WORDS, COLOUR, AND A THOUGHT OR TWO

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 115, 5 August 1927, Page 14

WORDS, COLOUR, AND A THOUGHT OR TWO

(Written for THE SUN.) T PICKED up again, the other night, A that poem of Edward Thomas’s, “Words," in A. Methuen’s “Anthology of Modern Verse." Thomas addressed his poem to Words as from the poet’s viewpoint, and says: —I know youj You are light as dreams, Tough as oak, Precious as gold, As poppies and corn, Or an old cloak: Sweet as our birds To the ear. As the \burnet rose. In the heat Of Midsummer; Strange as the races Of dead and unborn —" It set me thinking lazily of what words convey. ‘‘J.H.E.S.," who contributes the “Wooden Horse" column to this book-page, has given “lithe” as an instance of a word that adequately fits its meaning. To him “lithe" has not only “a perfectly expressive sound, but a perfectly expressive, lean and sinewy appearance. He also cites “glitter" as possessing a sparkling appearance as apparent to the reading eye as to the listening ear. Words do assume a definite colouring. Take, for instance, “opalescent." Opalescent is just—opalescent, and. there’s an end on’t. No other word could so aptly fit into the picture at times. Then “surge” and “plunging." What else could De La Mare have written in “The Listeners" save: “ —how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone?” Similarly, what word save “clopclop" so expresses the very motion, rhythm and sound of hoof-beats? And there is, of course, “drowsy,” and “drenched." Softly along the road of evening. In a twilght dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew, Old Nod f the shepherd, goes. His drowsy flock streams on before him, Their fleeces charged with gold, To where the sun’s last beam lies low On Nod the shepherd’s fold — De La Mare, in poesy, and Sheila Kaye-Smith and Conrad in poetic prose, seem to lend themselves inevitably to quotation when such a thing as word-colouring is being considered. Each one of us, of course, has associations that identify themselves with certain words and endow them with a sharp, clear loveliness or repulsion. “Crystalline" and “opaque" have for me a definite delight. Then there is “cool." One drinks the word in thirstily on a suffocating summer’s day. Carl Sandburg dwells lingeringly on it in his “Cool Tombs": When Abraham Lincoln was shovelled into the cool tombs, He forgot the copperheads and the assassins—in the dust, in the cool tombs. And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street, cash and collateral turned ashes—in the dust in the cool tombs, Pocahontas’ body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in November, or a

pawpaw in May.- . . did she wonder, does she remember, in the dust of the cool tombs ?— I also like “smooth" and “wildly," and “glimmering." “Glitter" is a little too bright and intense, but glimmering is something dim yet shining—a loveliness lighting a shadowy green dusk. And “wildly” ? —and I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight — Words like “ugly," “lust,” “gluttonous," and “suck" are—well, just ugly! Almost without reason I find myself avoiding certain words. Whether it’s because of some harshness of sound they convey to my ear, or some sub-conscious association, I can’t tell; but there it is. And nothing on earth will ever induce me to use them. (Mercenary Mary, who just poked her black head round the door, says that if I’m writing anything about words to be sure not to forget “money." I almost forgot it. She thinks “That is a lovely w r ord, now, so there!" So it is—when you've got any). We all have our likes and dislikes, though, as some brainy person forestalled me from saying, and words are

no exception. One could go on for hours about them —if one weren’t strong-willed. I am firm. I stop! UNA CURRIE. [Perhaps other readers of the Book Page would like to contribute opinions on words and colour. Articles or paragraphs should be short and to the point.—Ed., THE SUN.]