Voices On The Wind - Second Series 1924

Edited and Arranged by S. Fowler Wright.

Published by: The Merton Press Ltd., Abbey House Westminster, London. SW1
1924

        It is somewhat over twelve months since the first volume of this series was issued.

        A second impression was required within six months of publication, and it is still in steady demand.

        Its success has justified an arrangement by which a similar volume will be issued annually in future.

        The aim of the series is not to be either exclusive or comprehensive in character, but to form an annual of contemporary verse, either by known or unknown authors, much of which might be otherwise forgotten, and which is the aggregate indicates the poetic tendencies of the time, both on their creative and perceptive sides.

        It is inevitable, in a book of this kind, that the whole of the contents will not appeal equally to any one reader. If it were otherwise I should be condemned as incompetent for the work I have undertaken.

        There has been a tendency during recent years for preference to be shown both by the critic and the anthologist for certain morbid elements in contemporary poetry, to which they have given prominence, until it has been made to appear that they have been made to appear that they have been its dominant characteristics, and as though portraits of women 'about to be hanged', are not merely origins of poetic inspiration, but are the only ones deserving of serious consideration.

        I believe the theory of art to be entirely false, and the assumption of fact to be mainly fiction.

        To the extent to which the latter has been substantial, - and the critics did not invent the morbidity which they advertised, - I am content to know that such slight influence as I have had has opposed it consistently, and I am glad to realise that its day is already darkening.

        Even in the short interval since I wrote the preface to the previous volume, there has been a perceptible change of tone and outlook, and writers of the order of Messrs. Lawrence, Flint, Eliot, and the like, can no longer issue their abortions in the comfortable certainty that criticism will approach them on respectful knees.

        Even the fiction of D.H. Lawrence is no longer a revelation unquestioned, and a writer in the English Review rudely suggests that there may be some people of decent instincts in the world which his genius has disregarded.

        It is true that the poetry of Thomas Hardy is still on its central pedestal, but there is a noise of approaching crow-bars, which may shortly cast it to a contempt which may not be entirely merited.

        I suppose that the poetic tendencies of any period may be appraised more justly by a consideration of its 'minor' poetry, than by the work of its occasional genius, but I do not know that anyone has yet defined a 'minor' poet successfully.

        When I endeavour to resolve the question I find that quantity is the essential requisite of the major poet, even though the most part of his production be of an unreadable quality.

        A minor poet should be one who produces only minor poetry. Yet Fitzgerald is classified among the 'minor' poets by the historians of the last century's literature. I suppose that he would have been a major poet beyond challenge had he published his admitted masterpiece amidst a bulky volume of inferior verse.

        Would Coleridge have been a major poet had he published nothing but 'Christabel', 'The Ancient Mariner', and 'Kubla Khan?'

        Would the remainder of his published verse have separately sufficed to win him any continuing fame whatever?

        These are curious questions, which could be applied to most of the 'major' poets with equal relevance.

        We approach the a formula. The work of a major poet is equal to that of two minor poets, one of whom would be remembered, and one forgotten!

        I am not contending that this is a volume of 'major' poetry. Even were it true, it would be useless to say so, for the first credential of a major poet is a death certificate. But here, at least, is much of freshness and variety of beauty for those of open and responsive minds; and some poems at least which may win to a permanent recognition, which they might otherwise have failed to reach.

        What prospect of immortality would there have been for Alice Meynell's 'A Shepherdess of Sheep' had her literary work begun and ended with that one poem, and had it appeared only - its most probable fate - on the magazine page of a local newspaper?

        If Miss A.D. Johnson were a voluminous writer I believe she would rank among the very first of our women poets. As it is, her work is almost unknown except to those who seek the best for themselves, and is only accessible through the media of magazine and anthology.

        To-day there is a revived interest in poetry, which is the more hopeful because it is a movement from below not from above. I believe it to be gathering force, and that it will sweep into deserved oblivion the preferences of poetry which have masqueraded successfully during recent years.

