A Blaze on Henry David’s Cake

A new postage stamp is just part of the celebration of Henry David Thoreau's 200th Birthday.

Shame on me.  I let the bicentennial of Henry David Thoreau’s birth slip by on Tuesday.  Mea Culpa.  A reluctant and eccentric pencil maker with interesting friends, the Slacker of Walden Pond continues to have enormous cultural influence.  A marginal literary figure in his lifetime, his work is credited with laying the intellectual foundations of what became the ecological movement and inspiring generations of dreamers, beatniks, and hippies.  A  single essay, On Civil Disobedience, influenced Leo Tolstoy, Mohandas Gandhi, and Martin Luther King and has perhaps never been more relevant as we enter a new age of Resistance to encroaching tyranny.

Of course the occasion is being celebrated widely and enthusiastically.  The Thoreau Society is sponsoring Thoreau Bicentennial Gathering: Celebrating the Life, Works, and Legacy of Henry David Thoreau, a jam packed week of lectures, seminars, nature walks, readings, and performances in and around Concord, Massachusetts.  Across the country libraries, civic institutions, and colleges are sponsoring programs as well.  There will undoubtedly be a slew of sermons preached this month at Unitarian Universalist congregations based on our claims to this wayward son.

The United States Postal Service has issued a new Forever First Class commemorative stamp, a vast improvement over its infamous and controversial 1967 sesquicentennial issue on which a lopsided sketch of Thoreau’s visage seemed like either he or the viewer were on acid.

Act of civil disobedience and arrests in protest to Republican Health care proposals is a direct honor to the legacy of Henry David Thoreau.

But perhaps the greatest tributes this week occurred on Capitol Hill in Washington where scores have been arrested for committing acts of civil disobedience in protest to Republican schemes to gut health care for millions to provide tax breaks for the ultra wealthy.  That includes the Rev. William Barber of the North Carolina NAACP and Moral Mondays fame and several other ministers and religious leaders yesterday. 

Thoreau was an intellectually curious, somewhat socially inept, son of a local pencil maker of French descent and a mother of established New England stock.  He was born in Concord on July 12, 1817.

He was reared in the historic Concord Unitarian Church served by Rev. Ezra Ripley until 1841.  When the beloved and liberal Ripley died that year and the pulpit was assumed by a new minister who he considered insufficiently in touch with the divine and over concerned with doctrine, Thoreau resigned his membership and never returned, except for funerals and rites of family and friends.  He remained, however within the broader intellectual life that encompassed many Unitarian ministers and lay people and which was the hatching ground for the Transcendentalist movement.

He was educated at Harvard, but did not settle into one of the expected respectable careers of law, medicine, ministry or business.  Instead he became a school teacher and tutor—the occupation of a gentleman without other prospects.  After a brief stint as a public school teacher in Concord, which he resigned because he would not administer required corporal punishment, he and his beloved older brother John began their own Concord Academy in 1838.  The school shocked folks by taking students out of the classroom for frequent walks through the meadows and woods to explore nature and visits to local shops and businesses like the blacksmith where middle class students were shown how things were actually made.  The school ended when John died in his brother’s arms of tetanus in 1842.

During these years Thoreau fell in with Ralph Waldo Emerson’s circle when the Sage of Concord returned to his ancestral home after his unsuccessful turn at a Boston pulpit.  He became one of the first members of the group that regularly congregated at the philosopher’s home.  Emerson enticed his friends to join him in Concord, and many did.  Others frequently made the short trip from Boston and Cambridge.  Among those regularly in this circle were Bronson Alcott (father of Louisa May), the poet Ellery Channing, Margaret Fuller (editor of The Dial), Nathaniel Hawthorne and his wife Sophia and Sophia’s accomplished sisters Elizabeth and Mary Peabody.  

In the most famous of the very few photographs of him, Thoreau wore the scraggly neck beard and disheveled hair that young Louisa May Alcott thought were to blame for keeping women from being attracted to him.  But give him credit for the jaunty boutonniere.

Although only a few years older than Thoreau, Emerson became not only a friend but a surrogate father.  He encouraged Thoreau to publish his first work in The Dial and instructed him to start a personal journal.  From 1841-44 he actually lived most of the time in Emerson’s home functioning as a tutor to his children, an editorial assistant for the busy writer, and a handyman. 

