From the Shelf The Harvard Advocate Volume C III, Number 4 February, 1970, 75c

THERE is a scene in the James Dean movie, "Rebel Without A Cause," in which the hero and his leather-jacketed, hard nosed antagonist must pit their honor and their courage aganist one another in a dangerous automobile contest destined to take from one of them either his life or the respect of his friends. As they survey the course they will be driving, they glare at each other, their fears walled up inside the cool they try to maintain. A moment before the trial begins, however, they face one another, exchange names. "I like you," admits the leader of the pack. "I like you, too." says Dean, and asks him, "Why are we doing this?" There comes a shrug from the leader. His eyes relent- "Well, you've gotta do something, don't you?"

I can imagine this exchange being bandied around the Advocate office as its editors put together the February issue. One senses beneath its pages, the good faith and serious intentions of those who worked on its there is a long tradition behind their attempts, as well as a long-held confidence that what they are doing is worthwhile. At the same time, there comes across a feeling of frustration at the state of creative writing in general. The contributions seem to be asking with mounting uncertainty, "Where is it all going?"

Judging from this issue of the Advocate. the answer will be a long time in the coming. This is not so much a reflection on the magazine itself as on the pervading gloom that appears to have settled in everywhere you look to see where writing is headed, wherever you look, to find out what good things are happening. Examples are scarce; there are not many very good writers around, even fewer great ones. No one speaks of visions anymore-it is word in great disfavor, we are learning to live without visions-and yet without them without dreams of finding a way out, of bringing it all together, what is there left to write about that gives us a chance of going on from here? Confess your fears, deny your hopes, show love, pain, disgust, but something more has got to be there if the writing is to generate any more of a reaction than an indifferent "So what?"

The majority of this issue's contents is reviews, visits, and interviews, all of which make at least passing reference to some of the ideas with which creative writing is concerning itself, and help to bring them more clearly into focus. The reviews are well-written, informative: they put you on to recent works by good but often overlooked contemporary artists, and offer not only analysis of their work but a few insights into what the writers and poets themselves are thinking about and the direction their work is taking. It gives the reader a firm impression of the artists as well as the particular work under review, which is especially helpful when the author's name may sound only vaguely familiar. Particularly good were Jonathan Galassi's review of Richard Tillinghast and Peggy Rizza on Galway Kinnell. Their excitement over these authors was gracefully communicated and easily received; it can't help but make the reader interested in finding out more about their works. As a whole, the reviews are instrumental in giving a clearer picture of what's going on in the literary world and help to reduce the feeling of fragmentation by carefully examining individual writers and thus gleaning general ideas that help put together the pieces.

Richard Rosen's essay entitled "Go Away Richard Brautigan, You're Not Helping College Poetry Any," originally started out as a review of the college poetry anthology, Alkahest, but soon revealed itself to be a catalogue of the number and nature of the various ills now afflicting student poetry. It is definitely worthwhile reading, if not for the many good thoughts Rosen has on the subject, then at least for the gastronomic analogies with which he illustrates his points. It is a good idea to read it before reading the actual poetry clustered together on several of the issue's pages. It will help induce sympathy.

THERE are two visits and interviews included in the issue, one with Robert Bly, former member of the Advocate and a contemporary poet and magazine editor, and another with Anais Nin, an established European artist with a romantic past. The interview with Bly uncovers intriguing ideas and remains interesting throughout, largely because the focus is always on the artist himself as the interviewer stays discreetly in the background. The tone of the piece on Anais Nin, however, is established immediately in the first sentence: "It was more than we could ever have expected from ourselves." Very little emerges from the interview with so interesting a lady besides the authors' complete enchantment with their subject and their appreciation at being there.

Eight poems and one short story make up the rest of the issue. It is disconcerting to see so little of the issue's effort being devoted to the actual business of poetry and fiction. It is a meagre offering. The poems serve well as examples of some of the bad habits Richard Rosen mentions as plaguing the efforts of student poets-they are short, they are quiet, they are not very careful. Most of them, however, do manage to avoid drowning in the self-confessional sink where much of the subject matter of contemporary poetry seems to be found. Further analysis and evaluation of them can only be subjective, a matter of individual perferences. I enjoyed particularly "Best Wishes," by Neal Balmes, and "To Katharine," by Arthur Powers. They are alive, have form and rhythm, without appearing strained or too self-conscious. The only poem that succeeded in arousing direct antagonism from its beginning was Gerard Malanga's sadistically long "Poem In Search Of A Title." That is not all it seems to be in search of-it is in desperate need of a subject and a conclusion a good deal sooner than the seven pages it took to reach it. Perhaps if these had been found, such lines as "(terry says/'Schjeldahl is better than Berkson. Bly is better than Olson) I don't know that!" could have been avoided. The poem is prefaced by a note from the Poetry Society of America informing the author that his poems did not receive enough votes to bring him in as a member. One wonders whether the note was included to convince the reader of the Poetry Society's insufferable blindness, or whether the poem was included to illustrate the reasons for the rejection.

WELL, you've gotta do something, don't you, and the Advocate editors are to be commended for believing in what they're doing strongly enough to try. The result is an issue that articulates its problems well and then attempts to go on from there. It is hard to know whether to evaluate the Advocate on the basis of its own awareness of the difficulties it faces, or on what it accomplishes having recognized these difficulties. If there is an emptiness on some of the pages, a curious lack of anything that can touch you, perhaps it is because there is very little now that can touch us, very few ideas and feelings that we cannot run lightly over with a safe indifference. Perhaps we need a few dreams, a vision that will show us what it could be like. Maybe then there will be something to write well about.