Visit from a Poet.

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 204, 21 May 1887, Page 4 (Supplement)

Visit from a Poet.

A loam man in a shabby, fur-trim-med ulster, his pockets bulging out with manuscripts, entered my office and «tood warming himself over the register. • Any man can bo a poet If he has aenso enough to know it, he said calmly. ' What's that 1 ' I asked, looking up. • Some men are born with to much phlegm To turn to odo or apothegm ; Others have not the subtle trick, The rhythmic art, of rhetoric ; Dull logic-choppers find it hard To sing as sweet aa the bard. But I embalm my lightest jest In sparkling ode and anapest ; AH thoughts reveal, all joys rehearse In following melody and verse.' 'Am I to understand then, that you never use prose, aud improvise poetry in ordinary conversation ? * ' Of fluent speech and nimble wit, Tn every mood, at any time In epic, lyric, sonnet, skit, Icily babble I my rhyme. I gazed at him in mute astonishment. He is a prodigy, 1 thought, approaching the stranger who had unmuffled his face and was chafing his hands. I scanned him closely. 'By what necromancy, man, by what subtle process of efflorescence are the delicate buds in your fertile brain unfolded into these gorgeous flowers of rhetoric 1 Where did you acquire the poetic giftr 1 At the foot of Parnassus I won my spurs— A true son of Destiny never demurs : So I left my bench in a cobbler's shop, And mounting my Pegasus climbed to the top.' • Well, indeed 1 But what a singular whim must possess you to thus eschew prose and poetize the common everyday experiences of life 1 ' * Prose is to verse as veal is to venison I crave to the gods no richer benison Than the poetic faculty of Alfred Tennyson. , 1 Great Ca?sar ! man, and are you never stuck for a rhyme 1 Do you write for the magazines ! ' ♦ The poet who writes for the magazines Must learn to live on pork and beans, Tko magazine fails— the only time A poet is ever stuck for* rhyme.' I sat musing for a while, then continued : I 1 believe the critics are not favourable to budding poets who spout Qommon-place rhymes.' ' What care we how the critics rate us., So long as we have tho devine aitiatus.' ' I perceive that you are a man of various moods, a master of all styles, and aro gifted with a fluency, an ease, a versatility truly extraordinary. But to what deeply-laid plan, or felicitous combination of circumstances, do I owe this remarkable visit r i ' 4 A poet is not born, but made ! I keep a poet's stock-in-trade — The c:itic9 thus confute. I am a true Olympian bard, I soil my poetry by the yard, In quantities to suit. ' Bold lyrics I can write with case At home I am in all the keys Of passion's diapason. I keep a bountiful supply For poets who may xotsh to.bvy.; I make a reputation. The real and underlying purpose of his visit was now clearly revealed. 1 Stranger,' I said to him kindly, l I am fraaid yon can't unload any of your poetry here. I lmve at least a bushel of poems of my own which I <can't sell at any price. Perhaps we had better adjourn, sine die.' Then I politely showed him the door and bowed him out as graciously as possible. As he slowly" descended the stairs I heard him repeating : ' Once I worked hard at cobbling shoes, But now I court the fickle muse, Neglected and berated. NHmportc, I'll weave my airy rhyme Upon the magic loom of time, And never wince and never whine, I'm not appreciated.