Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-02-01
NEW BOOKS
AT RANDOM
/. e.. NJ.

pI tiiiC pIEOCiuDdlIOt III the tAAELaL
life of Amy Lowell For, in face of
wide disparities between the two,
clear line of poetic kinship binds the
one to the other. Over there, a young
as begun, pagan in spirit, romantic in
feeling. classic in thematic sympathy
and in the practice of his art. On this
side. New England woman, reaching
middle life before the first of her work
appeared, in spirit at one with Puritan
forbears thinned and sharpened by a
bleak religion and bleaker soil, in
feeling not different from the prosaic
! literalists of her tribe and place, in
art an innovator against the Brah-
manic canons of poetic righteousness.
And more than all this, between the
two interposes century that for its
overturnings in every way of life
stands, so far, as the perfect kaleido.
/ scope of all time.
Yet, Notwithstanding such substan.
| tial separations, these two do meet in
perfect communion in the sanctuary
| of all true poetry. Here they come
together at the high altar of pure
| poetic imagery. And without such
| flight of wings poetry would not
| exist apart from prose, no matter
| what it's Other sustaining powers
might be. For such imagery the
| poetry of Keats is a purple weave
| over which plays the simmer of
| dulled gold and dimmed silver, and
| upon which pale worries spread in a
| Wizardry of delicate carvings. Here
| are fairy f1uted flowers and slender
| vines that crawl and writhe in the
| shifting light. Here are quaint figures
| of beauty and there whimsical gro
| tesques blended of myth and super
stition and religion. Oriental in its
| sumptuous effect, the poetry of
| Keats, yet the source of such richness
| is only nature itself-sunlight drop
| ping on uneasy leaves and slipping to
| the ground I'm patterns that dance on
field and roadway and climbing hill:
woods and whispering streams; the
songs of friendly birds. Just the sum
| of common things in the world of
| nature, these turned into carols and
| rondels and paeans of lyric beauty
and passion.
| Just so, and in no way different,
does Amy Lowell in East Wind"
touch with the gift of poetic imagery
| the toll-taking soil of New England
and it's chill sunlight, converting these
| into the spirit of hardy courage, into
| the heady draught of unconquerabil-
1 ity. The power to see glimpse of
beauty or a CLINT of light all along
| the ways of her going-even though
| these are likely to be dark ways. or
dull ones-stands as a high point in
this poets art. 1t is here in such in
| timacy with the essential beauty of
| the world itself, in the power to cap
ture and to embody this feeling. that
| Amy Lowell pays her due to John
| Keats and proudly claims her kinship
| to him.
| But when it comes to the pattern
| of her verse, how far she runs away
| from Keats! 1t Is the times. The in
dividual is now supreme. Every little
| man is trying to put his own stamp
| upon something, not much matter
what. He is going to be himself at
any cost. So. under the rampage of
| the protesting individual strange
things are happening to every pursuit
| in life. Music, poetry, painting. the
| drama, the dance-these all are in re-
bellion. Poets, like the others, are
offering a medley of wares that range
| from epileptic miseries in verse, from
erratic and bewildering contortions,
! to the big and majestic free verse of
| Walt Whitman. 1t is to Whitman
| that Amy Lowell can claim legiti-
mate relationship in the art of
| poetry.
East Wind" projects a series of
pictures of New England life. The
life of early New England was one
of general concealment - bundling
against the bitterness of Indictment
weathers, hiding natural emotions
away from stern Jehovah and away
| from the narrower Puritans round.
about each of these self concealing in
dividuals. Natural feelings driven in.
| ward until this process becomes a
habit, until 1t seems the life of the in
dividual, effects many kinds of frustra-
ton, deepen human loneliness incred-
| IDLY, darken human life unbelievably.
! Reserves, inhibitions, hiding away
| from others, hiding away from self
| these were the instructive recoils of
the early New Highlander from the
austerities of his secular and religious
life. These set the general human
pattern of this quarter these fixed the
| type which, even today, IS sufficiently
I
| marks of this localized spiritual
progression.
Speaking broadly, the dozen poems
| of East Wind" come under the single
F; idea of frustration-now along this
line, now along that one. here in a
seemingly trifiing turn, there in a
| crucial one, but all of them objectify
in poetic narrative or picture some
! thwarted person, living far short of
that which is secretly cherished as
| the desired end of existence. Were
it not for flashing CLEANS of beauty
| that break out at every turn here
| this book would be dour past endur-
| ing. But they do break out-from the
| sea, from the Spring sunlight, from
| the Summer banners of royal color.
| from q mountain cut clean across the
| sky line, from the drone of bees, the
| click OF the harvesting, from the fam
| lily concerns of thousands of birds.
| No matter what the real errand of
the moment may be, no matter how
| gloomy, how disheartening, Amy
Lowell along the way uncovers a bit
Of the eternal loneliness of the world,
and then HES herself away to some
dark and dreary little corner of hui
man existence. The first of these
poems, 1.-THE DOLL" will stand, in es-
| sence for all of them. Just two spin
sters living together alone in the big
house. One of them sick always,
lying in bed always. Lonely
past the telling would this sick
and aging woman have been but for
| the big doll sitting in a chair beside
| the bed-a doll with wise inscrutable
eyes and friendly hands. a very live
human OF a doll for comfort and COM
pany. And then the old woman died,
leaving the sister quite alone. One day
she asked a friend coming in to go
up with her to James room"-a gay
room. bright with lowered paper and
chintz covers and full stream of sun
light. The doll still there in her