THE WORLD OF BOOKS.

Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 18900, 15 January 1927, Page 13

THE WORLD OF BOOKS.

HALF-HOURS IN A LIBRARY. (SPECIALLY WBITTM JOB THE PE833.) By A. EL Gbikukg. CO—ON JAMES STEPHENS. I have had an hour of rare delight in looking through the "Collected Poems" of James Stephens, reading over again the old favourites and making acquaintance with a few fresh pieces. It seems a long time ago that I became the happy possessor of a shabby little brown paper covered book bearing the title "Insurrections," which, I belieire I am correct in saying, was the poet's firstappearance in print. The book was first published in 1909, when the author was quite unknown and, consequently, it was dismissed with scant notice. My copy is of a reprint issued in 1912, but I can well remember the thrill that came to me as I glanced at the delightful little ditty on the fly leaf:— What's the usa Of my abuse 1 The World will run Around the sun, As it has done Since time begun, When I have drifted to the deuce; And what's the übo Of my abuse? In his "Irish Literary Renaissance," Mr Ernest Boyd points out that it was not until James Stephens had become famous as the author of "The Crock of Gold;" that "Insurrections" was given favourable consideration at the hands of the critics. This fact lends interest to the argument advanced by James Stephens in the "Preface" to his "Collected Poems." Giving reason for discarding some of his longer poems—notably "The Hill of Vision," and "The Lonely God"—and also for retaining some pieces which, at the time of their first publication earned the universal condemnation of the critics—Stephens writes: "It is said that this is the day of the lyric, and the fact that it has been said indicates some displeasure on the part of those who made the discovery. A considerable part of our discoveries are only brought into consciousness by reason of the annoyance which they first, unconsciously, visited upon us. When we examine the sense of exasperation and thwarting that is expressed on the subject of literature, it is well to recollect that every.other art

is evolving in the same way, and is evoking the same distress among its adepts and votaries."

James Stephens is convinced that we live in a world of chance and he illustrates his point in a striking fashion. "The world interest to-day, he writes, "differs notably from that which gave it enthusiasm and stability in the past, for, within the last thirty years, the tempo of the whole world has been enormously accelerated. It is still' accelerating, and the technique that we inherited, in whatever art, from a leisured society, is not equal to the demands that are now made upon it, and which demands are still incoherent, it not unconscious. "We must evolve a new technique, or we must continue to compose, and paint, and write in the only form that can deal with an interim situation, or with speed—the lyrical form." Continuing in Hie same strain he adds:—

A revival of epic is not to be wished, nor. -while the general mind is ftecpert in what is practically a new element, is such a revival possible. Epic will only deal with matured, with thoroughly absorbed, mental or spiritual cognitions. It conies at the end of an era, and is a eummary ot or a reduction to mythological form, o£ all that its era meant. We are at the beginning of a new era, and who creates a new world must create a new art to expresß it. Already a large part of the writings that we call classical, have lost their authority, ana that not by being outmoded. It is not time but chango that is consigning these to oblivion. Another mind than that they reckoned with is consigning them to ooiivion, and thumbs may be turned down to all that could interest and excite the elite 01 only a generation ago.

Stephens goes on to maintain that the basis of agreement and tact upon which all our ideas of art, philosophy, and religion are founded is so slight as to he almost terrifying; a small universal change would transform them all out of recognition. Thus lyric like everything else must fall into disrepute and join the arts that were lost before it "epic, tragedy, romance, gaiety—lost arts all. And for a time, until a norm of experience is re-estao-lished, prose must do the.world's work, and we may, perhaps confidently, expect a prose renaissance." The enlargement under this head opens up a wide vista:— Here there is cause for speculation. ■\Vo cannot foresee the means by which prose can renew itself. Nothing that 16 outworn or overborne can salvo itself by its own virtue, for, were that virtue capable, it had not been overborne. It may only bo retrieved by the assault of a competitive antagonist. The transcription of. action for the sake of action lies upon all prose, like a veritable disease. ' As a subject action can achieve a really amazing clevornoss; and it is probable that the prose writing of the world has never been so clever or so varied as it is to-day. But, also, prose writing has never been so mentally lazy as it is to-day, and the lack of fundamental brain work, so evident in our novelists and essayists, is not compensated for by their evident agility. By taking over the story of action, the cinema will force prose to consider its means and discover its special or latent, aptitude. This taking over seems inevitable.

Mr Stephens enlarges upon the idea of the infinity of lyrical poetry, and which gives the lyrical poet the thought that there is nothing he cannot do. Without the feeling of power which this sense of infinity provides, an artist is helpless. The iyrical poet stands out as undisputed master of all the extremes that can be expressed in terms of time or speed. _ No other can alternate between excessive velocity or excessive slowness. "A swift lyrical line is as quick as lightning, a slow one can be slower than a snail; and it is only in those difficult regions, distant regions, that the poet can work with ease and certainty." What follows helns to explain the poet's estimate of his own art:—

All normal speeds aro prop*rly in the care of the prose writer", and It might be held that the greatest glory of a prose writer is to be pedestrian. His problems, technically, are more numerous and more difficult than are those that ongago his lyrical and epical brethren. The matter under description is, for the proso writer a complete interest. He cannot depart from it; nor treat it disrespectfully; nor overlook any of its parts. To observe his matter, to analyse it, and, if he can, to ornament it, is his whole duty/ Like the scientist, he can refuse to be interested in God, or in any abstract matter whatever, on condition that ho is thoroughly interested in matter and its modes. And m this sphere, the perfection that he can arrive at or aim at, is as splendid as is that of any other artist. .

On the other hand, the poet is under no obligation to observe or analyse as is the prose writer. The poet's business is.not with parts or details: he,may apprehend and generalise. Neither is poetry amenable to criticism in the,same way as is prose; prose can be criticised even when it is good, whilst only bad poetry—if such a thing is possible—can but be halted for examination. "The duty of a lyrical poet is not to express or. explain, it is to intensify life, and lis essence is properly indefinable." In his "Collected Poems" Stephens presents himself almost entirely as a lyrical poet, a fact which renders of importance the argument of the preface, which concludes: Tho epic poet differs in both technique and content from these other artists; and, as used by him. the blank verso form is incomparably the subtlest, the greatest instrument that literary art has evolved. The matter tbat.can be submitted to this form must be the gravest that the mind can conceive, and naturally the most intensely comprehended. It must also be a matter that can be hold, as it were, stationary. All speeds are at rest in this form. We: may not ask at what pace it moves, nor require any movement whatever from it. , It is always deeply religious. It is always romantic or truthtelling. Nothing in human terms has been finally uttered until it has been B»id in blank verse or its equivalent in whatever language. ' A lyrical movement in pro3a is a disfiguring feature in that art. A lyrical interruption in blank verse is just aa unhappy. In either ovent, the additional matter fashions a relief that is unpleasant because it iB unnecessary; imposing in the one case, a pace that makes proso seem under-vitalised, and adding, on the other, an activity that cannot but appear trivial. There is an affinity between blank verse and prose. Kb an aristocrat may, without loss of dignity, take on certain aspects of his peasantry, so blank verso (or epic) can neighbour prose if it wishes to do 60. But in either of these cases the converse cannot happen. The peasant can, indeed, learn something of fine or subtil manners from his aristocratio contemporary, and the prose writer can learn the same if he will humbly, that is, affectionately, study epic. If workers in j-irose did this, they could almost afford to cio nothing else.