Poems By a Little Girl | Page 5

the nature poems.
Hilda Conkling is evidently possessed of a rare?and accurate power of observation. And when?we add this to her gift of imagination, we see?that it is the perfectly natural play of these two?faculties which makes what to her is an obvious?expression. She does not search for it, it is her?natural mode of thought. But, luckily for her,?she has been guided by a wisdom which has not?attempted to show her a better way. Her observation?has been carefully, but unobtrusively, cultivated;?her imagination has been stimulated by the?reading of excellent books; but both these lines?of instruction have been kept apparently apart?from her own work. She has been let alone there;?she has been taught by an analogy which she has?never suspected. By this means, her poetical gift?has functioned happily, without ever for a moment?experiencing the tension of doubt.
A few passages will serve to show how well?Hilda knows how to use her eyes:
"The water came in with a wavy look?Like a spider's web."
A bluebird has a back "like a feathered sky."?Apostrophizing a snow-capped mountain she?writes:
"You shine like a lily?But with a different whiteness."
She asks a humming-bird:
"Why do you stand on the air?And no sun shining?"
She hears a chickadee:
"Far off I hear him talking?The way smooth bright pebbles?Drop into water."
Now let us follow her a step farther, to where?the imagination takes a firmer hold:
"The world turns softly?Not to spill its lakes and rivers.?The water is held in its arms?And the sky is held in the water."
School lessons, and a reflection in a pond--?that is the stuff of which all poetry is made. It?is the fusion which shows the quality of the poet.?Turn to the text and read "Geography." Really,?this is an extraordinary child!
It is pleasant to watch her with the artist's?eagerness intrigued by the sounds of words, for?instance:
"--silvery lonesome lapping of the long wave."
Again, enchanted by a little bell of rhyme, we have?this amusing catalogue:
"John-flowers,?Mary-flowers,?Polly-flowers?Cauli-flowers."
That is the conscious Hilda, the gay little girl,?but it shows a quick ear nevertheless. We can?almost hear the giggle with which that "Cauliflowers"?came out. Usually rhyme does not?appear to be a matter of moment to her. Some?poets think in rhyme, some do not; Hilda?evidently belongs to the second category.?"Treasure," and "The Apple-Jelly-Fish-Tree," and?"Short Story" are the only poems in the book?which seem to follow a clearly rhymed pattern.?If any misguided schoolmistress had ever?suggested that a poem should have rhyme and?metre, this book would never have been "told."?In "Moon Doves," however, there is a distinctly?metrical effect without rhyme. But the great?majority of the poems are built upon cadence,?and the subtlety of this little girl's cadences?are a delight to those who can hear them.?Doubtless her musical inheritance has all to do?with this, for in poem after poem the instinct for?rhythm is unerring. So constantly is this the case,?that it is scarcely necessary to point out particular?examples. I may, however, name, as two of her?best for other qualities as well, "Gift," and?"Poems." The latter contains two of her quick?strokes of observation and comparison: the morning?"like the inside of a snow-apple," and she herself?curled "cushion-shaped" in the window-seat.
Dear me! How simple these poems seem when?you read them done. But try to write something?new about a dandelion. Try it; and then read?the poem of that name here. It is charming;?how did she think of it? How indeed!
Delightful conceits she has--another is "Sun?Flowers"--but how comes a child of eight to?prick and point with the rapier of irony? For it?is nothing less than irony in "The Tower and the?Falcon." Did she quite grasp its meaning?herself? We may doubt it. In this poem, the?subconscious is very much on the job.
To my thinking, the most successful poems in?the book--and now I mean successful from a?grown-up standpoint--are "For You, Mother,"?"Red Rooster," "Gift," "Poems," "Dandelion,"?"Butterfly," "Weather," "Hills," and?"Geography." And it will be noticed that these?are precisely the poems which must have sprung?from actual experience. They are not the book?poems, not even the fairy poems, they are the?records of reactions from actual happenings. I?have not a doubt that Hilda prefers her fairystories.?They are the conscious play of her?imagination, it must be "fun" to make them.?Ah, but it is the unconscious with which we are?most concerned, those very poems which are probably?to her the least interesting are the ones which?most certainly reveal the fulness of poetry from?which she draws. She probably hardly thought?at all, so natural was it, to say that three pinks?"smell like more of them in a blue vase," but the?expression fills the air with so strong a scent that?no superlative could increase it.
"Gift" is a lovely poem, it has feeling,?expression, originality, cadence. If a child can write?such a poem at eight years old, what does it mean??That depends, I think, on how long the instructors?of youth can be persuaded to keep "hands off."?A period of imitation is, I fear, inevitable, but if?consciousness is not induced by direct criticism, if?instruction in