Modernist Magazines and Digital Humanities

<!--StartFragment-->The post-war Owl was still rather dark and somber in its mood. There was a sense that the redemption of humanity might be on the horizon but the war was still very strongly present in its contents. Throughout the 1923 publication there are very dark sketches such as “The Shire Horse” and rather sad poems such as a “Winter Remembered” by John Crowe Ransom, which directly references the war.

In a “Winter Remembered” Ransom speaks about a winter at war. He says “better to walk forth in murderous air and wash my wound in the snows… because my heart would throb less painful there”. The winter imagery contributes to how horrible the war was and it’s lingering effects on society. The Owl’s choice of including this poem speaks to the lasting problems those faced with the after match of a traumatic event such as war continue to deal with.

Like wise the sketches in the post-war Owl also add to a sense of despair. "The Shire Horse" looks very dark and ominous. He is somewhat reminiscent of one of the four horseman of the apocalypse. Upon closer examination on can see a small man hanging onto the reign. He, however, looks small and insignificant next to this huge menacing looking horse. The colors used are also dark further giving a sense of despair. This sketch speaks volumes to how society was feeling shortly after the war. This negative sentiment is lightened a bit with a series of sketches by Vincent Brook, which depicts what seems to be a man under a rock. He then begins to move up through the rock until he is finally standing next to rock with a content look on his face. This can be seen as a somewhat symbolic sentiment that at this time people still very much feel effected by the war but are looking forward to eventually moving away from the horrors of the war. 

The overall post-war sentiment of The Owl has been rather dark with some hints of hope for the near future.

Due: Project 4

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Unlike its Vorticist predecessor, Blast, Wyndham Lewis's second short-lived magazine, The Tyro, concerns itself less with aesthetic/theoretical didacticism than it does with critical analyses of modernist issues, particularly in art. The ostensible aim in publishing such articles is to disprove the prevailing belief, observed by Lewis, that "Cubism, Futurism, Vorticism, and all the rest of that revolutionary phase of art, is dead" (No. 2, page 3).  In the second (and final) issue of The Tyro, published in 1922, authors O. Raymond Drey and Jessie Dismorr each make a case for the continued relevance of modern art: Drey, by deconstructing the complicated and often bemused societal attitudes toward modernism, and Dismorr by cataloguing the recent crop of modern artists working out of Russia, whose emerging bodies of vital, experimental work in painting, sculpture and costume disproved the notion that modernism was dead.

      Drey's article, "Abstract Art and Some Analogies," primarily addresses the belief that, lacking function, abstract art is useless. He counters this idea with the contention that, though its function is unusual, it serves a function nevertheless.  Unlike those objects with aesthetic value related to the direct relationship between form and function, as in the beauty of a yacht's hull or "the cambered wings of an aeroplane," the aesthetic value of the abstract is not related to productivity (14).  Rather, the effect of abstract art is "on the mind and imagination of the spectator who is sensitive to formal design" (14).  Drey also addresses the detractors of the abstract, who cannot imagine its use, describing them as those viewers who  "are the least sensitive to the prodigal confusion of abstract forms in the midst of which they move and have their being" (14-15).   In other words, the abstract work is nothing more or less than the pure expression of the world in which it was created, a product of political, social, economic, global and local influences.  Further, far from being irrelevant or useless, this kind of art is only appreciable by the viewer with an acute sensitivity/susceptibility to the emotionality of pure form, rather than to meanings conveyed through narratives or poetic allusion (15).  

     Drey goes on to address other factors which may contribute to the unpopularity of the modern or abstract work, contending that its authors hinder the skeptic's ability to apprehend meaning by attempting to associate the work with "recognisable objects" (15).  A piece entitled "A Portrait of Madame X," for example may perplex the viewer who seeks to identify the conventional form of a woman within the abstract picture.  Such complicating titles are alienating, not only in the creation of distance between the viewer and the work's possible meanings, but by inspiring in the viewer feelings of frustration at not being able to understand a kind of inside "joke" (16).  Further, applying recognizable titles to abstract pieces dilutes the potency of the art itself.  As Drey puts it, "Those who are naturally impervious to the music of form, and those others who misprize it unless combined with a more complex form of appeal, are not to be won by explanation."  That is to say, the abstract is sensed or experienced and should not be intellectualized in order to be understood.

     For her part, Jessie Dismorr seeks to validate the work of modern and abstract artists by highlighting the various efforts of working artists in Russia.  Dismorr's piece, "Some Russian Artists," is an interesting artifact of criticism, as it contemporarily reviews the work of a few artists whose work would prove to be important well after the modernist period.  She hails the futurist Natalia Goncharova whose work spanned various mediums such as painting and costume design, for her "daring" juxtaposition of "chromes and majentas," as well as for employing "cubist devices" in her work with costumes (19).  Dismorr also interestingly places Chagal among the Russian artists, calling him/his work "a curious vessel of the national [Russian] spirit" (19).

     Although Drey's and Dismorr's respective approaches to the subject of modernist art are quite different (the former writes critical theory, while the latter writes art criticism), both pieces demonstrate The Tyro's dedication to affirming and promoting modernist art well after a skeptical public had begun to dismiss it.  Each piece proves that, despite contemporary skepticism, the importance and meanings of such art were still being widely discussed and considered; as such, The Tyro itself is a fantastic artifact of an emerging strain of art criticism and theory from a period of great innovation and creativity.

 By Elsie Dwyer, Calgary Martin, and Abra Stokowski

Various magazines during and immediately following the first World War dealt with gender in a variety of ways, both subtle and explicit.  While publications like Blast  sought outright to affirm specific essentialist beliefs about both men’s and women’s roles during wartime, others, like The Owl, shied away from making overt political statements.  However, even within the pages of The Owl and similar magazines with a strictly literary mission, like Poetry and the Sitwells’ Wheels, gender roles were often explored and re-imagined.  While male poets like W.J. Turner depicted female objects as symbolic of the innocence and harmony which was lost as a result of the war, female poets like Edith Sitwell and Iris Tree defied Blast creator Wyndham Lewis’s view of women’s domestic roles during wartime, by writing poems with female speakers whose interior lives are far richer than Lewis’s or even Turner’s simplistic, essentialist vision would allow.  Further, essays in The New Age, such as Alice Morning’s piece “The Enemy in the House,” imagined roles for women as dissenters who could affect the war’s outcome despite being removed from the action and relegated to the home.
     Blast magazine, and Vorticism in general, was male dominated. The magazine’s general impression of the war was that it was a necessary fight for the country of England and for the freedom of art.  On the contrary, the magazine’s impression of women was that they had a very specific role in society, and very little to do with war, a concept that the editors believed women could not possibly understand due to the fundamental differences between the genders.  Blast’s July 1916 issue is called the War Number and is dedicated almost exclusively to World War I. It speaks openly about the war, discussing it explicitly and implicitly in essays and poems. The masculine magazine establishes a pro-war agenda immediately, and leaves no question of allegiance.
      In Wyndham Lewis’ piece “The European War and Great Communities,” he analyzes specifically what brought on the war. He also examines what makes men fight, deciding that it is a fundamental need for their gender, as they have had to fight for their lives for centuries and will continue to have to do so in the future. He explains that it does not matter what they fight about, or who is correct, because “they are as willing to fight for one immediate thing as another, under these circumstances; since, ‘life is the only thing that matters,’ and it is for life both sides fight, and therefore both are right,” (No. 2, page16).  He asserts that war will never go away, for as long as men vie for power as communities, which they inevitably will, there will always be war. In proclaiming this he begins to explore gender roles.