Later, he would enter the family pencil business, working side by side with his employees.  He continued this, with the notable exception of his two years at Walden, for most of the rest of his life.  He was on one hand alienated by the distractions of day to day business, and on the other quite diligent.  He adapted new methods of pencil manufacture which mixed clay as a binder with graphite for improved stability and longer life, and in his last years pioneered the use of graphite to ink typesetting machines. 

He often spoke of establishing a small subsistence farm to get away from business and concentrate on his writing.  His move to Emerson’s woodlot in April of 1845 was sort of an experimental half-step to that dream.  Emerson agreed to allow Thoreau to build his cabin and cultivate a small garden in exchange for clearing part of the woodlot and continuing to do other chores for the Emerson family.

His plan was to live as simply as possible while supplying his basic needs for food, shelter, clothing and fuel.  The woodlot provided ample fuel, and the garden was productive. He also fished Walden Pond for food.  He did buy staples—flour, sugar, coffee, lard, etc.  His mother frequently brought gifts of food, and, of course he dined regularly with Emerson.  

N.C. Wyeth's 1933 Walden Pond Revisited depicts Thoreau, Walden Pond, the cabin and Concord in the distance.  It hangs in the Concord Museum and is the featured illustration of the Thoreau Society's web page.

He built the simple one room 10 foot x 15 foot cottage, which he described as being in the English style, with shingled siding and a hard packed dirt floor.  In his meticulously kept records he wrote that he spent only $28.12½ in his first year.  All of this he accounts in the first chapter of a book.  He actually cultivated an acre and a half in beans for a cash crop, earning more than $8.00 from the sale of the

Walden; or, Life in the Woods was a somewhat rambling account of his time there and includes musings on his reading habits, solitude, the spiritual inspiration of nature; accounts of his daily activities including his housekeeping and chores, almost daily visits to Concord, and his rambles  in the woods.

The woodlot and cabin were a pleasant stroll from the very center of the town, perhaps the most intellectual village in American History where Emerson encouraged his coterie of friends and intellectual collaborators to settle in his orbit.  Throughout his stay Thoreau accepted visitors and regularly visited in return.  He typically spent Sunday afternoons dining and visiting with Emerson and other friends.  He also regularly saw his supportive, if perplexed, mother.  

It was Thoreau’s intention to experiment with living simply and frugally to avoid the distractions and temptation of society, commune with nature, and dedicate himself to a writing project, the book that would become A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.

He kept track of visitors—more than 30 in all—including a runaway slave who he hid and helped to escape.  He complained of the sound of a train whistle, which reminded him of the corruption of nature by commerce and extolled a basically vegetarian diet which he admittedly did not always keep himself.  He postulated a number of Higher Laws. 

On one trip into the village in July of 1846, Thoreau had a chance encounter with the local tax collector, who demanded payments for six years in arrears Poll Taxes.  He refused to pay in protest to the Mexican War and the Fugitive Slave Law and was arrested.  He was released the next day when, against his will, his mother paid his arrange.  He later used this experience as the basis for lectures at the Concord Lyceum in 1848, The Rights and Duties of the Individual in relation to Government, which he amended into an essay now known as Civil Disobedience published by Elizabeth Peabody in the Aesthetic Papers. 

Thoreau’s main project for his stay at Walden was to complete a book that would become known as A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, the account of his 1839 trip with his brother John.  In August Thoreau briefly left Walden for to a trip to Maine, of which he would write much later in his book The Maine Woods.  When he returned Thoreau finished work on the manuscript and left the cabin in September 1847 after two years and two months.

He unsuccessfully sought a publisher for his manuscript and finally took Emerson’s advice to print it at his own expense.  He commissioned 1000 copies of A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers from Emerson’s publisher, but was only ever able to sell 300.  He had to work for years at the pencil factory to pay off this debt, which cooled his relationship with Emerson. 

While working at the factory, Thoreau polished his journal notes into a manuscript compressing his two year experience into a single year for the book, divided in symbolic seasonal quarters.  

The title page from the first edition of Walden.

On August 9, 1854 one of the most influential books in American history was published in Boston by Ticknor and Fields, the publisher of the Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The slender book, Walden; or, Life in the Woods, was eagerly awaited by the Transcendentalists, Thoreau’s intellectual community and close circle of friends who were busy trying to re-imagine everything from God to the politics of human relations.  Few of them, however, suspected that it would outlast most of their own high flown essays, sermons, and poems. 

The book was a modest success outside of that influential circle and established him as an original thinker. 

