The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1934-12-13
Poet Fights
Against War,
Lacks Hope
Edna St. Vincent Millay,
Disillusioned, Believes
Youth Will Serve.
By EVELYN SEELEY
Times Special Writer

NEW YORK. Dec. I3.-Edna st
~ Vincent Millay's voice tremblec
with emotion. her eyes shone bluel
than the blue Of her ring or the
blueness of her gown. her blond hail
fell loosely over her forehead, as she
read US last night her "Conscien-
tiOus Objector'
7 shall die fshe read but
that is all that shall do for
Death.
Though he flick my shoulders
with his whip I will not tell
him where the black boy hides
IN the swamp.
I shall die. but that is all that
shall do for Death; I am not
on his pay roll"
This is her last. her only crusade
and II is more Of denunciation. The
college BOYS throughout the Middle
West and the South applauded ire
mendously. she told us, as she read
these lines TO them on her present
tour. After the readings they all
bore her out on their shoulders in
triumphal procession. Passingly, she
was encouraged.
But what will happen when war
cOmes2" she challenged as the flush
faded from her face. They'll 90!
They will be made to believe that
1t is right for them to 60"
Speaks With Bitter Feeling
The poet who burned her candle
at both ends in a gay and gallant
Greenwich Village youth, who cru
saded against puritanism, who more
recently fought for the lives Of Sac
co and Vanzetti, spoke bitterly.
L am not so hopeful as the young
are" she said. What is going on?
France is ready to fight for her
rights in the Saar Valley, Ramsey
Macdonald says not so much free
speech, Churchill comes out for an
air force second to none. Again this
Armistice Day they hung wreaths
on the grave of the Unknown Sol
der, who's pretty damned well
known by now.
What good has the Disarmament
Conference done? What good all
the organization working for peace?
We can't go on making such fools
of ourselves, but We do. It's time
We pulled up our socks a bit, isn't
It? But we don't"
BIames the Profit Motive
When some one mentioned the
munitions makers. she started.
of course, that's it," she said. L
do blame the profit motive. But it's
the young who believe they can
change the world. If 1 am dis
illusiOned it is because 1 have seen
movement after movement start and
always fail. have heard people say
things and think they meant them.
and then go back or it all. have
some hope, that's ell"
This is the poet of disillusion
critics found most readily in her
new volume. Wine From These
Grapes" who does not like to be
reminded that she has lost hope for
man-individually and collectively.
They make me sound as il I
didn't care any more" she said.
And / care so much that I am
weary with my denunciations."
DenunciationS such as this
'Detesta bic race. continue to eX-
punge yourself. die out,
Breed faster, crowd, encroacb, sing
hymns, build bombing air.
planes
Convert again into putrescent mat
ter drawing flies
The hopeful bodies Of the young -"
Can Not Fir.d The World"
Only the poets words were bitter.
She has the enchantment her poems
evoke. A comblhation of shyneSs
and abandon. of youth and matur-
ity, of detachment ari indignation.
she bridges the gap between her
poems and you. Now she lives on
her 700-acre farm in the BerkShireS.
or on the Riviera. Or-when in New
York-here at the St Regis. But
you visualize her still in a Village
garrett. in a careless Smock instead
of this gracious gown.
L only know this" she said. II
should like to live in a world where
every one could do the thing he
wished. could have the job he
wanted; where every one who
wanted to study to be wiser and
more percepuble than he is should
have that opportunity. 1 should be
willing to give up everything I
possess for that, willing to live on
a loaf a day.
But I can not find the word"