THE DOORMAN

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 815, 8 November 1929, Page 14

THE DOORMAN

r ßeviewsß Sc Notes^

Modern Poetic Tendencies WHAT OF THE FUTURE? £ Written for Tho San.] Broadly speaking, the poetry that is being written to-day is of three sorts. First of all, l here is the traditional stuff, which is modelled on Victorian lines, with certain developments added, and which makes no radical break with orthodoxy, even though it takes a few liberties occasionally. Most of the work of, for example, Humbert Wolfe, Edna Millay, Davies and De la Mare is of this sort. Then there is the realist verse, which is so rife in America at present —purely descriptive work, made as objective as possible. Robert Frost and others who practise this cult (the late Emily Dickinson dabbled in it at times) seem to strive to avoid at all c osts the methods of the Great VicTorian romanticists. They have discarded ail the traditional symbols of poesy, and their work has no flavour of ‘‘distance, loneliness, and singing," which Humbert Wolfe declares to be the three vital ingredients of high poetry. They have excluded as far as possible the subjective element, and i heir reason for doing this is not diffl- • ult to find. The progress of the * cience of psychology during the last 1 aw decades has been so enrmous, and the new knowledge in this field has shown the mind of man to be so much more complex than anyone had magined previously, that the possibility of adequately describing processes and states of mind in words is seen to be very remote. “No language,” these new objectivists say, “can ever stand up to the strain: so it’s no use trying to make poetry a means of recording the complex emotions that occur in the poet’s mind. At the same time, we're not going back to the trough of romanticism; so we'll confine ourselves to descriptions of simple experiences and events, of the sort that people can understand without having read Freud first.” The third sort of poetry is the work of certain men (and, even women) who, while casting venomous glances at traditionalism, refuse to believe in the inadequacy of language for transferring to their readers the knowledge of complex states of mind. They appear to believe in the possibility of developing language to such a point that it will be capable of being the vessel for the most subtle and delicate thought-processes. These people are the "extreme modernists” we hear so much about —E. E. Cummings is an example. In their endeavours to remould the English language nearer to the heart’s desire they are prepared to go to any lengths. They use a nice variety of printing signs, and their spelling depends pretty much on the way they are feeling at the moment. They do away with the syntactical structure of their sentences, arguing (quite rightly) that predication, when it occurs in our thought-processes, is as a rule implied only, and not formally stated, as in ordinary written language: and that poetry, if It is to be a true record of mental experience, must follow the processes of the mind as closely as possible. It is too soon to judge whether these adventurous souls will succeed in producing anything of value: but their method seems to me to emphasise too strongly the intellectual as opposed to the emotional side of poetry. If the reading of poetry Is to be made as exacting as the working-out of a chess problem, then I for one shall take to the bush, We read poetry very largely to escape from chess-problems, or their equivalents in daily life. The heresy of the modern psychologist-poets may be summed up very briefly: they give a meticulously correct account of an emotional experience, and expect the reader to take an intellectual interest In It. Unfortunately the reader is not an a rule greatly concerned with the emotional experiences of the poet unless he can share In them. Scrutinising the Inside of another man’s mind is a dry business unless you happen to be interested in pure psychology. When these poets do get as far as admitting that the emotional side of poetry-reading is more important than the intellectual, they make a further mistßke. They try to transfer their emotion to the reader by merely giving a literal account of it. If a man comes to me and tells me he is excited because a rich uncle has left him a legacy. I am not likely to be greatly moved, unless there happens to be a public-house nearby. But if he tells me that his uncle, knowing of my al> Ject poverty, has willed half of the legacy to me, I begin to emote strongly ] at once.

So much for the poetry of to-day. But a consideration of current tenddcncies leads Inevitably to the further question as to the future development of poetry. One may predict the future of aviation with a certain amount of confidence, but when it comes to poetry the matter is a little more involved. Any attempt at forecasting ihe development of poetry during, say, the next 50 years is attended with a risk of failure at least equal to that involved in fixing the date of Armageddon. But for my own part I think that most of the poets of 1980 (if society has not very wisely thrown the whole race of ballad-mongers Into the sea by that time) will be writing verse that will not differ greatly from the traditional work of to-day. It will, of course, have changed its surface appearance—have become, perhaps, a little less formal, a little more colloquial in its expression: the signs of (hat are in the air to-day. But the great poets of that period will, I fancy, be of the apostolic succession. And of the modern poets we read to-day, I hazard a guess that the people of 1980 will reckon Bridges, Housmaa, and Yeats aa th® three greatest. A. R. D. FAIRBURN. Books Reviewed “ HOP ” ■yyfHAT David Low did for Mr. Billy Hughes (or perhaps one should put it in the reverse order), Mr. Livingston Hopkins did for the late Mr. George Reid (or, again, perhaps,

