MARIANNE MOORE
605
and no flummeries. He drew up to the stove, a little barrel shaped affair
with a tall jointed pipe, and kept darting venomous glances at me from that
stronghold for a few minutes. There is a great deal [of] the type of humor
about him that there is about Dr. Davis, he'll play you for about 5 minutes
and then lay aside all posturing and state frankly what he thinks. He is an
awful tease, though for some reason he is so direct that he is not annoying.
I said, "Mr. Kerfoot you have given me a great deal of pleasure. I was just
saying to Mr. Stieglitz that I had been surprised to find you in
Camera JMJrk
and that
Mr.
Kreymborg was also, was a friend of
Mr.
Stieglitz's." (By the
way, when I had mentioned Alfred Mr. Stieglitz had said, "Yes, he's one of
my children.") I said, "I told Mr. Kreymborg that I had been delighted
when I came on your notice of
Others
in
Life
and Mr. Kreymborg said he
had put it in the front of the November
Others.
I thought it very generous
of you to speak of
Others
for it is an experiment. You don't often speak of
magazines do you?" "Never," he said "there has never been a notice of a
magazine in
Life
before, so far as I know. I haven't taken any interest in poet–
ry. This is the first time I have been able to see anything in it." I said "Of
course some of it is trash, but what delights me is that the authors of it are
willing to admit that it might be trash." "Oh Yes" he said "that must be
understood. It's absolutely essential that they
should
admit it." I can't
remember what he said exactly but it was something like that. I asked him
ifhe knew
The Egoist;
he said not. I told him how I liked his review of Shaw
(ptomaine and caviar) and ofJulian Street
(Abroad at Home)
quoting; and we
had a discussion of the word "haunting," both Mr. Stieglitz and
Mr.
Kerfoot
downing me saying that a haunting quality was not the earmark of good
art-but of bad art. I said I meant the sort of thing that annoyed you till you
had to trace it to the source where you had first encountered it and he said,
"Oh that's a different thing that's another sort of 'haunt.'" He asked me if
I liked
The [New] Republic.
I said Yes and he said he had started out with it
but had given it up, it was too "deep" for him. Then he said, "Who is that
fellow, one of the editors of
The Republic;
he has been writing off and on,
recently,-I can't think of his name." "Hackett?" I said. "That's the man,"
he said. I like
him.
He's the only one that writes for
The Republic
that excites
my interest. I said, "I like him. In fact I like him so much I think it would
be impossible for me to resent his mood or it would, if he continues to
write about things as he has written about them in the past. He said some–
thing about the lavendered atmosphere of Bryn Mawr that amused me but
that's a trifle. I don't take that into consideration." "Well, you wouldn't hold
that against him," Mr. Kerfoot said. "I think his mind works in an interest–
ing way. " "It does," I said. "I think he has just come over here from
somewhere recently, hasn't he? He had an article on 'Lincoln and
Immigrants' that made me think so." "I don't know" Mr. Kerfoot said. "I
