THE UNITED AMATEUR MARCH 1919
A Note on Howard P. Lovecraft's Verse
Rheinhart Kleiner
Comment occasioned by the verse of Mr. Howard P. Lovecraft, who is amore or less frequent contributor to the amateur press, has notconsisted of unmixed praise.
Certain critics have regarded his efforts as too obviously imitative ofa style that has long been discredited. Others have accepted his workwith admiration and have even gone so far as to imitate the coupletswhich he produces with such apparent ease.
Between these two opinions there is a critical neutral ground, theholders of which realise how large an element of conscious parody entersinto many of Mr. Lovecraft's longer and more serious productions, andwho are capable of appreciating the cleverness and literary charm ofthese pastoral echoes without being dominated by them to the extent ofindiscriminate praise and second-hand imitation.
Those who would beguile Mr. Lovecraft from his chosen path are probablyunaware of the attitude which he consistently maintains toward hostilecriticism. Mr. Lovecraft contends that it gives him pleasure to write asthe Augustans did, and that those who do not relish his excursions intoclassic fields need not follow him. He tries to conciliate no one, andis content to be his own sole reader! What critic, with these factsbefore him, will think it worthwhile to break a lance with the poet?
But even Mr. Lovecraft is willing to be original, at times. He haswritten verse of a distinctly modern atmosphere, and where his imageryis not too obtrusively artificial--according to the modern idea--many ofhis quatrains possess genuine poetic value.
Many who cannot read his longer and more ambitious productions find Mr.Lovecraft's light or humorous verse decidedly refreshing. As a satiristalong familiar lines, particularly those laid down by Butler, Swift andPope, he is most himself--paradoxical though it seems. In reading hissatires one cannot help but feel the zest with which the author hascomposed them. They are admirable for the way in which they reveal thedepth and intensity of Mr. Lovecraft's convictions, while the wit,irony, sarcasm and humour to be found in them serve as an indication ofhis powers as a controversialist. The almost relentless ferocity of hissatires is constantly relieved by an attendant broad humour which hasthe merit of causing the reader to chuckle more than once in the perusalof some attack levelled against the particular person or policy whichmay have incurred Mr. Lovecraft's displeasure.
OFFICIAL REPORTS
DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC CRITICISM
=The Coyote= for October-January is a "Special War Number," dedicated toCpl. Raymond Wesley Harrington, the editor's valiant soldier brother,and having a general martial atmosphere throughout. Among the contentsare two bits of verse by the gallant overseas warrior to whom the issueis inscribed, both of which speak well for the poetic sentiment of theirheroic author.
"Lord Love You, Lad," a poem by Winifred V. Jordan, is the openingcontribution; and deserves highest commendation both for its spirit andfor its construction.
"The Paramount Issue," by William T. Harrington, is a somewhat ambitiousattempt to trace the responsibility for the great war to alcoholicliquor and its degenerative effect on mankind. The author even goes sofar as to say that "had man been represented in his true and noble form,then war would have been impossible." Now although the present critic isand always has been an ardent prohibitionist, he must protest at thisextravagant theory. Vast and far-reaching as are the known evil effectsof drink, it is surely transcending fact to accuse it of causingmankind's natural greed, pride, and combative instincts, which lie atthe base of all warfare. It may, however, be justly suggested that muchof the peculiar bestiality of the Huns is derived from their swinishaddiction to beer. Technically, Mr. Harrington's essay is marked by fewcrudities, and displays an encouraging fluency. Other pieces by Mr.Harrington are "A Bit of My Diary," wherein the author relates hisregrettably brief military experience at Camp Dodge, and "Victory," astirring editorial.
"Black Sheep," by Edna Hyde, is an excellent specimen of blank verse byour gifted laureate. Line 14 seems to lack a syllable, but thisdeficiency is probably the result of a typographical error.
A word of praise is due the general appearance of the magazine. Thecover presents a refreshing bit of home-made pictorial art, whilst thephotograph of Corporal Harrington makes a most attractive frontispiece.
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=The Pathfinder= for January is easily the best issue yet put forth byits enterprising young editor. "Hope," which adorns the cover, is a poemof much merit by Annie Pearce. The apparent lack of a syllable in line 2of the third stanza is probably due to a printer's error whereby theword =us= is omitted immediately after the word =for=.
"How and Why Roses Are White," by Margaret Mahon, is a fairy legend ofmuch charm and decided originality, which argues eloquently for itsauthor's imaginative scope and literary ability.
