The first verse, the first four lines especially, is fine, and the idea behind that “discreet retreat behind sophistications of bread and meat” is good. It would be improved by using another and richer word than “sophistications” just to _improve_ the sophistication a little, however. I feel this way,--that however you wrote this poem,--in jest, literary exercise, or emotionally,--it proves distinct poetic possibilities in you, which, whether you care to follow or not, are still there. Why don’t you work this poem into an easier form or perhaps into a vers libre form? I could do it to show you what I mean, but that would take all the fun out of it for you. Forms as strict as the ballade, can, in my opinion, be used satisfactorily for only very artificial subjects, or abstract themes. I’ve been doing something myself, but don’t feel satisfied enough with it yet to send it. 90: TO GORHAM MUNSON [_Cleveland_] _March 2, ’22_ Dear Gorham: --/--/ Just now, I apologize for it, I am so much worried by family finances that it’s hard for me to do anything more than my work. My mother’s alimony has reached its limited time and she is preparing (at 45 yrs. of age!) to go out into the world to learn to make her living! I, naturally, shall henceforward be called upon not only to “keep” myself, but to lend as much of a helping hand as is possible in this predicament. So, it’s hard work for some time ahead for me, I guess. My present wages just suffice for my own limited requirements. My pater is too much of a cad to really do anything for his former wife except what the agreement between them says. The fact that this was made when she was partially out of mind and very ill, makes no difference to him. However, I shall not resign myself to the proverbial and sentimental fate of the “might-have-been” artist without a few more strenuosities. I will have to expect a certain tardiness of gait, however. I have just read Aldous Huxley’s latest, _Crome Yellow_, one of those things that evokes much quiet laughter and holds delightful savours, at least for a contemporary, between its covers. -- -- -- -- As no good plays ever get to Cleveland, and the Chicago opera not at all this year, my outside entertainment has been meagre. Only a symphony concert every other week, and little new there. Ernest Bloch, however, conducted two weeks ago his _Trois Poèmes Juifs_ which were magnificent enough for Solomon to have marched & sung to. I occasionally pass him on the streets or in the aisles of the auditorium, and realize that genius, after all, may walk in Cleveland. -- -- -- -- 91: TO GORHAM MUNSON [_Cleveland_] _March 24th_