She commands French well and pronounces it perfectly (“so long as I bear a French name, I must speak like a Frenchwoman!”), and she adores Paris, which she knows and where she will before long be spending a longer while. Often she translates the contorted poems from the French, and even composes in it — not with a view to publication but “for practice,” as she says. She is one of those conscious poets who hold that poetry is discipline and sculpture; early success does not lead them astray; rather they study the history of poetry (in more than one language), its criticism, and its development, and understand that a poem is a creature which must be cared for, and on whose upbringing time and effort must be spent, before it is thrust into the struggle of life.
In the coming academic year she will go to Oxford to pursue her higher studies — not with a view to taking any academic degree, but to spend her time in reading literature and the foundations of its criticism, and in contact with the men of thought and culture at that great university. (I had written the draft of the preceding part of this article when I took up the “Harvard Crimson” and read in it that Adrienne Rich was one of the poets awarded the Guggenheim Foundation grant, to spend a year in Europe given over to creative writing. This grant carries great worth; it is an honor which all the writers of America aspire to win, and a new distinction for this young poet.) She intends, therefore, in addition to her stay in England, to spend some time in France and Italy — and she hopes that a visit to the Arab countries may one day be granted her.
This will not be her first visit to Europe: last summer she made a journey to certain countries of Europe and North Africa — in the company of her parents, who had spent their honeymoon in those parts and lately wished to renew its memories! In North Africa she saw the Arabic script for the first time, and its beauty captivated her, as did what the Arabs express in it; and it delighted her greatly to see selections of her writings not only translated into Arabic but written in that script which is itself poetry! (And if her description of the script as poetry is right, then she herself is doubly a poet! — which is what led me to suggest that she publish her poems either in the form of a manuscript or as an album of records, for her reading of her poetry lends it a great deal.) She was lately shown translations of Arabic poems and selections of contemporary Arabic poetry, and was taken with it, inquiring in detail about its elements, its constraints, and its condition. And there poured forth informed questions about the Arab countries, the literary and women's renaissance in them, their political problems and their social conditions.
It pleased me that she should be among those who hold that the modern woman, particularly in America, goes too far in demanding “her rights,” overlooking thereby her mission in life.
And if I must say something of Adrienne's personal appearance, I will content myself with saying that she possesses a great share of sweetness, grace, and gentleness, and that she is deeply modest, doing all she can to keep her own self out of the subject of conversation. So I have had to gather these scattered fragments from what fell from her talk in the course of our meetings. Often I sought to bring her to speak of herself; she would talk at length, and when I went back over what she had said I would find that we had spoken of everything except her! (Or do I mention this to excuse the scantiness of the information in my article!)
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Before the Kaaba lies a long and rugged road, but Adrienne Rich knows the landmarks of the way, and in her right hand is the pilgrim's staff; she will therefore be in the vanguard of those who kiss the Black Stone.
I am happy to introduce my readers to Adrienne Rich.