Thoreau became a prolific writer and essayist.  He produced books on local history and became an increasingly skilled naturalist.  His later books on nature helped inspire the ecology movement more than a century later.  He also remained a defiant abolitionist and became one of the few writers who publicly came to the defense of John Brown after the failed raid at Harper’s Ferry. 

He never married, although he claimed to be an admirer of women.  Louisa May Alcott believed his lopsided features and the scraggly neck beard he wore in his Walden period repelled women who might otherwise have been interested.  Modern biographers refer to him as largely asexual. 

He suffered from Consumption—Tuberculosis—from at least 1836, which left him in fragile health despite his frequent extended tramps in the woods and fields.  He contracted bronchitis while trying to count tree rings of recently felled old growth trees in a cold rainstorm in 1859 and never recovered his strength.  He spent his last years bed ridden and editing his final manuscripts.  

In the second and final photo setting of his life in 1861 Thorough looked much better in a full beard and a well tailored suit but he only ad a year to live.

He died at peace with himself on May 6, 1862 at the age of 44.  Bronson Alcott arranged the funeral service where Ellery Channing read an original elegy and Emerson, almost beside himself with grief, delivered the eulogy.  He was buried in a family plot which was later moved to Concord’s Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. 

Thoreau’s reputation grew posthumously, especially after his journals and other private writings were published in the late 19th Century.  Walden became required reading in many high school English classes and influenced the emerging counter-culture of the 1960’s. 

Marianne Moore—Mischievous Mistress of Modern Poetry

Marianne Moore as a youthful teacher.

Today is the birthday of one of the most important and creative of 20th Century American poets.  Marianne Moore was born in the St. Louis suburb Kirkwood, Missouri on November 15, 1887.  Her engineer father suffered a nervous breakdown before her birth and was confined to a mental hospital.  Moore never met him.  Her mother, with whom she was virtually inseparable over her life time, brought Moore and her brother into the home of her father, a Presbyterian minister.  It was a close and supportive family environment.  When her grandfather died in 1894, her mother moved the family to Pennsylvania.  But a significant part of Moore remained rooted in that parsonage.  She remained a devout Presbyterian and a loyal Republican her entire life.

The family settled in Carlisle where Moore attended high school at the Metzger Institute, now part of Dickinson College.  In 1905 she entered the prestigious near-by Seven Sisters women’s college Bryn Mawr.  She published her first poetry in the school’s literary magazine.  She credited her love of the biology laboratory with enhancing her attention to detail in description and a fascination with animals, who would become one of her regular subjects. 

After graduation in 1909 Moore attended a local business school to learn stenography, bookkeeping, and other office skills.  From 1911-1915 she taught business classes at the U.S. Industrial Indian School at Carlisle, where she was an admired and respected instructor.  One of her students was the fabulous athlete Jim Thorpe who triggered her life-long admiration for athletes, who also became frequent subjects for her poetry.

In her spare time, Moore was avidly reading the most advanced avant-garde poets—the Imagists whose work she admired and internalized.  By 1915 her poems were appearing in the most important magazines of modern poetry—the Egoist in London edited by Hilda Doolittle (H.D.), Harriet Monroe’s Chicago-based Poetry, and in Others, edited by Alfred Kreymborg.  Many of these poems were observations on other poets and writers including the Palmist King David, Robert Browning, George Bernard Shaw, William Blake, and George Moore.

After concluding the school year at Carlisle, Moore and her mother moved to New Jersey in 1915 to keep house for her brother, by then a Presbyterian minister himself and a Yale graduate student.  After he enlisted for World War I they moved to New York City, largely so that Moore could concentrate on a career as a poet.  The two women lived together until her mother’s death in 1947.  Perhaps because of her dedication to her mother, Moore never married or had a documented serious romance.

But she did not live the life of a recluse.  An expansive, vivacious woman Moore soon had a wide list of friends among the New York literati.  Wallace Stevens, another poet whose outward life as a conventional businessman belied his daring experimentalism as a poet, became a close, lifelong friend.  Others drawn into her orbit included William Carlos Williams.  She was in regular correspondence with H.D., Ezra Pound, and T.S. Eliot in Britain.  Pound, who took pride in being the center of the Imagist movement and a mentor to many poets, became a special friend.  Moore stood by him personally even when she was revolted by his fascination with Benito Mussolini and Italian fascism and scolded him on his cheap anti-Semitism.  She continued to correspond with him when he was imprisoned for his treasonous World War II propaganda broadcasts and visited him in his later years when he was confined to a Washington, D.C. mental hospital.

