Write to me...
and I will write back.
I’ve been reading Langdon Hammer’s biography of the poet James Merrill (James Merrill: Life & Art) which I had started when it first came out, but never finished. I knew Merrill a little but not well (I went with him to the opera on two occasions—a story in itself, and a few years ago, I spent three months living in his house in Stonington, CT). It’s an enlightening biography, and I particularly admire Hammer’s presentation of Merrill’s sexuality which is done with sensitivity and without judgement. Merrill led an unconventional life in many ways, and it’s clear he worked to liberate himself from the many suffocating expectations of someone of his class. He handled his enormous wealth and privilege by living modestly (okay, he had a house in Connecticut and one in Greece for some time, then one in Key West). All of these places were notably modest for someone who could have lived very grandly, as his father had. He also gave his money away to friends, to writers and artists he admired, and to organizations whose work he valued.
One of Hammer’s main sources for this book is the enormous trove of letters Merrill wrote throughout his lifetime. Merrill used letters as a diary when he traveled, and he maintained lengthy correspondences with poets that reveal the inner workings of these intense literary friendships. They also document his love life, and in this way they become part of the important documentation of queer life in the American 20th century.
Back when the pandemic began, I was slated to teach an undergraduate seminar at Bennington College on the poetry and prose of Rainer Maria Rilke. Instead of teaching it on Zoom, I proposed to teach the course entirely through the mail, and by mail I mean postal mail. Correspondence courses were once a mainstay of education, and I wasn’t sure why we all just decided it was better to stare into our little cameras than it was to write letters to each other. The class was an experiment that worked in many ways, failed in some, but which I hope students will remember. For my part, I loved writing to my students, and I loved receiving their letters, which felt like a lifeline during those days of strange and unnerving isolation. I wrote an essay about the experience, and if you’re curious, you can read it here.
For those of you reading this, if you like receiving mail—actual postal mail—you can write to me, and I’ll write back. I have an enormous collection of postcards, and it’s time for me to put some of these into circulation. My mailing address is:
Mark Wunderlich P. O. Box 28 Medusa, NY 12120
If any of you would like to convert your free subscription to a paid subscription, I will make you a collage postcard and send it to you. I make these out of found images and materials. Sometimes I alter commercial postcards with texts. (Note: The Seneca Review will publish a small spread of my collages in an upcoming issue—stay tuned!) Here’s one I sent to a friend in Iceland:
