I came across an interesting poet who seems to have dropped belowthe cultural radar since her death in 1914: Adelaide Crapsey. Although she sound's like she's got a made-up name (not that I'm one to talk), she is perfectly real, and included in The Albatross Book of Living Verse, published by Collins in the 1930s (and given as many poems as Wilfred Owen). Her claim for revival is that her use of a new verse-form, the Cinquain (sometimes spelled Quincain). The form is strangely effective in a halting way, a bit like a Samuel Becket speech: it comprises five lines, of 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 syllables.
These are hers:
Three silent things:
The falling snow . . . the hour
Before the dawn . . . the mouth of one
Cinquain: November night
Listen . . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisped, break from the trees
Cinquain: The warning
Out of the strange
Still dusk . . . as strange, as still . . .
A white moth flew. Why am I grown
She also wrote this:
On seeing weather-beaten trees
Is it as plainly in our living shown,
By slant and twist, which way the wind hath blown?
Cultural values are always relative, but these certainly seemed to jump off the page as I flicked through the anthology.
(Oh, and if you're wondering, this is not a hoax or parody).
Not as forgotten as I thought. There is a strong US tradition of the Cinquain (so spelled) as developed by Crapsey.
Her poetry book Verse is available in full at American Verse Project.
There is a journal called Amaze dedicated to promotion of the Crapsey cinquain.