by T. S. Eliot
(For what my position is worth, I am willing to say this about him, in print, as soon as the right time comes, for the present I should be glad if you would keep it for family consumption, as the difficulties of an author having a certain number of friends in the same profession are not diminished by having them all know that he thinks much more highly of one than of all the rest.)
Robert Frost has, let us admit, done a book of New England eclogues.6 (Incidentally, it was I who insisted or ‘suggested’ that he should do it. He brought me one or two poems that now appear in that book and spoke of more in the making, and he might have brought out the present book without meeting me. However I was one of the first critics to acclaim him and I certainly had some part in getting him to do that series of ‘eclogues’.) Still a set of provincial studies, local, a bit dull, is a very different thing from poetry which accepts the tone and difficulties of contemporary civilization.
Again with Masters, the work is rough, given the form of poem, it is much easier to do a series such as he has done than it is to bring in a sort of new element, which I think T.S.E. does and will do. His newer things show a great advance in workmanship.
Pardon this flood of detail. I suppose it reduces itself to this: there are a few noteworthy new poets, there are a dozen or so young men with charm, with temperaments, with excellent ‘poetic’ interiors, some of whom, most of whom seem to me likely to stay stuck plumb where they now are, for the rest of their natural lives (if they don’t get fat headed and worse) simply because they ‘ain’t got the sense’ to get on or to invent anything. (I beg you to accept this in the secrecy of the confessional, as I like several of these young men and have no desire for more quarrels than I now have on hand, and no desire to hurt people’s feelings unduly, or unduly discourage them.) In some cases they suffer from a deficient culture, for which they cannot be held in any way responsible.
T.S.E. is (as the Spectator said of me some years since) ‘that rare thing among modern poets, a scholar’.7 That means not only an advantage in the initial sprint, it means much more: a chance of being able really to finish ‘a long distance race’, a chance of having matter and volume enough in one to keep on writing more and more interestingly, with increasing precision and development. Mental stamina … which I do not see in a number of the advertised writers of the passing year and moment.
As to his coming to London, anything else is a waste of time and energy. No one in London cares a hang what is written in America. After getting an American audience a man has to begin all over again here if he plans for an international hearing. He even begins at a disadvantage. London likes discovering her own gods. Again in a literary career mediocrity is worse than useless. Either a man goes in to go the whole hog or he had better take to selling soap and gents furnishings. The situation has been very well summed up in the sentence: ‘Henry James stayed in Paris and read Turgenev and Flaubert, Mr Howells returned to America and read Henry James.’8
Now on the practical side a writer making one thousand dollars per year here is, I should say much better off than if he were making five thousand a year in America. In fact so long as he can pay his board and washing and keep a decent coat on his back, he has all his luxuries free and has the most interesting life in the world at his disposal.
(Even if his career is to be half scholastic, any philological job of the first rank must start and get its orientation in the British Museum.)
As for American publication you have readier access, I think, to American magazines from this side of the water, whereas English publication is practically impossible for any man out of England unless he is fully established. (That is to say Kipling might live where he liked).
Again if a man is doing the fine thing and the rare thing, London is the only possible place for him to exist. Only here is there a disciplinary body of fine taste, of powerful writers who ‘keep the editors under’, who make it imperative that a publisher act in accordance, occasionally, with some dictates other than those of sheer commercialism.
I should, of course, advise T.S.E. to meet personally as many American editors of good standing as is possible, before he returns, and to work his American social connections to the utmost so as to have that anchor to westward. But still you may bear in mind that London imposes her acceptance of a man’s work on all the English speaking world and that she accepts no other standard than her own … and after some lapse of years that of Paris. At any rate if T.S.E. is set on a literary career, this is the place to begin it and any other start would be very bad economy.
I expect to give him a trial run with the British reviewers this autumn. That is to say I shall give him the first eight or ten pages in an anthology which I expect to bring out this autumn unless war conditions prevent. I have merely the publishers’ verbal agreement to print the book in September (which means according to publishers habits, possibly November).9
The last Anthology I brought out has provided a new word for France, England and America10 and the battle of ink is still raging. The Mercure de France in the current number (June 1, 1915) is sufficiently excited to consider ‘l’imagisme comme une preuve de la vitalité de la race anglaise.’11 (Which it isn’t). We have not, as they say ‘renouvelé la poésie au bruit du canon occidental’12 we did the job before the war started and we are mostly Americans so the race anglaise has nothing much proved about it one way or the other. (Again I beg the secrecy of the confessional, for I have no desire that this last fact should be rubbed into the English publishers and reviewers, who won’t like to be reminded of it.)
I don’t know what more I can say except to repeat that I am very much interested in T.S.E.’s work and that if (or when) he comes back to London I shall continue to use such influence, as I have, in his behalf to get his work recognized. It has already excited the interest of several of the best critics of my acquaintance beside my own. As to the times and places of publication, of course a man who is not under the lash of necessity can do better than one who is. It is better to begin in the best magazines and at good rates. It is much better to sell one article at twenty pounds than thirty articles at one pound or than ten articles at two pounds.