        One of the conspicuous results of this movement has been a keen demand for anthologies, in preference to the work of any individual author. In this I think the public instinct is sound. In average quality and in variety of form and content an anthology, even moderately well-chosen, must be superior to the work of almost any single mind.

        There is another reason. The professional poet, even of the first rank, - and none would admit it more readily, or more generously - cannot control his inspiration, and, just because he is a professional poet, he will produce much which is rather of the nature of exercises in verse than authentic poetry, and the fact that it may be very skilfully written does not remove it from that category.

        The occasional writer, - the amateur, if you will, - when at his best may write bad poetry, or (more probably) good poetry badly expressed, but 'verse' as distinct from what is poetry at all he is less likely to perpetrate.

        It is a difference which criticism does not always sufficiently recognise; but which the general reader - the lover of poetry, who is not necessarily a technicist - instinctively appreciates.

        These volumes - 'Voices On The Wind' - are confined to the work of writers in Great Britain. A companion series - 'From Overseas' - represents the work of Dominion and Colonial authors.

Abbey House, Westminster. Feb. 1924

INDEX

MARY ACKLAND
        A Faire
        The Spell
        Naiad
        Roses
        To H.
L. ALICK
        Kindred Souls
        Grief
CONSTANCE W. ANDERSON
        Autumn
MARGARET ARIELL
        One Quiet Hour
MAY BELBEN
        Vivien Angela
        'When the Heart is Young'
        Silver Birch in Winter
        Death
J.C. BIRD
        Garden Spiders
        Song
        The Sailor
        Christmas Day in Lincolnshire
WILLIAM BRANTOM
        Evil
HERBERT E. BRITTON
        To a Chrysalis
        Monotone
        Serfdom
M.K. MacKILLOP BROWN
        Memories
DOROTHY M. BUNN
        Old Masters
DUDLEY C. CAREW
        Hereditary
EILEEN CARFRAE
        The Migrant's Return
        April Grass
A.E.K. CHALLENGER
        The Cobbler of Rouen
        Chimes
ALICE E. COLLINGE
        Even Song of a Thrush
DOROTHY COOK
        The Children's Room
MIRIAM A. COPPINGER
        April days
        'When the Moon is Blue'
        Return to Rye
E. ISOBEL CUMMING
        The King's Lover
MARGARET S. DANGERFIELD
        The Song of the Road
        Folk Song
W.H. DAVIES
        The Joy of Life
        The World Approves
FLORENCE M. DAW
        The Spirit of the Garden
MAY I.E. DOLPHIN
        Murton Junction
R. FORTESCUE DORIA
        Cotswold Heights
        Rondel
HILDA DRABBLE
        Hallowe'en
BRENDA MURRAY DRAPER
        Flaming Flower
        Communion
J.M. DUCAT
        So Greatly Daring
        The Artist
NOELLE FfRENCH
        Fabul� Manes
ELIZABETH S. FLEMING
        Princes Street
        At Naishapur
ALISON FORSTER
        The Hedge-row
        Gone is the Gleam
GEOFFREY FYSON
        Middle Age
        A Prayer
LEONARD GALLETLEY
        Dream-Boats
        The Sultan
        Night on the Moor
        They come not Home
V.D. GOODWIN
        Livestock
        Spies
THE HON. LADY GORDON
        The day of the Fair
        'Time may not tarry in his awful stride'
        'There are some fools who ever crave for cheer'
CRETE GRAY
        Salisbury Cathedral
MILDRED GREEN
        Fine Goods
        Wanderings
D.A. RUSSELL GREGG
        Anthea June
        At Etretat
        Nocturne
W. ROBERT HALL
        The Homeward Climb
        Moon-rise
REV. DOUGLAS L. HEATH