"Happiness in a Glove" is a very facile and pleasing rendering of a bitof Spanish dialogue. Through a mistake, the authorship is credited tothe translator, Miss Ella M. Miller, though her own manuscript fullyproclaimed the text as a translation.
"Welcome, 1919," is a brief contemplative essay by Editor Glause; inspirit admirable, but in phraseology showing some of the uncertainty ofyouthful work. Mr. Glause might well pay more attention to compactprecision in his prose, using as few and as forceful words as possibleto express his meaning. For instance, his opening words would gaingreatly in strength if contracted to the following: "Now that a new yearis beginning." Farther down the page we find the word =namely= in aplace which impels us to question its use. Its total omission wouldstrengthen the sentence which contains it. Another point we must mentionis the excessive punctuation, especially the needless hyphenation of=amateurdom= and =therefore=, and the apostrophe in the possessivepronoun =its=. The form =it's= is restricted to the colloquialcontraction of "=it is="; the similarly spelled pronoun is writtensolidly without an apostrophe. Additional notes by Mr. Glause are ofequal merit, and his reply to a recent article on travel is highlysensible and commendable. He is a writer and thinker of much power, andneeds only technical training in order to develop into an essayist ofthe first rank. As an editor he cannot be praised too highly for hisfaithfulness in publishing his welcome and attractive quarterly.
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=Pine Cones= for February well maintains the high standard set by Mr.Pryor in his opening number. "Life, Death and Immortality," by JonathanE. Hoag, is a brief but appealing piece from the pen of a gifted andvenerable bard, and thoroughly deserves its place of honour on thecover. On the next page occurs a metrical tribute to this sweet singeron his 88th birthday, written by H. P. Lovecraft in the latter's typicalheroic strain.
"The Helpful Twins," a clever child story by Editor Pryor, is the prosetreat of the issue. It would, indeed, be hard to find more than one ortwo equally interesting, human, and well-developed bits of fiction inany current amateur periodicals. Not only are the characters drawn withdelightful naturalness, but there is real humour present; and the plotmoves on to its climax without a single instance of awkwardness or asingle intrusive or extraneous episode. In short, the story is almost amodel of its kind; one which ought to prove a success in a professionalas well as an amateur magazine. Mr. Pryor's humour is more broadly shownin the smile-producing pseudo-anecdotes of "The Boy Washington."
The bit of unsigned verse, "A New Year Wish," is excellent, though wequestion the advisability of having an Alexandrine for the final line.
"Comment Pryoristic" is always interesting, and that in the current=Pine Cones= forms no exception to the rule. The appearance of thisvigorously alive and intelligently edited publication is proving a greatand gratifying factor in amateurdom's post-bellum renaissance.
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=The Recruiter= for January marks the advent to amateurdom of a newpaper, which easily takes its place among the very best of recenteditorial enterprises. Edited by Misses Mary Faye Durr and L
. EvelynSchump in the interest of the United recruits whom they are securing,its thoroughly meritorious quality speaks well for the new members thusadded to our circle.
The issue opens auspiciously with a lyric poem of distinguishedexcellence by Helen McFarland, entitled "A Casualty." In depth ofsentiment, fervour of expression, and correctness of construction, thesemelodious lines leave little to be desired; and seem to indicate thatthe United has acquired one more poet of the first rank.
"Billy," a character sketch by L. Evelyn Schump, introduces to theAssociation a light essayist of unusual power and grace, whose work isvividly natural through keen insight, apt and fluent expression, andmastery of homely and familiar detail. The present sketch iscaptivatingly lifelike and thoroughly well-written, arousing a responsefrom every lover of children.
"Winter," a brief poem by Hettie Murdock, celebrates in a pleasant wayan unpleasant season. The lines are notable for correctness, spontaneityand vitality, though not in the least ambitious in scope.
Martha Charlotte Macatee's "Song of Nature" reveals its 12-year-oldcreator as a genuine "Galpiness" (if we may coin a word which onlyamateurs and Appletonians will understand). Mistress Macatee hassucceeded in infusing more than a modicum of really poetic atmosphereand imagery into her short lyric, and may be relied upon to produceimportant work in the coming years of greater maturity. The chief defectof her present piece is the absence of rhyme, which should always occurin a short stanzaic poem. Rhyming is not at all difficult after a littlepractice, and we trust that the young writer will employ it in laterverses.
