Post by Dave Homewood on Jun 14, 2022 20:13:16 GMT 12
I happened upon this review, and wondered if any of the book collectors (Larry?) were aware of it? Perhaps the content is not related enough to the RNZAF for most, but I thought I'd mention it. From The Press, 4th of March 1967:
Poetry
A Lettered Cup. By William Warner. Pegasus. 59 pp. Over The Greenstone Water. By Sylvia Thomson. Pegasus. 51 pp.
“A Lettered Cup” is a posthumous collection of the verses of a young New Zealand pilot who was killed in action in Scotland in 1942. William Warner was 21 when he died, by which time he had had little opportunity to discover if a habit of versifying was accompanied by genuine poetic talent. Most of the pieces in this collection were written before the writer was 18, some as early as the age of 11, and though they reveal a pleasant personality there is little evidence of real poetic ability. Many of the verses were written for children and the others are celebration either of adolescent friendship or the beauties of nature.
The few poems written in England are mostly homesick memories of people and places in New Zealand. None of them deals directly with war experience. It is impossible to tell whether William Warner would have become a good poet on the evidence of this book. As it stands it is unlikely to impress readers with a serious interest in poetry.
Poetry
A Lettered Cup. By William Warner. Pegasus. 59 pp. Over The Greenstone Water. By Sylvia Thomson. Pegasus. 51 pp.
“A Lettered Cup” is a posthumous collection of the verses of a young New Zealand pilot who was killed in action in Scotland in 1942. William Warner was 21 when he died, by which time he had had little opportunity to discover if a habit of versifying was accompanied by genuine poetic talent. Most of the pieces in this collection were written before the writer was 18, some as early as the age of 11, and though they reveal a pleasant personality there is little evidence of real poetic ability. Many of the verses were written for children and the others are celebration either of adolescent friendship or the beauties of nature.
The few poems written in England are mostly homesick memories of people and places in New Zealand. None of them deals directly with war experience. It is impossible to tell whether William Warner would have become a good poet on the evidence of this book. As it stands it is unlikely to impress readers with a serious interest in poetry.
