The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1907-10-27

great a. poetry. wore bad as stage pieces.
and We have Recently seen at tile very
theatre where -Sappho and Phaon' was
exhibited the melancholy failure of "Vir-
ginius," which. atrocious poetry os II In.
was once effective In tho acting. Not
long ago We saw the failure Of Stephen
Phillips modern ulysses" and last year
the cool reception of his -Psoio and Fran
ccsca." which had been hailed. between
covers, as works Of u high order Of merit.
And now -Sappho and Phaon' 10 the latest
sacrifice on the cruel altar OF Tradition.
che lntest costly Offering Of money and
thought and energy. Does II not scent
futileS Does IL not seem foolishr Doesit NOT
seem too wasteful to be encouraged
There is a young poet in this town who
say some day no IL going 20 write q play
in mixed prose and verso about modern
life. His scenes will be laid right here and
now in America: his characters will wear
the conventional garb Of the age. The ex-
position will he in prose, but when tho
emotions mount, when the play swings into
it's climax es, he will show, declares this
poet, that verse In still your only form Of
speech. that poetry hns not perished from
the world. Noble ambition! And may he
find a manage to produce his play and
actors who can speak his Enesi II he IL
greatly a poet enough, no doubt he can
shatter all theories. sweep everything be-
fore him. II he. unlike Mr.. MacKaye. can
achieve the mystic music and simplicity
and heart searching eloquence Of such
poetry as thess lines OF Milton telling Of
the loss OF Proserpine:
".'s which eos, ceres all that pain
To seek her through che world"
Andi II he can also writeu play which other
wise fulfls the modern requirements OF
technical skill and faithful portrayal OF
life and character. well. the crown and
sceptre are his. Hut while we are waiting
for him to write this play. let III not worry
too much over our low estate. let us not
be too sure that because the blank verse
drama does not flourish, poetry has there
fore persisted from the earth. Let us re-
mind ourselves now and then that IL Pinero
couldn't write "An Ode to q Nightingale
neither could Keats nave written "iris."
Let US try to sec in the loss Of verse from
the drama a compromising vividness Of
reality, as though tho stage had crept
closer TO life and could now help us where
before it only conferred with delusions.
anu, hDONe HI, feb US Try W ~ th"t tDVdy
does not reside alone in the " foot iambic
line. or in any metrcal combination OF
words. that common things e~nnobled, that
hearts touched with pity or warmed by love.
that sacrifice and birth and death may all
become poetry il a ray OF truth shine sud
denly upon them so that they stand out like
images for us 10 see and wonder az.
When Hildq exclaims. MY Kingdom.
Master Builder, my Kingdom on the tablet
the words carry a world of suggestion that
make them more truly poetry than anything.
perhaps. in "Sappho and Phaon.' And
the humble sitting room Of IVES Bigeior's
house. sleeping in the warm sunlight TO the
drowsy tick Of the clock. has the quality Of
Whittier's domestic verse about IL no less
sure and potent than @~Snowbound" itself.
No playwright need he less a poet for work
ing in the medium effective with a modern
audience-indeed. whether he approves or
not. practically demanded by the modern
audience. And. by yielding to his times.
he can surely accomplish far more practical
good. Trying 10 dam the stream OF ten
,iency with a drama in blank verse may be
heroic. hut il 10 not economical. h stream
flows on. WALTER r. Eaton.