Murder and destruction is man’s fundamental occupation. Women’s function, the manufacturing of children (even more important than cartridges and khaki suits) is only important from this point of view, and they evidently realize this thoroughly. It takes the deft women we employ anything from twelve to sixteen years to fill and polish these little human cartridges, and they of course get fond of them in the process. However, all this is not our fault, and is absolutely necessary. We only begin decaying like goods kept too long, if we are not killed or otherwise disposed of. Is not this a proof of our function? (17) 

Ignoring the fact that women also age and “decay,” Lewis decides that this is a woman’s only role in war: to make male babies that will eventually entrench themselves in battle to serve their primary duty. He goes on to state that women, due to the basal differences between the genders and thus their different roles in society, will never understand war. “I overheard two ladies the other day conversing on this subject, and one, with an immense jaw, flabby cheeks, and otherwise very large, said: ‘It is such a waste of good human flesh!’” (17)  Other than in the production of soldiers, women have no role in war because they cannot understand the duty that drives men to fight.
     One of the few female Vorticists, Jessie Dismorr, writes about wartime London in the same July issue of Blast, in a piece entitled “London Notes.” She writes about the ways in which public meeting places in London were completely unaffected by the fighting that raged on around them. Describing the places and people in rather grotesque terms, she does not mention the war. She merely makes implications by ignoring it, in the same way that regular citizens tried to ignore it. The war was not an issue for The Reading Room or Fleet Street. These were not literally the battlegrounds. She describes Hyde Park saying,

[A]ll the morning women sit sewing and knitting, their monotonous occupation accompanying the agreeable muddle of their thoughts. In the Row. Vitality civilized to a needles-point; highly-bred men and horses pass swiftly in useless delightful motion; women walk enamoured of their own accomplished movements. (66)

Despite being a woman, Dismorr sticks to the agenda of the magazine. She describes women in wartime as being mostly useless, and all but thoughtless. The men are well bred and on horseback. Calling to mind images of battle, they are described as being almost heroic. Though they are not literally at war, they seem to possess the same qualities of the men at war. The women sit and knit, thinking frivolous things, and find it difficult to walk and think at the same time. They cannot understand the concept of war, if questions about war even occur to them at all. They stick to their sewing, and their subordinate role as the mothering twits of society.
     While there is little mention at all of feminism or suffrage in the English magazine Blast, American bred Scribner’s magazine has many essays and stories about the movement. These pieces, however, do not tend to coincide with anything about the Great War. It was evidentially the view of the editors of both magazines that a woman’s role in war was at home, where they desperately missed their husbands, who were fighting out of a sense of masculine duty.  “The Misgivings of a Male Suffragette” is an anonymously written piece appearing in the October 1915 issue of Scribner’s. It is about a male feminist wondering in which direction the suffrage movement is heading. He begins by explaining that his wife Mary is a suffragette. She convinces him to go to a parade in honor of their movement, telling him that a friend of hers, Mrs. Watson, is also going but has not told her husband. Mary hopes that the writer will come just in case Watson finds out what his wife is doing, as the writer will be able to calm the angry husband down. (He is, in fact, Watson’s superior at work, and also on a membership committee for a club Watson would like to be involved with.)  The writer explains how Watson’s wife eventually came clean about the scenario, and how Watson joined the cause.  Ultimately, the writer is impressed with the success of his wife’s plan. “As far as it goes it is stupendously efficient, the feminine way of doing things!”  (Volume 58, no. 4, page 494) The writer implies that diplomacy, the attempt to avoid conflict, is inherently feminine. Indeed later, when a policeman speaking to the writer says that he is willing to “give” women the vote, Mary becomes infuriated, saying that they will not have it given to them; they will take it. As the writer puts it, he had “never seen [his] wife look more handsome.” (496). When his wife demonstrates the will to fight, he begins to see her as masculine. He goes on to struggle with the fact that he thinks the same way that the policeman did. As a man, he envisioned himself giving the vote to women, who would otherwise not be allowed it. While the writer seems to embrace feminism as an ideal, he cannot wrap his mind around men and women being equal. To him their differences naturally and bodily prevent such a thing. They are not equal. Women have children and men fight. After a lengthy argument that higher taxes discourage women from having more children, he comes to the conclusion that children are work, and are in fact the work that women so desperately seek. He discusses this theory with Mr. Watson, who adds to the argument the dynamic of what war does to women:

‘It explains why in England they have militants. The colonization of the empire has drained the home country of its men, leaving upward of a million women who haven't a ghost of a show even for a husband.’ A slow grin wreathed his face. ‘And the real war-cry of the suffragettes, as they roll bombs beneath the great chair of the prime minister is: '’Give us back our husbands! Give us back our husbands!’ (500)

In their eyes even suffragettes find little value in their lives outside of their domestic lives, and with their husbands away they find little value in the war. Like the editors and contributors of Blast, this writer seems to find that women have one role in society in a time of war: to be home waiting for their husbands to arrive back. They have no concept of why the war is important, and they have no palpable role in battle.
     One of the most obvious roles of women on the battlegrounds is that of army nurse. With this in mind, one might expect to see some mention of these vital cogs in the war machine in a Scribner’s piece called “War-Time Sketches in France.”  Appearing in the June 1916 issue, the piece is an essay by Herbert Ward, accompanied by the writer’s drawings. The main subject is soldiers and the soldiers’ stories. A harsh look at the atrocities of battle, the writer often discusses the backdrop of the beautiful French countryside against which the dreadful fighting is taking place. Despite mentioning ambulances, doctors, and hospital shelters, there is no mention of women on the frontlines. In fact, there is only one mention of women at all throughout the entire essay, which comes after a description of the gorgeous land marred by battle: “I have had occasion to read some of the letters of these splendid, simple French soldiers, written under shell and rifle fire, wherein they actually described the beauty of the sunrise to their womenfolk at home” (Vol. 59, no. 6, page 679). Even when women were tangibly involved in the war effort they were ignored, and their rightful place was thought to be at home.
     While magazines like Blast and Scribner’s were defining or even ignoring women's roles during the war, the engagement of such issues in publications like The Owl and Wheels was less explicit.  The former, which distributed two issues at the close of the war in 1919, and another in 1923, purported itself to "ha[ve] no politics and lead[] no new movements" (The Owl, no. 1, page 5).  As such, the war, no doubt on the minds of both The Owl's authors and readership regardless of any mission statement, infiltrated the magazine in more subtle ways: various pieces expressed a longing for a return to innocence and carefree beauty, while others were characterized by feelings of darkness and fear.  "Petunia" by W.J Turner, from the October 1919 issue, relates the speaker/poet's vision of a future daughter he will call Petunia, who will

dance, her small face
So bright that no sorrow'll befall her.
From this dark pot of earth, from this sun-clouded hollow
Like a rainbow she'll spring and a blue sky shall follow"
(No. 1, pages 10-12)

