172 Bay 28th Street,
Brooklyn, New York .

January 15

My Dear Miss Gregory:

"It is very painful indeed to return a poem of yours, especially if one has been and is so very definite an admirer of your work. This one we do not wholly like, however, and so we endure the pain".

Your note to me, quoted above, rouses me to a new and sad unfolding of thought. During the past two years "The Dial" has accepted only one poem out of sixty submitted for approval. In fact, every poem in my last two books of verse has experienced the honor, or misfortune, of being refused by "The Dial", with the exception of the baby previously mentioned. If it was very painful for the editors to return these poems, I must for the first time sympathize with their predicament, although it would seem that their capacity for enduring pain has been unlimited in my case. Still, I do not like to know that people have suffered with my unconscious assistance, and I am tempted to send letters of condolence to Mr. Thayer, Mr. Watson, Mr. Seldes, and Mr. Burke. However, since "The Dial" has published during the past two years numerous poems by E.E. Cummings, William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore, Alfred Kreymborg, and others, the editors of "The Dial" must have relieved their pain with contrasting moments of happiness. "The Dial" has also printed derogatory reviews of my last three books, in one of which I

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was accused of imitating William Shakespeare(!), and they have not seemed to indicate a very definite admiration on the part of the editors who allowed them to appear.

You must understand that this rather hopeless and justified sarcasm is not in any way directed at yourself. I do not know you and have not the slightest reason for doubting the sincerity of your statements. It may be indeed that you are actually a very definite admirer of my work, and I shall be happy to add you to my small band of critical friends. It is obvious, of course, that I am not a member of the clique of poets whose work "The Dial" has been interested in advancing, nor am I one of the smaller echoes of these poets which "The Dial" has published now and then. I should like to believe, however, that you are not in sympathy with this situation. I should like also to have a chat with you, if your own desire is responsive . . . I am enclosing two sonnets.

Quite sincerely yours,

Maxwell Bodenheim

January 24th

Dear Alyse Gregory:

Since you recently spent an interest-
ing hour going through my correspondence with The Dial for
the past two years, you may have noticed the droll ingenuity
with which the editors of The Dial offered every known
variety of excuse, side-stepping, polished retreat, unmeant
praise, and slightly haughty restraint, to avoid any utterance
of their actual preferences and motives. I do not know
whether their letters to me are included in your files, but
my own carefully cherished collection of them will make
an interesting addition to my memoirs, if I live long enough
to write them. Yet, I have never charged the editors with
injustice, but rather with a combination of comparative blind-
ness, obeisance to one squad of poets only, and an invincible
hypocrisy. If I am wrong, time will arrange my burial.

The poem in blank verse that I am enclosing
is, to my hopelessly mesmerized eyes, beautiful and adroitly
original, but, naturally, I do not expect The Dial to accept
it. A second novel of mine, "Crazy Man", will be issued by
Harcourt-Brace and Company during the coming week, and I hope
that you will care to read it.

With great sincerity,

Maxwell Bodenheim

January 25th - 1924.

Dear Miss Gregory :

My publishers, Harcourt-Brace and Company, are mailing you a review copy of my latest novel, "Crazy Man". I am hoping that you will care to review this novel yourself, simply because I have a presentiment that you would review it more fairly and seriously than the other people to whom The Dial has assigned my previous books. I need not say that I am not stooping to clumsy flattery in telling you this. I hope also, that The Dial will depart from its traditional policy toward my volumes and give the present one an early notice. Novels, alas, are materially made or discountenanced on the basis of the exact degree of immediate attention which they receive.

February 5th

My dear Miss Gregory:

Alas, our correspondence seems to be proceeding along
the same roads taken by that between myself and other
editors of The Dial. First the expression of an admira-
tion, disputed by the endless return of my work; then a
gradual yielding to irritation at my insistent requests
for delicate, explicit, considerate frankness; then a re-
action of general dismay at my "disagreeable hostility";
and finally an indifference, or an angry retirement( we
have not reached this last stage yet and I hope that we
never will ).

You say: "One is apt to retreat when a howling der-
vish with glittering eye and bared teeth advances hostilely
toward one". Am I really as loud and whirling as all
that? Or do I merely ask(with little confidence)for a
direct confession of reasons and opinions,and for the
removal of those nice garments which humans hug so des-
perately? For instance,let us take your sentence: "Since
you seem so certain that this poem will be returned,then
here it is". In the case of a magazine that rejects
everything that I send in might I not be excused for
being almost certain of the return of any particular poem?

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And should this unfortunate certainty on my part be
the only reason mentioned by the editor in explana-
tion of the failure to accept the poem ? Yes, these
questions are futile, but they have not been caused
by a mere, pugnacious attitude. I came into this
somewhat over-poised and secretive world of ours
with a hopeless desire for open and detailed expres-
sions, and when they are freely and accurately given
to me I am content, regardless of whether the person
appreciates my heart and mind.

