ABSTRACT
The presentation of moments or phases of autobiography or the composition of verses which read as such is rarely successful as poetry. Sir Charles Sherrington, however, goes so much further towards doing something new and writes so well as to be a welcome argument for the comforting opinion that our missing poets are perhaps in the laboratory. One is reminded of the demand of an American poetess for 'imaginary gardens with real toads in them'. Mr Barrington Gates is a less literary author. He does, it is true, occasionally offer us a taste of Mr D. H. Lawrence. Mr Gates is more successful when he avoids it, as in his 'Love Songs', which are far better than his meditative and episodic poems. Rossetti's damozel is actual flesh and blood that 'yellow' does not read as though it came from some other poem. This test needs wary handling, of course, but properly applied it is often conclusive.
