Selected Letters of Robert Penn Warren

Toward Sunset, at a Great Height, 1980–1989

Robert Penn Warren

• Publisher: LSU Press
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9780807152843
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Critica letteraria

In the last decade of his life, Robert Penn Warren remained a vibrant force in American literature, producing new works of poetry and nonfiction while also dealing courageously with the gradual decline of his health and the diminishment of his poetic powers. Toward Sunset, at a Great Height, 1980--1989, the sixth and final volume of the author's selected letters, provides crucial documentation of this period, containing Warren's correspondence with friends, family, fellow writers, editors, critics, and the scholars studying his works.
Warren published several volumes of poetry, including Being Here (1980), Rumor Verified (1981), and Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce (1983), and returned to nonfiction prose with Jefferson Davis Gets His Citizenship Back (1980) and the memoir Portrait of a Father (1988).
His letters reveal that he tried to begin writing a novel but was unable to make substantial progress on it, and that from 1985 on he became increasingly dissatisfied with his new poems. Until his death at age eighty-four, however, Warren maintained an active correspondence filled with news about his writings and travels, accounts of the lives of his wife and children, and a stoic attitude about his own physical decline as well as a solicitousness regarding the health of others, such as his brother, Thomas, and sister, Mary. He communicated with rising young scholars and encouraged younger poets he admired.
Toward Sunset, at a Great Height offers rich insights into the closing chapter of Robert Penn Warren's professional and personal life, making it an essential resource for understanding the full scope of the author's contribution to American letters.

1980

as he entered his final decade, a still vigorous seventy-four-year-old Warren was deeply immersed in his own poetry—working on the proofs of Being Here, working on new poems for the volume Rumor Verified, Poems 1979–1980, and working his way through a draft of Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce. Letters from this period make clear that he had tried to start a new novel after A Place to Come To (1977), but it never got off the ground. Despite having sworn off the practice several times, he was also at work again in nonfiction prose with Jefferson Davis Gets His Citizenship Back.

Some old friends, like Allen Tate, were gone now. Others like Katherine Anne Porter were suffering ill health and soon would be. But Warren continued to write longish letters to others full of news about his writing and his travels, but just as full of accounts of the lives of his children, Rosanna and Gabriel, both now in their mid-twenties and emerging as artists, she as a poet, he as a sculptor, and his wife Eleanor who, as so often, was being secretive about the subjects of her own writing but having a productive time of her own despite a significant deterioration of her sight.

More and more, Warren was corresponding with a rising number of scholars devoting significant parts of their careers to his work, and as he so often had in the past, he was supporting the careers of younger poets he admired, like Mark Strand.

TO MARK STRAND

ALS/Ind

2495 Redding Road
Fairfield, Connecticut 06430
January 5, 1980

Dear Mark:¹

What joy! On arriving here I found the announcement from the Academy of American Poets that you have hit the jackpot.² A little enough of one for a performer of your caliber but none better going.

A little secret that should make you feel even a little bit better. You started with one vote in a scattered field. It was sort of fun seeing things coagulate, like a chemistry experiment—or a horse race.

We had a nice time in Vermont—but Eleanor and Gabe say that wryly. Not one flake of snow. But a lot of gorging, hill climbing and roaring fires. And even finished a poem I’d been hard at for more than a month. I won’t go as far as to say it’s any good.

Anyway, to return to our topic. We are very happy about your Christmas, and were happy to see you both. Soon again!

Our best, as ever,
Red

[P.S] Love to Jules³ —as you insist on calling her. Does she at last think you are to be taken seriously?

TO T. G. ROSENTHAL

TLS/Blotner

2495 Redding Road
Fairfield, Connecticut 06430
January 12, 1980

Dear Tom:¹

A joy to know you are coming—joy for us both. March 15 will work out. It is true that if you came any time earlier it might help a little about Vermont, but if earlier is less convenient for you, suffer no pangs of guilt.

