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"How do you spell critical eloquence" : investigations of poetry and prose in the theoretical writings… Elsted, Crispin 1975

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"HOW DO YOU SPELL CRITICAL ELOQUENCE"t INVESTIGATIONS OF POETRY AND PROSE IN THE THEORETICAL WRITINGS OF GERTRUDE STEIN by CRISPIN DENNIS NICOLAS ELSTED B.A., University of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1973 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS i n the Department of English We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA May, 1975 In presenting th i s thesis in pa r t i a l fu l f i lment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the Un ivers i ty of B r i t i s h Columbia, I agree that the L ibrary shal l make it f ree ly ava i l ab le for reference and study. I fur ther agree that permission for extensive copying of th i s thes i s for scho lar ly purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by his representat ives. It is understood that copying or pub l i ca t ion of th is thes is for f inanc ia l gain sha l l not be allowed without my writ ten permission. Department of English The Univers i ty of B r i t i s h Columbia 2075 Wesbrook Place Vancouver, Canada V6T 1W5 Date June 23. 1975 i i . ABSTRACT Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g has not received an accurate c r i t i c a l reading. C r i t i c s have contented themselves with biographical studies, with attacks on her obscurity, and with philosophical or psychological theorizing which treats the writings as phenomena rather than as l i t e r a t u r e . A central preoccupation of Stein's w r i t i n g i s the d i f -ference between poetry and prose. C r i t i c s and readers have looked to Lectures i n America, p a r t i c u l a r l y to "Poetry and Grammar," f o r the c l a r i f i c a t i o n of her theories, but the complete answer to the problems of reading S t e i n cannot be found i n the popular t h e o r e t i c a l writings. In these she writes about her d i f f i c u l t work; Stein soon saw that she could only explain her most d i f f i c u l t w r i t i n g i n i t s own terms. In contrast to the "exegetical" Lectures i n America and Narration, Stein created a remarkable body of "exemplary" writings, works which themselves exemplified the w r i t i n g s t y l e they set out to explore. These "exemplary" works are concerned with the essential natures of poetry and prose. These works were written from 1923 to 1932, beginning with An Elucidation and ending with Stanzas i n Meditation. The pieces c o l l e c t e d i n How To Write (1931) are concerned with prose. Through vocabulary, grammar, sentences and paragraphs, Stein explored the st r u c t u r a l elements which make up prose. Her discovery that prose was inherently l i n e a r led her to suppose that the primary difference between prose and poetry might be that prose was progressive, and poetry, s t a t i c . Her f i r s t attempt to "stop" poetry, i n "Winning His Way," was mechanical and unsuccessful. I t was only when she r e a l i z e d the use to which prepositions could be put that she was enabled to write Stanzas i n Meditation, her greatest poem. In t h i s , through her use of the r e l a t i o n a l elements of language, the sense of the writing moves between and among groups of objects, rather than from a beginning through a middle to an end, which i s the basic movement of prose because of the li n e a r q u a l i t y of sentences and paragraphs. The poem's form, i n closed stanzas, contributes to i t s non-linear effect. In Stanzas i n Meditation, Stein unequivocally states her b e l i e f that the essence of the a r t i s t i c object -- i n t h i s case, the poem i t s e l f -- can be re a l i z e d by w r i t i n g i t "as a thing i n i t s e l f without at a l l necessarily using i t s name." The struggles with language and form which make up the "exemplary" writings of Gertrude Stein enabled her to create a perfect marriage of technique and intention. Through t h i s , she came to r e a l i z e the importance of seeing that her subject x^ as always i n control"* of i t s form, that her wri t i n g was "organic." Her f i n a l p o s i t i o n on the subject was that "poetry and prose i s not intere s t i n g . What i s necessary now i s not form but content." TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION PART I i The American Lectures ( i ) A Preliminary Survey ( i i ) Theories of Prose ( i i i ) Theories of Poetry ( i v ) Summary PART II» The Exemplary Prose Works ( i ) Introduction ( i i ) Approaches to How To Writ ( i i i ) "Arthur a Grammar" (i v ) "Sentences and Paragraphs (v) "Forensics" PART I I I i The Exemplary Poems ( i ) "Winning His Way" ( i i ) Stanzas i n Meditation V. CONCLUSION 171 FOOTNOTES 176 BIBLIOGRAPHY 198 APPENDIX 202 v i . And here was the question i f i n poetry one could lose the noun as I had r e a l l y and t r u l y l o s t i t i n prose would there be any difference between poetry and prose. 