he smacks his lips a few paragraphs later on over the “music” of Swinburne. But poetry cannot be regarded purely in this light. If it could, then I, having no German, should be able to read Heine and appreciate him fully. Poetry must be intellectual to some extent. Even “Kubla Khan” is intellectual at second hand —through association. As’far as I am concerned, Mr. Anderson is most effective in defending modern poetry when he says “I grant you that it would be difficult to-day to match Poe’s ‘Bells.’ ” I sincerely trust so. Whatever may be urged against the moderns, they don’t do things like that nowadays. “Poetry has no concern with truth.” Well, if you reduce poetry to the level

of a political speech in this fashion, it becomes difficult to argue. Pilate is still unanswerd. All I can say on the point Is that, taking “truth” in the only possible sense, as being synonymous with “meaning” or “significance,” there are two sorts of truth —subjective and objective. Poetry is not particularly preoccupied with objective truth, though it uses it as a takingoff ground, to use a topical idiom. But subjective truth is the very substance of poetry. Doesn’t Mr. Anderson think he is really a little dogmatic? A. R. D. FAIRBURN.

Books Reviewed [

TYRIAN PURPLE K HUNGARIAN - writer, Desider Kostolanvl, has reconstructed Roman life in the decadent period of Nero, and woven the whole into a novel of absorbing interest. That brilliant Dutchman, Louis Couperus, in “The Comedians,” gave us a splendid picture of life in the days of Domitian, although it was perhaps a

little overloaded with detail. Kostolanyi, with the temptation ever before him to revel in the high lights of the Neronic age, gives us a satisfying and •adequate picture of the period, but with a restraint that is altogether admirable. The degeneration of Nero from a promising stripling into the supreme debauchee, the fratricide, the matricide, and the uxoricide, is told with a fine appreciation of dramatic values. Nero’s ludicrous public appearances as an actor, and the sycophancy that led him to believe himself the greatest artist of his day; his fits of morbid introspection; his craving for public adulation; his treachery. his lechery; his craven fear and alternating braggadocio all are treated with the same unerring touch. Agrippina, Britannicus, Poppaea, and Seneca live again in these pages. Here are descriptions of feastings that Petronius might have taken pride in writing; vivid accounts of the great public festivals; thrilling descriptions of mighty chariot races; faithful narration of effete social life. . . a living picture of a profligate age. Desider Kostolanyi may reasonably' claim to have discovered the lost Tyrian formula. His book is shot with the richest purple hues. “Nero,” Victor Gollancz, Ltd., 14 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London. Our copy from the publishers. Farm Life in Rhodesia. Opening suddenly on the theme of a resurrected scandal, which is dominant throughout the book, “Margaret Venning, Rhodesian,” the third book but the first novel, from the pen of Sheila Macdonald, is a simple yet skilfully told tale of African life. If there is a hint of melodrama, certainly borne out by the picture on the paper cover, in the emotions which play havoc with the peace of the quiet Rhodesian homesteads, there is also,