It is better not to publish a book of poems until one has a book that will ‘get through’. The amount of actually good work that is done, is so small that a few people more or less control the output, and with proper discretion, I think we may say that ordinary business conditions prevail. ‘A man succeeds either by the scarceness or the abundance of his copy.’ If he cares for the really fine thing and if his standard is decently high, it is only by the first road that he will attempt to go forward.
Sincerely yours
On reading this through it seems that I might add, that a literary man’s income depends very much on how rigidly he insists on doing exactly what he himself wants to do. It depends on his connection, which he makes himself. It depends on the number of feuds that he takes on for the sake of his aesthetic beliefs. T.S.E. does not seem to be so pugnacious as I am and his course should be the smoother and swifter. Still, it is possible for a man to do exactly what he pleases, and live.
sincerely yours
Ezra Pound
As to exact sums, or the amount a man actually needs to begin on, I should think that if a fellow had five hundred dollars for the first year and two hundred and fifty for the second he ought to be able to make the rest of his keep and get decently started.
1–EP had been an Instructor in Romance Languages at Wabash College, Crawfordville, 1907–8.
2–TSE thought Edgar Lee Masters’s Spoon River Anthology (New York, 1915) ‘not material of the first intensity’ (‘Reflections on Vers Libre’, NS 8 [3 Mar. 1917], 518–19).
3–Word cancelled but not replaced.
4–Next five sentences crossed through, from ‘Browning …’ to ‘… in their day’.
5–EP’s ‘The seafarer’ appeared in Ripostes (1912); his version of ‘The Exile’s Letter’ in Cathay (1915).
6–Rober
t Frost, North of Boston (1914), which EP reviewed (‘Modern Georgics’, Poetry 5: 3, Dec. 1914), praising Frost for daring to write ‘in the natural speech of New England’, and calling the book ‘a contribution to American literature’ (Selected Essays, 384–6).
7–The anonymous reviewer of Exultations went on to call EP ‘too bookish and literary’ (The Spectator, 11 Dec. 1909, 1001).
8–‘Henry James went to France and read Tourgueneff. W. D. Howells stayed at home and read Henry James’ (George Moore, Confessions of a Young Man [1888], 254–5).
9–Catholic Anthology 1914–1915 (Nov. 1915), published in an edition of 500 copies, included ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’, ‘Portrait of a Lady’, ‘The Boston Evening Transcript’, ‘Aunt Helen’, and a new prose poem, ‘Hysteria’.
10–Des Imagistes: An Anthology (New York, 1914). The ‘new word’ was ‘Imagism’.
11–‘Imagism as a proof of the vitality of the English race.’
12–‘renewed poetry to the noise of the western guns’.
TO Henry Eliot
MS Houghton
[Postmark 2 July 1915]
3 Compayne Gdns,1 London N.W.
Dear Henry
You will have heard by this time of the surprising changes in my plans. You know, however, what I always wanted, and I am sure that it will seem natural enough to you. The only really surprising thing is that I should have had the force to attempt it, and when you know Vivien, I am sure that you will not be surprised at that either. I know that you will agree that the responsibility and independent action has been and will be just what I needed. Now my only concern is how I can make her perfectly happy, and I think I can do that by being myself infinitely more fully than I ever have been. I am much less suppressed, and more confident, than I ever have been.
Your letter came very opportunely. It showed that the family will be better prepared for my decision. I have given it to Vivien: she wanted to keep it. She likes you. I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gave me.
Now I am going to ask you to do something for me, in case you are in Boston or New York this summer. These are suggestions of Ezra Pound’s, who has a very shrewd head, and has taken a very great interest in my prospects. There will be people to be seen in Boston and New York, editors with whom I might have some chance, and it might even be better, if you are on the spot, for you to see them than for me. As you are likeliest to be in Boston, the first thing is the Atlantic Monthly. Now Pound considers it important, whenever possible, to secure introductions to editors from people of better social position than themselves. In a paper of notes which he made out for me he says: ‘Mrs Gardner ought to insist on the Atlantic’s making you their English representative. Sedgwick2 would think it a score off me, whom he hates, to have someone here in touch with everything that I know’. I do not know how much Mrs G. can or will do in that quarter, but I am enclosing a letter of introduction to her, and I shall write to her at once about my affairs. I should like you to see Sedgwick, and find out if anything can be done.
My assets up to date are the poem you have seen, another long poem (earlier and inferior) which will be out presently in a small new publication called Others in New York,3 which may be useful because it includes some of the people whom Amy Lowell and Houghton Mifflin are taking up, and the assurance of a dozen pages in an anthology like Imagistes, to be out in the autumn; with not the same people (except Pound) and including Masters, whom you may have heard of, as he first appeared. I also have on hand some rather second rate things which I may send to Mencken (the Smart Set).4
On second thoughts I enclose part of Pound’s paper of notes. Besides Century and Harpers, I believe there is also the Bookman. Nothing needs to be done in Chicago, I believe. You know F. Hackett, who was in that paper in which you sometimes did reviews, don’t you.5 I believe he is now in New York, and he is an editor of the New Republic. That pays, and might be persuaded to take criticism, or little articles.6 What I want is 1) to have these magazines mentioned know my name in some personal way. 2) to get some steady connection such as the writing of an ‘English letter’ or discussion of current French stuff. There is little of the latter now, but there is enough of the last year-or-two’s produce which is unknown to America to provide matter for some time. James Huneker’s7 rot pays him, and I don’t see why more intelligent writing should not be made to.
