McNair to Hall: February 14, 1980
Read The Thin Man (published version)
Read Ox Cart Man (published version)
Read The Thin Man (published version)
Read Ox Cart Man (published version)
Editorial note about this poem: Though McNair does not send Hall a completed version of his “mini-poem” until 3/29/1980, his final revisions at that time reflect Hall’s concerns.
Read The Fat Enter Heaven (published version as sent to Hall on 3/29/1980)
Read The Poetic License (published version)
Read The Bald Spot (published version)
Editorial note about this letter: The “mini-poem” included in this letter is “The Fat Enter Heaven.” Here, from McNair’s writing notebook, is a draft of the poem as sent in this letter.
The Fat Enter Heaven
It is understood, with the clarity that is possible only in heaven,
that none have loved food better than these.
Angels gather to admire their small mouths and their arms, round
as the fenders of Hudson Hornets. In their past
they have been among the world’s most meek,
the farm boy who lived with his mother, the grade-school teacher
who led the flag salute with expression, day after day.
Now, their commonplace lives, the guilt about their weight,
the ridicule, fade like a dream. They come to the table steaming with food
more appetizing than they have ever seen, shedding their belts and girdles
for the last time. Here, where fat itself is heavenly,
they fill their plates and float upon the sky.
Read The Man (published version)
Read Country People (published version)
Read Memory of North Sutton (published version)
A note from McNair about this letter: Howard Dinin is a friend who wanted me to ask Don for poems to publish in his new magazine, a start-up called The Boston Monthly. Don is responding to my phone call about it.

There is good news as this section opens. Joseph Amaryllis sends word that Poetry magazine has accepted two of my poems. But there is bad news as well. Don becomes so upset about my dual submission of poems to another editor that he decides Joey can no longer represent me.
The other editor is a friend who founded a new Boston magazine about to go to press in its first issue without enough material. My work would help him with his start-up, and me with a Boston audience, I thought to myself, and besides, these were lesser poems that had been going nowhere. But Don (whose initial letter on the subject is missing) thought I had behaved badly, and he was right. The scrape I got myself into passed, but not without its lesson. I learned from it not only about proper submission, but all over again about Don’s value to me as a submitter, advisor and friend.

That is likely why I begin to sign my letters following this event with love, and to take his criticism more seriously. Asmy relationship with him deepens and I feel the vindication of my NEA fellowship, my correspondence becomes more frequent. During 1980, I write him nearly as many letters as in the four previous years combined, many of them accompanied by drafts of poems, and some others appraising Don’s own poems.

Don’s enthusiasm for my new work and Joey’s success in publishing it blunt the pain of not placing my book with any of the presses I send it to, including the house for which Don is poetry consultant, Harper & Row.Yet I still grouse about my situation, and Don steps in to encourage me, most notably in his astonishing letter of July 8, 1980, after which I find myself encouraging him about his own work.

[This section has 48 letters]