at times, a keen dramatic force, hitherto an unsuspected possession of the author of “Sally in Rhodesia,” and “Martie and Others in Rhodesia.” Margaret is a strong, lovable character, who asks only of life that it will treat others as kindly as it has treated her, yet who shows firm self-reliance even when trouble overwhelms her from a clear sky. The background of Rhodesian life and the varied problems which confront the African farmer, are drawn with sure knowledge, and intense interest in the growth of the country. “Margaret Venning, Uii;ni psi :<n.” ..Sheila Macdonald. Cassell. In a New Suit Bright and smart in a new suit of pale blue, an old friend makes a very welcome reappearance. Thirty years have gone since Sir Hugh Clifford’s “In Court and Kampong,” tales and sketches of native life in the Malay Peninsula, was published first. Yet the book is as true to life in the Malay Peninsula, and as clear a picture as it was then. No one has presented better vignettes of that life, among all classes of natives, than the understanding anfl sympathetic administrator whose excellent work among coloured races of the Empire in Asia and Africa won him well-deserved honours. The new edition has a very interesting autobiographical preface. “In Court and Kampong.” Sir Hugh Clifford. A new edition. The Richards Press. Ltd., London. Our copy from the publishers. The Making of Bertram. Therd has been issued by the publishers a popular 3/6 edition of one of Captain P. C. Wren’s earlier novels, “Cupid in Africa.” It deals with the experiences of one, Bertram Walsingham Greene, the son of a widowed army officer, and the protege of an academic aunt, under whose guidance he is reared. As a raw commissioned officer, the hero of the piece finds himself thrust into the thick of a little war in Africa. How he sheds his petty conceits, and comes through to win his spurs, is told in the author’s own inimitable style. "Cupid in Africa.” Captain P. C. Wren. Heath Cranton. Our copy through Whitcombe and Tombs, Ltd. Unravelling Mysteries. Carolyn Wells has added another to her series of “Fleming Stone” detective stories. “The Crime in the Crypt” tells how an American tourist is found shot and lying in a stone coffin in the crypt of an old English cathedral. Lovers of detective fiction will find great interest in the unravelling- of the’ mystery which ends in the bringing to justice of a master-crim-inal, who had been responsible for two murders of a similar nature. “The Crime in the Crypt.” Carolyn Wells. “Fleming Stone” series. .T. R. Lippincott Co., London. Our copy through VVhitcombe and Tombs. The Science of Tennis. Colonel C. de V. Duff is one of England’s games-experts, a tennis coach end lecturer, whose system of training has been recommended by the secretaries of county associations and by many schools and colleges. An expert, then. Well, “Lawn Tennis; Spin and Swerve,” ls a little book packed full of expert knowledge. It goes into detail. It scientifically explains reasons. This book does not tell you what to do with strokes the mechanism of which remains unexplained—it tells you how (and why) to make the strokes. It is not light reading •r even inspirational reading; it Is the ecience and the rigour of the game. A most valuable book. “Lawn Tennis: Spin and Swerve.” CoL *. de V. Duff. C.B.E. The Riehart* fret tai copy from the publisher^-

The White Stallion It began with a circus, a circus that came parading, in all the faded panoply of its dusty trappings, through the straggling street of a little western town. Ali Baba was a circus horse, but no mean-spirited beast, broken down by the drudgery and toil of a camp-follower’s existence. Instead he was a great white stallion of monumental mould, an animal with the form and spirit of a thoroughbred. Vasto, the circus man, ill-treated the kingly horse, and a westerner intervened. From that point “Wild Paradise,” a gripping western story by Kenneth Perkins, moves swiftly. Vasto and the westerner fought, and began a feud that ended only with the terrible death of Vasto under the pounding hooves of the horse he had maltreated. The pages of “Wild Paradise” carry the reader through the changing phases of the feud, telling how Ali Baba “went wild,” forming a herd of his own in the mountains; and of how the right girl and the right man came at last to happiness. Entertaining fiction, tolcT in agreeable, 'style. “Wild Paradise,” by Kenneth Perkins, published by Hodder Stoughton. Our copy from the publishers' Australian representatives. Two Gun Thrills When one opens “Pleasant Jim,” the latest thriller by Max Brand, one plunges into a glorious riot of adventure among the men of the West who carry two guns and knives in their boots. On the first page there is an encounter between the hero of the piece, Jim Pleasant, and an outlaw, on a narrow trail with a 2,000-foot drop into the canyon on the outside edge. A rancher, like many of our own farmers, Jim has a big overhead debt on his property, and the only way he can pay it off is to go man-hunt-ing, bringing brigands to justice and getting the reward. The practice is worth money, but it is not exactly as safe as raising a second mortgage. Unfortunately, Jim succumbs to the temptation to do a little “job” for some crooks, nothing very bad, of course, because he is as straight as the path of his bullets, and the law comes down on him. He becomes an outlaw with 10,000 dollars on his head, but after three hundred pages of adventure everything comes right. “Pleasant Jim.” By Max Brand. Hodder and Stoughton, London. Our copy comes from W. G. Smart, Sydney. Crisp And Fresh. The crispness and freshness of style draw one at once to the work of C. E. Roberts. While not prone to spasms of soul-analysis about his characters, he none the less contrives, In his own vivid way, to give a welldefined impression of their natures, their good points and their weak ones. In his latest book, “David and Diana,” he bases his tale on a whimsical analogy, and proceeds to follow the simple ways of the delightful Diana, and the mysterious David In London. The term “mysterious” is used advisedly. Such mystery as surrounds his identity is readily solved; but, after all, its introduction is just another twist in a charming tale full of novelty in treatment, idea, and character. “David and Diana.” C. E. Roberts. Hodder and Stoughton. Our copy from the publishers’ Australian representative. When Unions Began. Taking as his background the grim colliery lands of the Midlands of England, in the days when the miners were first getting something tangible out of their vague dreams of associations —the setting and names remind one of certain well-known spots in South Staffordshire, by the way— Bruce Beddow has written a startling book, which he calls “A Man of the Midlands.” There is nothing much of personality about George, that small plump and occasionally pimply son of a mining family, and yet as the tale goes on, and one sees how his first and only love for a girl ruined his career, taking precedence over his ideals: for the cause of the miners, driving him rather to the side of the bosses, and left him with a husk, one feels that the author knows quite a bit about life. The Midlands characters and the dialect are the best features of the book, however, which is really Well written. “A Man of the Midlands.” Bruce Beddow. Cassell. Our copy from the publisher.

