
“Gloxinias, fuschias, begonias/All are crisping with terror, curling and crisping/with plum blue terror,” wrote MARSDEN HARTLEY (1877–1943), in “Cobwebs and Ratholes,” one of the great American painter’s many strange and remarkable poems. Though Hartley’s artistic stature is reflected in numerous monographs (I’m especially fond of Patricia McDonnell’s Marsden Hartley: American Modern), his substantial literary achievement is less well-known. He was first published — after jejune meddling by editor Harriett Monroe — in Poetry in July 1918; five years later, Robert McAlmon’s Contact Press brought forth Hartley’s Twenty-Five Poems. Like his life in general, Hartley’s verse is restless in style. Still, two literary influences stand out. Though too young to meet Walt Whitman himself, Hartley was an acolyte of the bard, painting his 328 Mickle Street, Camden, home and forming an ardent yet somewhat elusive relationship with Whitman’s amanuensis Horace Traubel. Jonathan Williams, who published their 1906–1915 correspondence as Heart’s Gate, observed “We see M.H. very early in his great and difficult passage as an artist in an America where men’s feelings were inarticulate and often furtive.” Hartley and Hart Crane first met in New York where, years apart, they shared the same Brooklyn address, 110 Columbia Heights. The two grew closer abroad, in Marseilles and Mexico City, where Hartley remained when Crane left for Vera Cruz and his subsequent death plunge from the S.S. Orizaba. In Eight Bells Folly: Memorial to Hart Crane, oil on canvas, and “Un Recuerdo —Hermano —Hart Crane R.I.P.”, an elegy, Hartley remembers his drowned friend’s bones.
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On his or her birthday, HiLobrow irregularly pays tribute to one of our high-, low-, no-, or hilobrow heroes. Also born this date: C.L.R. James.
READ MORE about members of the Psychonaut Generation (1874–83).
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Great piece, Brian.
[...] The Burns Club of New York City invited Reverend [H.W.] Beecher to speak, and the crowd filled the twenty-five-hundred eat Cooper Institute— the same locale where Lincoln would charm his first eastern audience a year later— to overflowing. In his oration, Beecher noted that half the civilized world, plus the entire community of belle lettres, had come together that evening to celebrate a farmer’s son who had taken the message of Scotland “into the world.” Noting that Burns had almost emigrated to the West Indies, he scoffed at the idea that the bard could have followed a gang of slaves, whip in hand, while chanting “A man’s a man for a’ that” at which the audience applauded. Beecher closed with the observation, “As for his faults, let them be forgotten.” — form Ferenc Morton Szasz, Abraham Lincoln, Robert Burns: Connected Lives and Legends (Southern Illinois University Press, 2008) Kenny Wisdom adds: Dick Gaughan, whoa! And speaking of Brooklyn and poetry,what about Marsden Hartley? [...]