So far no zonite, but gratitude none the less. The only people who can get records to me securely are the Victor headquarters, I’ll order direct from them. There’s a duty of about 90% on all records! But I do wish you would have _The New Republic_ send me the Gide article.... As much of your work as is printed there and elsewhere. I read _Moby Dick_ between gasps down in Cayman--my third time--and found it more superb than ever. How much that man makes you love him! --/--/ 248: TO WALDO FRANK [_Isle of Pines_] _June 20th_ Dear Waldo: Recollection of certain statements made in yesterday’s letter to you prompt me to a little better account of myself--not that I committed any insincerities (though the letter might seem to solicit sympathy or encouragement) but that I feel guilty of an injustice to you in some sort of way. You certainly do not deserve to have such fare set before you.... So I apologize for my crudity, with the foreknowledge of your understanding that there are times when it is a torture to write anyone sincerely--as I must always write to you. My statements may appear in a less insane light after you have read what has principally spurred them--the Spengler thesis. This man is certainly fallible in plenty of ways but much of his evidence is convincing--and is there any good evidence forthcoming from the world in general that the artist isn’t completely out of a job? Well, I may not care about such considerations 2 hours from now, but at present and for the last two months I have been confronted with a ghostliness that is new. The validity of a work of art is situated in contemporary reality to the extent that the artist must honestly anticipate the realization of his vision in “action” (as an actively operating principle of communal works and faith), and I don’t mean by this that his procedure requires any bona fide evidences directly and personally signalled, nor even any physical signs or portents. The darkness is part of his business. It has always been taken for granted, however, that his intuitions were salutary and that his vision either sowed or epitomized “experience” (in the Blakeian sense). Even the rapturous and explosive destructivism of Rimbaud presupposes this, even his lonely hauteur demands it for any estimation or appreciation. (The romantic attitude must at least have the background of an age of faith, whether approved or disproved no matter).