Not everything worth reading is hot off the press. In this section, Nicholas Reid recommends "something old" that is still well worth reading. "Something old" can mean anything from a venerable and antique classic to a good book first published five or more years ago.
“MASON – The Life of R.A.K.Mason” by
Rachel Barrowman (first published by Victoria University Press, 2003)
“POET TRIUMPHANT – The Life and
Writings of R.A.K.Mason (1905-1971)” by “Asclepius” [John Caselberg] (first
published by Steele Roberts 2004)
I’ve just
been considering a new edition of an old biography of William Colenso. I noted
that there are now a number of books available about the man. As a sometime
biographer (James Michael Liston – A Life,
VUP, 2006 etc.), I am often haunted by the question of how much any new
biography can add to biographies of the same person that have already been
published [see the posting “Why Write a
New Biography?” on the index at right]. Yet I am aware that different
biographies on the same person can present radically different perspectives,
and this in itself can be valuable.
As an
example, consider two biographies of the New Zealand poet Ron Mason, which were
published within a year of each other, Rachel Barrowman’s Mason and John Caselberg’s Poet
Triumphant. (Why Caselberg chose to have his book published under the
pretentious pseudonym “Asclepius” is anyone’s guess.) In one of them, a bibliographical note says
that they began as part of the same biographical project, but the two authors’
views of what really constituted a biography diverged so much, that two
separate books emerged.
Any
biographer of R.A.K.Mason has to consider a major awkward fact. Mason’s fame is
as a poet, but his real poetic writing dried up relatively early in his life.
He died at the age of 66, but in his last 30 years he wrote only one or two
things that he chose to include in the slim volume of his collected poems. He
was poet enough to realize that the occasional agitprop piece he had written in
those 30-odd years didn’t really qualify. When you pick up Mason’s collected
poems, you are [with only a couple of exceptions like his Sonnet to MacArthur’s Eyes] reading things written by a young man –
a teenager or chap in his twenties.
Here then is a key question for
biographers. Why did Mason in effect dry up so soon? Even before these two
biographies were written, essays and articles on Mason had noted that his
poetic silence coincided with his devoting himself more to political and trade
union work, left-wing causes and sometimes editing the newspaper of the
Communist Party (of which he was on the fringes).
So did the
politics kill the poetry? Or was the politics a substitute for a poetic
inspiration that had already died?
In their
very different ways, both Rachel Barrowman’s Mason and John Caselberg’s Poet
Triumphant have to accommodate this question. Indeed Barrowman explicitly
asks the question “Did the poet fail
because of the politics; or did politics fill the space when poetry had failed?”
(Pg.15)
Let me make
it clear at once that Barrowman’s is far and away the more detailed, scholarly,
cross-referenced, footnoted, documented and thoroughly academic of the two
biographies. This being the case, she is able to give a very nuanced answer.
She shows that, even as a young man, Mason was aware that it was no good
writing poetry that was merely propaganda. From his mid-twenties, she quotes
him writing mockingly to another poet “I
may have radical sympathies, and write articles for the N.Z.Worker, but
I don’t write ‘rhymes of the under-dog’ (dedicated to all who toil, 3rd
edition, price 3/6 post free). Get me?” (Pg.101). Later, Mason edited an
issue of the much-mythologised university magazine Phoenix, which he wanted to make a platform for left-wing polemics.
On his watch it included left-wing articles and editorials. But, Barrowman
notes, even under Mason’s editorship the magazine’s literary content (poems and
stories) was not noticeably left-wing. Again, Mason was poet enough not to
confuse political sympathies with poetic achievement and he clearly had not
found any ardently left-wing or proletarian writers who were producing the
poetic goods (see pp.174 ff).
Barrowman is under no illusions
about the tensions between artistic creation and affiliation with an
authoritarian political movement. She notes: “To describe the [Communist] Party as rigorous, dour, prone to
factionalism and suspicious of students, poets and intellectuals is a cliché,
but largely true.” (Pg.184) She documents fully (pp.262 ff.) the tensions
of 1939-41, when, because of the Hitler-Stalin Pact, New Zealand Communists and
their fellow-travellers were instructed to regard the war against Hitler as a
mere scrap between rival capitalists. She gives a full and detailed account of
changes in CP policy, including the events of 1956, which split the tiny New
Zealand Communist movement and really signalled the beginning of the end of its
wider influence. She notes that Mason’s enthusiastic views on Mao’s China were
the product of one carefully-supervised tour.
