[unclear: argot]'s ague

By Murray Rowlands

I was led to believe that the first issue of "Argot" under the editorship of Mr. Murk Young was going to be quite an event. My disappointment at its contents I have, no doubt was shared with those foolish enough to buy It.

Unlike "Spectrum" (with which it makes an interesting comparison) the quality of the magazine, though fluctuating from issue to issue has generally tended downward. It is now almost completely pervaded with the "Joy, I wake up in the morning and I'm an artist" posture and the self conscious studied writing this logically brings with it. Except for Richard Packer none of the contributors show any sign of an ability in self analysis which writing in any literary form involves. Here for instance is the first line and half of B. J. Southam's story "For every action;"

"A fine drizzle was forming a globular halo on her dark, carefully brushed hair."

Mr. Southam's talents are wasted for I am sure the manufacturers of a hair shampoo, would only be too pleased to employ him, and at a high stipend. The beginning of this story, coupled with his inability to cope with his created situation in any thing like a competent manner makes the story a highly coloured pastiche. His earlier prose-poetry (?) hardly rales mention.

Mr Packer's poem is urbane, if a little shallow in content and W. F. Grant's "Cuba" is impressive, if a little clumsy in form.

Some notes to the other contributors; Paul Gray. It must be hell being inside your ego but let me out.

Hilare Kirkland. Three langorous poems rather like Chinese poetry but which lack a certain concrete quality to make them last in the mind.

I expected something new and rather exciting from the younger poets and new writers to compensate for the tiredness in Kirkland and the lack of fundamental belief that seems implicit in Packer.