UNH

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Dear Don,

I am very glad you like the present
version of “Seeing Cooch.” The Atlantic
has published “Shorty Towers,” the only poem
I know of that was pending (April issue).
Does he have others?

Wes

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Dear Don,

Will you please write and
tell me whether your
“investment” as NH Poet
Laureate is on for this
month – and if so, when?

Love,

Wes

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June 14, 1984

Dear Don,

Enclosed, a revision of the last poem I sent.
Please let me know if you doubt anything.
Otherwise, it’s Joey’s. Thanks very much for
all your help, as usual. As usual, you were right!

I’ve also enclosed a copy of “The Shooting.”
I’d like you to send both to The Atlantic
now, forgetting The New Yorker, if that seems OK.
Only, though, if “Seeing Cooch” seems OK.
How odd to think it two unrelated Communist
McNairs in this area at roughly the same
time! Thank you for the sleuthing!

Love,

Wes

P.S. Went to lunch with Mike Pride yesterday-
I paid in his honor. He sure is excited about that
Nieman! And I am excited for him. One of the great
benefits of that interview was I got to know him!

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Dear Don,

I enclose When Paul Flew Away and
The Fat Enter Heaven. If Joey
thinks its OK, I’d like to have
these sent to Robert Wallace, for
his annual anthology, Light Year.
The anthology accepts poems that have
been accepted or printed elsewhere–
The address is:

ROBERT WALLACE
BITS PRESS
DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
CASE WESTERN RESERVE UNIVERSITY
CLEVELAND, OH 44106

Many thanks!

Wes

P.S. I don’t mean to burden Joey,
only to avoid confusion . If you
want me to send the poems, I’d
be glad to!

THE FAT ENTER HEAVEN

It is understood, with the clarity possible only in heaven,
that none have loved food better than these.
Angels gather to admire their small mouths and their arms
rouns 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 weight, the ridicule
fade and disappear. They come to the table
arrayed with perfect food, shedding their belts and girdles
for the last time. Here, where fat itself is heavenly,
they fill their plates and float upon the sky.

–Wesley McNair

(printed in Poetry)

WHEN PAUL FLEW AWAY

It was the same as always,
Paul opening the big, black lung
of it with that worried look
while the cats watched
from under the stove,
but when he closed
his eyes and begun to sink
down between the straps
of his bib overalls,
it was like he died. Except
the accordion was still breathing
a waltz between his hands,
except he called back
to us every so often
from wherever he was, Shit.
Which meant everything
he had ever known
in his life up to that
moment, but this song.
Not some sock-drawer
music of getting a tune out
and then rummaging
for the chord to match,
but together, exactly like
he was breathing the thing
himself. No stomping
either, Just Paul twisting
like he was after some deep
itch, only right then
he was starting to lift
out of his chair. Slowly
at first, like flypaper
in a small breeze, then
the whole enormous weight
of him hanging over the sink. God,
he was happy, and I
and the kids was laughing
and happy, when all
at once it come to me,

2—WHEN PAUL FLEW AWAY

this is it. Paul is leaving
the old Barcolounger
stuck in second
position, and the TV on top
of the TV, that don’t
work, and all my hand-paintings
of strawberries as if he never
said this would be Strawberry Farm.
Hey! I said out in the yard
because he was already going
right over the roof
of that goat-shed, pumping
that song. What about you
and me? And Paul
just got farther and smaller
until he looked like a kid
unfolding paper dolls over
and over, or like
he was clapping slowly
at himself, and then
like he was opening up the wings
of some wild, black bird
he had made friends with
just before he disappeared
into the sky above the clouds
over all of Wisconsin.

–Wesley McNair

(accepted by Ironwood)

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Thanks for that news about Tilton School!
I look forward to whatever additional
discoveries you may have!

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Dear Don,

Thanks for the call. Wednesday is fine!

I learned today I got the first Honorable Mention
in poetry from the Great Lakes Colleges Association New
Writers Contest (for a first book). Somebody from the
Association says that’s the second place award of
the contest. Anthony Petrosky, I believe the Walt
Whitman Award winner for 1983, also got an
Honorable Mention. Since the first place prize was
won by a book which had not already gotten
an award (US, published by the Cleveland
State University Press), I am wondering if they
prefer to give this prize to an awardless book–?
–A way of consoling myself for not being first.
I want it all!

No letter has come about all this yet
(the announcement is sent to the nominating
publisher first). I was told by Joseph Parisi,
the new editor of Poetry, who was kind enough to
send me a note of congratulations, having
received a news release. More of this

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world-stopping news on Wednesday!

Love,

Wes

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Dear Don,

What a pleasure to see you get that new square
for your honorary quilt!–even though I was sorry
you had to earn it by suffering through that Solemn
Tribute to your literary contribution.

And I wanted to say, too, how much I liked
the “Sister by the Pond” poem I finally got the chance
to pore over (in The Iowa Review). I love that part 6!

–Wes

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Dear Don,

Well I, too, am excited by the switch to “I”
in that poem–anyone would be. And I like
(to be clear this time) how the change in stanza
three has activated the title, offering new meanings
for machine, death and life. I guess I remain
literal-minded about metaphor, so that I expect
that every metaphor have a clear literal meaning,
as well as a figurative one. Why The New Yorker
published the earlier version of the poem in spite
of my expectation is a mystery. I should perhaps
find here a clue to my own bum luck in trying to
publishing there! Anyway, I like the poem–though
I still do stumble on its last line!

Misc: Thanks for using me as your example!
As I think I told you, I am currently an
applicant for another NEA grant, which would,
if it came through, give me more time to
write. I expect nothing (mostly). I would
very much like a copy of The Alligator Bride.

