The times., 1898-06-05
The Genius of CoogIer.


Sun, and this has been followed by the
recognition, at one time or another, of
nearly every paper of literary pretensions
In America. Mr.. Coogler has now collect
ed all his poems and published them in
! little book, four and one-half inches in
breadth by six in length, and about half
| an inch thick When 1t is remembered
that the contents of this book have been
! published in five separate volumes, each
OF which won separate reviews from the
press of the country Ii will be acknoWl-
edged that the author is one of those who
know how 10 put infinite riches in a lit
tie room" The wonder is that, like con-
densed air under too great pressure the
intense thought in Mr.. Coogler's brain
does not lead to disastrous results But
a verse on the first page of Volume V
which has been much quoted seems to
indicate that the poet is proof against ex-
plosions, external or internal and that he
VIII continue to think, and to express his
| thoughts in burning words, TO the end Of
time He says:
You may as well try to change the course
OF yonder
To north and south
As try TO suDdue by criticism
This heart Of verse
Or close this mouth
1-NN 20 iANHC Niisil ilO iillSBulutu mortal
VIII try TO do anything of the sort He
cannot succeed, and if he failed it would
only be one more martyr for whom no.
body could weep, and we have had enough
OF that kind in this country Let rash
mortals trifie with a cable car. fool with
buzzsaw, run counter to the prejudices
of all the small boys of the neighbor-
hood, but let them not come in the way
OF Mr.. Coogler with their criticism 1t
lG useless al 10
To those who do not yet know the per-
sonality and genius of J. Gordon Coogler.
II may be interesting to learn that he is
that almost anachronistic being, a poet
who does nothing but write poetry. In
these degenerate days, the poet often is
forced to cultivate his Muse only in
leisure moments. while he earns his bread
by running q bank. editing a news
paper, or writing rhymes about soap.
Sometimes he turns to prose as a means
of livelihood, because verse Is drug on
the market. This, we feel assured, Mr..
Coogler viii never do. He publishes his
own verse, and composes it, and sets il
up, and proof reads il. and pies it when
necessary; in short he does everything
for II from the moment of its coming into
the world except write the reviews of IL,
and a grateful company of literary crit
les are willing, nay, overjoyed, to do that.
In Columbia, s. c., this poet has long
been recognized as a rising sun; and the
beams of his verse have already smitten
our land from shore to shore with their
radiance So brilliant is this illumination
that the enthusiastic Cooglerite acts al
most as IL he had had d sunstroke.
But it would take another Coogier to
write review which would really de-
scribe this wonderful little book. The
best way to do that is TO quote from it.
1t is better cure for the blues than that
discovered by Mark Twain-infinitely bet
ter-and there is an added JOY In the
thought that while Mark Twain did not
discover his protege in time TO do him
very much good-not until the book was
more than fifty years old-Mr Coogler
has not needed the offices of a discoverer.
He discovered himself, and is having a
taste of that much-hunted thing called
fame without being obliged to take it on
a monument smiling at grief And yet
he is not proud. Hear this:
Youn never see this head too large .or nv hat,
You may watch it and feel it as oft you
choose,
But youll learn, as millions of people have
learned
OF my character and name rhro my iruoccnt
muse
But before this hat-flling epoch ensued
there were people who criticised Mr.
Coogler. and who met with due reward
for their behavior. Here is a hint of one
such incident:
IL MEMORIAL
CTo young lady who sought publicity by at
tempting TO belittle in public print poem by
the author entitled Beautiful Snow''-she has
never been heard from through the press since.)
She died after the beautiful snow had melted,
And was buried beneath the "slush;'
The last sad words she breathed upon earth
We're these simple ones, 'Oh, poet, do hush!''
1t would be mistake. however to ac-
Ia fpya of
of anything which could possibly appear
unchivalrous. Daring as well as poetic
he was the first of our native poets TO
sing the praises of the bicycle girl. Here
is little song called:
TO ALICE ON HER BIKE.
] turn round TO gaze on thee,
Sweet Alice, with thy gentle eyes
And brownish hair.
And looking thy smiling face
And slender form of winning grace,
call :hee fair.
love to view thy slender form
Upon thy bike of shining steel
Go flying by;
Fan would / start me off and steal
Round some lone corner where thy wheel
Might pass me nigh
There is a certain naivete in all of Mr..
Cooglers verse, an artless unconscious
ness of observation which is a part of
its charm. Few men, for example, would
have been frank enough TO acknowledge,
especially if poets that they had known
the feelings described in the following
verse:
OF all the sickening feelings
That swell the human breast
And worry the imagination,
None painful TO the heart
As those of early morn
After night OF dissipation.
Next TO this frank and engaging revela-
oe Nv
delights especially in quaint and unusual
metaphors and SMILES. and figures of
speech not yet named in the rhetoric
books. When this poet of the New South
launched his bark on the mighty sea of
literature he may not have discovered
new islands but he has all the symptoms
of a discoverer, an originator; something
Of that sort IS surely the matter with
him. Here, for example, is an effusion
addressed TO some fair lady of unknown
charms:
Like the leaves of the Summer rose
Were her pink cheeks and pretty nose
Just simply grand
The theme of all poets, from time inn
memorial. has been woman's perfections,
but not one of them ever originated any
thing like that. And here is a stanza
full of eerie suggestiveness:
i hate that upper, western room
In which the cruel lady sat,
All, yes, feel toward that room
As the mouse toward the hungry cat
And when the poets righteous indigna-
tion bois over at the thought of any
wrong done to woman, this is the way
in which 1t boils:
All heaven has water soft enough
Nor earth cleansing soap
That wash the crimson from the heart
hat dHctr Won INC hona