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TOWARD THE GULF
TOWARD THE GULF EDGAR LEE MASTERS CONTENTS
TOWARD THE GULF
THE LAKE BOATS
CITIES OF THE PLAIN
EXCLUDED MIDDLE
SAMUEL BUTLER ET AL
JOHNNY APPLESEED
THE LOOM
DIALOGUE AT PERKO'S
SIR GALAHAD
ST. DESERET
HEAVEN IS BUT THE HOUR
VICTOR RAFOLSKI ON ART
THE LANDSCAPE
TO-MORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY
SWEET CLOVER
SOMETHING BEYOND THE HILL
FRONT THE AGES WITH A SMILE
POOR PIERROT
MIRAGE OF THE DESERT
DAHLIAS
THE GRAND RIVER MARSHES
DELILAH
THE WORLD-SAVER
RECESSIONAL
THE AWAKENING
IN THE GARDEN AT THE DAWN HOUR
FRANCE
BERTRAND AND GOURGAUD TALK OVER OLD TIMES
DRAW THE SWORD O REPUBLIC
DEAR OLD DICK
THE ROOM OF MIRRORS
THE LETTER
CANTICLE OF THE RACE
BLACK EAGLE RETURNS TO ST. JOE
MY LIGHT WITH YOURS
THE BLIND
"I PAY MY DEBT FOR LAFAYETTE AND ROCHAMBEAU"
CHRISTMAS AT INDIAN POINT
WIDOW LA RUE
DR. SCUDDER'S CLINICAL LECTURE
FRIAR YVES
THE EIGHTH CRUSADE
THE BISHOP'S DREAM OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE
NEANDERTHAL
THE END OF THE SEARCH
BOTANICAL GARDENS
TO WILLIAM MARION REEDY
It would have been fitting had I dedicated Spoon River Anthology to
you. Considerations of an intimate nature not to mention a literary
encouragement which was before yours crowded you from the page. Yet
you know that it was you who pressed upon my attention in June 1909
the Greek Anthology. It was from contemplation of its epitaphs that my
hand unconsciously strayed to the sketches of "Hod Putt" "Serepta The
Scold" ("Serepta Mason" in the book) "Amanda Barker" ("Amanda" in the
book) "Ollie McGee" and "The Unknown" the first written and the
first printed sketches of The Spoon River Anthology. The
_Mirror_ of May 29th 1914 is their record.
I take one of the epigrams of Meleager with its sad revealment and
touch of irony and turn it from its prose form to a verse form making
verses according to the breath pauses:
"The holy night and thou O Lamp we took as witness of our vows; and
before thee we swore he that would love me always and I that I would
never leave him. We swore and thou wert witness of our double
promise. But now he says that our vows were written on the running
waters. And thou O Lamp thou seest him in the arms of another."
In verse this epigram is as follows:
The holy night and thou
O Lamp
We took as witness of our vows;
And before thee we swore
He that would love me always
And I that I would never leave him.
We swore
And thou wert witness of our double promise.
But now he says that our vows were written on the running waters.
And thou O Lamp
Thou seest him in the arms of another.
It will be observed that iambic feet prevail in this translation. They
merely become noticeable and imperative when arranged in verses. But
so it is even in the briefest and starkest rendering of these
epigrams from the Greek the humanism and dignity of the original
transfer themselves making something if less than verse yet more
than prose; as Byron said of Sheridan's speeches neither poetry nor
oratory but better than either. It was no difficult matter to pass
from Chase Henry:
"In life I was the town drunkard.
When I died the priest denied me burial
In holy ground etc."
to the use of standard measures or rhythmical arrangements of iambics
or what not and so to make a book which for the first third required
a practiced voice or eye to yield the semblance of verse; and for the
last two-thirds or nearly so accommodated itself to the less
sensitive conception of the average reader. The prosody was allowed
to take care of itself under the emotional requirements and
inspiration of the moment. But there is nothing new in English
literature for some hundreds of years in combinations of dactyls
anapests or trochees and without rhyme. Nor did I discover to the
world that an iambic pentameter can be lopped to a tetrameter without
the verse ceasing to be an iambic; though it be no longer the blank
verse which has so ennobled English poetry. A great deal of unrhymed
poetry is yet to be written in the various standard rhythms and in
carefully fashioned metres.
But obviously a formal resuscitation of the Greek epigrams ironical
and tender satirical and sympathetic as casual experiments in
unrelated themes would scarcely make the same appeal that an epic
rendition of modern life would do and as it turned out actually
achieved.
The response of the American press to Spoon River Anthology during the
summer of 1914 while it was appearing in the _Mirror_ is my
warrant for saying this. It was quoted and parodied during that time
in the country and in the metropolitan newspapers. _Current
Opinion_ in its issue of September 1914 reproduced from the
_Mirror_ some of the poems. Though at this time the schematic
effect of the Anthology could not be measured Edward J. Wheeler that
devoted patron of the art and discriminating critic of its
manifestations was attracted I venture to say by the substance of
"Griffy The Cooper" for that is one of the poems from the Anthology
which he set forth in his column "The Voice of Living Poets" in the
issue referred to. _Poetry A Magazine of Verse_ followed in
its issue of October 1914 with a reprinting from the _Mirror_.
