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not a to icter a5, art, der- ever -nor kint c 'THE definitive edition of Andrew Young's porter poems' contains 209 poems and a verse aY: the harvest (the term is more than usually apt) of fifty years of writing. This is, deservedly, a handsome volume. And it will seem un- generous to suggest that Andrew Young would have been better Served by a selection. Pace Leonard Clark, who supplies a business-like bibliographical note, I can detect but little de- velopment over those fifty years—the early Poems have the same strength and same weak- ness as the late ones. And there is a risk that the reader may miss those truly select poems, neither 'traditional' nor 'modern' but simply real Poetry. Andrew Young's is a very sympathetic P°`111e personality, but the range of his matter, as of his style, is limited : birds, animals, flowers, landscapes. reflections on decay and death--barely varied variations on these few if central 'themes.

the times his rhythms are merely mechanical, ,'"e rhymes too obvious: at other times, both are vitalised by a natural irregularity. For in- stance, this stanza from the very line Passing the Graveyard':

Why does it hurt the heart to think Of that most hitter abrupt brink

Where the low-shouldered coffins sink? sca poem felt out and thought out in the test seventeenth-century way. One virtue is ,4,1w4s present : accuracy of observation ('Roller- striped fields, and smooth cow-shadowed pond,' the 'reptilian heads' of asparagus), a botanical or (trnilhological accuracy which distinguishes this toet from all the 'Georgian' naturalists except 'Linden. This sort of substantiality and 'erlausness is rare. We are reminded of Edward .1. bullias, but Andrew Young is more fanciful, 111 free of (too free of?) that hardly contained desperation which gives Thomas's • voice its Peculiar edge. Perhaps 'fanciful' suggests Andrew (,)4og's weakness: some poems are marred by lo'se naivety; in others (for example, 'A Windy ar) keen and . amused observation is put to the service of a whiMsy, and the whole is less thito the sum of its parts. The eagle 'looks as crucified'. from his own wings/He hung down

-a perfect visual image: he does look 17e that—but, besides looking . . .? Andrew b L

aring is a modest poet too modest. 41 this collection, appearing at a time when th11'dernism' is clearly played out, should get attention it deserves. 'Passing the Graveyard,' toProspect of Deth' and several others ought -e sure of permanent attention. 11,:'1'.(fight Lines and Unicorns is an interesting "1;41 collection. But one mustn't be .browbeaten siYi. the blurb C. . . years of devoted craftsman- l • ..), for it seems to me a very unequal collection, of the kind that (blurb permitting) SWOUld call 'highly promising.' Some of these eems strike me as merely portentous; the last w.11tenee of one consists ,of the sole and otocure :41 'Light.' And the longer pieces towards the by Andrew strengthened the feeling (provoked perhaps

Andrep Young's 'Nicodemus') that to naughty

aAntis s list of poetic subjects which nobody unts any more of for a few years we might it (I. Reminiscences of Contemporaries of Jesus. bills good at Mr. Kniht as so much o say : it r. sometimes he takesg tooh many wordst to say %tr."?•Elsewhere wit accompanies a nice un-

in, for instance, 'Descended into Hell' and 'Poem of the Fancy,' we have the sort of 'uncanny' poem which can bear being kenned. When Mr. Knight prefers incisiveness to gesture he is good indeed.

D. J. ENR CHIT