Our Fortnightly Book Review

Radio Record, Volume IV, Issue 41, 24 April 1931, Unnumbered Page

Our Fortnightly Book Review

nee AN ANTHOLOGY OF WAR POEMS

Compiled by

Frederick

Brereton

N the eve of the sacred anniversary of Anzac, when long thoughts go back in pride and sorrow to beloved and gallant dead, it is fitting to read, mark and study an Anthology of War Poems, recently compiled by Frederick Brereton, with a wise and illuminating introduction by Edmund Blunden, himself a poet and litterateur of note. A large number of the poems presented were written in the trenches and in the war zone, and many of the authors literally "sang their song and died," thus leaving behind them imperishable testimony to the horror, stark cruelty and soaring heroism which were accompaniments of the Golgotha into which they were hurled. These vivid, virile verses of those who, being dead, yet speak, are an overwhelming indictment of the barbarism, inhumanity and awfulness of war between nations; and if for that reason alone should be widely read and pondered over. The majority of the men whose work is chosen were soldiers, "straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow"; although a few older writers are included, among them the veteran Thomas Hardy, Ford Madox Hueffer, and John Galsworthy, the latter being represented by a _ very beautiful poem which is new to me. Much of the work of Siegfried Sassoon is in this discriminating collection; terrible impressions of those horrors of sight and sound that etched themselves into consciousness of his sensitive poet-mind. In the words of the introduction: "Siegfried Sassoon eontrived to draw a sword for a greater ideal than the colours of a regiment, by recording what war does to youth and laughter in poignant epilhet and striking verb, in various rhythm and dramatic narration." Also, there are the well-known and most moving "Into Battle’ by Julian Grenfell and "Before Action" by W. N. Hodgson, two of those to whom fame was bestowed after death. There are five poems by the brilliant Wilfred Owen, who survived those catastrophic years until the war was almost over One of the greatest of that great galaxy, he was convinced by Mr. Sas soon’s example that poetry could ad much to bring us back to normal, anc found in "the pity of war, the pity wa: distilled" his inspiration and spiritua despair. "He perpetuated the genera

wilderness," says Mr. Blunden, "the charged atmosphere, the hardly sane constancy of the soldier, the pity which he desired above all to interpret." Wilfred Wilson Gibson’s beautiful "Lament" is included, and will bear requoting :- We who are left, how shall we look again yx. Happily on the sun or feel jhe rain Without remembering how ihey who went Ungrudgingly and spent Their lives for us loved, too, the sun and rain? A bird among the rain-wet lilacs singsBut we, how shall we turn to little things And listen to the birds and winds and streams Made holy by their dreams, Nor feel the. heart-break in the heart of things? There is so much that is poignant and brilliant and notable in the anthology that, if one begins to quote what is outstanding, this review would run to inordinate length. Suffice to say that, apart from the historic significance of the poems, there is evidence of great talent, in some eases amounting to genius. A touch of humour is apparent in "Il est Cocu-Le Chef de Gare" :- When I am tired of Gertrude Stein She said she said that she said she....When the expressionistic line Has palled, and Sitwells weary me... Two of the poems of C. H. Sorley are wonderful examples of ‘he genius of this young soldier, who, had he lived, instead of died for England, would have won lasting fame for himself and shed lustre upon our literature.

Ye look back into dim retrospect and sigh to realise how far the world still is from that haven of peace and beauty these young men hoped to encompass by nobility of self-immolation. . In eonclusion I quote the last lines of

Mr. Gaisworthy’s "Bells of Peace,* which seem peculiarly applicable :- Ring out the Past, and let not Hate bereave Our dreaming dead of all they died to wintl