The letter: … God knows I have to work hard enough to escape, not _propagande_, but getting centered in _propagande_. And America? What the h—l do you a blooming foreigner know about the place. Your _père_ only penetrated the edge, and you’ve never been west of Upper Darby, or the Maunchunk switchback. Would H., with the swirl of the prairie wind in her underwear, or the Virile Sandburg recognize you, an effete easterner as a REAL American? INCONCEIVABLE!!!!! My dear boy you have never felt the woop of the PEEraries. You have never seen the projecting and protuberant Mts. of the SIerra Nevada. WOT can you know of the country? You have the naive credulity of a Co. Claire emigrant. But I (der grosse Ich) have the virus, the bacillus of the land in my blood, for nearly three bleating centuries. (Bloody snob. ’eave a brick at ’im!!!).… I was very glad to see your wholly incoherent unamerican poems in the L. R. Of course Sandburg will tell you that you miss the “big drifts,” and Bodenheim will object to your not being sufficiently decadent. You thank your bloomin gawd you’ve got enough Spanish blood to muddy up your mind, and prevent the current American ideation from going through it like a blighted collander. The thing that saves your work is opacity, and don’t forget it. Opacity is NOT an American quality. Fizz, swish, gabble, and verbiage, these are _echt Americanisch_. And alas, alas, poor old Masters. Look at Oct. Poetry. Let me indulge the American habit of quotation: * * * * * “Si le cosmopolitisme littéraire gagnait encore et qu’il réussit à étaindre ce que les differénce de race ont allumé de haine de sang parmi les hommes, j’y verrais un gain pour la civilization et pour l’humanité tout entière”.… “L’amour excessif d’une patrie a pour immédiat corollair l’horreur des patries étrangères. Non seulment on craint de quitter la jupe de sa maman, d’aller voir comment vivent les autres hommes, de se mêler à leur luttes, de partager leur travaux, non seulment on reste chez soi, mais on finit par fermer sa porte.” “Cette folie gagne certains littérateurs et le même professeur, en sortant d’expliquer le Cid ou Don Juan, rédige de gracieuses injures contre Ibsen et l’influence, hélas, trop illusoire, de son oevre, pourtant toute de lumière et de beauté.” et cetera. Lie down and compose yourself.