Somewhere in the South West Pacific
Thanksgiving, 1944

Dear Bry her, H.D. Perdita and al.

Greetings! I hope this finds you well and all going well with you. I have thought of you often and have wanted to write you but that has not been possible for I have been very busy and restrictions have been such that there was very little I could say. But now we are having a brief lull between two storms and I have a moment to write so I do it in this fashion which I hope you will excuse because it is convenient and it saves time.

Since 1942 it has not been possible, because of necessary censorship, for us to say much about where we were, who we were with and what we were doing. Now we are allowed to do so, briefly, so I am enclosing a little sketch which tells something about the unit to which I am attached as the (just about only) psychiatrist, and with which I have been serving now for many months and in many places. My journeying has led me from Auckland and Wellington, New Zealand, (during the past two years) through Noumea, New Caledonia, and Espiritu Santos, New Hobrides, Guadalcanal, Munda, New Georgia, Treasury Island, Bougainville, Green Island (Nissan), Emirau and Mussau (in the Saint Matthias group) and so it goes. You can see that we are gradually working towards the north and west. One thing in all this that is certainly very satisfactory is to see daily (and some of it with my own eyes) -- to see the enemy being slowly forced back, first from Guadalcanal (which was the "high water mark" of his invasion) and now to loss desirable places and conditions that must be very embarrassing to them, to say the least. They will some day wish that they had never heard of Pearl Harbor-- they will have so many other sad places to remember!

The organization with which I am serving is very large but I have come to know many of the men in it very pleasantly. It is composed of a number of units and we are very proud of it and of each one of its units. We are especially devoted to our Chief. He is mature in years, full of energy and daring, like a much younger man, and in my contacts with him I have found him quick to understand and surprisingly fair and sympathetic in his decisions where my patients were concerned. He is psychological-minded and I can tell you that working under him has been for me a rich and valuable experience. I can say the same for many of the other officers with whom I work and to whom many of my psychiatric cases and problems come for action.

The year that is just passing has been an especially interesting one for me, completed a tour of duty (one year) with the 39th General Hospital in December 1943. Then I spent the next six months working as a psychiatrist with the Flight Surgeons of the Thirteenth Air Force which was operating at that time in the South Pacific. This was something totally new for me: to work with the combat crews that were fighting and bombing Bougainville, Rabaul, Kavieng, Truk and many other hot spots. I worked with flying personnel that had been through harrowing experiences, hair-breadth escapes and I came to know many who did not escape from these dangers. Among these were Colonel Unruh, Lieutenant Will Craig, Lieutenant Jimmy Faunce, a fearless pilot if ever there was one---there are many of them whose names will always stir deep feelings in me -- but their stories will speak for them, someday -- these men who were lost in the air battles that liberated the South and the South West Pacific. I sincerely hope that sometime the stories of their gallantry, their magnificent heroism and their ultimate sacrifice will be preserved in a book for all to read, so that others can know and appreciate what we observed and, in part, experienced with them. All that needs to be done is for someone to delve into the records of the Thirteenth Air Force from its beginning on Guadalcanal in January of 1943 to its joining with the Far East Air Force in the middle of this year. I worked with them for six months, intensively, and I will never forget it.

Then a lot of things have happened to me, in rapid succession as so often they do in this crazy-quilt war. In June of this year I received orders to go to "an advanced island base" in the combat zone. This was what I had been wanting and was what I had looked forward to. And it has turned out to be the