This “dark pot of earth" and "sun-clouded hollow" may easily represent the climate of hopelessness and gloom created by the war; consequently, Petunia becomes an emblem of hope for a less complicated future, one that is "bright" and free of sorrow.  Turner also envisions Petunia to be a lover of the natural world, of a more primitive and carefree existence.  Imagining that he will teach his daughter "the songs of Apollo," he goes on to describe the cult of the sun god, whose disciples are "white-armed maidens/ Sing[ing] in the soft dusks of summer."  Contrary to a world marred by the violence and destruction of war, the picture he paints of his daughter represents not only the hope for a lighter, more joyful existence, but also for a return to the fertile simplicity of a life in harmony with nature.  The worshippers of Apollo with whom he associates Petunia and in “the green” of whose eyes and “tresses,/ The forests of ocean are blowing,” are further described as personifications of that harmony.  The fact that the poem has projected all this hope onto a female child rather than a male one is significant when one considers the masculinist attitudes (like those prevailing in Blast) which motivate war.  Petunia represents a kind of mystical femininity, a source of magic “that flows up at dawn/ Out of earth’s darkness leaping” (No. 1, page 11) which can renew the poet, who envisions himself “wrinkled and worn,” as a symbolic representative of the war-torn world.
     Another interesting example from The Owl 2, of feminine associations with nature, can be found in a drawing by Pamela Bianco entitled “Fairyland.”  This drawing affirms the Blast position of a woman’s place in times of war: Bianco depicts the two central figures, both female, as stereotypic earth mothers, attired in clothes adorned with details from the natural world, and as caretakers, surrounded by naked, unself-conscious babies with angel wings.  This is a scene of peace and tranquility, with absolutely no associations or references to war whatsoever.  However, as with Turner’s poem and any work published during a war, the violent climate at the time of publication must be considered.  While the war raged outside the pages of the magazine, this illustration represents an ideal in contrast with reality.  Additionally, as Turner’s vision of his future daughter Petunia expresses a desire to return to a less complicated, innocent state of being, the appearance of Bianco’s painting immediately following the poem suggests a relationship between the two.  Indeed, the painting may easily be viewed as a visual representation of the world Turner imagines for Petunia: that is to say, a place in the future, a kind of utopia, which embodies ideals from the past.  The gowns worn by the women in the painting are in the Victorian style and reference a less complicated time, of a pastoral lifestyle, of fertility and harmony with nature.  The absence of men in this utopia is significant: war, quite clearly depicted as the domain of men in magazines throughout the era, like Blast and even Scribner’s which aligned itself with suffragist/feminist politics, is inextricably linked with the masculine; as such, the female figures in Bianco’s painting, depicted in wreaths of flowers, with leaves traveling up their skirts and bodices, represent a rejection of masculinist ideals and the war.  Rather, the ideal is represented here as it is in Turner’s poem: a celebration of the mystical feminine, of joy and harmony in nature, of peace precluding discord.
     Although themes of female gender and the war were touched on opaquely in The Owl, the magazine noticeably lacked any female authorship to express the opinions and feelings of women themselves during the war.  Wheels, however, featured woman poets regularly, particularly the work of Edith Sitwell and Iris Tree.  Contrasting with the view of women as frivolous beings whose only occupation during wartime lies within the domestic sphere, Sitwell’s poem “The Mother”, from the March 1917 issue, presents a more complicated view of motherhood.  While the presence of children in Turner’s and Bianco’s work ostensibly represents fertility, growth, innocence, tranquility and is, for writers like Wyndham Lewis, emblematic of women’s true role in wartime, Sitwell both reaffirms this trope and destroys it.  She admits that the birth of her son was a time of great joy heralding “the spring,” “birds,” and blossoms,” and releasing streams from “winter run,” but goes on to lament the loss of the child as he grows to manhood (Vol. 1, page 48).  During their time together, in the boy’s youth, his “sunlit hair was all [her] gold,” but when he becomes a man, he leaves her empty and resentful of the female lover who has come to take her place in the child’s life.  This retelling of women’s roles in the lives of their children defies the simplistic, rather disdainful view taken by masculinist authors like Lewis, who saw women’s roles in the domestic sphere as inferior to the great acts performed by men in war.  While women were expected by society to devote their lives to the rearing of children, the speaker in Sitwell’s poem explores the interior world of the mother, and the physical and emotional realities of those expectations, which are characterized by feelings of abandonment and a lost sense of self.  When her child becomes a man, the poet imagines that her son plots to “kill her while [she] slept,” merely in his decision to leave her protection and take a lover.  “The Mother” is a poem which paints women’s lives during this period of war and upheaval as equally marred by violence and loss as those of their fighting male counterparts.  No longer occupied by the all-consuming demands of parenting, the speaker, as the mother of a grown child, must nagivate her way through a world in which she no longer serves any purpose: no longer actively functioning as a mother, she considers herself already dead, yet forever haunted by the memory of her beloved child, whose name her “pierced heart scream[s] …within the dark” of her barren existence (49).  Another possible reading of the poem casts the mother’s enemy, not as a female lover, but as the world itself, in which wars are fought and sons are murdered.  The poem closes with the mother’s lament that she has failed her child, whose body hangs like a “blackened rag/ Upon the tree—a monstrous flag” (50).  In this reading, the mother is consumed by her grief and feels responsible for her failure to protect the child she loved with so much of her being.  She says, “All mine, all mine the sin; the love/ I bore him was not deep enough.”  In this way, the death the mother experiences comes as a result of her child’s death; she has failed the son and thus finds no more joy in living.  Regardless of women’s expected or prescribed passivity during times when men fought for their countries and their homes, Sitwell’s poem makes explicit the anguish and violence that women experience, regardless, even as they are kept at a distance from the fighting.