Mr. Reid performed the service for Mr. Hopkins, but probably honours were even). From this the younger generation may gather what place Mr. Hopkins held in the affections of the Australians of another day. As “Hop” he was known to thousands wherever the “Bulletin” penetrated. He was born in America and one of the first tasks to bring him publicity was as illustrator for no lesser light (in those days) than Mr. Josh Billings. He was a popular free lauce in New York when Mr. Traill, who in the 'SO’s was managing-director of the “Bulletin,” persuaded him to pack up his pencils and embark for Australia. As a result Mr. Hopkins took a brief look at Auckland in 1883 and proceeded to Sydney where he began a career that was to win him an enormous popularity. Although he stayed in Australia until his death in 1927 he retained his American nationality. He dearly loved his adopted (and adoptive) country, however, and many Australians and New Zealanders have reason to remember his delightful hospitality at the Hopkins home in Mosman. “Hop’s” daughter, Dorothy June Hopkins, has written a timely biography of her father. It is admirably planned and carried out. Mr. Hopkins, an excellent father and companion, was a man of peculiar temperament, and who better able to understand and appreciate his varying moods than a daughter? Naturally enough. Miss Hopkins had a sincere admiration for her father, apart from her natural affection for him, but that has not induced her to write a monograph in the purely adulatory vein. Of particular interest to those who have followed “Bulletin” history are the recollections of Phil May and other distinguished confreres of “Hop” in the roaring nineties and the early years of this century. This wellproduced book includes a representative selection of “Hop” cartoons and nine delightful caricatures of prominent “Bulletin” contributors and executives by our own David Low.

“Hop of the ‘Bulletin'.” Angus and Robertson, Ltd., Castlereagh Street, Sydney. Our copy from the publishers. A New Zealander’s Novel.

A vigorously told tale, "The Flamoless Fire” by Monte Holcroft, who has been a contributor to this page, is a decided advance in quality on the novel with which he made his bow to the reading public. In this second book he has a good story to tell, and he has allowed his narrative to run along straightforwardly, resisting all temptation to introduce irrelevant matter. The hero, Vincent Appleton, is a carefully drawn character, and the author has shown considerable subtlety in the manner in which he shows us how this sensitive scientist re-acts to the adventures befalling him.

The story opens in England, moves on to Java, thence to Sydney. As the years go by Appleton is going patiently about the researches through which he hopes to save the world from the losses caused by rust. Interwoven with the Appleton saga is the story of Denny, an Englishman well born, who comes to Australia to escape the stifling love of an ardent mother. Denny and Coral Appleton cross each other’s paths with the sweet, inevitable result. Mr Holcroft has written a popular novel with more grace than that of many popular authors, and there is ground for the belief that better stories still will be woven in his fertile mind. “The Flameless Fire.” Monte Holcroft. John Long. Our copy from the publishers. A Real Thriller. So many have been the “mystery" stories published within the last few years and so varied their plots that one looks askance at each new publication. Too often a story falls below the standard one anticipates from its title and gaily coloured wrapper. “Murder at the Keyhole,” however, proves an exception and in consequence, makes enjoyable reading. Its author, R. A. J. Walling, retains sufficient of his facts to cause pleasant speculation in his readers’ minds, yet, at the same time, develops hla story without unnatural ireaks in the sequence of events. The crux of this ingenious story is the murder of one of a party of eight men in a library, the door of which is locked and the window shuttered. Obviously one of the party is the murderer, yet no weapon can be found among them, or had anyone seen le shot fired. The book is written in a powerful slyle, with particularly “live” dialogue. Though forced to play such intriguing parts as could exist .only within the pages of a mystery novel. Its characters are sufficiently human to be likeable or detestable as the fancy wills. “Murder at the Keyhole.” R. A. J. it at line. Methuen and Co., Ltd. Crur copJ from the Publishers. Time, the Healer.