1

it has been one of the most exciting parts of my life, so far. However, since June I have not seen a glass of fresh milk, a fresh egg or a white woman (or much else in the way of delicacy except canned food, canned music and news) but to make up for those and deficiencies I have had the rare privilege of living on less of a place where the other 99% was and still is occupied by Japanese. This has amounted virtually to living on a beach-head, with extensions of course and under the most cockeyed of circumstances. You might say that it is living in the midst of a campaign that has only just begun. But an advantage of this (from my viewpoint) is that I have been able to see and to treat the psychoneuroses of war within the hour that they became acute. And this is an experience that I shall never regret even if we do have only canned milk and beans every day and an Australian brand of "bully beef" that is almost as good as Red Heart dog food. I have been working with the finest group of medical officers I ever met, the staff of the 21st Evacuation Hospital (most of them are from Oklahoma, by the way, which is refreshing) and I have found them especially stimulating and inspiring. Incidentally, during what is generally spoken of around here as "the push" (we did most of the pushing) this hospital was located between our artillery and the enemy line. Shells were going over back and forth all the time, but in addition to the usual protection, the hospital area was historically guarded by Fiji Scouts who were so loyal and courageous that their memory will always be respected by everyone who came to know them. Fortunately, thanks to Gregg shorthand) I have been able to keep a rough account of some of the high points in this episode which I (still) hope some day to put together in a form that can be published. For example, only yesterday I met an Allied officer who had managed after three years imprisonment, to find his way back to friends. His story is remarkable. It fascinated me. His fortitude and endurance are almost incredible. I gave him a pair of my pajamas and the rest of us fixed him up with clothes. He had walked a hundred miles through the jungle in the last month, barefoot. Aided by friendly natives, of course, or he could never have made it. He had had no news of the world since the fall of Singapore. This morning I was wakened by the sound of heavy guns nearby to which I have been listening for five months off and on. And, as I am writing this, fighter and bomber planes at my elbow are taking off with their heavy loads to bomb enemy objectives. Yet, it is such a screwy war here that at times it seems only half real to me. What makes it real enough, though, is what I see and hear every day. The crunching noise that the wheels of the ambulance make when they stop on the gravel at the door of "Receiving" -- and the ominous noise of the back door of the ambulance when it opens, then the grimizensc of the iron step as it comes down. Then what follows. It is all very moving and impressive. Nothing except these actual sights and sounds, the actual experience itself, can give any adequate expression of it. Words fail utterly.

We have all been thrilled greatly by the news of the success in the European war. Though we realize that it is all one war, this one out here seems like a separation and a slower one, in this part of the world. But prospects look bright now, brighter than they have ever looked, even though we all realize the hardships that lie ahead. Perhaps by the time this reaches you a few more of them will lie behind us. I applied for leave in lieu of rotation but it was "disapproved". Rotation is nice, I suppose, but working very slowly. At the rate we are being rotated it would take years for even those who are eligible to get home. I think that the enlisted men need (and deserve) it more than the officers because on the whole their life is harder but apart from healthy "bitching" most of them do not really complain. This sounds fantastic but it is true: this is my third Christmas overseas! Little did I ever dream in Nashville or Boston or anywhere else, in the beautiful illusory "it-can't-happen-here" says, that it would all happen, and to me, and then some more! This is not my real role in life or my real personality at all. I just happen to know what I am supposed to do and I am doing it -- but it seems funny at times especially when I would like to stop and write a sonnet about it but can't because there is something that has to be done immediately. And perhaps that is just as well that the sonnet doesn't get written. And it probably never will. Naturally with so much going on and more to come I just don't try to write individual letters to anyone except my family. Letter writing to me is serious business. When I write a letter I put myself into it and I do the same with my work.

