New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-07-08
Poetry. East and West


We may be doing our readers an inJus-
tice. but we hazard the guess that next to
none Of them know that the best magazine
Of poetry in the English language is not
published in London where dwells Dir.
MasefeldD, nor in Dublin (where every
Sim Feiner is a poet), nor yet in New
York, but in Chicago, lllinois-loop. levee,
st .kyards and all. 1t is called Poetry
(by honest right and is edited by Miss
Harriet Monroe. 1t is not quite business
proposition, five years old that it is; nor
vet is it a high-brow, charity affair. Peo-
ple that know and love poetry the world
ever subscribe and chip in as they can.
Those of our readers who read and like
our Sunday column of verse will have al
ready seen just how high is the mark OF
Poetry" To point our tale we are print
irg this week a column taken all from one
issue. its July number. And to give an
added notion Of the open American mind
and sense Of its editor in chief, we here
quote from casual review by her in the
same number. She is writing Of poet
who may as well be nameless, for he is
not the point, and she says:
This book has been so much praised by
highly respected reviewers that ! have taken
il up a number Of times with firm resolve
TO read il. But each time | have failed. Only
the heroic purpose Of writing about 1t en-
ables me to read it, because it is full OF
everything that | most dislike and resent in
poetry-from words and phrases initiative OF
a byeone diction or manner, like guerdon,
,aethinks, Of yore, the empurpled air, me
Hmpid surge Of darkness, the gray ana
lucent hour, the gods dmbrosidI ddIlinnce.
ard hundreds more such minor derelictions,
to the mortal sin of sacrilegious misuse of
great name and an ancient tradition.
II is strange that the lyric Sappho, whose
fame rests upon some thirty magic lines,
should have inspired more long-winded poetic
palaver than any prolix queen of history.
She whose song was of a poignant brevity
is made in this case 10 utter page after page
Of such cannery talk as this-I quote at hap
hazard, for it's all alike:
When shining day aroused the earth and me
turned me from that roadside home, full
fedged
in Aphrodite Not the gales of spring,
Dashing the tenuous, frayed clouds high up
the sky,
Were plumed with wilder rapture than my
heart
Nor was the earth's red longing for fruition
More hot than mine for Phaon.
| have dwelt at some length upon this book,
because it represents certain tendencies
which the modern poet should avoid with
every fibre Of his being and every effort of
his art. Mr. -- is manifestly a student,
and he thinks, like some of his readers and
reviewers, that poetry can be made out OF
old familiar devices special jargon, an in
voved and inverted style, ancient myths and
heroes, etc. The result is a smothering Of
whatever inspiration he started out wth-an
absolutely artificial product, with neither
simplicity, sincerity nor emotion, three quail
tiles indispensable in ppetrXl ,s
New verse and old are quite alike to
Poetry" 1t has room for everything that
is not just palaver Even strong and
scornful Phiistines, with lifelong record
of hooting at the very thought of poetry,
have been known to find pleasure in it.
The Invest art in America to-day is poetry,
and the Invest expression of that art is in
this little gray-covered Chicago monthly.
If you think we are too enthusiastic
buy copy of Poetry and correct our
estimate.