     Another poem written by a female and published in the fourth cycle of Wheels, which came out in 1919, is Iris Tree’s “Changing Mirrors.”  Like Sitwell, Tree complicates conventional views of women in the post-war era.  Her poem depicts a scene in which the speaker (presumably female) sees herself “in many different dresses,” each representing different facets of her personality and desires (No. 4, page 48).  Interestingly enough, none of the speaker’s visions of herself include motherhood.  Instead, she constructs a female identity which consists of a variety of other types, specifically “poisoners, martyrs, harlots and princesses.”  Just as the above-mentioned authors in both Wheels and The Owl opaquely reference the dark climate of the world associated with the war, Tree’s speaker refers to a “grey” world “where solemn faces/ are silence to [her] mirth—a flame that blesses/ From yellow lamp the darkness which oppresses.”  While the world around her is one of darkness, the female speaker is not consumed by it. Rather, the current of despair and oppression affects her just as it affects anyone, male or female, declaring: “Within my soul a thousand weary traces/ Of pain and joy and passionate excesses.” Like Sitwell, Tree imagines for her female speaker a deep interior life which belies the view that women were uncomplicated beings, incapable of fully understanding the ramifications of the war being fought by men.  Unlike Sitwell’s poem, however, Tree’s is rather universal, speaking of a world in which all people, not just women or men exclusively, experience the same kinds of happiness and sorrow.  Her speaker, shifting through different moods and feelings throughout her life, symbolized by her ever-changing dresses, considers not only herself but all beings when she names, in her conclusion, the “eternal beauty our [emphasis mine] brief life chases.”  By exploring, however simply, the interior life of a woman, otherwise neglected and simplified by male authors of the war and post-war era, Tree simultaneously equalizes her female subject with its male counterparts.  The poem asserts that joy and pain are emotions experienced by all creatures and contradicts the notion that either feeling is essentially male or essentially female. 
     In Poetry, as in The Owl and Wheels, gender and war are not topics addressed together directly at length, although both are ostensibly present in the minds of the poets whose writing filled the publication. When the two subjects are at play simultaneously, the consideration of both war and gender is very subtle: women often appear as caretakers, lovers, mothers, and subjects of adoration, which gives hints of how women’s roles were primarily defined, even in war times. So, in poems about female figures, the war is presented as a non-subject around which the woman’s role molds itself, but does not enter into. On the other hand, poems which do deal with the war directly, tend to be about men, and are written by men. One poem in which the female viewpoint of war’s effects can be seen in a January 1914 poem titled “A Woman and Her Dead Husband.”  The poem hauntingly describes a woman addressing her deceased husband directly, apparently from their own bed, with the cause of his death left entirely ambiguous. Perhaps his death was due to war.  If not, however, the focus in the poem is upon death, a war-time subject, and the poem is actually written by a male, D. H. Lawrence, who maybe imagines the reverberation of a soldier’s potential death through his household. The subject of this poem is a reflection of the idea, reiterated so often in Blast and Scribner’s, that a woman has no direct role in the battles herself, although her own role, as lover and wife, may be entirely destroyed by her husband’s death.  The pleas of the woman to her husband, asking if he is playing a joke on her, being so cold and pale, serves to magnify the horror and sympathy the reader feels for the woman.
     Another poem from Poetry was published in August of 1918, and is titled “To a Grey Dress.” In this poem, gender roles are more pronounced, and the subject of World War I is not present except for in the very conspicuousness of its absence. In the piece, a woman whose face is never seen is admired by a male as she walks through the trees: just a gray dress and the curves which fill the garment. The man watching her is thrown into fantasies based simply upon the femininity of her figure, although her identity is entirely unknown. The tone of the poem is one of happy distraction, and even the title itself is playful in its slight absurdity. This is another example of women’s perceived roles during World War I: as figures of joyous, simple preoccupation, creatures who stand apart from the violence of the battle, although nameless and faceless, without identities of their own.
     While Poetry considered the conflict in a more indirect and emotional fashion, another magazine, The New Age often featured articles which addressed the war in a more theoretical way. The New Age included opinion pieces, reviews, and creative writing, and two such articles in the magazine were published by Alice Morning. The first was included in January of 1916, and was a quite heavy-handed allegorical tale called “Feminine Fables: The Style of the Peri.”  The story describes a female angel who is banished from Paradise for one day, due to missing the closing of the gate at dawn. It was assumed that if an angel is late, he or she was committing an indiscretion while visiting the mortals. Rather than sulking over her temporary banishment, the angel declares, “I shall not walk in solitude around this idiotic style!” referring to the “distorting column” around which the excluded are expected to pace in distress (Vol. 7, no. 4, page 257). In the lone paragraph of the story which diverges from the symbolic tone, the author’s voice seems to shine through with passion, stating that similar punishments exist in the world of mortals: men, like the Peris--and like the devil, Morning adds--only punish what is detected. Had the angel been committing indiscretions, but returned on time, there would have been no punishment. Having missed the dawn, it is assumed that she was engaged in disallowed behavior. Whether this refers to lack of loyalty to one’s country is unclear, but it seems that a political and perhaps gender-based unfairness is being pointed out by Morning. The angel is described as exceedingly feminine, with a full bust, wide hips, jewelry, and the pouting tone of a spoiled child. In the end, however, the angel makes peace with her fate and feels “very good friends with herself.” (258) The independence of the angel is contrasted with the entitled and flippant attitude with which Morning generally characterizes this very feminine creature, suggesting perhaps a changing sense of female identity.
     Another article by Morning was published in June of 1916, an essay about the terrors of war, called “The Enemy in the House.”  In this piece, Morning argues that the so-called "impotent horror" (Vol. 8, no. 3, page160) of war needs to be transformed into “horror potent” (161). This outcry against war, she writes, most naturally comes from women themselves, who provide a kind of check on violence by voicing their objections. That, she argues, is a woman’s role during war: as a protester.  Under no circumstances should women mingle freely and routinely among scenes of violence. She believes that a woman’s horrified reaction to violence is the key to preventing barbarism. In writing this article, with confidence and an outspoken quality, the author asserts her ability to form her own opinions and hold them firmly. However, the role which she advocates for women is rather stereotypical. While the piece affirms a woman’s ability to think independently, ultimately her ideas about women’s roles away from the violence and action of war do not defy convention.
     Clearly, gender proved, as ever, to be a complicated, even contentious issue both during and after the Great War.  While some male authors persisted in their belief that women could not serve any useful purpose outside the home and were thus inferior to the valorous men who risked their lives to protect their countries, other writers sought to depict women in less benign ways: as symbols of the very peace and freedom of spirit which male soldiers fought for.  Less romantically, female authors depicted women as mere humans whose emotions and interior lives were as rich as their brave male counterparts.  Regardless, or perhaps as result of the divergent and often dichotomous positions taken by writers and artists of the time, the “little magazines” provide an interesting glimpse into the interplay between men and women as they struggled to reconcile their evolving roles in a world forever changed by the four-year war.  
 

