Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1918-01-22
JOY! HERE'S A NEW
AND HUMAN POET
Riding Pegasus by Night and
Floorwalker in Department
Store by Day


w the poet Homer he liiened the JOY he felt
TO that which comes TO Some watcher Of the
skies when new planet swims into his ken"
But Homer was dead, and all little JOhnny's
poetic DulmOtors couldn't bring him back TO
life again or make him human.
But you, gentle reader are 70 have the
privilege Of sharing our pleasure in the dis
covery of one who is not only a true poet
but live and very human creature, who,
though he rides his Pegasus by night, is o
foorwaler iu New York department store
by day; there's antthesis for you Ana an
tithesis, you'll admit, if you know anything
about versc-maling. is a necessary compo-
nent part Of good poetry.
SO many books of one sort or another come
to the desl Of reviewer that only those
bearing a familiar name, Of author or Of
publisher, are likely to win immediate and
sympathetic notice. The thin green volume
accredited to the unknown Francis Carlin,
published by the never-before -heard-of Wolfe
Tone Company and handicapped by the in
sular, unnviting title MY Ireland might
have slipped unwept into the discard il we
hadn't been fortunately arrested by the warm
and simple beauty Of these lines on the page
Of dedication:
It is here that the book begins and il
is here that prayer is asked for the soul
of the scribe who wrote It for the glory
Of God the honor Of Erinn and the pleas
ure of the woman who came from Both
his mother,
The first poem. from which the bool; takes
its title offered the reader little inducement
TO go further. Tt is only an echo of James
Clarence Mangan and it has several unfor-
givable flaws, but upon the next page the
eye fortunately caught and frightened at
this:
THE Silly SEA
Ally Love has crossed an Ocean
And, l, would ii had the motion
Of but an ebh and how
Ny Love IS DER Water. ,
AP9a I would that had taught her
Follows a quaint Ballad Of the Bees"
blessed. among other things. with this quick
picturing Of a deathGed:
Cpou Il pretty summer day.
WSFii}E Walls, ar''s i We're Gis9 AND loud
With one hand IN his sHroud
But almost upon the heels Of this sturnbles
an cight-line lyric, called THE Happy
Thistles,' burdened with this unpardonable
liberty with the elements, wherein the wind"
is made TO blow--"r at least 10 sound--tvo
ways at once:
. Heart be still and never mind
I,hs II,hs hosssy forms hat ride tho, wind
And SO their world is free as Vino Wind. sum. IT,
There is much. however 10 make amends
for the few slips and crulities that Green
into the singing of this very human minstrel
His music is always sure and endowed with
wide strong WINGS and the flash of his hunor
is like the blue OF his Ireland's sky seen sud
denly and only for n moment when the
breeze parts the curtain Of mist. This
quality marks his ballad Of Blind OCahan."
It's a shame that we haven't the room TO
give In fun so tender a lyric as that ION
Eribeg Island in praise of the memory of
Fair Maeve," but here's a stanza:
thought OF her is like a dream.
So sweet she vas and brsht,.
NJ LkS S's2s v5ons oi oit HeT in to 6 ny spirit seem
Te! darker than robins esq
And lighter than the sea.
Where shall never be.
We can't go on quoting all the good things
In the book. There are $50 pieces In ali :
which makes the cost OF each something less
than penny, since the volume sells for 81
postpaid. But we must give at least part
of this singers picture Of the Irish, a char
acterization deserving Of place beside +hst
drawn by the famous Englishman, a.. X
Chesterton, who says, in his Ballad of t,c
White Horse:
tSor ne ne great S & &iaels %, Of ireland
And all their songs are sad"
But this young Irishman says Of The
Irish:
\ Child il he
with an aged smile
In The Oldest isle
or an ancient
AGa He who made
10 the yew-tree shade
And the dusty wind,
Nnere the old are laid.
In that strange lard
OF Innlstail.
For the Childish Gael
Who holds Gods hand
We caN this singer young for the sni,i+
| OF youth informs every page of h!s bool-
though what the sum Of his years NAV La
| he didn't tell In the letter written in rcgDopee
! 10 a demand for geographic data
| I'm grateful for American approval" bo
| wrote, from New York city. since 1 was
| born and brought up here My father became
| a millionaire on the day OF his marriage ana
| dying when ] was ten, he left his wealth in
| the woman TO whom my book is inscribed
| Having gone through grammar school !
| began work in a shoe shop, but being veal,
| of body l only lasted there a few years Tho
| doctor suggested a trip across the sea and
| went 10 unknown aunts abroad with a has
| fun OF medicines, which We're promptly
| thrown on dunghill in County Louth. FoT
| lived next TO the ground in the old land
| and waxing strong returned after thirteen
| months TO go back again after five years as
| one who left his motherly America for to steal
| a trip 20 his sweetheart Ireland. A,
| YOU may have already guessed, am not in
| touch with the literary world, since / weal
| my hair short and my face long, as become,
the seriously practical job Of hoorwalker II
| a department store.
SO there's your foorwalker poet, and ii
| you like the samples send dollar TO Francis
Carlln. care Of Wolfe Tone Company. New
! York, for the book T. A. d.