        Ballad of Aber
        On the Death of Robert Browning
        Haunted
FLORENCE L. HENDERSON
        A Wayside Garden
        The Valley of Christ
EDWIN HEWETT
        Kelling Heath
        Breckland
GLYN HOWELL
        Eluned
MAY HUGHES
        Magic
        Storm
        The Little Things
D. GRAHAM HUTTON
        The Return
CARMEN IRELAND
        Dream Days
A.D. JOHNSON
        M. M. W.
        Memory
        Pentonville Prison, June, 1922
LOOF JOHNSON
        The Ruin
BLANCHE H.A. JONES
        Ballade
        From My Window
        The Devil amongst the Nuns
E.E. KELLETT
        Dolores Amoris
        The Solution
GORDON LEA
        The Game
HONOR F. LEEKE
        Ye Sundial
        Ye Cornfield
        Ye Beanfield
        A Love Lilt
        Spindleberrie
        Ye Sparrows
        Ye Saucie Wench
W. BERNARD LIVERMORE
        Invicta
Dr. P. HABBERTON LULHAM
        Heart Husbandry
        For Fear
        Reveille
        Mistaken Tryst
        Belle Sauvage
        The Fireside Shelf
        La Belle au Bois Dormant
        The Voice
        Wisdom
        Possession
        Re-creation
        Base Metal
        On the safe Side
MARY C. MAIR
        Dead Love
MADELINE MacKINTOSH
        Thoughts from a Backwater
K.M. MacLEOD
        Too Late!
GERTRUDE M. MARRAIGE
        A Plea
        Pines
        The Muezzin
        Night
        Magic
E. ADELA MARSHALL
        La Danseuse Mourante
GEOFFREY MARSLAND
        Pat's Letter
        The Widdy's Shilling
J.H. MEDHOPE
        Potpourri
        Vision
VIOLET MORLAND
        Love's Worship
MURIEL MUSCHAMP
        Vaguely
        Wallflower Scent
OLIVER H. MYERS
        The Moon
FREDERICK NICHOLLS
        Enigma
        The Lady Chapel
        Three Mysteries
M. ORMISTON
        In Tuscany
H. O'S
        The Traitor
FARQUHAR PALLISER
        In Extremis
        In Meditation
        Resurgam
        The Eternal Secret
        Deo Monente
STANLEY PENN
        The Faun
JOHN PRIDE
        Fountain Square
PHYLLIS PROCTER
        Spring on the Border
        Ram
        Before an Operation
        In Memoriam (Guess, A Spaniel)
C.A. RENSHAW
        Too Soon
        Omniscience
        June, 1923
E. REYNER
        'Wild with all regret'
DORIS M. RHODES
        Dunstable Downs
        Cassiobury
STANLEY ROWLAND
        Sweet Nell of Ullesmere
        Some Natures
EVELINE B. SAXTON
        Ballad of Kent Square
AGNES D. SCOTT
        The Arimath�an
MARGARET SCRUTON
        Life's Interludes
ELEANOR B. SIMEON
        Bog Asphodel
        Nasturtium
J.E. SIMPSON
        Military Execution
        The Awkward Prisoner
        Gardener
OLAF STAPLEDON
        Swallows at Maffrécourt
        Pain
        Moriturus
        A Prophet's Tragedy
        God the Artist
LADY LOUISE M. STEEVENS
        In Memoriam
        To M.L.T.
MARGARET STEPHENS
        Bridestowe
        A Request
        Cavalaire
CLARE F.F. THOMSON
        The Spinner among the Stars
        The Sunset Children
        The Messenger
        Dulvaney Woods
D. CLEGHORN THOMSON
        Winter Sparrows
E. TEMPLE THURSTON
        The Harvester
        The Song of the Plough
        Night-Jar
        Wren
        Blackbird
JOHN H. WARREN
        The Lost Traveller's Dream
        Values Transvalued
JOAN WOOLLCOMBE (Jabz).
        Maria Theresa
        Tutankhamen Speaks
S. FOWLER WRIGHT
        The Temptation of Percival (from Scenes From the Morte d'Arthur)
PAULINE I. YOUNG
        Daffodils
ISRAEL ZANGWILL
        Heine on Ibn Gabirol
        Petition
Only Poems by S.FW in this file.

S. Fowler-Wright.

THE TEMPTATION OF PERCIVAL.