When looking through The Owl I came across an interesting page that depicted a man playing pool while surrounded by a small crowd. All the characters depicted seem to be of the working class except the man himself. While those surrounding him seem to be fairly ragged and unrefined the man himself is very polished and vibrant. The text on the very top of the page seems to indicate that the scene is somewhere in Ireland. The top right hand corner reads: “Department of Agriculture and Technical Instruction for Ireland, The Metropolitan School of Art, Kildare Street, Dublin” which would lead me to think that this was some sort of an ad for the Metropolitan School of Art. The only two characters not completely grey washed are the pool player and a raggedy man on his right, which almost seems to pose the subliminal question of which character the viewer would rather be. The advertisement itself can be found on pages of an May 1919 edition of The Owl.

This piece was particularly interesting to me because it seemed so distant in time yet so close to modern advertisements. Published in 1919 this advertisement is nearly a hundred years old yet so familiar.  The ad seemed to be screaming if you go to The Metropolitan School of Art you too can be refined and the center of attention much like most modern ads do now. We always see well defined models and hot chick using various products as if the product will somehow make all of us beautiful and blessed. I never before realized that the very basic advertising techniques being used today were so far back reaching (in their exact same form and structure). It was really nifty finding this ad.

Due: Project 1

Within the magazine Rythm many modernist artist and writers combined thier works together to expose to the world their thoughts and ideas. Throught out the issues of Rythm the concepts of femisim and humaism was depicted through the sketched and portriats with in the magazine. The use of a womans body as art was a reaccuring event as each issue developed over the course of its publication. The reader is first exposed to a woman siting by a tree holding a piece of fruit on the front cover http://dl.lib.brown.edu/jpegs/115989738112.jpg. This could be consider a relation to the moderinst belives that human posses an essence which nature and animals do not posses. The exposed woman is depicted as happy and content while her surroundings grow around her. Women are liberated with use of thier bodies. The depiction of an exposed woman is seen several time through out each issues. Each image either coinsides with the work before, in the mist of, or on the same page it is on. Sometime the images stand alone expressing the betuity and power of the woman at hand. In Vol 2 No. 10 the image Nude Study by S.J Peple  http://dl.lib.brown.edu/jpegs/1159897669406261.jpg  is a drawing of a woman who seems to be sitting and reading.  She is not cloth nor can you see her face. The artist leaves the viewer wondering what she is consitrated on.

Woman were admired for their beauty and grace. Within Rythm vol IV page 3 the drawing by Anne Estelle Rice http://dl.lib.brown.edu/jpegs/1159894618781261.jpgdepict several women working together. The woman seem to be gathering fruit while dancing through an orcher. The woman are also exposed to the world which reveals their cofidence and power. The woman stand tall along side eachother and bring new light on the concept of care giver. The womans purpose in life was thought to care for the house hold and her family. With the smile and embrace on the womans faces Rice depict several woman who took pride within them selves and their so called duty. They carry the fruit of their labor and open up to the world with in the single frame.

There is a major evident influence of French culture and art throughout Rhythm. It is apparent in various issues, whether in discussing French works, or artists themselves, that French artistry was held in high regard by the authors of this Modernist magazine. As the magazine came out with more issues between 1911 and 1913, more and more of the content of the magazine not only discussed French culture and art, but began to publish full pieces in the language itself. It is quite common to find French epigraphs or titles of pieces throughout Rhythm, as well as French essays and poems.

Many of these poems and works are accompanied by illustrations and drawings. There is a common trend with these poems that host artwork on their pages: that is that the drawing or painting is never done by the same author, and are often seemingly irrelevant. Petit Poeme by Tristan Dereme, in the Winter 1911 issue, depicts the trite scene of a relationship, lacking in the romantic ardor it once possessed. The scenario is blatantly set, and the scene is painted as if the romance should still be there, but discusses how smiles are forced, gardens are abandoned, and silence ensues between the two. Atop the poem is an abstract drawing by Jessie Dismorr. It depicts a nude woman, with dark hair, blank eyes, extended arm, and an unidentifiable figure in the background. A similar pairing of works is seen in Le Petit Comptable by Jean Pellerin. This poem, found in the 1912 Spring issue tells of an accountant taking inventory of a produce shop in his book. The poem uses sensory imaging in discussing the colorful touch and feel of the fruits and vegetables, almost as if one is caressing them romantically, reminiscently. Then the author nostagically takes in the sky on the rainy, dreary day. It is also accompanied by a drawing by Dismorr. The drawings possess similar features: both appear to be of nude women, with bold outlines, blank stares and awkwardly sketched background images. The poems, both posessing similar themes of the end of love in sad scenarios, are accompanied by these unusual drawings, which could merely be the editor's way of filling space, or an objective influence on how the reader should perceive these poems, particularly the reader who does not speak French. The Dismorr drawings could be acting as a link between the two poems for those who cannot comprehend the text. By placing these drawings near these poems, the editor offers a unique insight to the similarity in the themes of these French poets. He does not offer a translation; however, these drawings aid the reader in making the connection between the two.

Throughout its one-year, eight month run Rhythm used a certain piece of art on four different occasions. The drawing is of a figure in a prostrate position and seemingly studying either something on the ground or something floating in the air just above its outstretched hand. When I first discovered the picture, I thought it added something to the poem it was printed under. What I saw after seeing it attached to three other works is how the picture changed depending on what it was printed next to. The figure first appears in the very first issue of Rhythm after the first article. The opening article to Rhythm (Vol. 1, No.1) is an article on the philosophical belief of Thelema. A quick Wikipedia search will tell you that Thelema is the belief in living your life according to your own conscience. “The New Thelema” by Frederick Goodyear is a highly stylized look at this philosophy. Goodyear sees Thelema as more than just a religious philosophy, but as an imminent future. He writes, “Thelema lies in the future, not the never-never land of the theologian, but the ordinary human future that is perpetually transmuting itself into the past” (1). After two more pages of writing that consistently looks towards the future world the figure closes the page. Here, the figure seems to be the author, Goodyear, looking into the globe that is floating above his hand, looking into the future.

The next two times the figure appears is after poems of loss. The first poem is “The See Child” by Katherine Mansfield, featured in Vol. 2, No. 5 of Rhythm. The overwhelming feeling in this poem is despair. In the first stanza a mother is depicted forming her child with her own hands, yet in the second stanza the mother abandons the child. In the fourth stanza the mother is seen selling the very things she used to make her child and returning home heartbroken. In the fifth and final stanza the speaker takes on the persona of the mother, telling the daughter not to follow her. The poem ends, “There is nothing here but sad sea water, / And a handful of sifting sand” (1). The second poem is “Geraniums” by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, featured in Vol. 2, No. 7 of Rhythm. The poem is the story of a man who bought flowers from a poor woman so that she would have a place to sleep for the night. In the end, the speaker cannot help but think that not only will the flowers be dead tomorrow, but the old woman may be dead too. The speaker sees the woman’s death as an end to her “heavy sorrow” because they’ll be no “need to barter blossoms – for a bed” (73). The figure at the bottom of these two pages is a decidedly despondent one. The drawing loses its hopeful, philosophical bent and becomes a figure of bent over sadness and the orb seems to be merely a spot ink and not part of the picture.

The third and final time we see this figure the picture regains some of its hopefulness; not because of the work’s subject matter, but because of the tone it is delivered in. In Rhythm (Vol 2., No. 10) Gilbert Cannan writes a piece on marriage entitled “Observations and Opinions.” The piece is decidedly against marriage the institution as it stands in Cannan’s day. Cannan writes, “Every marriage is in itself a sacrament or a piece of blasphemy and neither the sanction of the State nor the blessing of the Church can alter its character” (265). Cannan even takes a surprisingly feminist stance in his views on marriage stating, “The majority of marriages are ruined by the absurd masculine theories concerning women, theories to which women, being ill-educated and economically dependent, subscribe.” Cannan is arguing for the right for people to divorce without becoming social outcasts, yet in his argument he makes points that could be used in the feminist movements of the time as well as the gay rights movement of our time. Cannan ends his piece, “Without simplicity, without courage, without generosity there can be no good marriage, and without good marriage, without ideal of marriage which can conquer fear of public opinion and its purblind, hypocritical, official morality there can be no health in us” (267). The figure once again looks hopeful, looks towards a better future and a better world.

