CURRENT POETRY

HE joyous soldier, the man who

stedfastly refuses to let the horror of war touch his soul, is a man to prize, but when he happens to be a poet as well, he is doubly precious. We are introduced to such a one in the Chicago Tribune, by John Masefield, who says: "There is a gay young singer named Robert Graves who has written poetry about the war that will live." His book, "Fairies and Fusileers" (Alfred Knopf, New York), has just appeared and it is gay, charming, buoyant, and courageous. Let us take a poem that justifies the first of his titles:

BABYLON

BY ROBERT GRAVES

The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim.
And all's poetry with him.
Rime and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He's forgotten how he smiled

And shrieked at snowdrops when a child.
Or wept one evening secretly
For April's glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary,
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and the ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer's gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.

Here we have a poet's recipe for making a fine poem:

A PINCH OF SALT

BY ROBERT GRAVES

When a dream is born in you

With a sudden clamorous pain, When you know the dream is true

And lovely, with no flaw nor stain, Oh, then, be careful, or with sudden clutch You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.

Dreams are like a bird that mocks,

Flirting the feathers of his tail. When you seize at the salt-box

Over the hedge you'll see him sail.

Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff. They watch you from the apple-bough and laugh

Poet, never chase the dream.

Laugh yourself and turn away. Mask your hunger, let it seem

Small matter if he come or stay;

But when he nestles in your hand at last, Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast

Next we are given a pathetic little peep into the Poor House with an aspect of it which we fear is too true.

THE LADY VISITOR IN THE PAUPER WARD

BY ROBERT GRAVES

Why do you break upon this old, cool peace, This painted peace of ours,

With harsh dress hissing like a flock of geese, With garish flowers?

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BY ROBERT GRAVES

It doesn't matter what's the cause.
What wrong they say we're righting,
A curse for treaties, bonds, and laws,
When we're to do the fighting!
And since we lads are proud and true,
What else remains to do?
Lucasta, when to France your man
Returns his fourth time, hating war,
Yet laughs as calmly as he can

And flings an oath, but says no more, That is not courage, that's not fearLucasta, he's a Fusileer,

And his pride sends him here.

Let statesmen bluster, bark, and bray,
And so decide who started
This bloody war, and who's to pay,
But he must be stout-hearted,
Must sit and stake with quiet breath,
Playing at cards with Death.
Don't plume yourself he fights for you;
It is no courage, love, nor hate,
But let us do the things we do;

It's pride that makes the heart be great;
It is not anger, no, nor fear-
Lucasta, he's a Fusileer,

And his pride keeps him here.

A little touch of a grim subject treated in anything but a grim way is

THE LAST POST

BY ROBERT GRAVES

The bugler sent a call of high romance-
"Lights out! Lights out!" to the deserted square.
On the thin, brazen notes he threw a prayer,
"God, if it's this for me next time in France
O spare the fantom bugle as I lie

Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusileers too good to die."

Let us once more quote John Masefieldthis time in the New York Evening Post. "Graves was picked up for dead," said Masefield. "He heard them say he was dead, and he called out: 'I'm not dead. I'm damned if I'll die.' And he didn't. He wrote a poem about it." And here is the poem.

ESCAPE

BY ROBERT GRAVES

(August 6, 1916.-Officer previously reported died of wounds, now reported wounded: Graves, Capt. R., Royal Welsh Fusileers.)

But I was dead, an hour or more.

I woke when I'd already passed the door
That Cerberus guards, and half-way down the road
To Lethe, as an old Greek sign-post showed.
Above me, on my stretcher swinging by,

I saw new stars in the subterrane sky:
A Cross, a Rose in bloom, a Cage with bars,
And a barbed Arrow feathered in fine stars.
I felt the vapors of forgetfulness
Float in my nostrils. Oh, may Heaven bless
Dear Lady Proserpine, who saw me wake,
And, stooping over me, for Henna's sake
Cleared my poor buzzing head and sent me back
Breathless, with leaping heart along the track.
After me roared and clattered angry hosts
Of demons, heroes, and policemen-ghosts.
"Life! life! I can't be dead! I won't be dead!
Damned if I'll die for any one!" I said.

Cerberus stands and grins above me now, Wearing three heads-lion, and lynx, and sow.

