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Letter from John G. Neihardt to Slade Kendrick, August 29, 1973

  • Title: Letter from John G. Neihardt to Slade Kendrick, August 29, 1973
  • Date: August 29, 1973
  • Author(s): Neihardt, John Gneisenau, 1881-1973
  • Recipient: Kendrick, M. Slade (Myron Slade)
  • TEI XML: nei.j4c.65.44a.xml
5835 Vine Street
Lincoln, Nebraska 68505
August 29, 1973 Dr. M. Slade Kendrick 225 Willard Way Ithaca, New York 14850
8-29-23
Dear Slade:

It was good to hear from you after too long a silence. Naturally, I am delighted to know that ALL IS BUT A BEGINNING reached you. Your comments are especially interesting. You speak of my father, and I think you would understand him better than might be supposed. When I began writing the book, I had only fragmentary knowledge of him. I never quite understood him, but he certainly loved me althought he had a silent way of showing it. But as the book proceeded and I fitted the fragments into a mosaic unintentionally, I found that a man of a very definite personality emerged, and as a result I liked him better.

You would be interested to know that the United Artists is bringing out the first album of my poetry on September 16. There should be as many as 12 albums.

I wish you could visit Bancroft during Neihardt Day in August — the first Sunday in August. We had a wonderful time this year — 700 people turned up, and there is every indication that it is a going concern, not merely around Bancroft or the Middle West but reaching out far and wide. The National Observer recently had an article on a hitchiker from the west who was bound for the Neihardt Day celebration.

Thanks for sending me your friend's poetry. He certainly has beautiful poetic ideas, and I intend to read him more as soon as I am free to do so. My eyes are not too good.

I am afraid there is little hope of finding a publisher for poetry.

It's really astonishing how BLACK ELK SPEAKS and WHEN THE TREE FLOWERED have been selling. BLACK ELK is translated into nine foreign tongues and is selling all over the United States as well as principal nations of Europe. In three months WHEN THE TREE FLOWERED sold 115,000 copies. I don't understand it but it is pleasing because the success of the books cannot be attributed to sensationalism.

How is your health, Slade, and how is your good lady? It has been too long since I saw you last.

Oh, I forgot to tell you Val Peterson gave the principal speech at the Neihardt celebration, and it was a wonderful speech. He has been Ambassador to Denmark and Norway and for two years he served Nebraska as Governor.

Do plan to come out and see us next August. Why not?

With the old affection, John Neihardt John Neihardt
JGN:nh
Deep lies night Muted and mellow Radiant with mist Bathed in moonlight Amid its magic My heart swiftly arches Greeting purple shades Embracing the wonder Enfolding love's promise Yearning towards fulfillment. Deep lies night Do you feel its call Do you hear its song Flush in its beauty Ache in its glow Seeking for contentment Longing for quiet union Muted and mellow it lies Deep still night.
In eternity stand I Attuned to Heaven and Hell Wistfully reminicentreminiscent of love Bitterly reflective of hate. It comes, the melancholy, Hauntingly twisted Saluting night's misted depths. Where lies the quest Screamingly lost and riddled In dreams of nevermore. Where flies my soul Smotheringly shattered Wandering murky shadows. Be these life's tokens? Be these birth's promises? Amid eternity's Heaven and Hell Stand I, waiting and wondering.
Look not backwards from whence you came Never reflected on yesterday's anguished pain Tho' the past be white or with crimson stain Only today —— now and forever can reign. So gaze evermore upwards To where the wild wind runs free Through the valley, onwards to the sea Heeding only its song of restless serenity.
My heart lies cold and empty as stone So I take your spirit to be my own With tender touch, I caress your face OutlingingOutlining each curve, sensitive with grace In your eyes, I see the soft dear light Which warms my endless lonely night Wild winds no longer rack my form Your soul comforts my ruthless storm.
Goodbye, Summer's sweet kiss Farewell, dusky moonlit nights I forget thee not, SwummerSummer love, Your teasing touch will haunt me evermore. Rolling tides washed in moonlight Dawn's crashing breathless wonderment Trembling twilights laced in lavender To these, I pledge my eternal thoth. Come with me to the summits Trail daybreak's brilliant cliffs Search dusk's delicate valleys Oh, take my hand across Summer's path. Goodbye sweet Summer's kiss Farewell dusky moonlit nights I forget thee not, Summer love Forever, your teasing touch will haunt me.
Cascading through the night My soul plunges in furious flight Searching, seeking the murky light Answers to my questing plight. Soaring with hastening speed Praying my heart to be freed From others pettiness and greed Releasing my spirit's restless steed. Night's melody teases me Midnight's cloak hangs free Only burning fires do I see Haunted my being will ever be.
over
Steep in sin, the restless ghetto sleeps In Hell's triumph, the bloodwashed rats roam Dancing an infested plague 'neath the moon As the smothering city yawns unknowinlyunknowingly. Far away sobs a rumbling train Spelling deeper the night's lament From the docks steals the fog Enfolding the squander with lace. From which lost valley, did it come This hate-riddled ghetto ode, The bloodstained sonnet, [;?] The sad lost honor.
Ravage and lost Empty and barren Desolately slaughtered Rides the spirit Across the endless skies With unseeing eyes Recklessly plunging Night's lonely depths Bleeding and cringing From yesterday's Hell Faithless in tomorrow. But tomorrow comes Breathing softly Over hued waters Sighing tenderly With rosed blush Caressingly delicate Conquering the void Binding the wounds Kissing the soul. The spirit has a restless sea It calls to the mountains And sings to the valleys Searching eternity's halls For the questing fulfillment. The soul has an endless void Yearning to find its peace Longing to possess love Roaming the night skies Within its mystical voyage. The heart runs and falls Amid the mires of disappointment Following each beckoning light Treading each murky lowlands In sobbing lament, finding nought. But passion reigns supreme In the lost labyrinth, she stands Undaunted and queenly with promise As beyond the restless sea she calls And the dying ember becomes a flame.