With Feathered Friends In a neat little hook called for some reason which Is not exactly clear “Out of a Clear Sky,” Mr. E. V. Lucas talks pleasantly of birds. English birds, mostly, with an occasional foreigner. There are clear, light essays, some fantasies in E.V.L.’s own style, and a sprinkling of verses to add a delectable morsel to the author’s immense output. It is not a book for the naturalist who wants a concise study of the life and habits of the tomtit, but it should be read by those who feel a large friendliness for the songsters and warblers and chirpers of English vale and road. Birdy conversations are delightfully artificial, especially in “The Devout Plovers,” “The Alien.” and "African Entertainers.” By reading them one acquires a deeper sympathy with the points of view of the sparrow, that impudent chirper, the plovers whose vanity is satisfied when they know that no other bird has

usurped their place in the egg ket, the jay, the rook, and even the owl. There is an essay on tms strange bird with his “deep orange orbs, steady, incurious, implacable. Have you ever looked at an owl. How is this for a description of his gaze: “He remained motionless . . • save that every now and then a shutter, timed to about three seconds exposure, covered his Medus\like lenses and retired again into the machinery of his head”? „ _ ‘Out of a Clear Sky.” By "E. Methuen and Co., Ltd., London, copy cames direct from the publishers. Double Murder “When Hogues Fall Out,” by Herbert Adams-, is not, and was not meant by the author to be, a mystery thriller, though mystery forms the basis of the book. A child disappears, apparently without any motive, and in trying to trace his whereabouts a double murder is discovered. The story deals itli the piecing together of scattered facts, and with the exception of the actual murderer, the rogues are never hidden from the reader. The gradual putting together of the pieces of the puzzle solves the mystery concerning the connection between the child s disappearance and the motive for the murder. Had the rogues not fallen out among themselves, the murderer would never have been found. A little more mystery would have made the book entertaining. “When Rogues Fall Out,” by Herbert Adams. Methuen and Co., Ltd., 36 Essex Street, London. Our copy direct from the publishers. PUBLICATIONS RECEIVED “There They Crucified Him.” By the Rev. Tulloch Yuille, M.A., 8.D., Knox Church, Dunedin. 23 p.p. New Zealand Bible and Book Society, 48 Princes Street, Dunedin.