The two articles "Inner Necessity" by Edward Wadsworth and "A Review of Contemporary Art" by Wyndham Lewis, appearing in the first and second issues of Blast respectively, offer interesting examples of early Modernist philosophies of painting and, moreover, the evolution thereof. As Malcolm Bradbury and James McFarlane put it in "Movements, Magazines, and Manifestos": Within this period... innovation sometimes develops out of what has gone before; equally it sometimes repudiates it" (Bradbury and McFarlane 198). This assertion reads particularly true when analyzing the two Blast essays given that they were published one year apart by the same Vorticist journal and yet their particular opinions on painting are markedly different.

In order to understand the divergence of "Inner Necessity" and "A Review of Contemporary Art" is it perhaps advantageous to note where they are united in aim. "Inner Necessity" is essentially a recapitulation of Wassily Kandinsky's book Concerning the Spiritual in Art in which the author argues for a break from representative painting in favor of abstraction. This, he avers, will facilitate what should be the chief goal for artists, namely, to express the eternal, or that which "is particular to all art" (Wadsworth 119). Likewise, Lewis is interested in a break from tradition and similarly he argues that representation is an obstacle to true innovation in painting.

This rejection of corporeal depiction, however, does not alone satisfy the needs of a truly modern style, at least not for Lewis. In fact, "A Review of Contemporary Art" has equal criticism for Kandinsky's brand of mystical abstraction as well. It is, therefore, in this censure that the difference between the two arguments becomes apparent, though, given the context,also somewhat problematic.

In that Wydham Lewis was not only a contributer to, but also the editor of Blast, the criticism he levels of Kandinsky seems incongruent with his publication of "Inner Necessity" in the inaugural issue of his journal. The answer to this contradiction may simply be chronological, however. By the summer of 1915, when the second issue of Blast was produced, the tenets of Vorticism may have coalesced and as such a rejection of the other Modernist schools is a delimiting statement. Regardless, it is revealing to read these articles in their original context as it provides greater insight into the development of the ideas of the time.

At the turn of the twentieth century, the world of classical music, much like the rest of the literary and artistic world, was undergoing revolutionary change in regard to what was considered tasteful and acceptable. If one were to review a basic timeline of the eras in classical music, they would note the very separate structure in these various eras, as well as particular attributes pertaining to the music of those respective times. To the connoisseur of classical music, identifying a musical work's historical origin is as simple as listening to a piece. When considering classcial music as has been made known to the world, France was never particularly prominent in producing great works until towards the end of the classical era. Its height is certainly noted to be within the Romantic era, while music's earlier roots held stronger in the Italian and Germanic world. The Romantic era spread throughout Europe in the nineteenth century, giving France the breadth to exhibit its emotional musical granduer; therefore, it is no suprise that when music began to break from its classically structured roots into the contemporary, experimental realm, France was once of the first nations to take the leap. French composer Claude Debussy is renown today for his contributions to the world of music. A genuine iconoclast, he was one of the first composers to break from the necessity of establishing melody: heresy to the old pricks at the conservatoire! Debussy had, in his mind, a genuis that not only revolutionized the world of music, but the critical way musicians use their inner ear. By experimenting with cacophany and the structure behind music theory, what was generally and concensually considered pleasing to the ear, Debussy delved into the world of music. His concern and attention to overtone was inclusive in his delicate musical practice. (An overtone is a rung tone that is audible as a result of the virbrations produced from a chord that is played; however the overtone is not actually struck on the instrument.) In 1911, amidst the most unusual of Debussy's experimental phase, towards the end of his life, Rollo H. Meyers, published an essay, "The Art of Claude Debussy" in Rythym. It is quite obvious that Meyers' held Debussy in high regard as a misunderstood genius conveying his radical "hip new beat" to the old conservative musical ear. Debussy's work in the field today has claimed its place in it's genre, along with the works of his progressive thinking contemporaries such as Maurice Ravel and Cesar Franck. His career marks the turn of the century and rite to the Impressionist, Modern music throne. Composers such as Britten and Vaughn- Williams in Britain were next to follow, and a great deal of what is know of American music by composers like Barber, Menotti, and Copland fall under this field; however, none of these said composers truly made their statement until after World War I. In the Germanic world? Contemporary music did not hit Germany or Vienna until even later! France led this race for certain.

In skimming these documents, it is more than apparent that French appears quite often as a device. Often the title or an epigraph can be found in French, while the rest of the piece is in English. It seems as though France, or the French language held an enigmatic claim to the bohemian tendencies of the Modernist movement. Le Petit Journal des Refusees carries it in its title, as do many poems and works in the archives. "Abstrosophy" is a short poem that discusses present struggle in its progressive state towards becoming reward; what seems negative now, will be held positive forthcoming, (much like the rebuke of Debussy's compositions). The first half of the poem is somewhat illegible, if it is even part of the poem. It seems to be set to music, but the staff it is written on is artistically curvy, and askew, which seems relevant to the ideas expressed about Debussy's musical style, although one would never attempt to read music off such a staff, so it must be meant as an artistic statement about music. Written in 1896, years before the article on Debussy's later work, the poem seems to foreshadow the Modernist movement that is coming. The word abstrosophy is not in the dictionary, nor is it a French word. I am plagued with curiosity: what does abstrosophy mean?

              In Movements, Magazines and Manifestos Malcom Bradbury and James McFarlane outline some of the tendancies of Modernisms, "As in all sects, religious or political--and it was on such analogues that the movements formed and acted--'ism' tended towards schism, denominationalism. So they appropriately rallied followers, mounted displays, and enacted themselves in public"(Bradbury 202). Much in line with this school of thought, The Owl, a modernist magazine publishing only three issues, ran two plays and a monologe performance piece titled "The Golden Whales of California A Poem to be Chanted: by Vachel Lindsay," in which Lindsay sings praises of Californians calling them, "Limber double jointed lords of fate" (Lindsay 31).

               Amid the margins of the poem, the author includes directions for the poems public performance, refering to the speaker as "the Rhapsodist," giving such cues as "the Rhapsodist reminiscent"(31) and "with good pomp and cheer"(31). There are even cues for the crowd which the author assumes the speaker to be addressing, he directs them, "You all join in" (31). By using these cues, Lindsay makes use of the predominate modernist method noted by Bradbury and McFarlane, "fusion of form and content"(Bradbury 202). The content of the poem acts much like a proprietors brochure to enlist midwesterners to work in the California fruit fields, but instead of impetus towards labor, the author rallies the crowd toward the freedom exemplified by Californians. Had the poem not been given the acting cues, it would have simply compelled through written word, but by demanding action, the form mirrors the content which similarly incites action. 

"Study" was published in "Rhythm" Vol.1, No.1 on page 4, during summer 1911. It was drawn by Orthon Friesz and it depicts a man with his back towrads us who does not seem to have much clothes on. His face is turned towards us and he is holding some kind of bag or sack in his hands. It is a very simple drawing with no color and very little shading. The Magazine cover says that it is about Art, Music and Literature. The pages are filled with tons of essays and varying kinds of art. This particular drawing goes along with the general motif of the magazine. It's simple and forces you to really look at it and decide for yourself what you think it portrays. It forces you to focus on the contour's of the body, as does the majority of the other artwork in the magazine. It seems very different and revolutionary.