Fastworn, Sir Percival, in that wild land,
And faint with toil, had seven days sought, and found
Naught of the Grail, nor any sight nor sound
Of life; but in the empty night he heard
Sighing of great winds in spaces waste and bare;
Cries, as of men, that sank where no men were,
Nor any life, nor call of nighted bird
Rose ever, but desolation, drear of day,
With wailings in lone night for life's delay,
Had brooded from the birth of time, and bore
Sad winds, that wailed along a broken shore
Of hungered, frustrate, and insatiate sea.

But that seventh night upon the sterile sand
He sank, too weak for longer toil, and lay
Despairing life, nor left with hope to pray
For that High Vision he sought.

"Behold," he said,
"I am not surely in God's sight as they
That manna found at morn, or ravens fed,
But seems that in this demoned land and dead
My bones shall whiten till the final day."

But when the moon at her first dawn betrayed
Half heaven, and laid a path of silver flame
On the dim heaving of the waters dark,
A shadow down that path of light there came,
With sails full-breasted to the land, a barque
That grounded nearly where he slept, and made
Fast anchor from the falling tide, and soon
Came damsels thence, and by the rising moon
Pavilions there they raised, and banquet spread.

More late, their lady from the barque aland
Came with no haste, and passing near she knew
Where slept he yet, and closer stooped to view
A toil-worn knight and young, and softly spake,
His fast-born dreams of losing life to break:
"O gentle knight, what dost thou here, to press
A couch so cold in this stark wilderness,
Where naught but death goes with ye where ye go."

He answered, doubtful yet with dreams: "Not so,
But God's Grail seek I where it bides, and not
Turn we, so vowed, nor know what desolate spot
May hold it, hindered from the sight of man.
Nor were there land in this wide earth, God wot
Too deathly, so that there good hope might be
That sight in life beyond our worth to see.
But doubt I sore that not God's grace to me
Intends, but in this utter waste I die."

She answered: "Own ye not more hope that I,
Here driven in flight from bitter loss, may so
Thy spent life save, and then such quest supply
As shall advance thee in God's sight, and lead
To that High Vision that ye seek indeed,
Ere all be done? But rise ye first, and share
The feast my damsels for our ease prepare,
And I will tell such loss as leaves me bare
Of my world's wealth, except that here ye see.
Save I thy life, and will ye then my will,
Against the aggress of my most deadly foe
To attempt, and even to thy life's loss fulfil,
My most desire?"

He answered: "Yea, to me
At life's extreme ye came, and I should be
To all my knighthood false, and more to thee,
Except in thy devoir I serve or die."

Then softly to that moon-lit feast she led,
Of various meats and more delectable,
Him seemed, than erst in Arthur's halls were spread
At Yule, or Whitsun, or high banquet made
For bridal of great lord, his chiefest there.
And then, refreshed, his wearied limbs he laid
On no cold ground, to wind and tempest bare,
But silken-soft in that pavilion fair
His couch was dight. That damsel watched beside
While long he slept, and all his strength anew
Asserted in him, and noon to even grew,
And moon-rise came again, and falling tide,
Ere waked he, and again rich feast was spread
And wines perchance no earthly vintage knew
She poured, the while her woeful tale was said
From height once held of fate's reverse - "For I,
To this wild coast, and with no force, who fly,
Who own no train but these that here I bring,
Was child and heiress to a mighty king,
Whom served I fair, till more in pride I said
It may be than was meet, and he thereon
Renounced me wholly from his gates, and so,
In this denude of wealth, and open woe,
His servants, envious erst, and hateful now,
Pursue me, ruthless in their wrath; but thou
Shalt more requite for any loss foregone.
Art thou not found in these waste ways for me
To own my rescue and my lord in thee,
Noblest of all that search this quest, and fit
In might and valour to all my loss remit,
And seat me stablished where I first belong?"

And Percival gazed, and impulse swift and strong
Consumed him. Fair as any flower was she,
And in first youth, and in such garb that there
Man's work with Nature's mocked and lost compare.
For o'er one breast and shoulder mantling fair
Shot samite gleamed with gold, and one was bare,
That leaned towards him while she spake, and all
Her hair fell round him as a flame might fall,
Maddening his heart with most desire thereat.