2

There are a few other things that I can mention. For the last few months our Commanding General has sent me around to a number of places to lecture to line officers on mental hygiene and preventive psychiatry in the field. This has been a worth while job from my point of view. I have learned a lot from it, I believe that certain simple and practical things can be done anywhere to prevent unnecessary psychic suffering among soldiers. I suppose that some cases of nervous breakdown are inevitable, but, by the same token, some are surely preventable. I am convinced of this, from my own experience during the last two years, so I am doing all I can to put some of these ideas across, and I am grateful to say, I am being given every opportunity to do so. What I have to say is nothing new, it is plain (old) mental hygiene (or preventive psychiatry) applied in a realistic way to the present military situation. But I have had a good response and I find many commanding officers and the men who help them, receptive and cooperative. One could n't ask for more. At least I could n't. I certainly can't complain. Incidentally, these places where I have been are particularly beautiful. Everywhere there is the bright blue Pacific ocean (and I suggest you read Felix Reisenberg's book about it, if you can find time to) and the many islands, low and high ones, flat or mountainous, coral or volcanic, always with coconut trees, or banana trees, or paw-paws, and (here where I now) giant creepers and miniature orchids. Here, also, slight earthquakes are a daily occurrence (we are in the "earthquake belt") and about once a week we have a big one that nearly shakes our tents down. I live in a tent, my office is in a tent and our wards are all tents; we have a "tent hospital". I haven't been "indoors" in months. There isn't any "indoors" out here. It's all outdoors. The only thing between me and Nature is a mosquito net. And by the way our radio system out here is (seriously) called "The Mosquito Net-work". You can't stop GIs from having their little joke. Movies, on the whole, are the main escape from reality. The other morale builders are mail, our little "daily paper" and the radio -- and food. The enclosure I am making is the front page of a special issue of our camp paper. Ordinarily we are not allowed to send this home but this issue was made for that purpose. It rains here every day. EVERY day. Last Sunday afternoon it rained six inches in three hours and washed our roads and some of our little bridges away, and all paths. The annual rainfall is twelve feet (12) a year, which practically tells you that I am very near the Equator. In addition to the Nipponese I am living among the most amazing assortment of other varmints and insects: rhinoceros beetles, flies, spiders, ants, termites, scorpions, butterflies, and the most remarkable fungi and moulds I ever saw. The latter even get into (between) the lenses of my camera. I feel much of the time as if I were camping in one wing of the American Museum of Natural History. I have to shake the centipedes out of my blankets every night and turn the lizards out of my shoes every morning. We all do, as a matter of fact, and are quite used to them now. The most beautiful thing where I am now (in addition to the island itself which is shaped like a 'cello) is a magnificent volcano only a few miles away. It is in enemy territory so I haven't had a chance yet to visit it but I have flown over it (as close as I dared to fly) and I have photographed it. It is about six thousand feet high and it is the last thing I see in the evening and the first thing I see in the morning when I wake. I have built my tent so the volcano is framed in the door. It is very active. A plume of steam and sulphurous smoke more than a mile high is always pouring out the top of its cone and for the last few days it has been erupting solid material every fifteen minutes. A river of lava about 200 feet wide has been flooding over the edge of its crater continuously since I first saw it five months ago. This river looks like (and it flows like) very thick molasses over the lip and down the side of a syrup pitcher. After it flows about half a mile it cools off and solidifies. This flow is gradually filling up a beautiful crater lake next to the volcano, all life in which has long been extinct because of the heat and the chemicals. This volcano interests me more than anything else on the island. It probably symbolizes something to me, something very primitive. On reflection, I think it symbolizes to me the dynamic forces in mankind that are no in turmoil. Anyhow, it means a lot to me and I enjoy looking at it every day. It is one of the few things that I really enjoy because I find that I still detest war and always will. It will be wonderful when we win this one and can go home. Until then I wish you a Merry Christmas and a very happy New Year, as ever faithfully yours

merrieel

SOMEWHERE IN THE NETHERLANDS EAST INDIES EASTER 1945

Dear

I want to let you know that I have been thinking of you and that I greatly appreciated hearing from you. Since the Philippines campaign started I have been extremely busy taking care of the mental casualties evacuated from there to us so I have not been able to write very much. We are not permitted to say a great deal about our work at this point but again it has been a very strenuous and exciting experience for me and in some ways different from the earlier occasions in New Zealand, Guadalcanal, New Georgia and Bougainville. In this situation there is the further satisfaction of seeing our outposts push farther north and to the west and at the same time to see the badly beaten enemy forces being shoved back to their own doorsteps. It won't be long now until they will be on the receiving end and "at home" to our forces. In all of this experience I have been having, in the last three or four months, the most moving and deeply serious impressions I have felt have resulted from my work with our own prisoners liberated from the Japanese on Luzon. Their faces and their stories I will always remember, civilians as well as military, for many were civilians. I do hope that the full story of every one of those men who survived will be told and published, as well as the grim stories of those who did not survive, or who were not able to hold out until they were liberated.

