New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1916-04-29

Nr. ROblnsOn's work. IL IS both ms
achievement and his failing. We see II
in his language, the thoughtful cpl
tibet. the figure that never reaches the
senses without an active journey
through the mind.
lie knows how much Of what men paint
themselves
Would blister in the light Of what they
are.
We see it in his choice OF subject, the
psychological portrait which he does
with less richness and greater subtlety
than Browning the philosophlc and
religious problems that beset the think
ing man.
But he is something more than a
rhythmical philosopher. His portraits
show an understanding of his fellow
men born only Of the deepest sympathy
Take, for example, this verse from ne
Poor Relation:
Beneath her beauty, blanched with
pain,
And wistful yet for being cheated,
4 child would seem to ask again
A question many times repeated;
RUt no rebellion had betrayed
Her wonder at what she has paid
For memories that have no stain,
For triumph born to be defeated
Even at their most analytical,
his portraits are rich in emotional i'm
plication. And behind his philosophi-
cal questionings we feel both the pas
sion and the pain Of sincerely rest
less mind. lie has, too. the humor SO
Characteristic of modern poetry, a
twin humor, indeed, the ironic child
# his brain and the gentle offspring
Of his sympathy.
The general level Of the poems in
"The Man Against the Sky" marks an
advance in Mr.. Robinson's work. For
pure poetry, however, he does not in
any Of these go beyond certain pas
sages Of Captain Craig" Nor does he
create any atmosphere as pervasive
and delightful as that of Isaac and
Archibald" The poems in this new
volume are shorter and more care
fully proportioned. They lose some
thing Of the casual charm that sprsng
from the very formlessness of the
earlier poems, but they gain in inten-
sity from their greater condensation.
All Of the poems in this volume, more
over, have real merit, while several
I'm Captain Craig" would, we feel,
have been better omitted.
while Mr.. Robinson has none Of the
eccentricities that mark the new
poetry" while he thrives on the limita-
tons OF rhyme and metre and dsdains
not, as poetic material, mans soul and
his deeper problems, yet one feels him
distinctly a modern. This modernity
lies partly, perhaps, in his humor
l. 4. oo4k0l md tlx
In his choice of subject, his ability 10
find inspiration in the familiar and, 10
the less discerning eye, commonplace
people that surround US. He, too, has
made the discovery that "the dignity OF
the subject is only a figure Of speech
and q misleading one" and from the
streets, the people, the doings Of every.
day life his sharp insight strikes the
poetic spark
The general criticism we have "a
bring against all modern poetry is tha'
Of meagreness. The poets Of to-day
seem to be practising on their own par
ticular pipes with vigor which makes
them deaf to the other tunes Of which
the instrument is capable. The Imagists
for example, are using the usual means
Of poetry-the vivid epithet, the figure
Is tIuo III NlltAAoNlNtrf AOoN HilA
Masters have dispensed with half tn,
poetic pack, and Vachel Lindsay has. one
Is tempted 70 say, picked up their dis
cards! The period may prove OF grea
value 20 the poets who come after, a.
hours Of practising must precede thu
performance Of a symphony. But th'
symphony is not yet, and the individual
achievements Of to-day the pos
sible exception OF Masefeld-do no
bulk very large.
We have Just been complaining o.
the meagreness of the modern poets
We now hasten 10 withdraw the accu
sation in the case of one. This is Mr.
Louis Untermeyer. His g. and Othel
Poets" proves him a master of all th'
pipes Of his contemporaries and brings
US Up short TO wonder whether, Gftel
all, II Is as much Of an achievement e
write good poetry as the poets woulC
have US believe. For Mr. Untermeyer'i
parodies are frequently not so mucl
satires as re-creations, combining
clever imitation Of style with an IN
canny insight into the deeper mysterie
Of the poets magic. Let US begin b.
quoting a sonnet on Simple Simon:
What does it matter-who are we u
say
How much is clear and how much their
must be
Behind his mystical directness-see,
lie left us smiling, and a bit sstrsy.
Yet there were times when Simon woul'
convey
A cryptic sharpness, edged with some
thing free;
For he was touched with fire AM
prophecy,
/ And we who scarcely knew him, mourn
him. Eli?
III say thi. much for simon' II hi
ghost
Has half the life Of many men. or most
Ee will not rest in the ophidian night
lie will come back and storm the west
ern gate,
Scoring such lesser things as Dealt
and Fate.
Well. there is that side, too.
You may be right
We fatter ourselves that our read
ers scarcely need TO be told that IN
real author Of these lines is Edwin Ar
llngton Robinson. We say real Au
thor" advisedly. Surely, Mr.. Robinso
is responsible for this cryptic humor
Gus portrait, and Mr. Untermeyer, b.
his own success, dooms himself 20 ~