" Aaron's Rod that Budded "

5s. Od.)

The Oxford Book of American Verse. Edited by Bliss

Carman. (Oxford University Press. 10s. 6d.) Handkerchiefs from Paul. Edited by Kenneth B. Murdock.

Limited edition. (Harvard University Press. 25s.)

EVERY poet has his rod and every rod its budding—whether of blue roses, orchids, mignonette, or little, crackling artificial blossoms. The breath of the poet brings them to life, and each flowers after the manner of its kind.

All this is suggested by Mr. W. J. Turner's poem, " Solilo- quy," wherein he becomes his own critic :—

" I am not a writer of lyrics,

But these fragments from my pen Have a hotter ardour than those of other men.

And r have imagined things stranger Than dew in the daytime Or the dry maypole that blossomed again. I have held the rod of Aaron,

I have opened my eyes-and it was Dairn."

The rod of this poet buds madly and beautifully. He does not train his blossoms, they clamber where they will, putting out unexpected petals and tortured tendrils. It is difficult to find a meaning in some of these " New Poems," many of them have no pattern, others comply to a most exacting form. The best of these latter, " Coromandel," a poem which will recall Mr. Turner's earlier art to his many admirers, begins :—

" I heard there was a sea named Coromandel Softer than the shadows of the moon," rhythm, Off: it. is intoxicating.,_ - _ There, -is something charming in Miss Frances Cornford's dedication to " William Rothenstein, who by the wise en- couragement and discouragement first helped me to find out

what I wanted to create." She has created a number of gentle pictures of the countryside. Her rod, which one likes to imagine as a slim, green thing, studded with cool buds, -Must surely have been cut from an English tree. Listen to this, from " The Garden Near the Sea ": :—

" The young green apples nourished are with raining And old green orchards blest ;

The cottage rose holds up the drops of coldness In her sweet breast."

And to this complete poem, " The Dead One ":—

" The wrong you did is gentle, like the trust You put in us, your voice, your eyes, your hair, i The wrong you have done is very quiet : just Not being there."

If Miss Cornford's rod buds into mignonette, that of Mr. R.

Fitzurse is slimy with a fungoid growth, none of it poetry, and much merely nasty nonsense. Possibly his book is

intended to be a skit on free verse, but the joke is a poor one.

-Mr. L. M. Crump's poems are a healthy antidote to the poison of Mr. Fitzurse. His rod has a vigorous and variegated budding. He writes delightfully of tigers, and the Indian hills, but there is a trace of homesickness in many of the poems, as when he sings

" The small, snug homesteads, not too far apart, Round hills that do not unto heaven aspire, A land wherein my soul can dream my dreams, A homely land that nestles in my heart."

We are so used to finding stores of delight in the Oxford Books of Verse that we cannot help being disappointed in Mr. Bliss Carman's choice from America. There is too much familiar stuff from Longfellow, Emerson and Whittier, too much manufactured'-verse from numerous- little poets, who have striven valiantly to write about something, anything, or nothing. There is not enough from Mr: Vaehel Lindsay, whose beating rhythms could have. done much to liven this anthology- . And why has that gem of Mr. H. H. Knibbs'i, " Out There Somewhere," been omitted ? That single poem is worth the price of The Oxford Book of American Verse. Also one would have liked the author to have included some of his own verses. Handkerchiefs from Paul is a collection of " Pious and Consolatory Verses of Puritan Massachusetts." Many of the poems are here published for the first time.

Others, by Samuel Danforth -and John Wilson, have been reprinted from rare originals. In the -introduction to John

Wilson's "Song of Deliverance" one finds the explanation of the title. " He was another sweet singer of Israel, whose heavenly verses passed like the handkerchief carried from Paul to help and uphold disconsolate ones." The following gives an idea of the manner of the poems :-

" For lo ! my ionah how he alumpt,

In seas and whales so deep, Because the Lord's commandment

He did refuse to keep."

B. E. T.