Since last Thanksgiving a lot has happened to me. I have been moving steadily along, mostly in rear areas, which has been a change from Bougainville where things were quite active. I have been in New Britain, and, for the last three months, in Dutch New Guinea. Both are remarkable places, especially Dutch New Guinea where I am just now ("Somewhere In"). This is the wildest and the least explored country in the world. There are long stretches of rugged coast with a few fine beaches and bays with vast empty places that will someday crowded harbors and cities. The great shaggy mountains look like buffaloes. The natives here are the most primitive I have ever seen. They are living practically in the Stone Age. But they have little out-rigger canoes (some of them not so little) dug out of a soft log and they live in shacks made of palm leaves or grass huts built on stilts out over the water. These things and the largosse of the land (the usual cornuts, broadfruit, sago, yams, papayns, roots and berries) seem to be sufficient for their needs, but they badly need medical attention which is slowly being given them, as they will take it, for they are naturally very cautious and wary of doctors and needles. For meat they have fish, deer, lizards and wild pig. It is very interesting to see them catch a wild pig and quite an exciting event, in which all the family participate. They trap or spear most of their game (including fish) and are very clever about it. Some of them have beautifully ornamented spears. They are beginning to use the things they have picked up after us, blankets, bottles, moss kits and practically everything. For example they take old tooth brushes, cut off the bristles, boil them in water and bend them to make wrist bands and ornaments. They wear all the clothes the GIs discard and trade things for anything they can get. Most of the children seem to have very large bellies due to tropical diseases that the Dutch are now beginning to get under control. The natives were not treated well by the Japs and were in bad shape after the Japs were driven out. They are beginning to get organized again now and are getting their little farms and villages going again. Recently they have become greatly taken with the idea of dynamiting fish, after having seen some sailors do it. They think that dynamite is just wonderful. One of the natives, named Tassio-Tassie, blew his arm off trying to do it and came in here for treatment. All his family came along too and sat outside the hospital for several weeks and waited on him hand and foot. He did not seem to mind the loss of his arm very much, after he got well, but just took it for granted as did his people. He is their chief. It is very amusing thing happened recently: a movie was being shown one night under the trees in the camp area and a good many soldiers were seated on logs watching it when a great commotion suddenly occurred among them and there was a mad scramble out of their seats. They stopped the show and turned on the lights and investigated to find that a 25 foot python had fallen out of a tree on their heads! The

PRESERVATION PHOTOCOPY: ORIGINAL MATERIAL IS RESTRICTED

We have no volcanoes now here but we are on the shore of one of the most beautiful inland lakes in the world. Some of the fish and frosh-water molluscs in it indicate that at some time in the remote past it was connected with the nearby ocean. It is magnificently pictorial, surrounded by rows of hills that grade up to foot-hills and then to mountains. One of them, named after a famous giant with one eye, is eight thousand feet high. Halfway down its side is a waterfall that drops two hundred feet. No one here has been able to climb up to it yet because the jungle between here and there is so thick and it would not be safe for other reasons. The lake itself is magnificently pictorial. I have had the talent to record its beauty in oils or water colors. It is something out of this world. But I have to content myself with an occasional photo-graph. Its many colors are indescribable, all shades of blue and green. It is like looking down into the sky. The natives live along the shores of this lake and a good many of them (the fishing tribes) have also built their huts along the shores of the ocean where the hills come right down to the water. Their huts are set just above high tide, which seems rather precarious to me, but they don't seem to mind it. Little children paddle about in their tiny canoes (dug-outs) which are smaller than kayaks some with and some without out-riggers for auded stability, and think nothing of it. The children all go to school over the water, a whole school room full of children in one long canoe. They are very "group-minded" and very well behaved. They know a few words of English: "chewing", "cigarette" and "honey". The teachers are Malay and the school system is of course Dutch, with benign pictures of Queen Filhelmina and attractive pictures of her daughter and grandchildren on every wall. They must look like goddesses to the native children. I have not been able to get very far with their language which is hardly a language at all. It is actually a combination of many native dialects, Malay, Dutch and "pidgin" English. They speak their own dialects at home but are learning to read and write Malay in the schools. The home life is very communal. Sometimes as many as four families live in one (one room) grass hut over the water and share one fire which is built on the floor in the center of the room. The smoke finds its way out the top of the hut as there is no chimney. Years ago I read about those people and their habits in *Margaretponde's* book: "Growing Up In New Guinea" (which is worth reading for its own sake, by the way) but I never imagined that a day would come when I would be here in person to see them grow up, myself. Which goes to show how little we know of what lies ahead of us.