Today I go into NYC to wrap up a long New Yorker piece I’ve done² — prose, to my surprise, this time, though I do publish a good part of my verse there. Then Wednesday we leave for a cruise in the Gulf—it’s nice to have sea-going friends who invite you. Back January 29.

News good, especially on the side of child-achievement. For instance, Rosanna, who has been doing graduate Greek at Johns Hopkins has just had a fancy offer there (teach one course of her own choosing, graduate work of any sort she wants, and a decent salary—with lots of time for her poetry—which thrives).

My new book of poems comes in July, it seems. The NY Times Magazine (not Book Review) is doing a piece about them, ditto Harpers—not a review.³ The Modern Language Association in their annual meeting gave a program to Brother to Dragons—(I think) critical papers, none of which I have seen and shall probably never get around to seeing.⁴

Poems come along still, but my novel doesn’t seem to come to a head and bust.

We look forward to seeing you.

I forgot to add that a nice youngish don from Oxford came by Vermont this summer. Reason: he’s the supervisor of a D. Phil. on R.P.W.’s poetry. NOT written by an American. The don seems to know everything about Henry James and very little about our poetry. I hope he likes what he’s going to have to make some of his living learning about.

Now why the hell did I think you’d be interested in this triviality? I’m not burning with interest.

It’ll be great to see you!

As ever,
Red

TO TED WOJTASIK JR.

TLS/Emory

2495 Redding Road
Fairfield, Connecticut 06430
January 31, 1980

Dear Mr. Wojtasik:¹

I am pleased to have your letter, and to know that you are bringing some life to Katherine Anne’s bedside—whom we love so well.²

About the letters: Paul,³ as I understand matters, has legal control of KAP’s affairs (though I may be wrong, of course). No doubt, he wants to control any publication and realize what fruit possible. That is one aspect, and I have no knowledge of what the final facts may be. But I do know that the letters (of which I have had a great many) are remarkable. I should like to remark, however, that editing such a body of correspondence would mean an enormous labor of checking references, contexts, and the identity and relationships of correspondents. It would be equivalent to writing a highly documented biography—in short.

You ask me about my interest. It is great, but I am in no position to participate in such a project. That is a purely research job. At its beginning, anyway. May I say, though, that my letters from KAP are deposited with the papers in the Beinecke Library at Yale which are held in deposit for me. They (and all letters, out of human decency) are available only to readers who present a written permission from the author of the letters, or the literary executor. And here is where Paul would come in. I do not know how he in his present role would enter in giving permission. Beyond this, I cannot go.

I deeply appreciate your kind remarks about my work. Kind words break no bones.

Can you give me a word about KAP’s condition and state of mind? We love her dearly, and she is the Godmother of our daughter. Nobody could admire and love KAP more than we do. I can speak for myself in saying that since 1927, when I met her, no one has meant more to me.

I fear that this letter is of little practical help to you. I wish it could be otherwise, and I appreciate the feeling that drives you to the project. It is an important one.

Very sincerely yours,
Robert Penn Warren

TO FLOYD C. WATKINS

TLS/Emory

2495 Redding Road
Fairfield, Connecticut 06430
February 1, 1980

Dear Floyd:¹

As I have told you before, I did not—and do not—want a share of the book of interviews,² and I accept a thing because you are a saint or a damned fool. After all, you have done all the work. In the same spirit I accept this check. But I do sincerely wish you’d change your mind about sharing whatever little royalties will come from the book. Little enough without slicing it up. I feel like insisting on this.

We have just returned from a trip from the Gulf across the lake in North Florida to the Atlantic, a fascinating country. Last year we went into the Everglades. It’s nice to have sea-going friends who invite you. This time we almost sank in the middle of the night. In the A[e]gean we had a fire at sea. We get our money’s worth, even if we don’t pay.