"Quick, a revolver! Stolen!... No bombs.

crowd swarms on,

But my Webley's gone,

... no knife. . . . The

Bellows, hurls stones. . . . Not even a honeyed

sop. Nothing

Stay!

believe

A great luminous thought . . . I do

There's still some morphia that I bought on leave."
Then swiftly Cerberus' wide mouths I cram
With army biscuit smeared with ration jam;
And sleep lurks in the lu cious plum and apple.
He crunches, swallows, stiffens, seems to grapple
With the all-powerful poppy . . then a snore,
A crash; the beast blocks up the corridor
With monstrous hairy carcass, red and dun-
Too late! for I've sped through. O Life! O Sun!

Having been "dead," it is not surprizing that the poet can contemplate his latter end with a touch of somewhat naughty humor.

WHEN I'M KILLED

BY ROBERT GRAVES
When I'm killed, don't think of me
Buried there in Cambrin Wood,
Nor as in Zion think of me

With the Intolerable Good
And there's one thing that I know well,
I'm damned if I'll be damned to Hell!

So when I'm killed, don't wait for me,
Walking the dim corridor;

In Heaven or Hell, don't wait for me.
Or you must wait forevermore.
You'll find me buried, living-dead
In these verses that you've read.

So when I'm killed, don't mourn for me,
Shot, poor lad, so bold and young,
Killed and gone-don't mourn for me.
On your lips my life is hung:

O friends and lovers, you can save
Your playfellow from the grave.

Finally, Robert Graves is a fine storyteller. Most of them have a whimsical ending like this:

THE SHIVERING BEGGAR

BY ROBERT GRAVES

Near Clapham village, where fields began,
Saint Edward met a beggar man.

It was Christmas morning, the church bells tolled,
The old man trembled for the fierce cold.

Saint Edward cried, "It is monstrous sin
A beggar to lie in rags so thin!
An old gray-beard and the frost so keen:
I shall give him my fur-lined gabardine."
He stript off his gabardine of scarlet
And wrapt it round the aged varlet,
Who clutched at the folds with a muttered curse,
Quaking and chattering seven times worse.

Said Edward, "Sir, it would seem you freeze
Most bitter at your extremities.
Here are gloves and shoes and stockings, also,
That warm upon your way you may go."

The man took stocking and shoe and glove,
Blaspheming Christ our Savior's love,
Yet seemed to find but litt e relief,
Shaking and shivering like a leaf.

Said the saint again, "I have no great riches,
Yet take this tunic, take these breeches,
My shirt and my vest, take everything,
And give due thanks to Jesus the King."
The saint stood naked upon the snow
Long miles from where he was lodged at Bowe,
Praying, O God! my faith, it grows faint!
This would try the temper of any saint.

'Make clean my heart, Almighty, I pray,
And drive these sinful thoughts away.
Make clean my heart if it be thy will,
This damned old rascal's shivering st ll!"

He stooped, he touched the beggar man's shoulder:
He asked him did the frost nip colder?

MERICA IS TO-DAY the world's sugar-bowl.

AMER

That was explained in full in the article printed October 5 in this series. Owing to the decrease in sugar-production in the Allied countries, the distance which ships must traverse to reach the Java supply, and finally the lack of ships available to go to Java when all are needed to carry troops, food, and war-materials to Europe-we must without stint send sugar to the Allies out of our own supply.

And the more we can send, the better. But it is impossible to send every bit of our sugar and get along altogether without. This country must have enough-and only enough-to maintain its health and strength. Unfortunately sugar is not an abstract quality-like patriotism, or hope, or courage— which, the more it is shared, the more it increases. Sugar is a tangible substance, measured in pounds and tons, and when it is once gone there is no replacing it until Nature comes along with another crop.

Hence it is necessary that when we have shared every ounce possible with the nations allied with us, we must somehow contrive to make what is left go round. That is a problem which the Food Administration, all the manufacturers and dealers in sugar, and the public, must share between them.

ALLOTMENT-In other words, here in this country the adequacy of the sugar-supply is, in addition to being a matter of personal self-sacrifice, also a matter of distribution.

Now what is the method and procedure of allotment, so that each State in the Union may have a fair amount of sugar?