In a word the Anthology went the rounds over the country before it
was issued in book form. And a reception was thus prepared for the
complete work not often falling to the lot of a literary production.
I must not omit an expression of my gratitude for the very high praise
which John Cowper Powys bestowed on the Anthology just before it
appeared in book form and the publicity which was given his lecture by
the _New York Times_. Nathan Haskell Dole printed an article in
the Boston _Transcript_ of June 30 1915 in which he contrasted
the work with the Greek Anthology pointing in particular to certain
epitaphs by Carphylides Kallaischros and Pollianos. The critical
testimony of Miss Harriet Monroe in her editorial comments and in her
preface to "The New Poetry" has greatly strengthened the judgment of
to-day against a reversal at the hands of a later criticism.
This response to the Anthology while it was appearing in the
_Mirror_ and afterwards when put in the book was to nothing so
much as to the substance. It was accepted as a picture of our life in
America. It was interpreted as a transcript of the state of mind of
men and women here and elsewhere. You called it a Comedy Humaine in
your announcement of my identity as the author in the _Mirror_ of
November 20 1914. If the epitaphic form gave added novelty I must
confess that the idea was suggested to me by the Greek Anthology. But
it was rather because of the Greek Anthology than from it that I
evolved the less harmonious epitaphs with which Spoon River Anthology
was commenced. As to metrical epitaphs it is needless to say that I
drew upon the legitimate materials of authentic English versification.
Up to the Spring of 1914 I had never allowed a Spring to pass without
reading Homer; and I feel that this familiarity had its influence both
as to form and spirit; but I shall not take the space now to pursue
this line of confessional.
What is the substance of which I have spoken if it be not the life
around us as we view it through eyes whose vision lies in heredity
mode of life understanding of ourselves and of our place and time?
You have lived much. As a critic and a student of the country no one
understands America better than you do. As a denizen of the west but
as a surveyor of the east and west you have brought to the country's
interpretation a knowledge of its political and literary life as well
as a proficiency in the history of other lands and other times. You
have seen and watched the unfolding of forces that sprang up after the
Civil War. Those forces mounted in the eighties and exploded in free
silver in 1896. They began to hit through the directed marksmanship of
Theodore Roosevelt during his second term. You knew at first hand all
that went with these forces of human hope futile or valiant endeavor
articulate or inarticulate expression of the new birth. You saw and
lived but in greater degree what I have seen and lived. And with
this back-ground you inspired and instructed me in my analysis.
Standing by you confirmed or corrected my sculpturing of the clay
taken out of the soil from which we both came. You did this with an
eye familiar with the secrets of the last twenty years familiar also
with the relation of those years to the time which preceded and bore
them.
So it is that not only because I could not dedicate Spoon River to
you but for the larger reasons indicated am I impelled to do you
whatever honor there may be in taking your name for this book. By this
outline confession sometime perhaps to be filled in do I make known
what your relation is to these interpretations of mine resulting from
a spirit life thought environment which have similarly come to us
and have similarly affected us.
I call this book "Toward the Gulf" a title importing a continuation
of the attempts of Spoon River and The Great Valley to mirror the age
and the country in which we live. It does not matter which one of
these books carries your name and makes these acknowledgments; so far
anyway as the opportunity is concerned for expressing my appreciation
of your friendship and the great esteem and affectionate interest in
which I hold you.
EDGAR LEE MASTERS.
The following poems were first printed in the publications indicated:
Toward the Gulf The Lake Boats The Loom Tomorrow is my
Birthday Dear Old Dick The Letter My Light with Yours Widow
LaRue Neanderthal in Reedy's Mirror.
Draw the Sword Oh Republic in the Independent.
Canticle of the Race in Poetry a Magazine of Verse.
Friar Yves in the Cosmopolitan Magazine.
"I pay my debt for Lafayette and Rochambeau" in Fashions of
the Hour.
TOWARD THE GULF
_Dedicated to Theodore Roosevelt_
From the Cordilleran Highlands
From the Height of Land
Far north.
From the Lake of the Woods
From Rainy Lake
From Itasca's springs.
From the snow and the ice
Of the mountains
Breathed on by the sun
And given life
Awakened by kisses of fire
Moving gliding as brightest hyaline
Down the cliffs
Down the hills
Over the stones.
Trickling as rills;
Swiftly running as mountain brooks;
Swirling through runnels of rock;
Curving in sphered silence
Around the long worn walls of granite gorges;
Storming through chasms;
And flowing for miles in quiet over the Titan basin
To the muddled waters of the mighty river
Himself obeying the call of the gulf
And the unfathomed urge of the sea!
* * * * *
Waters of mountain peaks
Spirits of liberty
Leaving your pure retreats
For work in the world.
Soiling your crystal springs
With the waste that is whirled to your breast as you run
Until you are foul as the crawling leviathan
That devours you
And uses you to carry waste and earth
For the making of land at the gulf
For the conquest of land for the feet of men.
