Raindrops on Banana Leaves .

Modern Chinese Poetry. Translated by Harold Acton and Ch'en Shih-Hsiang. (Duckworth. 7a. Bd.)

" To my mind," remarks Mr. Lin Yutang in his book, My Country and My People, " poetry has taken over the function of religion in China, in so ! far as religion is taken to mean a cleansing of man's soul, a feeling

for the mystery and beauty of the universe, and a feeling of tender- t ness and compassion for one's fellowmen and the humble creatures

of life. . . . Sometinies it appeals to their romanticism and gives • them a vicarious emotional uplift from the humdrum workaday world, and sometimes it appeals to their feeling of sadness, resigna- tion and restraint, and cleanses the heart through the artistic reflection of sorrow. It teaches them to listen with enjoyment

to the sound of raindrops on banana To fives ., to be tender toward the white lilies on the country path, &c., &c."

Tenderness toward lilies, to say nothing of " sadness, resigna- tion and restraint," are certainly not characteristics of most of our own advanced poets, and it is evidently necessary, if we are to understand at all the poetry now being written in China, to take off our Western spectacles. Then, glancing with a

naked eye at the list of poems in Mr. Acton's collection, we ' shall fad that even the titles are unencumbered with any

! nonsense about brave new worlds. Mr. Acton may be introducing us to new poets, but we shall not make much

them unless we can catch-that far from new " sound of rain- drops on banana leaves."

These poets have adopted Pai Hua, or the vernacular, on the principle that " no dead language can produce a living

literature," and as must be expected when classical correctness is abandoned in favour of a new simplicity or boldness, some of them fell at first into crudities and insipidities. However, in Hsii Chih-Mo, who was killed in an aeroplane accident in 1931, Mr. Acton discovers' " an Oriental counterpart to Rupert Brooke," perhaps on the grounds of his lovable personality, early death, and popularity. Then there is the dashing Ktio Mo-Jo, who says, " Even when I write a' poem, I Iet myself be carried away by impulse. Every time I have the impulse, at

once I become like a galloping horje ; when the impulse is calmed down, I become like a burst porpoise." His Resurrec- tion of Ftng-Huang, a duet of phoenixes, seems very spirited, like a kind of Sacre du Printemps. Perhaps " more indicative of future tendencies.." is rsi Wang-Shu, who " writes entirely

in free verse " and has evidently been influenced by Western romanticism. His poems consequently make a fairly direct appeal to an English reader. Mention must also be made of Pien Chih-lin, who has translated from Baudelaire, Mallarine,

Gide, Valery, and Virginia Woolf, and whose style is dis- tinguished by lucidity and rhythm; • and of Lin Keng, 'who " admits that his poems are mostly inspired by some momen- tary sensation or passing incident."

Comparing these contemporary poets with their classical predecessors, Mr. Acton remarks that " they are no longer great drinkers of wine, nor, alas, do they practise calligraphy

with the passion of their ancestors," but they are " a little weary of life, timid and attracted to the timid, dreamers who

are attached to their cool dreams." He has made his transla- tions so clear that it is a little hard to realise that, according to Lin Keng, " the new poetry consists of new sensations and emotions expressed by a new method." To an English reader judging from Mr. Acton's anthology its novelty is on the whole less remarkable than ita freedom from the admonitory

tone affected- by so many '*f oitr atm yonnger iii)ets„ ""-:'