Your letter came this morning, and I agree largely with what you have to say about the Anderson article. A friend of mine here, Lescaze the painter, who is an excellent literary critic as well, told me that reading it gave him the impression of a young man inflating and playing with a series of variously-colored balloons in the boredom of his chambre--which in an imagistic way singularly seems to agree with the substance of your opinion on it. Well,--this is true & rather painfully so--I must admit. My only justification is the singularly inadequate surroundings I have here for any kind of concentration. My one hope is to do better with more practice at such work and relieved somewhat of the haste that the pressing necessities for money presently force upon me. I struggle with the Pound article still,--but the subject itself is so complex and (I fancy) the audience interested so small, that I may be forced to give it up. You are right about _The D.D.’s_ exceedingly uneven quality. To my mind almost every issue has been largely filled with utter weakness and banality. Will some one tell me how an (often) good poet like Haniel Long can bring himself to allow to be printed such _stuff_ as he has signed himself to in _The D.D._? As a matter of fact I am continually being more and more horrified at what names we had always been accustomed to hoping rather much of,--are rushing into print with, and obviously out of the urgent need or desire of more money. _Shadowland_, especially the August number with Babette Deutsch’s list of American poets! Alas--what Fletcher wrote on the artist’s conscience in _The Freeman_ (July 12th or so) makes me think a good deal. Living _is_ at last becoming quite impossible, at least here,--when you get to Italy I advise a permanent residence there for you. Later, perhaps I’ll come over and join you. In time there may be only D. H. Lawrence, the rainbow, and Capri left. I shall (with my millions acquired by that time in flattering biographies of rich businessmen)--I shall rejuvenate the baths and temple there of Tiberius and we shall live in state,--waited on by the only fair and unsullied youths & maidens then procurable in Europe. --/--/ 73: TO GORHAM MUNSON _Cleveland, O._ _Aug. 9th ’21_ Dear Gorham: --/--/ My unemployment lingers. I learn a Scriabin Prelude,--make a drawing,--stroke my black cat (a recent acquisition) and read intermittently. Lately I had a good letter from Colum, who likes my “Black Tambourine,” and yesterday a long letter from Matthew Josephson, the first word for almost a year. He is up in Maine with Carl Springhorn and Kenneth Burke in a kind of camp. (Also his wife.) They both expect to sail for Italy six weeks from now, to stay two years or more. I don’t know their proposed localities, but hope you will meet. -- -- -- -- 74: TO CHARMION WIEGAND _Cleveland, Ohio_ _August 13, ’21_