"Tarrytown," by Florence Fitzgerald, is a reminiscent poem of phenomenalstrength, marred only by a pair of false rhymes in the opening stanza.Assonance must never be mistaken for true rhyme, and combinations like=boats-float= or =them-brim= should be avoided. The imagery of thispiece is especially appealing, and testifies to its author's fertilityof fancy.
"Shades of Adam," by Mary Faye Durr, is an interesting and humorouslywritten account of the social side of our 1918 convention. Miss Durr isexceptionally gifted in the field of apt, quiet, and laconic wit, and inthis informal chronicle neglects no opportunity for dryly amusingcomment on persons and events.
"Spring," by L. Evelyn Schump, is a refreshingly original poem in blankverse, on a somewhat familiar subject. For inspiration and techniquealike, the piece merits enthusiastic commendation; though we mayvindicate our reputation as a fault-finding critic by asking whyalternate lines are indented despite the non-existence of alternaterhymes.
=The Recruiter's= editorial column is brief and businesslike,introducing the magazine as a whole, and its contributors individually.Amateurdom is deeply indebted to the publishers of this delightfulnewcomer, and it is to be hoped that they may continue their efforts;both toward seeking recruits as high in quality as those hererepresented, and toward issuing their admirable journal as frequently asis feasible.
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=The Silver Clarion= for January comes well up to the usual standard,containing a number of pieces of considerable power. In "The Temple ofthe Holy Ghost," Mr. Arthur Goodenough achieves his accustomed successas a religious poet, presenting a variety of apt images, and clothingthem in facile metre. The only defect is a lack of uniformity in rhymingplan. The poet, in commencing a piece like this, should decide whetheror not to rhyme the first and third lines of quatrains; and havingdecided, should adhere to his decision. Instead, Mr. Goodenough omitsthese optional rhymes in the first stanza and in the first half of thethird and fourth stanzas; elsewhere employing them. The result, whilenot flagrantly inharmonious, nevertheless gives an impression ofimperfection, and tends to alienate the fastidious critic. Mr.Goodenough possesses so great a degree of inspiration, and so wide anarray of allusions and imagery; that he owes it to himself to completethe excellence of his vivid work with an unexceptionable technique.
"The Cross," a sonnet by Captain Theodore Draper Gottlieb, is dedicatedto the Red Cross, with which the author is serving so valiantly. Inthought and form this piece deserves unqualified praise.
"Death," by Andrew Francis Lockhart, exhibits our versatile Western bardin sober mood. The poem contains that unmistakable stamp of genuineemotion which we have come to associate with Mr. Lockhart's work, and istechnically faultless.
"Destiny," by W. F. Pelton, is a sonnet of smooth construction andthorough excellence by one whom we know better as "Wilfrid Kemble."
The lines "To My Pal, Fred" present Mr. Harry E. Rieseberg, a newmember of the United who has for some time been a regular =Clarion=contributor. In this piece Mr. Rieseberg falls somewhat below his usualstandard; for though the sentiment is appropriate, the metre is sadlyirregular. Mr. Rieseberg should count the syllables in his lines, for heis a young poet of much promise, and should allow his technique to keeppace with his genius.
"Faith," by Winifred V. Jordan, enunciates a familiar doctrine inmelodious and original metaphor, and well sustains the poeticalreputation of its celebrated author.
"The Song Unsung," by W. F. Booker, is a war poem in minor key, whichdeserves much praise.
"You're Like a Willow," by Eugene B. Kuntz, is marked by that warmth offancy and wealth of imagery for which its author is noted.
"Thoughts," a courtly offering from the quill of James Laurence Crowley,winds up the poetical part of the magazine; this month a very amplepart. In rhyme and metre this sentimental gem is quite satisfactory.
The only prose in this issue is Mr. Samples' well-written editorial on"The Passing Year." Herein we find some really excellent passages,savouring somewhat of the oratorical in style.
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=The Silver Clarion= for February is of ample size and ample merit.Opening the issue is an excellent poem in heroic couplets by Mrs. StellaL. Tully of Mountmellick, Ireland, a new member of the United. Mrs.Tully, whose best work is in a lyric and religious vein, is one endowedwith hereditary or family genius; as the Association no doubtappreciated when reading the poetry of her gifted sister, Mrs. S. LilianMcMullen of Newton Centre, in the preceding issue of THE UNITED AMATEUR.The present piece by Mrs. Tully, "The Greatest of These is Love," isbased upon a Biblical text, and sets forth its ideas very effectively,despite a few passages whose stiff construction betrays a slightinexperience in the traditions of heroic verse.
