I'm presently deeply involved in Peter Howarth's Cambridge Introduction to Modernist Poetry, and its first chapter focusses on Hope Mirlees' 'recently rediscovered' proto-modernist masterpiece, Paris: a Poem. Written in 1919, it anticipates the scope and mood of Eliot's Wasteland and many of the stylistic devices of Pound's Cantos. It seemed a natural enough thing to pick up a copy of Mirlees' collected poetry as an accompaniment to Howarth's book.
The consequence was ultimately disappointing. The remainder of her poetry, none of which saw publication until the 60/70s, proved to be rather more regressive with none of the revolutionary ambition of Paris. The remainder of her work turned out to be the sort of poetry that I've recently realised I have no longer any time for; regularly metered and rhyming doing violence to meaning through archaisms and infelicities of syntax, crammed full of classical allusions. There is the constant sense in her later work that she is trying to convince herself that she really is as clever as her Edwardian Oxbridge education entitled her to be. The subjects of these poems are flowers, pets and conceits based obscure on obscure points of Catholic dogma, fairies and a reluctance to commit to human love. They are devoid of philosophical content or psychological acuity. They don't even have the literary, historical sweep of Paris. They say nothing that could not have been said just as well in plainer language. They are essentially linguistic wallpaper.
Nonetheless, the extensive scholarly introduction by Sandeep Parmar and the annotations help to construct a vivid conception of Mirlees' literary milieu and of the outlook of her generation of privileged hyper-aesthetes. This in itself was very helpful in my own quest to understand, just what is poetry; just want kind of poetry really moves me; just what kind of poetry would I like to write.
Paris, is impressive (to my sensibility). Even more so when read in conjunction with the notes in the appendix compiled by Julia Briggs. The rest were traditional and even in terms of that tradition of centuries of effort to replicate the perceived perfection of classical models, were humdrum and formulaic. However, for me at least the total contents of this book were instructive from a critical perspective.