"A Composition" was published in The Blue Review Vol. 1, No.2 on page 41 in June 1913. It was drawn by G.S. Lightfoot and it is a portrait of a woman sitting on a bed with her hands holding her face. Her face is pointed towards the ceiling and her eyes are closed. She seems very distressed. There is a lot more detail to this picture as well as the other drawings in this magazine. Although we can clearly see what she is doing we still do not know what is going on, which forces you to give your own interpretations. Since the "The Blue Review" is the successor to "Rhythm", it has the same kind of structure. It is filled with different kinds of art, poems and essays. They mostly focus on the Futurism movement, which I think both of these drawings exemplify.

THE OWL
Maribel Vega/Julie Ostrowski

The Owl was edited by the beloved British war poet, Robert Graves (1895-1985). According to the introduction by Matthew R. Vaughn on the Modern Journals website, The Owl is "notable for its purposeful conservatism". At the behest of his father-in-law, the painter Sir William Nicholson, Graves served as literary editor while Nicholson directed the hiring of its illustrators. Nicholson would not only inspire The Owl, but he also subsidized the journal.

The Owl debuted in May 1919, when its editor, Robert Graves, was just twenty-three. Though it ran only two numbers and was briefly re-run as the Winter Owl for a sole issue in 1923, The Owl's significant contributions as experimental and bold as an advocate for political and literary freedom. The Owl was printed by The Westminster press, by Gerard T. Meynell and the Illustrations were printed by F. Vincent Brooks, both located in London.

The Owl's Mission Statement

The Owl's first issue begins with a forward that describes its mission and the kind of audience it hopes to attract:

"It must be understood that The Owl has no politics, leads no new movement and is not even the organ of any particular generation-for that matter sixty seven years separate the oldest and youngest contributors. But we find in common a love of honest work well done, and a distaste for short cuts to popular success. The Owl will come out quarterly or whenever enough suitable material is in the hands of the editors."

In Vaughn's introduction to The Owl, we also learned that Graves' tastes in literature were influenced by his relationships with the Georgian poets, and he rejected the radical literary giants of his day, allying himself with writers who more closely resembled the principles he held to a benchmark of sorts for The Owl.

The elements of design for The Owl figure prominently in our review of its content. It is worth noting that the owl as a symbol "suggests the Georgian's interest in nature and in promoting a more traditional, conservative brand of poetic wisdom." (Introduction, Vaughn)
 

Sir William Nicholson and his daughter, Nancy, contributed many illustrations for The Owl. Nancy, Robert Graves' wife, was influential in recruiting Pamela Bianco--a 12-year old artistic prodigy whose work was featured in The Owl. "Printed by a method of old-fashioned stone lithography, The Owl's artwork is beautifully reproduced, and, in most cases, vibrantly colored."

For those unfamiliar with "old-fashioned stone lithography", here is a visual example from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, "Nocturne, 1878" by the American painter, James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903).



Interestingly, Pamela Bianco went on to have a successful career that spanned nearly eight decades, and her work was celebrated for its sophistication and vibrancy. Below is a link to a review by Time Magazine in 1924 in reference to a presentation given by Miss Bianco at the Knoedler Galleries--this when she was only 17-years old:

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,718032,00.html?iid=chix-sphere

A monochrome photograph of the noted "child prodigy" can also be found on the Vanity Fair website:

http://www.condenaststore.com/VanityFair/ProdDetail.aspx?prodId=20241

The Owl's reputation, however, was cemented in its approach to the Georgian poetry movement. Edward Marsh, a publisher of Georgian poetry both before and during the war, schooled Graves in the Georgian school of thought, and Graves in turn promoted the Georgians throughout The Owl's short life span.

Marsh's rejection of modernist poetry would later be seen as the final coffin nail for all forms of Georgian poetry. "In most of the scholarly discourse relating to the Georgians, they are consistently portrayed as falling on the wrong side of the critical debates in Modernism." (Introduction, Vaughn)

Despite the declining popularity of the Georgians at the time of The Owl's first publication, Graves remained aggressive about the work his contributors produced for his magazine. Regardless of the harsh criticism the Georgians suffered at the hands of modernist proponents, the work in The Owl is a feast for the eyes as well as for the intellect.

In a fascinating take on why the Georgians were ridiculed for their love of nature as represented in their poetry is the idea that Georgians were choosing to escape the ugliness of war through the advancement of conservative poetry and art. The exotic, for the Georgian mindset, took on an increasingly important role in the tone and texture of The Owl. This impulse-to escape the crudeness of the modern world-was what essentially drove the Georgian rhetoric in art and literary expression. A deep love of childhood, of the innocence of youth, when one has looked at the world through unbiased eyes, really captures The Owl's essence.

Graves' experiences as a veteran of the first world war colored his perspective on what would be acceptable to print in The Owl. Siegfried Sassoon, his friend and confidant, blasted Graves for avoiding the issue of war in his journal; in response, Graves insisted that he was merely 'happy' and that "worrying about the War is no longer a sacred duty with me." (Introduction, Vaughn)

Graves' personal life was marred by creative and emotional upheaval. The failure of his first marriage to Nancy, in addition to confusion over his sexual orientation and the after-effects of shell shock all served to influence his poetry. Graves may have indeed turned to the solace of soothing images from his childhood as a way of coping with the brutality of war in his editorship of The Owl, but we must concede that his ambitious attempt as editor of this largely eclectic and highly refined journal is something of a minor miracle. As a journal of high literary value, The Owl inevitably shaped Robert Graves' own poetry, largely as a vehicle for his first poetic works. If you are interested in reading more about Robert Graves, please visit:

http://www.robertgraves.org

The Focus of Our Work

Since Owl was limited to three issues, I focused on Vol. 1, Issue I, and Julie focused on Vol. 1, Issue 3. In my research, I concentrated on the illustrations throughout the issue, as well as on some of the poetry. I felt that there was a true correlation between the drawings and the poetry. The illustrations added a significant layer of complexity to the journal and truly made it "pop" with color and life. Julie focused on the Freudian overtones of the play Interchange of Selves. The play explores man's quest for spirituality, and the overarching themes of acceptance and understanding in the face of conflict.

The Owl, May 1919

The Owl appears, at first blush, to be "hand made" in its composition. Just glancing at the front cover, with its colorful presentation and the drawing of an owl, one would assume it to be a journal for young children or adolescents. As one pages through the journal, however, it is clear that this is no ordinary literary endeavor. On page 3 of the first issue of The Owl, for example, each contributor has signed his or her name--names like Thomas Hardy, Max Beerbohm, John Galsworthy, and Siegfried Sassoon.

The first actual piece of writing is a poem by Thomas Hardy, "The Master and The Leaves" followed by "Sonnet" by John Masefield. A few pages later, though, we see a full page illustration of a young woman with flowers arranged through her wavy red hair. The colors are visually striking, and the artwork fits well with the themes of the two poems preceding its placement in the journal. The fanciful arrangement of her hair with flowers, nevertheless, denotes the childlike, whimsical influence of Nicholson, whose work as an illustrator of children's books is clear throughout the pages of The Owl.