"The Two Crosses," by Capt. Theodore Gottlieb, is also in heroics, andgraphically compares the most holy symbols of today and of nineteenhundred years ago.
More of the religious atmosphere is furnished by John Milton Samples'trochaic composition entitled "The Millennium"--from whose title, by theway, one of the necessary n's is missing. In this pleasing picture ofan impossible age we note but three things requiring critical attention.(1) The term "super-race" in stanza 5, is too technically philosophicalto be really poetic. (2) The rhyme of =victory= and =eternally= is notvery desirable, because both the rhyming syllables bear only a secondaryaccent. (3) There is something grotesque and unconsciously comic in theprophecy "Then the lamb shall kiss the lion." Such grotesqueness is notto be found in the original words of Mr. Samples' predecessor and sourceof inspiration, the well-known prophet Isaiah. (Vide Isaiah, xi: 6-7.)
"Nature Worship," by Arthur Goodenough, is one of the most meritoriouspoems in the issue, despite some dubious grammar in the first stanza,and an internal rhyme in the final stanza which has no counterpart inthe lines preceding. The first named error consists of a disagreement innumber betwixt subject and verb: "faith and form and ... mazes which ...perplexes, dazes."
"The New Order," an essay by John Milton Samples, is an eloquent butfantastically idealistic bit of speculation concerning the wonderfulfuture which dreamers picture as arising out of the recent war. To us,there is a sort of pathos in these vain hopes and mirage-like visions ofan Utopia which can never be; yet if they can cheer anyone, they aredoubtless not altogether futile. Indeed, after the successive menaces ofthe Huns and the Bolsheviki, we can call almost any future Utopian, ifit wil
l but afford the comparative calm of pre-1914 days!
"No Night So Dark, No Day So Drear," by Mamie Knight Samples, is a poemwhich reveals merit despite many crudities. The outstanding fault isdefective metre--Mrs. Samples should carefully count her syllables, andrepeat her lines aloud, to make sure of perfect scansion. Since theintended metre appears to be iambic tetrameter, we shall here give arevised rendering of the first stanza; showing how it can be made toconform to that measure:
"No night so dark, no day so drear, But we may sing our songs of cheer." These words, borne from the world without, Cheer'd a heart sick with grief and doubt. O doubting soul, bow'd down so low, If thou couldst feel, and only know The darkness is in thee alone, For grief and tears it would atone. "No night so dark, no day so drear, But we may sing our songs of cheer."
Let the authoress note that each line must have eight syllables--nomore, no less. For the trite ideas and hackneyed rhymes, nothing can berecommended save a more observant and discriminating perusal of standardpoets. It must be kept in mind that the verse found in current familymagazines and popular hymn-books is seldom, if ever, true poetry. Theonly authors suitable as models, are those whose names are praised inhistories of English literature.
W. F. Booker's "Song" is a delightful short lyric whose sentiment andtechnique deserve naught but praise.
"When I Am Gone," a poem in pentameter quatrains by James LaurenceCrowley, contains the customary allotment of sweet sentiment, togetherwith some really commendable imagery. Mr. Crowley's genius will shinebrightly before long.
"The Path to Glory," by Andrew Francis Lockhart, is perhaps the poeticgem of the issue. In this virile anapaestic piece Mr. Lockhart sums upall the horrors of the trenches in such a way that the reader may guessat the extent of the sacrifice undergone by those who have given all fortheir country.
In "Coconino Jim, Lumberjack," Mr. Harry E. Rieseberg shows himself atrue and powerful poet of the rugged, virile school of Kipling, Service,Knibbs, and their analogues. The present piece is entirely correct inrhyme and well-developed in thought, wanting only good metre to make itperfect. This latter accomplishment Mr. Rieseberg should strive hard toattain, for his poetry surely deserves as good a form as he can give it.
A word of praise should be given Mr. Samples' editorial, "TheProfessional in Amateur Journalism," in which he shows the fallacy ofthe plea for a cruder, more juvenile amateurdom, which often emanatesfrom members of the older and less progressive associations. As theeditor contends, intellectual evolution must occur; and the whole recentcareer of the United demonstrates the value of a purely literary societyfor genuine literary aspirants of every age and every stage of mentaldevelopment.