I am enclosing a poem which I am almost certain
that The Dial will not take. If it should be re-
turned, I hope that you will care to tell me this
time exactly why it was dismissed . . . Some day I
shall drop in at your office, when I can summon
enough courage to do this.

With all sincerity,

Maxwell Bodenheim

March 8th

My dear Miss Gregory :

Thank you . In your last letter, for the first time in three and a half years, an editor of "The Dial" deserted the routine of courteous, factory-made fibs and high-perched irritation, and gave me a detailed, direct, and human statement of motives and opinions . I had prayed with a child-like and grotesque insistence for such a miracle, and the fact that it has come almost restores my faith in God and the benevolence of statesmen .

The absence of "that direct emotional or
magical thrill" and that "simple, sensuous, and passionate" quali-
ty, which you mention, does not always, in my opinion, mutilate the
 animated body of a poem. Intellect is, after all, just as earthly
as emotional spontaneity, and a mound of frozen earth may be just
as impressive as a warmer, plant-covered hill, and you will prefer
either one according to the intensity with which you value your
defeated second of life. To me, life is a foul, muddled, self-
lacerating, squirming, mawkishly masked, coarse, v rapidly tinkling
saturnalia of illusions. There is a cold fire as well as a
sensuous blaze, and I am wedded to the former . . . I am enclosing
such a fire, and will you please let me hear from you very soon ?

With much sincerity,

Maxwell Bodenheim.

April 3d

Dear Miss Gregory:

In your last letter of March the 18th
you wrote, in regard to the rejection of a poem : "This
one we nearly did accept". I am filled with innocent
wonder as to the exact boundary-line between "accepting"
and "nearly accepting". Is the poem weighed upon hairs-
breadth scales and found to lack an atom of weight, or
is the process a broader one. In my own case, the phrase
"nearly accepted", from a magazine that practically never
takes my verse, was mournfully intriguing and not quite
expected. How on earth did my poetry manage to get as
near as nearly in the active liking of "The Dial" ? The
poem in question, "Lynched Negro", is better than one half
of the verse in all issues of "The Dial", and, in fact, its
merits will probably cause other magazines to return it.
I am enclosing another poem, and please let me hear from you
soon.

July 14th

Dear Miss Gregory:

Every now and then I am possessed by an impulse to send something to "The Dial". I suppose it is like dispatching an emmisary to the enemy, with a platter that bears fresh fruits and shows that you are still vigorously alive. Of course, there will be no need for your answering this letter unless "The Dial" accepts the enclosed poem, or unless you are seized by a whim to tell me the definite and actual reasons for the poem's rejection. Our correspondence at the beginning of the year petered out so gradually and naturally, down to your final, two-line note of conventional regret, that you may be reluctant to resume it. . . . You told me, months ago, that "The Dial" had received reviews of my last two books, "Crazy Man" and "Against This Age", and intended to print them, but I have waited in vain for their appearance. When "The Dial" has finished dealing with its favorites, and with easier targets, it may then decide to publish the aforementioned reviews.

172 Bay 28th Street,
Brooklyn, New York.

July 20th

My dear Miss Gregory:

In your last communication you refer to the "urbane
letter" which I wrote to you. If my letter was half as
urbane as some of those in my prized collection of mes-
sages from "Dial" editors, it must have been very smooth
indeed. You tell me that the real reason for your not
having published a review of my work is that the review
was so much longer than your customary ones that you
were unable to fit it in. In this connection, I remember
a review of Ezra Pound's last book of verse which I wrote
for "The Dial" some two or three years ago. My review was
very long - five or six magazine-pages in fact - but some-
how "The Dial" managed to fit it into the very next issue,
so that it would coincide with the publication of the book
and be of maximum assistance to Mr. Pound. Of course, there
can be no valid objection to a magazine playing favorites,
if it wants to, but it would be refreshing if the magazine
openly admitted it and told each unlucky author: "You are
not among those whose work we value most highly, therefore
you need not expect us to give your work the same attentive
and considerate treatment which we accord to other writers ".
Honestly, would n't that be a much better attitude to take ?

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be alertly judged by future eyes and ears.

In conclusion, I must compliment you on being
the first "Dial" editor who has ever given me a
direct, ill-tempered affront. Since you were
determined not to be quietly, good-naturedly, and
specifically frank - which was all that I asked
for - your sarcasm was at least more invigorating
than your previous masks. Possibly, if "The Dial"
changes managing-editors at some future date, I
may have an impulse to try the old experiment on
your successor, but you need not fear that you
will ever hear from me again.

Very sincerely yours,

Maxwell Bodenheim.