OF N.Z. POETS

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 565, 18 January 1929, Page 14

OF N.Z. POETS

SOME NOTES AND COMMENTS NO. 7 MR. GEOFFREY DE MONTALK TjECLARING himself to be the poet and protagonist of the “abused upper classes,” Mr. de Montalk, mercifully enough, has refrained from the ardours of championship in his published poetry. The less poetry concerns itself with causes of any sort, so much the better for poetry, and the artistic sub-conscious of Mr. de Montalk has always been wakeful enough to preserve him from becoming strident in his defence of the old orders. An Aucklander, now living in Europe, Mr. de Montalk was educated partly at Christchurch where some of his best writing has been done; but now. with troubadour spirit, having taken his harp to other lands, con-

sideration can be given only to his New Zealand writing, for he has been almost silent since he went away. A provocative and original thinker, Mr. de Montalk, in a preface to “Wild Oats,” his first volume, has some stimulating comment to make concerning the poet’s position in New Zealand, j “Any fool,” he writes, “can mimic the voice of Time and give praise to the | illustrious dead; but the faith that is required of man is faith in the great- j ness that is around him. And how few j have it! For to recognise greatness j in another requires just a little great- j ness in one's self.” Mainly a per-1 sonal plea, it has, nevertheless, the j heart of truth in it, and de Montalk’s plea for himself is one that may be urged with equal justice on behalf of the young men and women who are labouring to-day to found a literature for a new' country. His poetry, strongly flavoured with philosophical mysticism, is carefully wrought, and he seems to struggle for the perfect phrase. There are no facile touches, and out of the obvious effort of composition excellence has come. With broad sympathy, he feels the stress that is known to scourged humanity, and while he writes of that and other common experience, he is persistent in his effort to attract attention to the spiritual antidote for pain. - his he finds in the dim, holy lights of cathedrals, in music osophy. Although he imagines himself to be the champion of a cause, he i& a writer with universal interests, | and amazing examples of large sympathy and varied interests are to be found in his poetry. “The Song of the Dead Rat” is one of the most remarkable poems written in New Zealand, and apart from the beauty of its form there is also striking thought in it. A dead rat in the gutter at Baghdad; A sleek green carrion bird ; A sweeter song. oh. Jshmahad , Than you have heard. (A corn of wheat must fall into the ground. And putrefy, and die, To raise the car, golden and round, Toward the sky.) The shining scavenger upon the edge Croaks, flaps wings a-sheen , And eats the vermin that will fledge That coat of green. Decay breeds life within her greedy maw— Your sacrifice is made. Poor rat. your atoms go to store Her wings of jade. The inspiration is furnished perhaps by Flecker, but de Montalk has stamped the poem as his own. In a memorial poem to the late C. E. Bevan-Brown, for many years headmaster of the Christchurch Boys’ High School, there is a glimpse of the poet’s belief in the power of spiritual things; In those receding hours not yet dissolved In Time's resistless cup of opiate, \ Light lives that we may not. desecrate With blatant, platitudes, nor may wc prate Of love so much above ns. and so great As to be in divinity involved. For tec, my brothers, shall forever know (When we in sleep or Death unfettered Freely to Certainty from this Surmise) 'Jhe pools of shadow in his amber eyes, A little lovelier, somewhat more than wise. Girat with the astral waves' continual flow . In a poem which has some of the remarkable onomatapcoic effects of Chesterton’s “Lepanto” he has been extraordinarily successful in form and effect. It was first entitled “The Sortie,” and he mentions that it is intended to be the germ of a longer work; j Like light that falls on temples below the morning star The children of the morning are panoplied for war: The light on breasts of steel and over brazen helms Gleams like the threads of sunrise a-laughing in the elms: The blazing banner flaunting its consecrated crest Long icill not leave the lances asleep upon the rest; The eager trumpet’s war-blast leaps like the flame at night , Burns like a brand of battle the early amber light. Within the old grey city the bells ring out for mass In. strongh»>lds where the weary from shades war may pass' And vet like light that glitters on temples from afar The children of the morning arc panoplied for war. Once again, expressing his disbelief of spiritual death, he writes as follows of a young poet who died;

O, friend! You fled too suddenly. And have not said good-bye: But you'll see there clouds, and poesy, Love, and an old-gold sky. You leave no hand to sweep the strings V** j & struck so warily here. Yet whence you go an echo rings, It is—l think—so near. Did 7 not know that you'll return In fairer form, more wise, I'd utter that the earth would burn, Most tert'ible blasphemies. you'll see the clouds adrift Upon an old-gold sky, And yon’ll k \ jip, poet, why they're swift And soft and pure laid high. And you’ll be back with wizard chimes And tunes upon your tongue And sing us with strange coloured rhymes. The songs you left unsung.

In this meagre survey it is possible to have a glimpse of the quality of the work of one of New Zealand’s most interesting young writers. He is still struggling with his medium; but in maturity he should accomplish much. lAN DONNELLY. BIBLIOGRAPHY Wild Oats," published for author. “The Sortie” appeared originally in The