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				Mr Aleister Crowley’s previous work has been eccentric, and at 
				the best he has done more to provoke curiosity than to give 
				confidence.  Now he chooses to handicap himself by printing 
				poems in a type that must inevitably impose restrictions upon 
				many readers, and we think that the diction, usually admirably 
				simple, of the principal piece in “Ahab and Other Poems” (Chiswick 
				Press, pp. 34, 5s. net) suffers from any interruption of the 
				fluency of its rhythms.  Mr Crowley has amplified the Biblical 
				narrative, and, with an obvious revolt of sympathy, has given to 
				the savage figure of Ahab something of the nobility of reason 
				that rebels against the tyranny of his fate.  There is a modern 
				self-consciousness in this tragic, brooding monologue— 
				
				  
				
				I see him, a fantastic ghost, 
				
				The vineyard smiling white and plain, 
				
				And hiding ever innermost 
				
				The little shadows on his brain; 
				
				I laugh again with mirthless glee, 
				
				As knowing also I am he. 
				
				  
				
				A fool in gorgeous attire! 
				
				An ox decked bravely for his doom! 
				
				So step I to the great desire. 
				
				Sweet winds upon the gathering gloom 
				
				Bend like a mother, as I go, 
				
				Foreknowing, to my overthrow. 
				
				  
				
				Mr Crowley has some doubtful phrases, but most of his verse is 
				clear and moderate.  Here is his picture of Naboth:— 
				
				  
				
				The beast.  A gray deceitful man, 
				
				With twisted mouth the beard would hide, 
				
				Evil yet strong; the scurrile clan 
				
				Exaggerate for its greed and pride, 
				
				The scum of Israel!  At one look 
				
				I read my foe as in a book. 
				
				  
				
				The beast.  He groveled in the dust. 
				
				I heard the teeth grind as he bowed 
				
				His forehead to the earth.  Still just, 
				
				Still patient, passionless, and proud, 
				
				I ruled my heavy wrath.  I passed 
				
				That hidden insult, spake at last. 
				
				  
				
				The other pieces include a grandiose sonnet on Rodin’s statue of 
				Balzac; “Melusine,” in which mannerisms and affectations 
				predominate; and “The Dream,” a smooth piece of verse that 
				leaves no very strong impression.  There are an introduction and 
				an epilogue in verse by Count Vladimir Svareff. —The
				Manchester Guardian, circa 1903. 
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				Mr. Aleister Crowley, not content with the usual risk of the 
				neglect that threatens minor poets, has had his verse set up in 
				what is apparently German black-letter.  Thereby tempting 
				the most conscientious reviewer to take his volume as read. —The
				Glasgow Herald, date unknown. 
				
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				"Ahab and Other Poems", by Mr. Aleister Crowley is a sumptuous 
				volume, delightful to eyes accustomed to mediaeval script, but 
				puzzling to such as are not.  The prettiest poem in the book is 
				"The Dream," from which we give the opening lines: 
				  
				     "Bend down in dream the shadow-shape 
				          Of tender breasts and bare! 
				     Let the long locks of gold escape, 
				     And cover me and fall and drape, 
				          A pall of whispering hair! 
				     And let the starry eyes look through 
				          That mist of silken light 
				     And lips drop forth their honey-dew 
				     And gentle sighs of sleep renew 
				          
				The scented winds of night." 
				  
				     In "Melusine" Mr. Crowley has caught something of the 
				trick of reiteration of metaphor, which is familiar to all 
				readers of Mr. Swinburne, e.g. 
				  
				     And like a devil-fish is ice, 
				          And like a devil-fish is cruel, 
				               And like a devil-fish is hate." 
				  
				     "Thule" is, in the same stanza, made to rhyme with 
				"cruel"!  The title-poem, which occupies two-thirds of the book, 
				is a most unsatisfactory performance, but it is superior in 
				technique to the rest. 
				—The 
				Westminster Review, August 1903. 
				
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				Ahab, and Other Poems.  By Allister Crowley.  With an 
				Introduction and Epilogue by Count Vladimir Svareff.  London:  
				Privately Printed at the Chiswick Press. 
				     
				There are not many pieces in this elaborately and handsomely 
				printed large quarto, about which the first thing that impresses 
				a reader is an odd typography, more luxurious than legible until 
				custom has made it easy to read.  The chief piece is a monologue 
				in studiously simple verse, not unmusical, which sets forth the 
				reflections of King Ahab, firstly in his pride, and afterwards 
				in his humiliation after the affair of Naboth’s vineyard.  Then 
				there is a sonnet to Balzac, inspired by Rodin’s statue; then a 
				piece of fine-spun verse-making about Melusine, that endeavours 
				to produce the exquisite shudder which some say is the last 
				effect of poetic art; then an irresponsible ecstasy about a 
				dream; while the book is rounded off by a sonnet from another 
				hand than its author’s.  The whole thing is elegant and refines; 
				but it is the product of a polite accomplishment rather than 
				essential poetry. 
				—The 
				Scotsman, 8 June 1903. 
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
				  
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