You-all, I am reading one of this poet's biographies, and thought I'd share part of a letter he wrote to a friend.
He was in Germany, having gone there to learn the language, and was alone and homesick. I don't think I've ever read anything so...vivid. Oh, he just felt so much!
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The worst of solitude--or the best--is, that one begins poking at one's own soul, examining it, cutting the soft and rotten parts away. And where's one to stop? Have you ever had, at lunch or dinner, an over-ripe pear or apple, and, determined to make the best of it, gone on
slicing off the squashy bits? You may imagine me, in München, at a German lunch with Life, discussing hard, and cutting away at the bad parts of the dessert. 'Oh!' says Life, courteous as ever, 'I'm sure you've got a bad Soul there. Please don't go on with it! Leave it, and take another! I'm so sorry!' But, knowing I've taken the last, and polite anyhow, 'Oh no, please!' I say, scraping away, 'it's really all right. It's only a little gone, here and there--on the outside...
There's plenty that's quite good. I'm quite enjoying it. You always have such delightful Souls! ...' And after a minute, when there's a circle of messy brown round my plate, and in the centre a rather woebegone brown-white thin, shapeless scrap, the centre of the thing, Life breaks in again, seeing my plight, 'Oh, but you can't touch any of that! It's bad right through! I'm sure Something must have Got In to it! Let me ring for another! There is sure to be some in the Larder...' But it won't do, you know. So I rather ruefully reply, 'Ye-s, I'm afraid it is impossible. But I won't have another, thanks. I don't really want one at all. I only took it out of mere greed...and to have something to do. Thank you, I've had quite enough. Such excellent meat and pudding! I've done splendidly...But to go on with our conversation. About Literature--you were saying, I think...?' and
so the incident's at an end.