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HERZEN'S MEMOIRS, Vol. 5. Translated by Constance Garnett. Chatto and Windus, 3/6.

THE LIFE OF WILLIAM GODWIN. By Ford K. Brown. Dent, 16/-. BEATRICE CENCI. By Corrado Ricci. Translated by M. Bishop and H. L. Stuart. Two vols. Heinemann, 32/-.

CRITICISM

JAMES JOYCE. HIS FIRST FORTY YEARS. By Herbert S. Gorman. Bles, 7/6.

THE REVIVAL OF ESTHETICS. Hubert Waley. Hogarth Press, 3/6. HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. Vol. I: THE MIDDLE AGES AND THE RENAISSANCE. By Emile Legouis and Louis Cazamian. Dent, 10/6.

MADAME DE STAEL. By D. G. Larg. Translated by V. Lucas. Routledge, 12/6.

FICTION

THE CHARTERHOUSE OF PARMA. By Stendhal. Translated by
C. K. Scott Moncrieff. 2 vols.
Chatto & Windus, 7/6 each.

THE QUESTION MARK. By M. Jaeger. Hogarth Press, 7/6.
THE EDUCATION OF A YOUNG MAN.

Press, 7/6.

By Matius Lyle. Hogarth

INNOCENT BIRDS. By T. F. Powys. Chatto and Windus, 7/6. THE SACRED Tree (The Tale of Genji, Vol. 2). Translated by Arthur Waley. Allen and Unwin, 10/6.

GENERAL LITERATURE

LAST ESSAYS. By Joseph Conrad. Dent, 7/6.
THE ART OF BEING RULED. By Wyndham Lewis.

Windus, 18/-.

Chatto and

REPRINTS

SWIFT. Selected Letters. Bohn's Popular Library. Bell, 2/DEKKER'S PLAGUE PAMPHLETS. Edited by F. P. Wilson. Oxford University Press, 9/-.

DONNE. Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, with Death's Duel. Abbey Classics. Simpkins, 3/6.

DOUGHTY. Wanderings in Arabia. Duckworth, 12/6.

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GENERAL LIBRARY
UNIV. OF MICH.

THE

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BEATRIX HOLMS

THE WORKSHOP OF KENNETH
BURKE

GORHAM B. MUNSON

THE APOLOGY FOR YAHOOS
JASPER BILDJE.

1, FEATHERSTONE BUILDINGS, HIGH HOT

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POEMS, by Hart Crane

A SUBURBAN INCIDENT, by Herbert L. Kahan

FOUNDATION STONE TO A NEW CITY HALL, (A POEм), by Alec

Brown

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THE SALVATION OF ANATOLE FRANCE, by Louis Rougier

THE ZODIAC, (A POEM), by Beatrix Holms

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IN AND ABOUT THE WORKSHOp of Kenneth BURKE, by Gorham
B. Munson

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THE APOLOGY FOR YAHOOS, by Jasper Bildje

NOTES AND REVIEWS

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"Where is Britain Going?" by Trotsky, Reviewed by
Douglas Garman; "Euthanasia, or The Future of
Criticism," by Bertram Higgins; "The Lautréamont
Affair," by Edgell Rickword.

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"Confessio Juvenis," by Hughes, Reviewed by Edgell
Rickword; "The Art of Thought," by Wallas, Reviewed
by Edwin Muir; "Coleridge," by Faussett, Reviewed by
J. F. Holms.

FICTION

Reviewed by C. H. Rickword

156

166

THE CALENDAR is published quarterly. Price 2/6 a number, or by post

2/8. Yearly rate: 10/- post free from address on cover.

THREE POEMS FROM A SEQUENCE:

HERO ENTOMBED

I

My lamp, full charged with its sweet oil, still burns,

Has burned a whole year and it shows no check.

My cerements there

Lie where I rolled them off,

The death odours within them,

Harshly composed, coiled up in marble fold.

This tent of white translucent stone, my tomb,
Lets through its panel such a ray of light,
Blind and refracted,

As a calm sea might do

Through its tough warping lens

From the ascendant moon at its highest step.

Some have complained the gentleness of the sea,

Stagnantly streaming, with quick ebb withdrawing
Along the tideless South.

Thus sound to me,

And like its noonday hiss

Wheels, voices, music, thunder, the trumpet at dawn.

You must not think my entertainment slight

In the close prison where I walk all day.

"And yet, entombed,

Do not your thoughts oppressed

Pluck off the bandage from your sores,

From arrow-wound and from ulcered armour-gall?"

My wounds are dried already to pale weals.

I did not fall in battle as you think,

On Epipolæ

Dashed from the rock head down

Or in the quarries stifle,

But stoned by words and pierced with beams of eyes.

So, patient, not regretful, self-consoling

I walk, touching the tomb wall with my fingers,

In silent entertainment.

On the smooth floor

The stirred dust ankle deep

Steams up languid, to clog the struggling lamp flame.

Syracuse.

II

With such frail stuff they use to shroud our limbs, You'd think the mightiest dead were childish weak. In a waking spasm

Each can snap off

His linen fetters,

Then rend away the scarf sealing his lips.

Such heavy tears you weep, you other dead.
They drop like ripe pearls out of Indian grain
Under the harvesting south wind.

Here white Nero

Shows his deep severed throat.

Does that proud front bear sorrow and disquiet?

Within what dance shall ransomed limbs conform,
And with what measure trance recaptured day?
I live. I live.

Yet faintly my voice sounds.

Hero am I,

A being sacred, blessed in its repose?

To break the line that sleep had writhed me in,
About the arms as with long bands of wool,
Is nothing.

I must crack the ribs apart.

Ah, look where lies

An unbodied lump of sweetness at the heart.

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