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#2028: Willa Cather to Robert Frost, January 20 [1916]

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1180 MURRAY HILL AVENUE3 My Dear Mr. Frost1:

I am so sorry that I shall not be in New York4 on the date of the Poetry Society dinner. It would give me great pleasure to meet Mrs. Frost5 and yourself. I want, among other things, to ask you if you ever happened to meet Miss Jewett6. I cannot help regretting that your two volumes7 of verse came along too late for her to see them. They would have meant more to her than to most people, and would have helped to lighten a deep discouragement. She knew a piece of verse from a piece of Ivory Soap, and she died when none save Witter Bynner8 and the Phoebe Snow poets9 smote the lyre.

Of course, the very worst feature in your case is that most of your confreres of the Poetry Society are so fuddled by the democratic idea of "free verse" that they do not know the difference between the best line you ever made and a line from the social paragraphs of the country newspaper. For what can you hope from an audience of people who have no ear to be hurt by the screech of Florence Earle Coates10 (the worst old war-horse among them!) and no taste to be offended by the "eugenic verse" of Ella Wheeler Wilcox11? I believe that most of the young offenders are "poets" simply to oblige Miss Rittenhouse12. Like every other boom of worthless stuff, the Poetry Society hurts the real values temporarily. I've never yet dared go to a meeting for fear that I might be tempted to hint at something of the sort. So I shall ask you to regard these remarks as confidential. Publicity is good for poets as well as for breakfast foods—Miss Rittenhouse and her staff may be of some use to you, after all. And their methods do not silence quieter ones. In an un-evangelical way, I've put The Mountain13, Mowing14, Going for Water15, The Tuft of Flowers16 and many others, before a good many people who did not have to be told anything about them after they read them, and whose ideas [illegible] of—well, of anything!—have not changed because, as Mr. Masters17 writes18 "The hammock fell Into the dust with Milton19's poems". (Anthology20 p. 188)

We can't all regard that event as symbolic!

Very cordially yours Willa S. Cather