LOUIS SIMPSON
585
kites, and one day there was a gathering of Druids, people in white robes
who walked in a circle uttering incantations. Afterwards they repaired to the
pub on the corner, the one with pictures of Edwardian women. They were
the mistresses of the Prince of Wales, later Edward VII. The grand courte–
sans of the turn of the century looked down with an air, keeping their royal
secrets.
The pub was a meeting place for writers and people who worked for
the BBC or did something in the theater. Anecdotes overheard in the pub
furnished material for articles, television scripts, and novels.
A poet once said, "Don't send a poet to London." He may have been
thinking ofwet streets and umbrellas. But though London may not be a good
place for a poet, it offers a journalist or novelist many opportunities. A writer
can make a living by writing a radio script one week, an article for
The New
Statesman
the next. In the States, many writers work for universities; this
makes for timidity and the writing of useless books.
There was one thing, however, I didn't like about the English literary
scene ... their dislike ofAmericans. A good number of English intellectuals
were Marxists, and the American with his idea of democracy and belief in
free enterprise was their enemy. They found a curious ally in the public
school-educated Englishman who hated American manners. The American
didn't know his place. Some of these gentlemen would rather sell State se–
crets to the Russians than see American tourists occupying the best seats in
the house.
This reminds me of a story. Two thousand years after the Crucifixion
Jesus was born again in Bethlehem. He grew up as he had before, an out–
standing Yeshiva student and a credit to his parents. When he came to man's
estate he took up public speaking and performing miracles: he healed the halt,
the lame, and the blind. His fame spread throughout Israel ... it was said
that he had fed a multitude on a few biscuits and sardines. He traveled
around the world, drawing crowds wherever he went.
Finally he came to England, and people flocked to the Albert Hall to
hear him speak. They were greatly impressed, especially when he told them
that he had raised the dead. When he finished speaking, there was a question
period. A hand went up in the audience. "We know," said the Englishman,
"that you are wise beyond belief and that you have performed miracles. We
are even willing to admit that you are the son of God. But were you born in
England? What school did you go to?"
I often went to the London Library
in
St. james's Square. It was a fine
library - they allowed you to take out first editions. I wasn't writing poetry .
. . in
all the time we stayed in England I wrote only one poem, and it was set
in the States. I could write only about things that mattered to me personally,
and my fate wasn't bound up with England's, so to speak. But I could do
some reading and write prose ... an article on American poetry titled,