Forgive the exclusively practical tone of this letter. I feel more alive than I ever have before. We are anxious that mother and father should come over to see us, and I hope you will use your influence, as I do not want anything but possibly his business to interfere.
I want to send you her picture soon. Vivien is not very well at present, and this has knocked her out completely, so I do not want one taken yet.
I am hoping you will be able to settle in N.Y. or Boston soon.
Always affectionately
Tom
1–The Hampstead home of VHE’s parents.
2–Ellery Sedgwick (1872–1960), a close friend of Isabella Stewart Gardner, bought the Atlantic Monthly in 1908 and edited it with great success for thirty years.
3–‘Portrait of a Lady’ appeared in the anthology Others I: 3 (Sept. 1915), 35–40.
4–H. L. Mencken (1880–1956), journalist and critic, was co-editor (with George Jean Nathan) of The Smart Set, 1914–23.
5–Francis Hackett (1883–1962), Irish author, was editor of The New Republic, 1914–22.
6–TSE published no articles or reviews between 1909 and 1916.
7–James Huneker (1857–1921), American music critic, also wrote about art, literature and drama for the New York Sun, 1900–17. TSE had reviewed his book Egoists in Harvard Advocate 88: 1 (5 Oct. 1909), 16.
[In Vivien’s hand:]
I have read this letter and I am sure we can depend on you to help us. I read the letter you wrote to Tom and liked it so much, and I almost feel I know you. I should like it if you will write to me.
Vivien S. Eliot
TO Harriet Monroe1
MS Chicago
10 July 1915
3 Compayne Gdns
Dear Miss Monroe
I received your cheque for eight guineas2 some days ago, and only unusual preoccupations prevented me from acknowledging it and thanking you at once.
The address at the head of the paper will always reach me, and I will notify you of any change.
Sincerely yours
T. Stearns-Eliot
1–Harriet Monroe: see Glossary of Names.
2–Payment for ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’, Poetry (June 1915).
TO Mrs Jack Gardner
MS Gardner Museum
[10 July? 1915]
3 Compayne Gdns
My dear Mrs Gardner,
It gave me very great pleasure to hear from you, and to have so much that I am glad to hear about Prichard. I have heard a little from Furst, and a few weeks ago I saw Richard Fisher,1 but your letter gives much more what is essential.
I have been meaning to write to you for some time about my affairs, but they were at first so indefinite, and later so precipitous, that now when I am revealing them, I suppose that some of the people to whom I shall write will suspect either that I have been very secretive, or very rash. You will know that I have been neither.
The enclosed clipping will disclose one piece of news.2 You said once that marriage is the greatest test in the world. I know now that you were right, but now I welcome the test instead of dreading it. It is much more than a test of sweetness of temper, as people sometimes think; it is a test of the whole character and affects every action. This is what I have discovered. I know that saying this, more than anything I can tell you about Vivien, and about my happiness, will show you that I have done the best thing. But I hope that I may some day bring her to see you, or better still, that you will be coming again to London.
The last sentence will show you that I have changed my plans. This process has gone on parallel with the other, and has
fitted into it wonderfully. Since I have been at Oxford I have, as you know, acquired a few literary connections in London, and made a few friends who have been very encouraging. This support has nourished a hope which I had entertained before; and I see a possibility of being able to express myself through literary channels; and this I prefer to the makeshift of professional philosophy. It is hard to make a foothold, but I felt that the work at Harvard was deadening me. And the prospect of [becoming] a professor at some provincial university in America is not stimulating!
I want to live in London, and if one is to do anything in literature this is the best place to be. It was a London friend – Ezra Pound – who got printed for me the poem which I sent you. So we plan to settle here. And I am looking for a position in some London school, to substitute throughout the war; and if I can get this, it will help me through the most trying period. If not, some other occupation, for it takes time to attain independence in a literary life.
This is a far greater responsibility than I have ever incurred before. Yet I feel much more competent to face it. I worry far less over it than over infinitesimal things in the past. But I realise its full seriousness. Had I come to America this summer – I do not now expect to do so – I should have been able to interview editors myself, first because a personal acquaintance is necessary in order to place contributions, second because I should like to be a regular ‘foreign correspondent’ for some periodical. As it is, I expect my brother to be in Boston and New York at some time during the summer, and in Boston I am going to ask him to see the Atlantic Monthly, and possibly Miss Lowell.3 And as he will probably be in Boston a fortnight I am taking the liberty of giving him a letter to you, in order that he may get your advice, if happily you are at Green Hill,4 and in order that he may have the privilege of meeting you.