Some time ago when I had a day off I was taken by a pilot friend of mine on a routine flight he makes daily over the interior of New Guinea. He flew most of the day at 20,000 feet, using oxygen part of the time. He took me over the inland plateaus where I saw snow-capped mountains more than 17,000 feet high. Then he flew me over the place that the pilots call "Shangri-La", which is very close to the real thing. It is a deep valley surrounded by high mountains, far into the interior of the island, and there is no obvious entrance. In it lives a fine race of people who are said to be taller and larger than the usual New Guinea native living along the coast and on the lakes around here. They have fine farms and well laid out homes, gardens and plantations and their pattern of living (it appears from the air) to be more agrarian and more advanced than the others we have seen. I wish I knew more about them but no one here seems to have much information about them. They are said to be cut off from the rest of the world and though the local natives know they exist they are unable to tell us any details about them. "In fin fella big fella I no seel" is all I could get out of the ones I have asked. I suppose that they will remain cut off until some one descends to visit them from a helicopter as there are no landing fields or lakes down there large enough to land a plane on.

I am not able to talk much about the daily work I have been doing but I have thought a lot about it. I am much interested in applying the principles of reflective thinking to the cases I see. I am keeping what records I can but they are pitifully meager because of the many cases and the lack of secretarial help. Still I am gathering something of value. I see mainly the soldiers that break down in one way or another. Most interesting to me are the cases of so-called psychoneurosis and most difficult are the

Memorandum for patients: This is to help you. Read it carefully. You complain of NERVOUSNESS. This will help you overcome your nervousness by learning to concentrate and control your mind. Nervousness is simply unspent energy. You need to learn first to relax physically then you need to concentrate mentally. I have shown you how to relax physically by lying down on your bed and being quiet for half an hour. While you're doing that read this and think about it. If you do this your nervousness will go away and you will feel better:

## DESIDERATA

### (Things To Be Desired)

Go quietly amid the noise and the haste and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly and listen to others; they, too, have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for there always will be greater and smaller persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for there are many persons whose word is worthless. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disengagement, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the council of the young, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no loss than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you concieve Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

## MAX EHRHANN

*(The author lives in Torre Haute, Indiana)*

NOW REST A MINUTE, TAKE A DEEP BREATH, RELAX AND READ THIS OVER AGAIN, SLOWLY. YOU WILL FEEL BETTER. DO THIS EVERY DAY AFTER YOU EAT YOUR NOON MEAL

*(I found that I had a blank page to spare so I have added to this letter a little piece of practical psychotherapy I use with certain cases where the soldier is tense, or anxious, and mixed up and cannot concentrate. I try to get them to relax, first, with a simple method used by Dr. Coue and before that by Bernheim, at 9 years ago, and then I try to get them

MAX EHRMANN

(I found that I had a blank page to spare so I have added to this letter a little piece of practical psychotherapy I use with certain cases where the soldier is tense, or anxious, and mixed up and cannot concentrate. I try to get them to relax, first, with a simple method used by Dr. Coue and before that by Bernheim, at .5. years ago, and then I try to get them to learn to control their thinking. I not be so disorganized. It is very simple, crude, in fact, but it is practical and seems to help some of the men.

L.R.

