The times., 1898-02-20
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A New Poet.
In a little book by Evaleen Stein.
called modestly lone Way to the
Woods" lovers of nature will find a
new interpreter of woodland sights
and sounds. Since Lanfer's Marshes
of Glynn," there has been nothing like
this little book in simplicity, beauty,
and sympathy with the essentially po-
etic phases of nature. 1t is very
small volume, only seventy pages in
all. but every line is pure music, and
every image is as accurate and dis
tinct as the reflection of a branch in
the mirror-smocth surface of still
water. Miss Stein lives in Lafayette,
Ind, and this is her first book. 1t is
the work of a writer whose mind is
perfectly attuned to every harmony of
sound and color, and every subtle
meaning, in the twelve months of the
year. So perfect is this understand
ing between the mind of the writer
and the life which she describes, that
she does not hesitate, where the or
binary forms of Versification are not
flexible enough to express the idea, to
fan into new rhythmical forms with
an instinct as sure as that of Lanier
when he wrote 'The Symphony" and
made ii sound like the outbreathing of
mighty orchestra. There seems no
method in it, any more than in the
chaotic lines OF certain Japan-
ese paintings; but there is
method the surest method of
all-the method of instinct. The
only thing to be regretted in this con-
nectIon is that crowd of lesser sing
ers presently follow in the track of the
hrsI and think they, too. can use
rhyme and meter by instinct. because
II looks so easy, and the result is pain-
lnl TO behold. In Miss STEMS verse
nothing Is ever quite the same in two
successive poems. any more than Ma
tuIe ever makes two leaves exactly
ahhe. You may think they are alike:
put lay one upon the other and see
As an example of this varying me-
,eE mere is the opening of one of the
longer poems, called THE Bayou"
Below the bridge. little way.
rhoS rioSe taIoWnward near the hank. beneath
"e Wduer-oaks and elms. and SWAY
Far out across the current; down
DC ono the DRIFT. where. in deep pools
AnlOliS lne moses Ia wnv brown
The lazy river-musSels cling.
Where little turtles hide. and schools
or tiny fishes flash in view.
And part, and dart. and start anew
In eager, aimless journeying
And after you have reached the heart
OF this labyrinth of green in your float
ing there is verse which has the very
surprise and ecstacy of a bird-song in
its dainty rhythm.
And lightly. here and there. amonr
ne rusSet rushes. $ You 60
ne curling, purling riDples flow,
And TO and fro,
with fftful motion. family stir
1ne llne greenfilm the waves have hung
About the underwood and flung
In scarfs OF shining t,oSsamer
Upon the grasses, lush and low.
Then presently,
Beyond the lilv-pads. maybe,
Ihere DIeakSthe softly vibrant whir
OF waiting wings. and through the reeds
DpHSinE-IIsing-far and free,
A sweetly fluting throstle speeds
With burst OF mellow melody.
Not all the poems. however. are written
in this unique rhythm. Here, for in
stance, il bit of description in a differ
ent time and tone:
The cactus towers straight and tall
Through fallow fields OF chaparral:
And here and there. in paths apart,
A dusky peon guides his cart,
And yokeS of oxen journey slow.
In Mexico.
And Oft some distant tinkling tells
OF muleteers. with wa gon-bells
mat 9ansle sweet across the maize,
And green gave stalks, that raise
Rich spires of blossoms, row on row,
In Mexico.
And here is a stsnZa or two from I'm
Mid-October:''
Yet still the birch and maple trees
Have barely felt the frost,
Nor hint or happy harmonies
The blacsbird notes have lost,
And pink wild roses. here and there,
re bloSSoming anew,
While through the pT8irfes every where
The violetS are blue.
Ii is as if the aging year
A second time ha I'd found
Its childhood, whose first pla aythings here
Lie scattered q on the ground
From the very s,rangeness of their
form, however. the nsture-poen1s written
In the musical, irregular meter of THE
Bayou" "One Way 10 the Woods and
January are most impressive. The
poem January begins in this way:
To and fro,
To and fro,
athwart the unglinc, icy air.
The linden branches blow. and so.
With warp OF wind and wool of snow,
The weaver Winters shuttIes go;
Such garment rare
The earth shall wear,
No seftest ennine, neither vair,
Nor royal robing any where,
Nor any cunning looms NAV show
A fabric half 50 fair.
Upon the peach and pple trees
A thousa nd frosty fringes freeze;
The moon-vineS lace the lattice bars
The grass is fIecked with fIaky stars;
The clover-tufts are hid from sight;
And now and then. a bird alight
With burst of Gleeful flutter- 1aEs
The pearly laden red ose-hips,
And fitting aiTily. so tips
A tiny tempest, peitinG down
The slender briars bare and brown:
orelse some sudden furry stlrs
The fIeecy drifts that freight the firs,
And swept from silvery taSselS SIPS
A swirlinc cloud of trailing, bright,
Light scarfs OF powdered white
The making of phrases is the easiest
.biosr in literature, and the ability to do
This has been often mistaken by youth
ful sor,ibblers for real literary talent, but
tf there is poet of nature In this coun-
rr Who is absolutely artistic in phrase
making it is Miss Stein. Here is a tiny
etching of hioodroot blossoms:
White-turbaned bloodroots blossoming.
Like small green. caftaned bilgrlms. bring
The shrine of Spring
Their sweet Delated Offering
And here is bit of impressionism from
a spring orchard:
But by-and-h by. upon the right.
There breaks sudden CLEAN OF white.
The fitful hum OF honey-bees,
And, tinkling in its interval.
You catch the call
OF oreha I'd orioleS-then all
The blowing, showing apple 'iees
p.,rS I'M Sioltt