4 OCTOBER 1963, Page 27

Viewing a Japanese Master

What ordered power! Such colours And such forms! A molten swirl As if of robes of ancient days, Soft pastels and stern primaries, A line which bears you where it will.

The master at his most assured, Not one hair out of place.

Only the policeman's eye Could turn this flux of stone: And find a monstrous weapon there Rooting in a melting wound, Robes which swirl so not to hide A detailed satyr on a staring girl, And every hair in place.

The law of paint is ours, Which feels no itch nor scratch.

split tree or girl's not our concern, The taster does not drink the wine.

Line, shape and colour fill their whole, They bear us where they will, Not one hair out of place.

D. 3. ENRIGHT .-eau AIM