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In the plastic arts, the laws of form and the criteria of beauty have been swept aside by the futurists, cubists, vorticists, tactilists, and other aesthetic Bolsheviki. In poetry, where beauty of rhythm, melody of sound and nobility of thought were once regarded as the true tests, we now have in freak forms of poetry the exaltation of the grotesque and brutal.
For this happened years before anybody had begun to buy Van Gogh years before anybody had begun to hear of Van Gogh years before Post-Impressionism had been invented and had launched its crop of Cubists and Futurists and Vorticists as direct descendants of Van Gogh and Cézanne who would assuredly have been the first to repudiate them.
Again, the verse that has sprung from the movement is much of it thoroughly interesting. Some of it is as bizarre as the new art of the futurists and the vorticists; some is merely vulgar, some merely affected, some hopelessly obscure; but other poems, without convincing us of their greatness, seem as original and creative as were Browning and Whitman in their day.
Which is just what this old gentleman and this old lady seem to think too. THE SHE-ANCIENT. Quite so. THE HE-ANCIENT. Precisely. What do you want to be? THE HE-ANCIENT. A vortex. THE NEWLY BORN. A what? THE SHE-ANCIENT. A vortex. I began as a vortex: why should I not end as one? ECRASIA. Oh! That is what you old people are, Vorticists. ACIS. But if life is thought, can you live without a head?
He starts people to thinking worth-while people. He says so himself. Mixed up with all sorts of clever things with the most wonderful names garment workers and poet radicals and vorticists and new-arters and everything like that, who are working to lift us up so nobody will own anything and everybody can have what he wants.
Flexen had an odd feeling that they were behaving with entire naturalness and propriety; that their real interest was in the politicians, the British drama, the Cubists, the Vorticists and the New Poets, and not at all in the fate of the murderer of the late Lord Loudwater. After a while he found himself vying earnestly with Mr.
They all three abused the politicians with perfect sympathy; they abused the British drama with perfect sympathy; with no less perfect sympathy they abused the Cubists and the Vorticists and the New Poets. Mr.
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