3

Our living conditions are still very primitive. When it rains we are deep in mud; when it does not rain we are deep in dust. I wash my own clothes (so does everyone except the Brigadier-Generals) and I sleep at night under my ever-present microscope. I do not where I listen to the jungle birds croak and try to imagine English words that might fit the strange sounds they make. There is no ice, no fresh milk, no fresh meat or fresh vegetables; everything we consume comes out of a tin can including the music and our movies that seem utterly unreal in the strange setting where they are projected. But I keep busy and healthy and my morale is good. I can't complain about anything but the distant prospect of rotation for which two years are supposed to suffice but actually three years service overseas are now required before one becomes eligible. My three years will be up in November of this year and after I may stand a chance although there are many who have been here longer than I have including some nurses who are now spending their fourth Easter overseas. They should get home first, of course. And in the interim, "Time marches on--" and every day, thank God, brings us that much nearer to our Victory the very thought of which thrills me for many reasons. The liberation of the Phillipines has made everything but here seem different and better. Our General is a wonderful leader in every way, I believe, one of the greatest of all time.

My work at this place is just about finished. I expect soon to be on the move again and would like to give you my new address. It is:

126th General Hospital,
A.P.O. 72 care postmaster
San Francisco, California,

please do not use the old addresses because the forwarding of mail is becoming more and more complex out here as we all make more moves and each one takes us farther away from home.

Thanks again for letting me hear from you and again forgive me for not writing you more often and more fully. I only wish I could because I am seeing and am experiencing so much that fascinates me and makes me wish I could write it all down and disclose it with everyone I know. I doubt very much if after this I shall ever again live in so much change and turmoil and see and do so much as I am seeing and doing now. As you may imagine, I am having my usual difficulty in living on twenty four hours a day. I would appreciate it if you would remember me to any of our mutual friends you happen to see because in my haste I sometimes forget to write to (or thank) those I should write to or thank for something even though I try to remember. By the time you get this I will be in the Phillipines,

as ever yours

sincerely

May 4, 1953

Mrs. W. Bryher
Villa Kenwin
Burier sur la Tour
Vaud, Suisse

My dear Bryher:

I have had an unusual experience: "The Player's Boy" arrived and I started reading it about 9 p.m. Believe it or not, this does not often happen to me. I could not put it down, I read until about 3 a.m. and finally got to the end completely enchanted, fully entranced and transported to post-Elizabethan England.

I have always known you had powers as a writer, but I did not know you had such sustained ability to write with "mass coherence and emphasis." I loved the whole thing; the plot, the way you unfold, the characterization and the enormous subtleties with which the book is packed.

I haven't enjoyed a novel so much in a long time and want to thank you for this experience. I am going to try to get a review into THE BOSTON POST if I possibly can.

With affectionate greetings,

27 December, 1955

Bryher,
Villa Kenwin
Chemin du Vallon
Burier-sur-la-Tour
Vaud, Switzerland

My dear Bryher:-

This is a partly conscience stricken letter. You know in my life my correspondence piles up before I get to answering it as I would like to. Just now Mrs. Moore and I are on a long vacation in New Zealand and Australia and expect to be gone until about the first of March.

I am only now just answering your nice letter of 3 May telling me about Doris Long. I hope you will forgive my tardiness.

With my practice of psychiatry and four children and my own writing life time just seems to fly and all I can say is that I hope you will forgive me for not looking her up. I trust that she got along all right. It so happens that the place she went is absolutely the best in the world and they are wonderful there in their care of patients.

Another sentence in your letter appeals to me very much. "I think more and more of Sachs as the years go on." So do I very much more and since I have read Ernest Jones two books and look forward to the third I think of him even more. I think without any question he was the best friend Freud ever had or he was the best friend almost anyone had who knew him and I plan some day when I get around to it to write something about him. Of course, you saw that little reprint I think I sent you about rereading his last book. If I didn't send you that reprint from IMARGO I will do so when I get back.

