The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1914-02-16
OkLAHONA MINSTRELS.
Grsno Sweet Sengs That Chant the
0u6alo and Mountain Eyebrows.

To THE EDITOR OF THE suN--Str:
read with interest your ecstasies from
time to time on those sweet singers who
make musical the wales OF Skowhegan
and Podunk. yet always with kind OF
panied establishment that you take no
note OF our Oklahoma bsrds. You speak
OF Coogler and Elmore. Conceive my in
disnation that you do not mention Fry.
Jacobs and others Of this new and miilen-
NAL Commonwealth. times noblest OF.
spring.
Is 1t ioathsome envy that causes you
to pass Up such mem Coogler and e.
more Go on with your base and per-
maps venal praise ] scorn IL. I shout
peans for Oklahoma. Hesperian bards,
! celebrate you Evohe Yet perhaps /
am unjust You In the sordid East cannot
know the appeal made to us In this great
palpitating West by native bards singing
local themes. How. for instance. could
you understand the thrill OF Fry's poem
on the buffalo? You zee before you the
wind blown plains, the sandy. treeless
Cimarron. the crawling spread of the
unhumbered herd, the Indian on his glass
eyed pinto. bow In hand And then the
surge and thunder OF the hunt. In the
background the smoky teepecs. with dogs
and pot bellied squaws. How lovingly
the author treats his theme Seeing ALL
sighting nothing. bringing out the small
est details In brief Hon,eric touches, a.
thus the Indian bow:
with this instrument IN hand
lie makes the buffalo stand
Beside the little brook
While on his hide he took
But i cannot dwell upon Fry. l must
hasten to . much greater. have before
mo the latest volume OF Francis Warren
Jacobs. I would that could give you
some idea OF these compositions, but I
A faxr ti,S.~
Irene may suggest what am unable to
express:
] was standing In the sunlight
AZ he threw his evening fusa
Croas the rolling. playing watsra
To the city. Santa Crui.
Al my fee, the ocean Numbered,
High voices rose here and there
And thu lips that love the mountains
Answered In the echo's biars
SUMS fame fell and stars unnum eered.
Ger the city by the sea.
Hung their lamps to watch the siumber
OF the noddins pines and me.
Here sat tn midnishts order
Bads the waters ranks retreat.
Then I rose to seek the city.
And In dreams my thoughts complete.
All the night I walked In wonder,
Up ana down tho vAIes OF strife,
just as stars fell dim and dying.
And the day stood up In life.
While the mountains seemed as eyebrows
On the forehead OF u dream
No moro. no more. Let mo break of
as this lovely image trembles In the con-
seriousness. Pausing moment ] recall
some Of the admired things Of verse
Wordsworth's THE swan on still Saint
Mary's Lake" keats's Magic easements
opening OH the foam OF perilous seas, E"
Shelley's tender bluebells. at whose birth
the sod scarce hesved." Shakespeare
''daffodils that come before the swallow
dares and take the winds Of March with
beauty" ! have thrilled over thom. But
what then? Is the canon closed? Ger
tainly not In fact, II Is generally agreed
that the defect of modern verse is its
servilty to outworn forms under which
inspiration falters and dies In this fresh
and buoyant West, untouched by the
blight of old things. men will arise TO
break the trammels which lie SO heavy
on the divine art As Whitman says.
Produce great men. the rest follows"
MoPsus.
Dosv WALLS. Okla. February 10.