That “Time Is a Gentleman,” healing our sorrows and bringing his own recompense, is the Contention of Charles Thomson in a novel of that title. A young American Quaker, one Mackenzie Duell, educates himself, practically and theoretically, to take up the broken threads of his father’s

career. At the age of 25 he goes to his father’s derelict estate in the Philippines. Here he intends to revolutionise the trade by growing cane and milling his own sugar. Fraught with the mystery of the jungle, unknown forces array themselves against him. Unknown enemies break down his confidence by infecting his cattle with disease, sinking the lighters containing his machinery, and burning down the mill . . . and inevitable ruin and a financial crash face him. With the dice loaded against him, Duell determines to win through without bloodshed. Friendless, his only allies are his Chinese cook, a Malay house-boy, and Lundu, a magnificent native madman. He makes good, clears his father’s name, rids the island of its fetish—the fear of Sotto, a half-caste Malay—and wins the love of an elusive maid, Feliza. It is a story out of the ordinary. “Time Is a Gentleman,” by Charles Thomson. Our copy direct from the publishers, Messrs. Cassell and Co., Ltd., London. An Indian Controversy.

i When that inquiring American, Miss Kathleen Mayo, summarised her couI elusions about modern India in her I book, “Mother India',” she could : scarcely have anticipated the acrimon- • ous debates that it has provoked. The j book made its first appearance in 1927, and within four months of publication I the first volume in reply had come | from the presses. Her onslaught against child-marriages, naturally enough, put India on the defence, and she was bitterly assailed in journals throughout that country. However, nine book replies have been made to lier attack, and now, at last, a writer has come to her aid. Mr Harry H. Field, in “After Mother India," has, as his publishers say, built a bridge between Miss Mayo and her critics. He has gone to many authoritative sources to find corroboration for Miss Mayo’s statements, and it will take c good deal of twisting to escape from the facts which he has presented. He proves that the child marriages are marriages in fact, and not mere betrothals as the defenders will have, and if his figures, which appear to be authentic, are so, 80 per cent, of the Hindu propulation of India does practice child marriage, and the infant mortality in consequence fs higher J:han that of any other country. He has even succeeded in "catching out” Krishnamurti, who is claimed by many as the spiritual leader of the West as well as the East. Mr Field’s championship of Miss Mayo has much more than gallantry to commend it. “After Mother India.” Harry H. Field. Jonathan Cape. Our copy from the publishers. Savagery! Just why “De Sade.” an elaborately tasteful publication, should have engaged the attention of such excellent book producers as the Fortune Press, certainly provokes thought, but here the book is, and it must have some consideration. It is a piece of unnecessary decadent writing concerning itself with the delightful subject of sadism. There are two parts, one an essay, and the other a set of illustrations which make the evil savagery of Aubrey Beardsley's drawing seem chaste in comparison. Mr Brian De Shane, who is responsible for the essay, opens it with an account of the pleasant little adventure which put Donatien-Alphonse-Francois, Marquis de Sade, behind prison bars. Then he goes on to his thesis, which is simply this: People enjoy the suffering of others. Hear what Mr De Shane says himself: "Christianity, education, religion, and the exigencies of social life have everywhere curbed, cramped, and distorted into strange forms of hypocrisy this savage and noble instinct. It has been disowned and disinherited; its very existence has been tacitly denied; but ever and anon it bursts into devouring flames, that lick up the paper barrier of convention, and for a short time at least it regains its kingdom.” Even if the sweeping assumptions of the essayist were generally true—mercifully they are not —the book need not,have been published. It makes no contribution to knowledge: it is not beautiful save in a bibliographical sense: and finally, It does not entertain. Mr Beresford Egan, who is responsible for the illustrations, is admittedly a fine draughtsman, but his artistic skill could be much better employed. Let the Fortune Press give us more of the scholarly editorial labour of the Rev. Montague Summers and others, but for mercy’s sake, no more of this intellect''*,! garbage.

“De Sade.” Beresford Egan and Brian De Chane. Tire Fortune Press. Our copy from the publishers.

