The writer's monthly (Jan-June 1916)

110 MR. GUITERMAN WRITES TO POETS bearing upon that; if a great catastrophe occurs, he should write about that, but he must not write on these subjects in a commonplace manner. He should send his verses to the daily papers, for they are the publications most interested in topical verse. But also he should attempt to sell his work to the magazines, which pay better prices than the newspapers. If it is in him to do so, he should write humorous verse, for there is always a good market for humorous verse that is worth printing. He should look up the publishers of holiday-cards, and submit to them Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter verses, for which he would receive, probably, about $5 apiece. He should write advertising verses, and he should, perhaps, make an alliance with some artist with whom he can work, each supplementing the work of the other. The province of the interviewer is to draw his victim out, and then, when he is gaily cavorting in the midst of generalities, to plunge into him the harpoon of the interrogative embarrassing. Thus it is that Mr. Kilmer takes this moment to ask the businesslike poet if he would give such advice as this to Keats. But the deadly gaff fails to penetrate. "Yes, certainly," answers Mr. Guiterman. and continues: Please understand that our hypothetical poet must all the time be doing his own work, writing the sort of verse which he specially desires to write. If his pot-boiling is honestly done, it will help him with his other work. He must study the needs and limitations of the various publications. He must recognize the fact that just because he has certain powers it does not follow that everything he writes will be desired by the editors. Marked ability and market ability are different propositions. There is high precedent for this course. You asked if I would give this advice to the young Keats. Why not, when Shakespeare himself followed the line of action of which I spoke? He began as a lyric poet, a writer of sonnets. He wrote plays because he saw that the demand was for plays, and because he wanted to make a living and more than a living. But because he was Shakespeare his plays are what they are. There are at least sixteen commandments for the poet who would eke out his existence at verse. They are as follows : Don't think of yourself as a poet, and don't dress the part. Don't classify yourself as a member of any special school or group. Don't call your quarters a garret or a studio. Don't frequent exclusively the company of writers. Don't think of any class of work that you feel moved to do as either beneath you or above you. Don't complain of lack of appreciation. (In the long run no really good published work can escape appreciation.) Don't think you are entitled to any special rights, privileges, and immunities as a literary person, or have any more reason to consider your possible lack of fame a grievance against the world than has any shippingclerk or traveling-salesman. Don't speak of poetic license or believe that there is any such thing. Don't tolerate in your own work any flaws in rhythm, rime, melody, or grammar. Don't use "e'er" for "ever," "o'er" for "over," "whenas" or "what time" for "when," or any of the "poetical" commonplaces of the past. Don't say "did go" for "went," even if you need an extra syllable. Don't omit articles or prepositions for the sake of the rhythm. Don't have your book published at your own expense by any house that makes a practice of publishing at the author's expense. Don't write poems about unborn babies. Don't — don't write hymns to the Great God Pan. He is dead, let him rest in peace! Don't write what everybody else is writing.