Ann Leslie and I are now in New Zealand and Australia and expect to be away until about the first of March. I am dictating this letter on my soundskriver and will send it back to my secretary in Boston who will transcribe it. I hope that you and H.D. are well and thriving and that you have a wonderful New Year. I have not seen our mutual friend at Yale in some time but when I get back I expect to. With best wishes to you both.

MOISTEN FLAP WELL AND APPLY PRESSURE TO SEAL
NO OTHER ENVELOPE SHOULD BE USED

COMMONWEALTH 6-0680

SUITE THREE

MERRILL MOORE, M. D.

382 COMMONWEALTH AVENUE
BOSTON 15, MASS.

26 September 1956

Bryher
Beekman Towers
New York City, N.Y.

My dear Bryher:

Just a word to let you know that we had
a wonderful trip to New Zealand. It was
like an experience in another world. If
you've never been there I recommend that
you consider it. You can go out on a
number of good lines from the United King-
dom and return the same way. It's most
comfortable travel and the country is simple
and interesting, but most beautiful is the
landscape and most charming the people.

I have thought of you often. I saw Jean
Starr Untermeyer some time ago who seemed
well. We spoke of Sachs, but as you say,
I think more and more of him as the years go
on. I just had this idea, and I wondered if
it would appeal to you. H.D. has written a
beautiful appreciation of Freud. I think it
would be quite in order for you to write a
similar book about Sachs. Had you thought of
that? If I have time I'm going to do it myself.
There is something about him, turtle-like, or
whatever it was, that was rare and rich. In his
own way I think Sachs was as great as Freud.
Certainly as a person he was as great. Perhaps
as a world figure he was not, but even then,
what is the world?

I am enchanted with H.D.'s book. It's one of the
most beautiful pieces of writing I've ever seen.
That description of "the writing on the wall" is
absolutely the purest of prose and as beautiful
writing as I have encountered in a long time.
I hope H.D. is pleased with the little introduction.
I made it short because I thought it should not
be long-winded or pompous or pious. I thought it
should not detract from the beauty of the work.
It's very brief, but it says what I meant to say
and if it were longer it would simply be repetitive.

Greetings and best wishes to you from all of us.
Faithfully,

Merrill

15 March 1957

Mrs. W. Bryher
Villa Kenwin
Burier-la Tour
Vaud, Switzerland

My dear Bryher:

I have been away and travelling but I have just finished rereading Beowulf. You certainly did a splendid job on that book. I felt a sense of personal loss at the end and felt I had been through the blitz.

I hope Hilda is all better now. Will you give her my love when you see her.

I think Syria and Egypt will continue to be trouble spots for some time to come.

I think of you often and send you and yours my best greetings.

Merrill

2 April 1957

Mrs. W. Bryher
Villa Kenwin
Burier-la-Tour
Vaud, Switzerland

My dear Bryher:

I liked your books. I think you have a very
fine style. You write better than you know.
What I like about your writing is a kind of
rightness that is rare, plus deep insight and
great sensitivity.

I am so glad Hilda is better. Will you give her
my love and remember me to her. She of all persons
would feel the restraint of not being able to get
about, but we all have to grow old. The idea of
being implies the idea of non-being, just as the
idea of a minority implies the idea of a majority.

I know you will love your garden and the spring
when it comes. Here it is cold. I often pass
Sachs' house and feel a strangeness in someone
else living there and he is in Mt. Auburn with
Longfellow and many other "greats". I think of
the wonderful lines which you may know from E.A.
Robinson "We have each a darkening hill to climb
and that is why from time to time we look beyond
horizons for the man Flamond". That is not exactly
right but if you have the collected poems of E.A.
Robinson (MacMillan) you will find it as the first
poem in the book.

I am trying to do writing as I can but of course
work and family come first. I have a son in medi-
cal school at Aberdeen. His address is Adam Moore,
Medical Students Residence, Foresterhill, Aberdeen.
Some day he might get to Switzerland although he has
been going to Norway on his holidays. If he does, I
would ask him to call on you and bring you my compli-
ments.

Again my very best to you.