I am simplifying grossly the
perspective given in Barrowman’s book. But I can say that she gives a detailed
and documented account of the ideological sea in which Mason was swimming and
she is fully aware of how incompatible his enthusiasms were with real poetic
creation. Late in Mason’s story, she quotes Denis Glover addressing him as: “you silly old bastard – Carpenter’s Union,
Friend of the World, Inc., failed Socialist, Incompetent Communist, Good
Gardener, Wonderful Friend, Silly Bloody Sucker….” (Pg.356). Loudmouth
blowhard though Denis Glover often was, one can’t help but see this as a fairly
comprehensive description.
Having focused on these political
matters, I should make it clear that Barrowman is every bit as interested in
Mason’s poetry as in his politics. She analyses his poems. She notes
scrupulously the genesis of all Mason’s written works, including the later
ones, which she recognises as less worthy of the canon than the earlier ones.
Now let’s turn to Caselberg’s Poet Triumphant.
I’m not comparing Hyperion with a
satyr, but it is extraordinary how different the interpretations of the two
books are. Poet Triumphant is
slimmer, less fully-documented and far less academic than Barrowman’s Mason.
In the political field, Caselberg
is aware of at least some of the naivetes of 1930s leftism. When, for example,
he is discussing a pro-Soviet pamphlet Mason once wrote, he adds the footnote
that “No ‘Ernst Toller’ escaped from
Russia to apprise and undeceive humanitarians in the West of the
long-maintained Stalinist terror” (Pg.176). So he knows there was such a
thing as “actually-existing Communism” which was nothing like the rosy daydream
that Mason and his mates had. Yet at the same time, Caselberg really buys into
much of the old myth. The Spanish Civil War is simply “democratic forces” opposing “fascist
invasion” (Pg.164). Whenever Caselberg is faced with the prospect of having
to write about something embarrassing in Mason’s political life, he omits it
and rushes on to less controversial matters. In Chapter 14, where he is dealing
with the years 1939-41, he avoids mentioning the Hitler-Stalin Pact and all the
tensions among Mason’s friends that this caused. Even more amazing, there is no
mention whatsoever of 1956 and its aftermath and everything that it meant for
Mason and his former Communist comrades.
Caselberg quotes deadpan, and
apparently without realizing the fatuity of it, a comment Mason made in his
China-New Zealand Friendship Association days. On his one and only guided tour
to China, Mason addressed an Agricultural Producers’ Co-operative, saying “I am
not a peasant but I work like one as a landscape gardener, and I know what work
on the land every day means” (Pg.222). In the same po-faced fashion
Caselberg serves us (pg.292) a kitsch account of Mason meeting Mao and the “two poets” communing. So determined is
Caselberg to separate Mason from his naïve Stalinism (and later Maoism) that he
quotes none of the many articles in which Mason clearly approved of Stalinist
policy.
Again, I’m concentrating on
political matters in these comments, but there is a reason for it. In the
course of his text, Caselberg quotes in full nearly all of the poems that Mason
chose to include in his collected poems – and quite a bit that he didn’t. (If
you don’t have the collected poems, Poet
Triumphant would be a reasonable substitute.) In each case, the poem has
its literary analogues listed and explained in a rather simplistic way.
Caselberg’s purpose is quite evident. He wants us to believe (as the very title
Poet Triumphant implies) that Mason
never lost his touch as a poet.
Therefore, his answer to the
awkward question that haunts Mason studies is to pretend that it doesn’t exist.
The later agitprop and pieces
written to order are presented as if they are the equals of Mason’s best. Caselberg
refuses to recognise the dismalness of Mason’s stereotypical monologue Squire Speaks and he builds up Mason’s Strait is the Gate as if it were a great
literary achievement. He quotes the guarded and polite reviews of the time as
if they are critical vindication. The final section of the book is an angry
reply to those critics who have dared to criticise Mason.
To put it bluntly, Poet Triumphant is a naïve biography –
basically a chronology of Mason’s life interspersed with enthusiastic comments
on the poems and evasive comments on the politics. It is the work of an admirer
and enthusiast, not of a methodical biographer.
Yet there is something very
likeable about Caselberg’s enthusiasm, just as there is sometimes something a
little too precise and dry in Barrowman’s account. I was glad to read both
these books. I do not believe either of them tells the whole truth about the
man – but then no biography ever does. And in this case, at a certain point, I
feel the absurdity of writing many hundreds of pages about a poet whose entire
readable corpus is one slim volume. Put Barrowman and Caselberg together, and
you have as much biography as need be written of Mason.
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