Love in New Setting “There is a. tide in the affairs of men that, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." This is the theme exploited by Olive Wadsley in her latest novel, "Flood Tide,” the tale of a girl who deserted her fiance—on the evening of her engagement—for a new lover. Thoroughly modern men and women come to life in "Flood Tide,” yet beneath the trappings of civilisation is the age-old current of primitive

emotions —love and hate —which sent the cave-man to battle single-handed with his tribe to retain his mate. The whir of airplane propellers and the roar of racing exhausts run through this story of a husband and a wife parted through common jealously, and reunited only amid the shattered ruins of their world. “Flood Tide.” By Olive Wadsley. copy from Champtaloup and Edmiston. Cassell ancl Company, Limited. Our The Birds of Queensland BIRD-LOVERS in New Zealand where the forest folk are mostly dull in plumage, will long for a holiday in sub-tropical Queensland after dipping into "Birds and Green Places,” by Alec. H. Chisholm, one of the leading ornithologists of Australia. Although he calls it a book of Australian Nature gossip, it is primarily a book of bird gossip and for the most part confined to Queensland. But what birds they are: the rose robin, the red fantail, the yellow-spotted honeyeater, the paradise parrot (now almost extinct) and the lord of them all, the j regal lyre-bird. Mr Chisholm is a j careful and sympathetic observer of i bird life and a wonderful bird photographer, as the splendid illustrations show. He has a fascinating story to tell, and he tells it well; and his publishers have done their part in equal style. A book for every naturalist’s shelf. “Birds and Green Places.” Alec. H. Chisholm. J. M. Dent and Sons. Our copy from the publishers.

To N.Z. Writers

HANDSOME OFFERS FOR ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES, POEMS AND ESSAYS IN THE SUN’S ANNUAL COMPETITIONS

PRIZES FOR PHOTOGRAPHY j7*OR its 1929 Annual Competition, THE SUN is seeking original and hitherto unpublished short stories and verse. We are again offering attractive rewards for the best performances in each section. Since its inception The Sun has ' opened its columns to New Zealand writers, and has exerted every effort to encourage literary talent in the Dominion. This policy is not just an annual "endeavour,” but is pursued throughout the year. As a result we may claim to number among our contributors the best writers in New Zealand today. We hope this year to create new records. The following prizes are offered: SHORT STORIES First Prize .. £lO 10s Second Prize £5 5 S POEMS First Prize £4 4 S Second Prize £3 3 S Two guineas will be paid for each short story that is published (other than prize-winning efforts). The maximum length for stories is 2,500 words. ESSAY COMPETITION A prize of £2 2s will be given for the best essay (not exceeding 700 words) on “The Holiday I Like Best —And Why.” Essays published, other than the prize-winner’s, will be paid for at space rates. The decision of the Editor in all competitions shall be final. Manuscript should, if possible, be typed, and forwarded to: The Editor, The Sun, 42 Wyndham Street, Auckland. Make package flat and mark clearly: “Literary Competitions.” The last folio should bear the name and address of the competitor. Stamps must be enclosed for return of MSS should they prove' to be unsuitable. Entries close on November 29. PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPETITION This year The Sun is offering prizes for the best photographs submitted in the following three groups: Marine Landscape Figure Study A prize of two guineas will be awarded for the best photograph sub mitted in each of these classes. Photographs, in flat packages, clearly marked: “Photographic Competition” should reach The Sun before November 29. BOOKS IN DEMAND AT THE AUCKLAND PUBLIC LIBRARY FICTION “HOW AMUSING!” by Denis Mackail. “CHILDHOOD, BOYHOOD AND YOUTH,” by Count Leo Tolstoy. “THE REBELS ,” by A. Neuman. “ PETRUCHIO ,” by G. B. Stern. “COURTS OF MORNING.” by John Buchan. “NICKY, SON OF EGG,” by G. Bullet. “M I L LENNIUJB,” by Temple h “SKETGII OF A SINNER.” by F. Swinnerton. “DARK STAR,” by Lorna Moon. “THE WAY OF ALL FLESH," by Samuel Butler. NON-FICTION “THROUGH LITERATURE TO LIFE," by E. Raymond. “ON THE ART OF THE THEATRE,” edited by Gordon Craig. “PROBLEMS OF INSTINCT AND INTELLIGENCE,” by R. W. G. Hingston. “FROM CRYSTAL TO TELEVISION,” by V. Richards. “SELECTED POEMS,” by Ezra Pound. “A LONDON BOOKMAN," by F. Swinnerton. “VALUES.” by R. Mackintosh. “ANTHONY TROLLOPE," by Hugh Walpole. “THE FRINGE OF THE MOSLEM WORLD," by Harry Franck. “THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF MASSAGE,” by B. M. GoodallCopestake.