Therewith he reached, but she some backward way
Leaned from him again, and spake, low-voiced: "Were that
Thine that ye would, and fain that grant would I,
Then wilt thou swear, to thy soul's doom, thy will
As I do now, so later mine shalt thou,
Nor aught of earth nor aught of heaven shall stay?"

He answered: "Till my latest pulse be still,
Without reluct of life, to right thy wrong
Thy knight am I, to thy most need, whom now
Beyond all gains of earth or heaven I long."

And she: "Without repent or change, ye swear
To serve and love me in that guise I wear
When walking in my land my purposed way?"

He answered, kindled to more fierce desire
By her consenting words, and act's delay:
"What might I further for thy surance say?
What more may knighthood grant, or faith require?"

And lifting eyes that shone with tears unshed,
She answered: "Nay, I doubt thee naught, and though
Ye more regard my present love to know
Than think to aid the harder need I said,
Am I not weaker in the like delight,
And spoiled of love, who know thee, O my knight,
For all thou art? But thou shalt pledge me true
Hence on to work my will, and that thing do
I treat thee ever. That in this faith content,
That thou shalt naught renounce, and naught repent,
Myself for guerdon in thine arms be laid."

Thereat, by chance, or grace of Heaven, he eyed
The cross-hilt sword her hands had laid aside,
And all his vows recalled his heart, and though
No strength he held to then that goal forgo,
"Lord, help me!" In his heart he breathed, and made
The sign of Christ with hand half-ware - and knew
That round him were bare wastes, and open blue,
And clean blown airs of heaven.

PUBLISHER'S ANNOUNCEMENTS

POETRY OF TO-DAY

RECOMMENDED BOOKS OF NEW VERSE.

SCENES FROM THE MORTE D'ARTHUR

S. Fowler-Wright

SOME SONGS OF BILITIS.

S. Fowler-Wright

JUST PUBLISHED.

Poets of Merseyside        2/6 and 3/6

Birmingham Poetry 1923-4        2/6 and 3/6

NOW IN PREPARATION.

A Manchester Anthology        2/6 and 3/6

Some Yorkshire Poets        3/6

FROM OVERSEAS        3/6 and 5/- net.

An Anthology Of Dominion And Colonial Verse.

        This is the first of a companion series to Voices on the Wind.

Its intention is to introduce the contemporary poetry of the various centres of literary culture scattered throughout the English-speaking world, both to each other, and to English readers.

First Published 1922.        VOICES ON THE WIND.        (First Series)

An Anthology Of Contemporary Verse By Nearly A Hundred Of The Best Of Our -Living Poets-

With a Preface by S. Fowler-Wright.

        A companion Volume representing the best work of Dominion Authors is now in preparation.

THE EMPIRE POETRY LEAGUE.

Headquarters: Abbey House, London, S.W.1

President: Sir Arthur Quiller Couch, M.A., D. Litt.

Chairman: L.H.B. Knox, Esq.

Vice-Presidents:

Vice-Presidents and Representatives of Colonial Branches:

Dr. L.H. Allen (Duntroon, Australia).

Mrs. Ida M. Cooke (Wellington. N.Z.)

Dr. P.S.G. Dubash (Karachi)

Dr. Ernest Fewster (Vancouver)

D.O.H. Holland, Esq., (South Africa)

Fredoon Kabraji, Esq., (Bombay)

Dr. J.D. Logan (Toronto)

J.E. Clare MacFarlane, Esq. (Jamaica)

Mrs. D.H. Wilcox (Syndney, N.S.W).

Hon. Sec.: Miss Fowler Wright, Abbey House, Westminster, S.W.1.

Hon. Treasurer: Mrs. Hamilton Scott, 9, Queen's Gate Gardens, S.W.7.

Auditors: Messrs. Trevor Davies & Co., Basinghall Street, E.C.

        This league is a fellowship of those who are interested in poetry, and are banded together with a view to extending the love and knowledge of all imaginative literature.

        Full particular's, programmes, &c., can be obtained on application to the Hon. Sec. as above.

Loren H.B. Knox, Chairman.

End of this file.