Letter to Allen Dugan, September 1974

Dear Alan.

It is the middle of the night or the morning, and we are having something of a cold snap here. Hauled in the wood stove the other day, pulled all the guts loose out of my back, and now I can't sit or sleep or legwork, so I'm writing standing up. About to go get an X-ray, I think. Goddamn luck.

This guy in a city is supposed to be sending me your POEMS 4, I certainly hope so. Are you teaching this year, or are you in Paris or Mexico.

I'm waiting to hear from ESQUIRE about a story I hope they'll buy. It is a sad day in hell when that's all that's left to publish fiction in, unless there are other places. That AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW took some more of my work. Don't have the time to send anything out now. But I am going to do this, and I'd like your opinion if I should spend the time and do it: I'm going to hire a typist to do a 800-1000 page manuscript and submit it to that Walt Whitman award by the Academy of American Poets. You saw ahout 500 pages of it, the older manuscript. Another thing, I'm going to send a short manuscript to S. K. at that Yale Series.

Ginny's done about ten more paintings, and has some more irons heating. She's one hell of a gardener. She can make a hottle cap sprout,

Yea, I've written some poems this summer, but mostly what I've got to show is a 300 page fiction manuscript of stories. The iiext time I look at it, it will probably be 500 pages. I'm going to get a fucking agent.

This damn summer flew by before I had a chance to loaf a day of it off. I didn't catch one fish. Oh, maybe one. The other day Ginny and I drove over the hills to see an old friend, the one whose brother is up on two counts of murder. We drove up to the state line to get some booze, ran on to this guitar and harp playing boy named Snake Maynard. The guy serenaded us all night, driving through the back-roads. He's great, and only 18 years old. Can play anything, and has a real show biz sense about him. Too bad for him. He's got 18 brothers and sisters. All his sisters are the local whores. I'm going to try to tape some of his songs, maybe I'll send you a few if I ever get around to it. Yea, and I'll be sending you some containers and postage for Ginny's slides; not that we are in a hurry to have them back anytime soon, just so you won't have to fool with getting stamps and wrappings, etc.

Only three more days before I can get drunk. Hope there's no pain in Cape Cod.

Yours,

Frank

P.S. Whatever you decide on that bi-ling. book you talked about?

Allen Dugan