Georgian Poetry 1918-19.

by Various.

PREFATORY NOTE

This is the fourth volume of the present series. I hope it may be thought to show that what for want of a better word is called Peace has not interfered with the writing of good poetry.

Thanks and acknowledgements are due to Messrs. Beaumont, Blackwell, Collins, Constable, Fifield, Heinemann, Seeker, Selwyn & Blount, and Sidgwick & Jackson; and to the Editors of 'The Anglo-French Review', 'The Athenaeum', 'The Chapbook', 'Land and Water', 'The Nation', 'The New Statesman', 'The New Witness', 'The New World', 'The Owl', 'The Spectator', 'To-day', 'Voices', and 'The Westminster Gazette'.

E. M.

September, 1919.

LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE

WITCHCRAFT: NEW STYLE

The sun drew off at last his piercing fires.

Over the stale warm air, dull as a pond And moveless in the grey quieted street, Blue magic of a summer evening glowed.

The sky, that had been dazzling stone all day, Hollowed in smooth hard brightness, now dissolved To infinite soft depth, and smoulder'd down Low as the roofs, dark burning blue, and soared Clear to that winking drop of liquid silver, The first exquisite star. Now the half-light Tidied away the dusty litter parching Among the cobbles, veiled in the colour of distance Shabby slates and brickwork mouldering, turn'd The hunchback houses into patient things Resting; and golden windows now began.

A little brisk grey slattern of a woman, Pattering along in her loose-heel'd clogs, Pushed the bra.s.s-barr'd door of a public-house; The spring went hard against her; hand and knee Shoved their weak best. As the door poised ajar, Hullabaloo of talking men burst out, A pouring babble of inflamed palaver, And overriding it and shouted down High words, jeering or downright, broken like Crests that leap and stumble in rushing water.

Just as the door went wide and she stepped in, 'She cannot do it!' one was bawling out: A glaring hulk of flesh with a bull's voice.

He finger'd with his neckerchief, and stretched His throat to ease the anger of dispute, Then spat to put a full stop to the matter.

The little woman waited, with one hand Propping the door, and smiled at the loud man.

They saw her then; and the sight was enough To gag the speech of every drinker there: The din fell down like something chopt off short.

Blank they all wheel'd towards her, with their mouths Still gaping as though full of voiceless words.

She let the door slam to; and all at ease, Amused, her smile wrinkling about her eyes, Went forward: they made room for her quick enough.

Her chin just topt the counter; she gave in Her bottle to the potboy, tuckt it back, Full of bright tawny ale, under her arm, Rapt down the coppers on the planisht zinc, And turned: and no word spoken all the while.

The first voice, in that silent crowd, was hers, Her light snickering laugh, as she stood there Pausing, scanning the sawdust at her feet.

Then she switcht round and faced the positive man Whose strong 'She cannot do it!' all still felt Huskily shouting in their guilty ears.

'She can't, eh? She can't do it? '--Then she'd heard!

The man, inside his ruddy insolent flesh, Had hoped she did not hear. His barrel chest Gave a slight cringe, as though the glint of her eyes p.r.i.c.kt him. But he stood up to her awkwardly bold, One elbow on the counter, gripping his mug Like a man holding on to a post for safety.

The Man:

You can't do what's not nature: n.o.body can.

The Woman:

And louts like you have nature in your pocket?

The Man:

I don't say that--

The Woman:

If you kept saying naught, No one would guess the fool you are.

Second Man:

Almost My very words!

The Woman:

O you're the knowing man!

The spark among the cinders!

First Man:

You can't fetch A free man back, unless he wants to come.

The Woman:

Nay, I'll be bound he doesn't want to come!

Third Man:

And he won't come: he told me flat he wouldn't.

The Woman:

Are you there too?

Third Man:

And if he does come back It will be devilry brought him.