* * * * *
De Soto Marquette and La Salle
Planting your cross in vain
Gaining neither gold nor ivory
Nor tribute
For France or Spain.
Making land alone
For liberty!
You could proclaim in the name of the cross
The dominion of kings over a world that was new.
But the river has altered its course:
There are fertile fields
For a thousand miles where the river flowed that you knew.
And there are liberty and democracy
For thousands of miles
Where in the name of kings and for the cross
You tramped the tangles for treasure.
* * * * *
The Falls of St. Anthony tumble the waters
In laughter and tumult and roaring of voices
Swirling dancing leaping foaming
Spirits of caverns of canyons and gorges:
Waters tinctured by star-lights sweetened by breezes
Blown over snows out of the rosy northlands
Through forests of pine and hemlock
Whisperings of the Pacific grown symphonic.
Voices of freedom restless unconquered
Mad with divinity fearless and free:--
Hunters and choppers warriors revelers
Laughers dancers fiddlers freemen
Climbing the crests of the Alleghenies
Singing chopping hunting fighting
Erupting into Kentucky and Tennessee
Into Ohio Indiana Illinois
Sweeping away the waste of the Indians
As the river carries mud for the making of land.
And taking the land of Illinois from kings
And handing its allegiance to the Republic.
What riflemen with Daniel Boone for leader
And conquerors with Clark for captain
Plunge down like melted snows
The rocks and chasms of forbidden mountains
And make more land for freemen!
Clear-eyed hard-muscled dauntless hunters
Choppers of forests and tillers of fields
Meet at last in a field of snow-white clover
To make wise laws for states
And to teach their sons of the new West
That suffrage is the right of freemen.
Until the lion of Tennessee
Who crushes king-craft near the gulf.
Where La Salle proclaimed the crown
And the cross
Is made the ruler of the republic
By freeman suffragans
And winners of the West!
* * * * *
Father of Waters! Ever recurring symbol of wider freedom
Even to the ocean girdled earth
The out-worn rule of Florida rots your domain.
But the lion of Tennessee asks: Would you take from Spain
The land she has lost but in name?
It shall be done in a month if you loose my sword.
It was done as he said.
And the sick and drunken power of Spain that clung
And sucked at the life of Chile Peru Argentina
Loosened under the blows of San Martin and Bolivar
Breathing the lightning thrown by Napoleon the Great
On the thrones of Europe.
Father of Waters! 'twas you who made us say:
No kings this side of the earth forever!
One-half of the earth shall be free
By our word and the might that is back of our word!
* * * * *
The falls of St. Anthony tumble the waters
In laughter and tumult and roaring of voices!
And the river moves in its winding channel toward the gulf
Over the breast of De Soto
By the swamp grave of La Salle!
The old days sleep the lion of Tennessee sleeps
With Daniel Boone and the hunters
The rifle men the revelers
The laughers and dancers and choppers
Who climbed the crests of the Alleghenies
And poured themselves into Tennessee Ohio
Kentucky Illinois the bountiful West.
But the river never sleeps the river flows forever
Making land forever reclaiming the wastes of the sea.
And the race never sleeps the race moves on forever.
And wars must come as the waters must sweep away
Drift-wood dead wood choking the strength of the river--
For Liberty never sleeps!
* * * * *
The lion of Tennessee sleeps!
And over the graves of the hunters and choppers
The tramp of troops is heard!
There is war again
O Father of Waters!
There is war O symbol of freedom!
They have chained your giant strength for the cause
Of trade in men.
But a man of the West a denizen of your shore
Wholly American
Compact clear-eyed nerved like a hunter
Who knew no faster beat of the heart
Except in charity forgiveness peace;
Generous plain democratic
Scarcely appraising himself at full
A spiritual rifleman and chopper
Of the breed of Daniel Boone--
This man your child O Father of Waters
Waked from the winter sleep of a useless day
By the rising sun of a Freedom bright and strong
Slipped like the loosened snows of your mountain streams
Into a channel of fate as sure as your own--
A fate which said: till the thing be done
Turn not back nor stop.
Ulysses of the great Atlantis
Wholly American
Patient silent tireless watchful undismayed
Grant at Fort Donelson Grant at Vicksburg
Leading the sons of choppers and riflemen
Pushing on as the hunters and farmers
Poured from the mountains into the West
Freed you Father of Waters
To flow to the Gulf and be one
With the earth-engirdled tides of time.
And gave us states made ready for the hands
Wholly American:
Hunters choppers tillers fighters
For epochs vast and new
In Truth in Liberty
Posters from land to land and sea to sea
Till all the earth be free!
* * * * *
Ulysses of the great Atlantis
Dream not of disaster
Sleep the sleep of the brave
In your couch afar from the Father of Waters!
A new Ulysses arises
Who turns not back nor stops
Till the thing is done.
He cuts with one stroke of the sword
The stubborn neck that keeps the Gulf
And the Caribbean
From the luring Pacific.
Roosevelt the hunter the pioneer
Wholly American
Winner of greater wests
Till all the earth be free!
* * * * *
And forever as long as the river flows toward the Gulf
Ulysses reincarnate shall come
To guard our places of sleep
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Unpublished Work 