To support herself and her mother, Moore took a job with the New York Library.  

Memorialized as in mid-career.

In 1921, without Moore’s knowledge H.D. arranged for the publication of a collection based on poems sent to her for consideration in the Egoist.  Moore was displeased with the book Poems.  She did not approve of the selection and yearned to revise or revisit some of the poems—she regularly revisited earlier work throughout he long career.  None the less, the slender volume helped establish Moore’s reputation as a major poet and led to an expanded and more comprehensive American collection under her own editorship, Observations published in 1924. 

Through the 1920’s Moore published highly regarded poetry in many of the most important magazines.  So esteemed was Moore in poetry circles that she was selected to take over the editorship of the Dial, then the preeminent American literary magazine, in 1925 when its editor Scofield Thayer suffered a nervous breakdown.  She continued to edit that publication and mentor young writers much as her friend Pound had done until the magazine finally folded in 1929.

After the stint as editor, Moore supported herself as a freelance writer, critic and poet.  She and her mother moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn, but she remained a central part of the city’s literary life.

In 1931 T.S. Eliot wrote the introduction to her next collection, Selected Poems published in 1935.  Despite the popularity of her poems in leading magazines and her receipt of Poetry’s Helen Haire Levinson Prize in 1933, the book was a sales disappointment.

Despite the setback, Moore continued writing.  She regularly re-edited and re-visited earlier work, including her most famous verse, Poetry.  Her work appeared in both literary and popular magazines including the Kenyon Review, the Nation, the New Republic, the Partisan Review, and the New Yorker.  Collections culled from these submissions were regularly published—The Pangolin and Other Verse in 1936, What Are Years? in 1941, and Nevertheless in 1944.

After receiving a Guggenheim Fellowship for creative writing in 1945 and a $1,000 joint grant from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the National Institute of Arts and Letters, Moore had the leisure to take her friend W.  H. Auden’s suggestion that she undertake a fresh, creative translation of the French fables by Jean de La Fontaine.  The project consumed her energies for some years and shook her self-confidence when it was initially rejected by her publisher.  The book finally was published in 1955.

Despite the set-back, the 1950’s were very good to Moore.  Her 1951 Collected Poems did some collecting of its own—the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award in 1952 and the Bollingen Prize in 1953.  The book sold almost 5,000 copies by 1952—a runaway best seller for poetry.   Moore was becoming ever more a public persona in New York, appearing at readings, social events, baseball games, and boxing matches in a dramatic black cape and tri-corn hat.  She became the friend of successive mayors and sometimes served as a hostess at Gracie Mansion events.

In 1955 Ford Motors executives famously asked Moore to suggest name for a new car that they had under development.  Some poets would have been offended at being “commercialized.”  Not Moore, who believed anything could be poetry if the words were true and compelling.  She took the assignment with relish and eventually submitted 11 suggestions including Resilient Bullet, Ford Silver Sword, Mongoose Civique, Varsity Stroke, Pastelogram, Andante con Moto, and Utopian Turtle Top.  Ford was unamused and called the car the Edsel instead.  Maybe it would have sold better as the Utopian Turtle Top.

Moore shown in 1966 in her late life trademark tri-corn hat with her pal Muhammad Ali for whom she wrote the liner notes for his spoken word album of poetry.

Despite her personal conservatism, she remained devoted to bold, experimental poetry and poets like Allen Ginsberg.

Moore was also passionate about sports, particularly boxing and baseball.  She wrote about both in poetry and in essays.  She became a friend and supporter of young Cassius Clay and was delighted to write the jacket notes for his 1963 Columbia spoken word album I Am the Greatest.  One of her most prized possessions, showed off in a place of honor in her New York apartment was a signed baseball given to her by Mickey Mantle.  In 1968 Moore had the thrill of a lifetime when her beloved New York Yankees invited her to throw out the first pitch of the season.

Unfortunately, Moore suffered a stroke shortly after her Yankee Stadium triumph. Confined largely to home, she continued to try to write through a succession of more strokes but complained that, “nearly every word I write is missing the last letter.”  She died on February 5, 1972 at the age of 84.  Her apartment living room was reassembled and can be viewed at the Rosenbach Museum and Library in Philadelphia.