I wonder if it would discommode you greatly if I took a quick look at the proof of the introduction. In no way is this to be construed as a lack of confidence in friendship or headwork. I just might stumble on some small fact that needs to [be] re-facted. But if this rushes you too much, forget it.

I’m just winding up proofs on a long piece on Jeff Davis, for the New Yorker. One more fact to re-fact I discover. Which means another trip to New Haven, God damn it.

All the best,
Red

TO WILLARD THORP

TLS/PU

2495 Redding Road
Fairfield, Connecticut 06430
February 1, 1980

Dear Willard:¹

First I want to say what a pleasure it is to have a word from you. You have been missed badly since those meetings in Washington. The last time I saw you was years ago when you stopped by with Bill Meredith one Sunday afternoon.² My children were little then—and now big. So it’s a long time. But your kind gift of the essay does something to wipe out your villainy by reminding me of much.

The essay, of course, is interesting to me. And of course it stirs up memories of a time when things were happier for the Tates. Time wasn’t good to them. And I found the funeral at Nashville a very sad event.³ One thing: a number of people from the city were there—represented primarily by old fellows. It would seem that students and the younger faculty couldn’t have given less of a damn. The grandchildren were at the funeral, but not any other kin. Later, at a memorial occasion for Allen in NYC I saw Nancy, still beautiful.⁴ She said that she and Percy were about to move to Mexico to be with Caroline. By the way, I have just done the introduction of a new collection of Caroline’s stories—but since the publisher has informed me that he is submitting the introduction to Caroline, it may never appear.⁵ God knows, I admire them. But she must be still cranky if she doesn’t know that.

Again—what a pleasure to have a word, even a printed word—from you. May all go well—or at least as well as things can go for old gents like you and me. To report on me, I feel fine. But tomorrow must come. Even though now poems keep coming.

All the best!
Red

TO FLOYD C. WATKINS

ALS/Emory

February 6, 1980

Dear Floyd:

Forgive my haste, but I have been under great pressure doing a long piece (on Jeff Davis) for the New Yorker and having to go into NYC pretty often and I’m behind deadline with another piece (and I’ve been doing some demanding poems).

First, I thank you for all kind words in your piece. I have scribbled some factual comments on [it], and hope they’ll prove of some use—but certainly could not prove of much use. You have done a bit of sweating over tracing things down. (You might mention—or do you?—that I didn’t think “Vinegar Hill” worth preserving in a book.)¹ By the way, to return to the New Yorker piece, there’s a lot of autobiographical stuff—not important though—in there. It is to be in the Annual “Birthday Number” at the end of February.²

I’m sure in a jam with an expert who will be assessing my MSS at Yale. I’ve about decided to sell—as soon as I get some tax elements settled.

Again forgive haste. And again all thanks for your hard thinking and hard sweating.

Ever yours,
Red

[P.S.] I’m glad you liked “Orphanage Boy.”³

TO CAROLINE GORDON

TLS/Blotner

2495 Redding Road
Fairfield, Connecticut 06430
February 16, 1980

Dear Caroline:¹

I was delighted to have your note after having had only scattered bits over the years, the last being from Nancy. Nancy tells me, too, that she and Percy are going to move down to Mexico to be with you.

Our most interesting news concerns the children, both of whom, God help us, have turned into artists. Gabe, 24, terribly strong, dark-haired and handsome has studied sculpture at Amherst (no good), Rome, Paris, and The Rhode Island School of Design. He had wonderful instruction for the year in Rome and for his apprenticeship in Paris to one of the best known younger French sculptors,² and the shops and the studios at Rhode Island were fine. He has several rather good commissions and has taken a nice prize for Southern New England. He now has a studio in New Haven. And of course a girl—whom he expects to marry this spring.³ He also is a very experienced sailor (having had professional jobs) and has built a 30 foot schooner. Rosanna (age 26) was a summa at Yale in painting and languages, and has studied both in Paris, Venice, Rome and ...