New-York tribune., 1922-12-06
The Lantern
Or. Nss Ten gffhuns ma. is1s

department lately.-We can't write
verse any moro unless the eondi-
tions are just right.--We say moth
ing Of poetry. - What they call
poetry nowadays, much Of II, can be
written by anybody, In any position,
at any time-But honest-to-God,
old-fashioned verse, with rhymes In
Il and everything, is hard work for
us, especially In the autumn.-lf we
get the least bit cold there Is moth
ing doing.-And II we sit down by
steam radiator II either grunts OF
Kisses us.-We have always envied
Fothergil Finch.
Anything Fothergil writes he can
write ut any time.-Fothcrgil sees
beauty everywhere.-"oh, the Beau
tiful SWINE" said Fothergil one day,
gazing dreamily into n pig pen, "let
me cast some pearls before them
But the swine, as usual, were unap-
preciative.-They liked their own
poetry better.-Fothergil has the
humility Of a great artist.-"My
pearls were not good enough for the
Beautiful SWINE" he murmured.
We always liked the poem he wrote
couple Of years ago at the time
he lost his hair.-Fothergil was
wandering among the rainy hills Of |
April with soul full Of jonquils and |
his thorax fulfilled Of influenza
germs when he came 10 a little |
brown and silver pool where the |
rathe frogs croaked, longing for
some Narcissus 10 come and join |
them in their play. -" Beautiful |
Frogsl" cried Fothergil.-The frogs /
replied by conjugating a Greek verb |
full Of RS and KS, and a lizard |
slithered upward to the margin Of |
the still water and regarded him |
with a wide and friendly smile.
Beautiful SaurinaW said Foth-
ergil, kneeling beside the pool, and /
at that instant Beautiful Goat, in I
spired by the Slapstitk Demi-Urge, |
kicked him with its horny head and /
Fothergil plunged forward and sank
like bread that has been cast upon
the waters.
He arose with his mouth full Of
slime and song, and this is the poem
he uttered:
Beautiful Godu did Pan send you?
Look me in the evei
Tell me, are you a real Goat.
or a SYMBOL
II you are real you are Symbol !
And il you are Symbol
You are reoli
Ouchl do not be TOO real!
Goat, you are eating nv hairl
Every time Fothergil tried to get
out Of the pool the Beautiful Goat
butted him in again, and the pool
was so small that the Beautiful
Goat could reach Fothergips head
from the edges Of it. The poem con-
tinues:
Lock By lock
You are stripping from my head
Ny hyacinthine hairl
Ouch!
More gently, Beautiful Goat,
! ddjlre you
By our father Pan, more gentlyl
You smile at mel
Eye TO eYe Ue stand
In the rare community Of song,
SUayed by tho Panic rhythm Of the
earth,
And as yoiI smile into my eyes
You eat my hair!
DrdU nearer, frogsi
Hither, little lizard
There "a lesson in this
Ouehl
My hair, my elastic hair.
Shall turn 10 springs
Within the iniDards Of this Goat,
And he shall bound and ledp
More blithely on the hills Of morn,
His hoofs shall make music on tho
rocks,
And his beard shall Be shaken
banner
In the sun!
The rhythm that wds in my foioino
hair,
The song that croiVned my head,
Are passing into this Goat,
This chosen Goat,
This friend Of Pan
Ind he iCM utter them in motion,
He vll be a black and dancing
Silhouette at ddwn
Agdinst the red 0LoTy
OF the rising sun. =.
Oltchl
Yes, I iDiu turn 'roundl
Yes, vou may have tho baoL; hair,
tool
Take oil Take all
o tragic barber i0ith the scented
beard.
Take all