2/

I had one, lent it, and never got it back–
since the lendee is now in Alaska, I may
never see it again, and I miss it!

What would a good time to come and
discuss teaching creative writing? Some
afternoon at the end of this week, maybe?

Love,

Wes

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Dear Don,

My mother-in-law cut this
out & I send it in case you
never saw it–

Wes

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Thanks for your letter. I did write to Mike Pride, the day
after his article came out. In fact, I will soon write to him
again, since the article will be published in The Valley News
on Monday, the day before you receive this, probably. There
will be even more photography, even. I’m sure Mike had
something to do with this.

I guess I did a lousy job describing the Dartmouth
position. I will be there for the fall term (Sept. 23-Dec. 1),
filling in for Cleopatra, who directs all activities connected
with creative writing and teaches in that area. As “Visiting
Associate Professor,” I will teach a class in introductory
creative writing (12 students or fewer), a class in fiction
(4-5 students) and 3 poetry tutorials. It’s a 9-hour
schedule. I will also be in charge of readings, though
much of the fall program has been established. The pay I’m
to get for this will be high enough that I will not have
to do any extra teaching. If I am lucky with my NEA
application, and with another, higher-paying job afterward
(Keene?), I may never have to do extra teaching after
this summer! (……Expect nothing! “–Donald Hall).

I like very much what your poem, in its revision,
says about 20th-century man, machine and state. And
I like how active the title has become. Also, I find

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the switch to “I” in stanza 3 strange and arresting.
There are a couple of worries I have about the poem–
small worries. In stanza 3 there is, I think, an
awkward distance between “train” and its verb “sit.”
Also, I wonder about that “webbing” in the stanza–
Do commuter trains have seat-belts? (I haven’t
been on a train with a seat-belt.) If you aren’t
speaking about a seatbelt, I don’t know what
“webbing” refers to – literally, at least. I think the
charged conclusion is quite interesting, overall!

Miscellaneous: Do I know Bill Doreski? I’ve
heard of him–that he is there at Keene State,
that is….I understand he teaches creative writing
and is a poet. I worry a little, to tell the truth,
that my being a poet might hurt my chances
of being hired at Keene, since he or others
might feel another poet ought not to be hired.
The Keene position is in American literature, and I
have done lots of things in that area. I only hope
the lit. background will carry me along. More: Thanks
for thinking of me as one of your “best examples”
for your presentation before the NEA people!

Will contact you later about the instruction of
of [sic] creative writing! In the meantime, love to you both,

Wes

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Dear Don,

Thanks again for your note on the Monitor article. I
like Mike Pride a lot, and I was glad for two reasons,
therefore, that we got together for the interview. And I
especially liked how he dealt with Emerson, using E. to
resolve so much of what he had developed in the article. It
was an amazingly serious piece for a small-town newspaper.

I still think about the confusion with pronouns in
The Shooting (my poem)–the words in that last stanza,
“…called his name over/and over”, which might have
referred, without your suggested comma, to the “face” which
the quiet twin held. I have about decided that the current
version, making they the ones who called, is so right for
the poem, I may even have intended to make them call all
along. Certainly the emphasis on “they” is the only right thing
to end with, and I do like the strange use of “call”–the
resonance the word gets in the new context, too. Were you
ever protected from making a mistake in a poem by the patterns
of syntax you yourself created?

On to the main reason for writing this letter: news
about jobs. It appears I have gotten a position for the fall
term at Dartmouth, as acting head of the writing program. I’m
sure your reference in my dossier helped a great deal in
forming Cleopatra Mathis’ decision to put my name forth. She
says the reference that helped most in convincing others was
the one by James Cox. If I had know [sic] Cox had such influence,
I would have asked him to recommend me three years ago, when
I sent my dossier to Dartmouth (this time, I didn’t send it,
but was recommended when Cleopatra called AWP). However the
idea to hire me was hatched (I will bet you had more to do
with it than I now know), I’m extremely glad it was. I would
guess even a filling-in position at Dartmouth could be a
stepping-stone for something later.

As I mentioned, I would like to see you sometime soon
about approaches to creative writing. I never get tired of
asking for things, as you can see! I have taught creative
writing before–fiction and poetry–but I want the teaching
for the term to be something more than adequate.

Oh, and there’s another job that has become available,

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through a sad event–the death of David Battenfeldt, who
taught American literature for several years at my alma mater,
Keene State. Before the Dartmouth possibility came up, I
was in contact with Richard Cunningham, the acting dean of
humanities there. I underscore “acting” because if he is
not chosen to continue as dean, he, an Americanist, would
take some of Battenfeldt’s assignment, with the possible
result that there would be no new position.

What seems likely to happen, though, is that KSC will
advertise for a professor of American lit. next fall,
referring to an opening in the 1985-86 academic year. I have
already had Middlebury send my dossier to Cunningham, and
have asked AWP to send letters by you and Cox. Of course,
even if a job does become available at KSC, I may by then
get lucky with some other position, in some other state. Yet
I’d still like to stay in this area. And I love that part of
New Hampshire.

I am so tired of not being able to write! Knowing that
my two extra courses would be coming to a head in April, I
gave up all hope of writing in that month. I haven’t had to
do that sort of thing for a long time. And of course even my
periods of writing this year, with all the extra work, have
been full of distraction! I look to the next weeks (after the
finals at Colby are finished, in mid-May) as a time of the
greatest luxury. I will be offering no more than two courses
simultaneously during the summer–and there will be no more
than two class meetings per week. Heaven! I can become a poet
once again!

Please pass the news about jobs on to Jane. I promised
to get back to her about it, in a card I recently wrote to
her. I do hope your recent period of mad activity is now
over, and that you can become a poet once again too!

Love to both of you,

Wes