Obviously it has to be based upon population. Of course, some States have more industries requiring sugar than others; but for home consumption the amount needed will be determined by the number of people in each State. Vermont can not be assigned as much sugar as New York; North Dakota's share can not equal Pennsylvania's. And yet each individual, wherever he may be, will have an equal chance to buy his three pounds per month-his voluntary honor ration.

But, of course, in addition to population, the amount of sugar needed for certain industries (such as condensed milk and fruit-preserving) in any State is taken into account before determining the allotment for that State.

THE TRADES NEEDING SUGAR The United States Food Administration, therefore, having in hand statistics covering the amount of sugar available for the whole country for a month, and knowing just what the population and sugar-using industries of each State are, from month to month, notifies the Federal Food Administrator of each State just what the State's allotment for the coming months will be. He in turn conveys this information to his Sugar Division, which is in existence in every State. Each retailer in the State submits to the Sugar Division a sworn statement showing the retailer's distribution of sugar in the past, the number of families he is serving, and the number of persons per family. The Sugar Division thereupon issues to the retailer sugar-certificates equivalent to three pounds per person per month; and the retailer, in buying his sugar must surrender the certificates thus obtained, which represent the total amount of sugar he can obtain. It therefore follows that the retailer must use extreme care in the distribution of sugar to his customers.

The individual in each State is entitled to his three pounds of sugar a month (tho if he eats less, of course, there will be just that much more available for overseas shipment). But there still remains the intricate task of alloting sugar to hotels, public eating-places, bakeries, and other industries requiring it. This is accomplished by means of issuing sugar-certificates alloting to each applicant only the specified number of pounds permitted.

The sugar-using industries, whatever they may be, are arranged into classes. And the class any industry is put into is determined by how important to the conduct of the war, or to the maintenance of necessary domestic conditions, that industry happens to be.

The amount of sugar to which each separate concern is entitled, is established by finding out how much sugar it used, on a monthly average in normal prewar times, and then letting it have whatever fraction of that is permissible to the class of industries in which it is included. (Some industries are allotted no sugar at all, either because they play so small a part in the conduct of war-activities or because they can use some other substance in place of sugar.)

Thus, at the date of writing, soft drinks and some other manufacturers are entitled to only one-half of the sugar used by them in normal times. Bakers are given a seventy per cent. allotment. Hotels are permitted three pounds of sugar to every ninety meals served, including cooking.

Such are instances of how sugar is allotted on the certificate basis.

And to complete this method of enforcement, every sugar refiner, beet-sugar manufacturer, and wholesale grocer in the country is notified that no sugar is to be delivered except upon the presentation of the properly authorized certificate.

THE SUGAR EQUALIZATION BOARD-All this naturally leads to the queries: How are this country's vast resources of sugar, as they come from the cane or beet-fields in the first place, controlled and held ready for distribution? And how is the sugar price regulated?

The answer is: Through the Sugar Equalization Board.

This Board is a part of the Food Administration and approved by the President. Its purpose is to equalize the cost of various sugars and to secure better distribution. It can also cooperate with the Allies in the procurement of sugar for them and in the adjustment of overseas freight-rates. Through capital supplied by the President through his special funds, it is enabled, when desirable, to buy up all available sugars at different prices and resell them at one fixt and even rate.

In other words, it provides a sort of vast storehouse of sugar, which may be doled out where it is most needed, at a price secure from the fluctuations otherwise inevitable in war-time.

KEEPING DOWN THE PRICE-What might happen without this Sugar Equalization Board is illustrated by the Civil War, when sugar, because of speculation, went as high as thirtyfive cents a pound. And at that time there was no world shortage of sugar. If there were no sort of sugar control to-day, it may readily be believed that the consumer might have to pay sugar prices soaring far above those Civil-War levels.

It costs more to produce and market some sugars (such as domestic beet-sugar and Louisiana cane) than it does others, such as Cuban cane-sugar. But that is no reason why the sugar-manufacturer, whose production costs are high, should suffer, even to the extent of being forced out of the market. Nor can the country afford to have this happen under present war-time shortage of near-by supplies. Consequently, when it becomes necessary, the Sugar Equalization Board through its purchasing powers can insure fair profits to the manufacturers. Then the Board may resell this sugar, so that it reaches the public at a price lower than what the maximum

would otherwise be.

Such are the methods of regulating our home supplies, prices, and distribution of sugar, so that this country may have all it needs, while the remainder moves steadily overseas to the Allies and our own soldiers.