William Canton (1845 - 1926)
William Canton, portrait photo by Walter Stoneman |
[Image source: National Portrait Gallery]
What I've been reading is a 1925-ish pamphlet from the
series The Augustan Books of Poetry
Edited by Edward Thompson. William Canton's early poetry, written in the
1870s, gained attention (e.g. from Thomas Huxley) for its adoption of
up-to-date materials from Darwinism, geology and archaeology. In later years Canton (1845 - 1926), editor
and leader-writer for the Glasgow Weekly
Herald, was mainly known for his children's books and popular Christian
works (A Child's Book of Warriors, Dawn in Palestine, etc). Some of the
poems here date from after the death of his beloved daughter Winifred Vida in
1901.
Take
them to bed, nurse; but before she goes
Daddy
must toast his little woman's toes.
Strange
that such feeble hands and feet as these
Have
sped the lamp-race of the centuries!
That last couplet, combining his two themes, goes into my
page-long anthology of the best of William Canton. True, it might have been
written by any number of Victorian poets, but not all perfections are
individual. Some short-hands, such as the word "sped" (in that fragile
moment before motoring was invented), are achieved communally. (Indeed, as much as Rimbaud's Bateau ivre,
Canton 's lines
are a sort of birth-pang of motoring, already envisaged in dreams before the reality was
engineered.)
But my favourite poem is "The Haunted Bridge",
partly because I have no logical explanation for the suggestive phrase
"citron shadow". The ancient bridge, now cut adrift from roads, is
haunted by a little lad, a Roman truant who has gone a-fishing
And,
dangling sandalled feet, looks down
To see the swift trout dart and gleam --
Or
scarcely see them, hanging brown
With heads against the clear brown stream.
It does not exactly suggest a Roman scene, sandals or no, but that's what
makes the poem interesting. A similar appropriation of the past occurs in my
other favourite poem, "Woodland Windows" - these are
"foliage-fretted lancets" through a line of elms, which Canton oddly
calls woodland; those pillared elms, now long gone from the English
landscape, did not grow in woods but around field edges. Anyway, the poet,
glimpsing first an old fisherman and then "two bright sunburnt tots at
play", then meditates the past into the scene:
Within
the woodland's pillared shade,
I seem from some dim aisle to see
That
shore by whose blue waters played
The little lads of Zebedee.
(Those bright-coloured stained-glass narratives of Victorian
churches are obviously a birth-pang of Technicolor, already envisaged blah blah...)
The major poem here is "Through the Ages", which
is in three parts, the first a dramatic Stone Age tragedy featuring a
sabre-tooth tiger. This section is fascinatingly crude;that is, it pre-dates a
consensus about how to portray
prehistory in literature.
By the swamp in the forest
sings shrilly in glee
The stark forester's lass
plucking mast in a tree --
And
hairy and brown as a squirrel is she!
The second section is a grand processional covering vast
expanses of time:
......
For
lo! the shadowy centuries once more
With
wind and fire, with rain and snow sweep by;
And
where the forest stood, an empty sky
Arches
with lonely blue and lonely land.
The
great white stilted storks in silence stand
Far
from each other, motionless as stone,
And
melancholy leagues of marsh-reeds moan,
And
dead tarns blacken 'neath the mournful blue.
These eras and sea-pictures are eventually populous and as
we reach recorded history they even begin to name some individuals; the last is Oliver
Cromwell.
The third section is a comic schoolroom scene in which an
eloquent but droning professor is gently ribbed by a lively class of girls, but
then young Phemie suddenly awakens in her imagination the scene with which the
poem began. The verse looks like this: -
Monstrous
bird stalk stilted by as
She perceives the slab of Trias
Scrawled
with hieroglyphic claw-tracks of the mesozoic days...
Not only the professor, but the whole poem, is reoriented
through this mockery. The mixture of registers is piquant: the question
underlying each of the poem's sections is: in what way are our lives altered by
this unearthing of the past? "Through
the Ages" stands modestly at the head of a proud succession that would include Doughty's The Dawn in Britain (1906), Kipling's "Puck's Song" and
others, the first part of The Anathemata, Peter Riley's Excavations, etc.
(Other readers may not value that modesty as I do. This was
an age in which the poet's eagle eye, the colonialist's eagle eye, the
ruling-class Englishman's eagle eye, the journalist's eagle eye, were
omnipresent assumptions: all subsumed into the colonial image of a border-guard who stands watch, and who sees beyond the petty camp-fires of the women and of lesser men. Surely Canton , scion of a family
of colonial administrators, would naturally assume that complacent patriarchal mantle? From
what I can see in this pamphlet, it didn't occur to him.)
(An earlier version of this note appeared in Intercapillary Space)
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