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A Zealand Quarterly edited by and published by The Caxton Press

CON'l'EN'I'S 199 Three Poems, 201 The Moth, Joy Cowley 204 Three Poems, Janet Frame 209 Towards the Unknown Region, Pira Kanungsattam 211 Fish and Chips on the Merry-go-round, K. 0. Arvidson 216 Two Poems, 217 River and Sea, Kathleen Mayson 220 Songs for Young Harry, Brian Wigney 223 Alan Mulgan, Dennis McEldowney 226 James Courage, Phillip Wilson 234 The Zealand of James Courage, R. A. Copland 235 Michael (Renato) Amato, Maurice Shadbolt 250 Twenty Years After, Les Cleveland 253

COMMENTARIES: South African Letter, Jack Cope 258 And Battles Long Ago, W. H. Oliver 263

REVIEWS: Relationship and Solitude, E. A. Olssen 269 Whether the Will is Free, E. A. Horsman 273 The Park, The Mythologists, Peter Dronke 277 Zealand Poetry Yearbook, MacD. P. Jackson 280 Exploring Zealand Writing, Pauline Robinson 285 The Poetic, Owen Leeming 287 Correspondence, R. L. P. Jackson, Chris Wallace-Crabbe 290 Drawing and Paintings, James Boswell Cover Design, John Drawbridge

VOLUME EIGHTEEN NUMBER THREE SEPTEMBER 1964 LANDFALL is published with the aid of a grant from the Literary Fund.

LANDFALL is printed and published by The Caxton Press at 119 Victoria Street, . The annual subscription is 20s. net post free, and should be sent to the above address. All contributions used will be paid for. Manuscripts should be sent to the editor at the above address; they cannot be returned unless accompanied by a stamped and addressed envelope. Notes

AN ARTisT's purposes can neither be nor be made to fit those of any actual society. His service to society, if he can be said to serve it, is necessarily indirect. His work proposes (let us say) ideal ends, or depicts ideal states of being; or exposes, by implication or directly, the imperfection or corruption of his society, of its organization, leadership, aims, spirit; explores human relationships in their social setting; or, with little reference to that setting, celebrates the natural world, men and women, the lovable ordinariness or the ardours and exaltations of human life. Whatever it does, he is bound to be thought indifferent or hostile to the society he belongs to; in fact he is likely to be more deeply involved in and more passionately con- cerned about its present and future than most of his fellow citizens, but not in an immediately obvious way. As an artist, he stands a little apart, looking at society more closely, fondly, critically-all of these at once, maybe-than other people. What he cannot do is identify himself with it in its present form and in its temporary objectives. The arts spring from complex tensions, in the artist (as in every individual), in society, and between artist and society. If artists were able to identify themselves with society, art would cease; and society would rot. No expense of energy, no life. No tension, no art. No war, no peace: the arts are the glowing fruits of peace which arise as by-products of the harsh war of man and society. The artist who as a man knows himself to be nothing is yet as artist the representative or ideal man and the suspect physician of society. Tacitly or explicitly, all art criticizes the social order. The social function of the arts is always to change that order, whether radically or subtly: never simply to confirm the injustices and banalities of the status quo. Societies which treat the arts as a social lubricant, part of the propaganda machine, and attempt to make the artist a mere social functionary, would, if they succeeded-which in the long run they cannot-both kill art and ruin society. The Russians have done their worst in this line, with incalculable damage and impoverishment to themselves and mankind. Hitherto