ECHOING CADENCES AND SUBTLE RHYTHMS

John Freeman, copious and intricate lyricist, won with his "Poems New and Old" the Hawthornden Prize for 1920. He is a rare poet, and aloof poet, and it is not surprising that he is so little known in this country. His poems are often involved, often difficult, and often demand a re-reading. But his work has nearly always subtle turns of thought and touches of startling beauty. Few poets have his wonderful, uncanny feeling about trees.

His most recent book, "Two Poems", has just been printed by Bruce Rogers for the Dunster House Bookshop. It is a joy to possess poetry printed as it ought to be printed--a tall, clear page, lovely paper, and type that makes the lines "read themselves" to one. These poems, "The Red Path" and "The Wounded Bird", have never before been published, here or in England.

The first poem, "The Red Path", a narrative poem somewhat after the earlier manner of Mr. Masefield, does not measure up to Mr. Freeman's best work, One is discomfitted by lines such as.

"Shall I send for your wife?" but the old man when

"Your wife!" he heard, shook his weak head and frowned

And cast pale angry orbs the room around,

Lest his wife should be there.

It is the story of the red path of hatred, the gradual poisoning of a man's mind and body and soul. And yet, with all his singular craft and dark poetic power, Mr. Freeman is not entirely convincing here.

"The Wounded Bird", however, is the very stuff and fabric of a dream. It is a lovely thing. The closing lines breathe the spirit of the whole poem:

Such was the dream. If it was more than a dream.

Shadow of approaching wrong, image of ill

That wounds the eternal beauty of the world,

I cannot tell.

It is a poem that one goes back to--a mysterious poem full of echoing cadences and subtly turning, twisting, rhythms, a poem that breathes the unquiet beauty of recollected dreams.