The masthead for the Contents page of this issue, for example, is drawn, with the word Contents written in long hand in contrast to the typeset list of authors beneath. As a piece of artwork, it procures a magical feeling in the reader, as if one was about to read a story book to a child. Another example of the whimsical illustrations of Nicholson can be found on p. V of the journal. In a very ornate, yet still very childlike hand, Nicholson's words as he tells the story of "The Pianotuner and the Scorpion".

The story itself seems as if it were written for a child, yet the subject matter (the pianotuner is contemplating suicide) is anything but childish. It is incongruent with the somber mood elicited by the poetry before and after the illustration.

The poetry in The Owl is largely traditional in its subject matter and construction. The presence of the colorful illustrations, some by Nancy Nicholson, lends a luminous texture to the journal, elevating it beyond the constraints of a literary journal to a work worthy of display in a gallery or museum.

To see more of the illustrations from the May 1919 issue, please visit our online video presentation:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFYoGn-_w34

In J.C. Squire's poem, "Song", Squires writes of a love that seems shallow and dependent on the love object's mood swings. "You are my sky/beneath your circling kindness/My meadows all take in the light and grow...."

The writing here fits hand in glove with the naturalism favored by the Georgians. In another poem from the same issue entitled "A Frosty Night", Robert Graves writes in a style reminiscent of another time--it is formal and conservative in tone and subject matter, and is redolent with the imagery for which the Georgians were so ridiculed.

"Mother. Ay, the night was frosty/Coldly gaped the moon;/But the birds seemed twittering/Through green boughs of June...." Graves' employment of traditional rhyme and meter in his poetry is out of synch with the new and experimental poetry of modernists Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot. Perhaps in his negation of the new, and his preference to the old and established forms, Graves was a revolutionary. In the face of change, he held fast to the surety of the past and injected a new passion for the classical into an evolving cultural paradigm.

The Play's The Thing

We also examined The last issue of The Owl, which contains a mini-play, Interchange of Selves, within its pages. Three characters, Mysticus (who seems to stand for what we now commonly regard as new-age mysticism), Liberalis (a name coming from the Latin for freedom, which present-day usage can now mean apt to change, open to new ways of looking at things, progressive), and Practicus (who at the beginning of the play is the champion of commen sense at the expense of other elements). The play revolves largely around a detailed discussion of the nature of consciousness, human conflict, the nature of evil, and spirituality. It is also a commentary on the idiocy of war, and we know the editor of The Owl was injured in World War I and was described as shell-shocked in the introductory essay to this periodical.

The characters are trying to understand the nature of man. There is an exploration of spirituality and spiritual transcendence as a way to reduce or eliminate conflict. One of the more significant aspects of this play is the way in which the characters exchange their viewpoints and convince one another of various arguments. There is emotional harmony among the characters, even when they disagree.

The play has Freudian overtones. There is an emphasis on dreaming. Liberalis dreams, and thinks dreams are important. "You must resort to dreams," he says. Yet at first he is not taken in my Mysticus, the new-age guy. Liberalis, though he understands the importance of dreams, can't comprehend the spiritual. "We must be liberal and broad in our outlook indeed, but must we be positively unbalanced? he asks, not quite buying the existence of a spiritual world. Other Freudian influences are discussed below.

Practicus, the common-sense guy, is representative of reason and reason's imperviousness to spirituality, as well a rejection of Freudian theory. "But is there any sense in believing that the air and Space are shrieking with spirits [...] Or is it even wise to resort to dreams [...]?" Belief in all this new-age stuff is silly, dreams are silly. But Mysticus, Mr. New Age Man, is adamant about the spiritual and believes that mystical in nature talks to us and demands that we listen.

More of Freud's influence can be found in Liberalis, when he talks about war: "we fought a war: why? To end all war, yet the wonder is not that the war has not ended but that we believe that we could end it by war. We chose our villains, discovered our saints, and built shrines where the fallen and the unfallen heroes were to find their eternal peace; and when all this was neatly done, we started fighting again." This reminds one of Freud's theory on the compulsion to repeat even destructive behaviors because to change course is too much of an energy expenditure. A mode of behavior has sprung up which will continue into perpetuity.

The play overwhelmingly promotes peace and good will. "Why can people never see that it is much better to cooperate and live together in peace than to quarrel and go on quarreling. What does one accomplish by quarrelling? And yet nothing is easier than to live in peace or with goodwill! Do we not all desire it, all need it," asks Practicus. Liberalis of course agrees, remarking: "What after all is life for if not to live in peace?" Liberalis also believes that the only way to understand our conflicts are through dreams, a very Freudian concept.

Not only does the play promote the idea of peace, but it also promotes the idea of being in tune with nature. "We are ruled and dominated for good or evil by other agents and spirits who live unseen in the surrounding air and in space," Mysticus says. The play calls to mind the work of H.G. Wells, particularly The Island of Dr. Moreau, regarding its discussion of the man-as-animal idea as the basis for human conflict. Yet still, Mysticus is optimistic in concluding that man "must seek communion with the higher spirits, endow his soul with their blessings before he can stay the evil and reassert the good." There is a sense that spiritualism is important and that adopting an awareness and intuneness with the spiritual world is a prerequisite for ameliorating conflict. We are all part of the universe; we are all one; we are not fundamentally different from our enemies, Mysticus argues.

Practicus is probably the most changed at the end of the play. "It is a fact, the most gruesome and insistent fact, that caprice turns the wheel of life as reason does," he remarks, seemingly believing now in mystical forces. Yet he is uncomfortable: "all this is beyond my depth. I never dared to plunge into the mysteries of life," he confesses. The play here seems to be touching on how we are all somewhat afraid of the spiritual because we don't fully understand it. Yet practical thinking based on reason is too surface and somehow fails to satisfy.

There is an exploration of the idea that man is both the source of conflict but also the source of resolution.

The final words of the play, that mankind should cease resolving conflicts by force and seek "some stricter and more promising path," as Practicus says, calls to mind a desire for spiritual transcendence to resolve the conflicts of the era, namely war. Also, it's important to note here the idea that each of us has the ability to reason (Practicus) to investigate the spirtitual (Mysticus) and to change our thinking as progress demands of us (Liberalis). This idea inherent is that each of these characters can and should be an aspect of one integrated person, thus the play's title.

The Owl's Early Death

Vaughn's introduction lists a number of reasons why The Owl didn't fly. He notes the high price of the journal, at over 12 shillings per issue, a lack of publicity, the absence of advertising revenue, combined with the youth and inexperience of its editor, all contributed to The Owl's early death.

By utilizing simplistic themes like those found in the natural world, The Owl created a new identity as an eclectic alternative to the sometimes nihilistic modernist writers of the "new". The Owl forged an influential voice that, though drowned out in the noise of competing and increasingly more popular forms of writing, still resonates with readers of poetry, drama and prose at their most distilled, pure form.