THREE POETS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 26, Issue 659, 22 February 1952, Page 13

THREE POETS

KINDRED POINTS, by Henry Compton; Allen and Unwin. English price, 7/6. NORFOLK ISLAND, by Merval Connelly, Illustrations by Gordon McAuslan; Pegasus Press, 12/6. HOW SMOKE GETS INTO THE AIR, by | Terence Heywood; Fortune Press. English price, 5/-. AS the title of Henry Compton’s first L 2 book heaven and home appear as his two not at all irreconcilable loyaltiesHeart’s desire and hand’s delight Guide an honest man aright. There is too much of this unconvincing affirmation in the book, but other and deeper notes emerge, more particularly during the war period, and these’ occasionally produce something as good as this beginning of "On a Soldier Playing the Piano": The Naafi much admires The lucky, gifted man Who, lacking thought or plan, Incites these weary wires. Unfortunately, an@ typically, these lines are followed by thirty more which talk all round the subject without adding anything worth while. However, poems such as "Love" (first stanza) and "In a Bombed City in Germany" confirm the impression of a genuine talent amid the chaff. The first part of Norfolk Island, by Merval Connelly, is an account in rather formless verse of the history of the island; the second consists mainly of lyrics about its natural aspects. On the whole I find her work too diluted, but some of the lyrics ‘in the second part are slightly less watered decoctions of the real thing. "Island Nocturne," for instance, through its lushness, does evoke a scene and a mood-Mid-blue night, too good to waste when the great creamy moon Moves adagio behind, the pinnacles of pines. Such a quotation as Then from the salty manger Grab up the snarling darling is likely to suggest that Terence Heywood’s How Smoke Gets Into the Air. a verse sequence with a Swedish background, is more readable than in fact it is. It has some sharp phrases, but these with other less agreeable displays of recondite energy are used to hammer home lengthy "philosophical" observations of an uninteresting kind.

Hubert

Witheford