Wesley McNair

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Dear Don,

Thanks for the card about Pittsburgh, Carnegie-Mellon
and the anecdote.

The bad news I expected, but didn’t really, came
yesterday from Pittsburgh. “Now there was one: Carnegie-
Mellon.

You’ll remember I told you Costanzo wrote me
a good letter about my book last October–thus, after
I had unwittingly mailed my manuscript to him
too late for last year’s competition. Since he was
writing his letter before the last revision of the book,
I think I have an outside chance there for more
than a “yes rejection”–the note of praise saying
no, of the sort I received from Pitt yesterday.

I did send Costanzo the last revision, by the
way, saying that I knew he couldn’t do anything about
it at that time, but that I wanted him to
see it in its new form. (No answer from him

2/

about that.)

If Constanzo doesn’t take it, I guess I will
just stop sending it to the places I’ve been trying
for the past four years. More of the same would
be all that would happen.

Which brings me to my question: Are there
alternatives beyond the ones I’ve been trying?
I am reluctant still to send the thing to small
presses because such publication often does not
lead to exposure, jobs or grants for new writing
time. But there’s always Greywolf, I suppose
(assuming they’d be interested), and maybe
there are others…

Well. Please let know about this whenever
you can. In the meantime, I will continue
to write. I hope you and Jane will too!

Love,

Wes

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Dear Don,

Heard you tonight at Colby and wanted to tell you
I enjoyed your anecdotes, but you were surrounded
and busy autographing, so I tell you this way.

I also enjoyed the nice little volume of Ploughshares
you edited and am glad Joey was willing to give you
poems for it. The cover is great, and I liked
several of your choices.

No word yet from Pittsburgh, though word
is overdue. While I can’t help expecting the
worst, though I admit to peeking through
hands as I hold them over my eyes
in case something wonderful happens. Incidentally,
I’m working now on several things, but completion
of each still eludes me. I will try to send
more poems for “the fall campaign.”

Now I have an anecdote for you. A
student from UNH who is taking a summer
course on critical analysis from me at

2/

Merrimack Valley College told me the other night
that he is trying to get an English minor–may
even get a major in English–mainly because
of a book that got him interested in poetry,
which he had never considered seriously before.
The title of the book is Kicking the Leaves.

Take this letter out the next time you have
any doubts about your work!

Love,

Wes

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Dear Don,

I have a feeling I left a word out
of that poem, “When Paul Flew Away.”

On page 2, it’s “the whole enormous weight/
of him hanging over the sink.”

Please insert that word, if necessary–

Thanks–

Wes

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Dear Don,

Will you please let me know
if you think the enclosed is
ready?

Thanks–

Wes

WHEN PAUL FLEW AWAY

It was the same as always,
Paul opening the big, black lung
of it while the cats watched
from under the stove,
but when he closed
his eyes and began 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 over the sink. God,
he was happy, and I
and the kids was laughing
and happy, when all
at once it come to me,
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 the 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.

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Dear Don,

All praise to Joey’s obsessions! I, too, would like to see
one of my poems end up there and would therefore as soon wait
with the poems I sent you, adding others through the summer
toward October.

Between now and then, I will have a chance to mull
over your comments about the poems. I think you are right
about the “heartbreakingly” of the brother poem. Actually, I
worry about clichés while working on many of my poems–
the consequence some of the time of working on “popular”
subject matter or trying to speak in an “unliterary”,
a “real” voice. Any suggestions about what might
replace the above word?

About “The Longing of the Feet”: You did
remark about that stanza

discovering,
suddenly, the feet
are for carrying….

Originally, the stanza looked this way (over)

2/

discovering, suddenly,
the feet
are for carrying

I changed the lineation so the sentence could be felt more
as a unit, and so I could leave out the “that” which
you thought might clarify the meaning of the stanza.
I decided against a “that” because I wanted the sense
of discovering “feet” and “are for carrying” more or
less at once. The word “that”, I felt, would restrict
the stanza to one discovery. Thus, my revision (again,
with notes):

[enjambment,
picking up new
meanings, lending
to surprise
“hands” of next
stanza]
discovering, suddenly, the feet are for carrying

You may be right about the shape of “The Before People.”
I will have time to think about that, too.

Anyway, I am very glad you like these poems.
You have made my week.

My manuscript bombed at all presses except
Pittsburgh, from which I will receive word by June’s end.

Thanks for your letter

Love,

Wes

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As you see, I have enclosed three poems, two
of which you have seen. I have revised the “Feet”
poem, but I did not change its ending. I may be
wrong not to change it–may well be–but I do
think it works at this point, having let the thing
rest awhile. The “Brother” poem has been revised also
so it should be less confusing.

If you like “The Before People”, please pass it on
to Joey.

Other poems–so many others–are in progress,
but they resist all my best pushing and prodding
thus far. I will send more when I can.

Best,

Wes

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Dear Don,

Needless to say, I am thrilled to be
appearing in the Atlantic once again.

Good old Joey. Just when I am feeling
down about my poems, he gives me the steel
to continue.

It’s spring!

Thanks to you both.

Love,

Wes

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Dear Don,

Sometimes I respond to your letters in my head
and forget I have not responded on paper.

Thanks for the time you took with the
poems. Again, I will have to put them (with
your letter) up for awhile to see what I
agree with and what I don’t.

But it is good to have your straight out
commentary, as always, and I thank you
for that especially.

Love,

Wes

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Dear Don,

I am sorry you do not care for the father poem
in its present state, but I remain grateful for
your honest review of my poems. I will put it away
for a while. It’s much too close for me to come
to terms with any of your comments at this point.

I enclose $3.50 for the HM publication (payment
was $35), and I thank you not only for seeing
that one through but for passing the “Small Towns”
poem on to Joey for Poetry. The hit there lifts
my spirits considerably!

I’m also sending you, as you see, two new
poems, which I hope you like. Please let me know
when you can what you think.

Best to you and Jane, and love,

Wes

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Dear Mr. Amaryllis,

Thanks for letting us see the new
poems by Mr. McNair. We especially like
“Small Towns Are Passing”
and are glad to keep that one for
POETRY.

Best wishes,

John F. Nims