1 A stanza should be thought And i f which can they do Very well for very well And very well f o r you.2 What i s a sentence f o r i f I am I then my l i t t l e dog knows me. Even i f i t i s a l l tenderness, What i s tenderness. F i r s t there must be a way of going without waiting. There are two things a dictionary and the country.3 In the past present future and arranged to come I • say i t with the same descent. I say i t with the same good nature that characterizes men of the great waters. Waters art gallery. Dismiss a l l thought of eloquence. C r i t i c a l eloquence. How do you s p e l l c r i t i c a l eloquence.4 Nobody knows what I know when I succeed. im t r y i n g to do but I do and I 1. INTRODUCTION No one has examined Gertrude Stein's work from a technical point of view. She spent the f i r s t part of her w r i t i n g l i f e attempting to perfect a s t y l e , or a vari e t y of s t y l e s , which would s u i t her a r t i s t i c intentions; yet c r i t i c a l w r i t i n g has focused on the intentions themselves rather than on the methods used to carry those intentions forward, f a i l i n g to r e a l i z e that the method of Stein's w r i t i n g c a r r i e s much of the weight of her contribution as an a r t i s t . C r i t i c s of Gertrude Stein have always had an u p h i l l struggle. Those who wrote during her l i f e t i m e , e s p e c i a l l y those who had met her or who knew her personally, had to avoid the temptation to write about her rather than about her work and few succeededi hers was a personality which overpowered the c r i t i c a l f a c u l t i e s of a l l but the most acerbic p h i l i s t i n e s . Some of the most perceptive of her friends, notably Thornton Wilder and Sherwood Anderson, r a t i o n a l i z e d t h i s tendency u n t i l i t seemed that they viewed Stein's presence as an essential part of her work, an error which weakened t h e i r defence of her as a wr i t e r by apparently suggesting that her wr i t i n g could not stand without her character to support i t . 2. Anderson's only c r i t i c i s m was the introduction to Geography and Plays and t h i s was large l y an appreciation; at the time i t was written i t served as a valuable testimonial f o r Gertrude Stein at the beginning of her maturity as an a r t i s t . Wilder's c r i t i c i s m was both more perceptive and more d i r e c t , taking the form of introductions to three of her books, Four i n America^. The Geographical History of America or the Relation of Human Nature to the 8 9 Human Mind , and Narration . Wilder makes many valuable points i n his comments upon the three books he introduces, and i n his essay introducing Four i n America he produces one of the most persuasive introductions to Miss Stein that anyone could want. I t i s , however, just that* an introduction to Miss Stein; although he does deal perceptively with the work, one comes away with a sense of knowing more about Gertrude Stein than about Four i n America . I have no wish to deplore t h i s fact about Wilder's w r i t i n g , only to c i t e i t as a tendency he shares with many others. I t makes f o r pleasurable reading, and f o r a warmth and humanity r a r e l y found i n c r i t i c a l w r i t i n g , but having read i t , one can never quite approach the book on i t s own terms. 3. There i s another c r i t i c a l fashion which has persisted throughout Stein c r i t i c i s m , and which one s t i l l encounters today. Both Wilder and Anderson are g u i l t y of i t , but i t i s perhaps most amusingly represented i n Bennet Cerf's note f o r the dust wrapper of the f i r s t e d i t i o n of The  Geographical History of America» This space i s usually reserved f o r a b r i e f d escription of the book's contents. In t h i s case, however, I must admit frankly that I do not know what Miss Stein i s t a l k i n g about, I do not even understand the t i t l e . I do admire Miss Stein tremendously, and I l i k e to publish her books, although most of the time I do not know what she i s d r i v i n g at. That, Miss Stein t e l l s me, i s because I am dumb. I note that one of my partners and I are characters i n t h i s l a t e s t work of Miss Stein's. Both of us wish that we knew what she was saying about us. Both of us hope, too, that her f a i t h f u l followers w i l l make more of t h i s book than we are able tojlO This attitu d e i s charmingly candid, and i t remains charmingly candid i n the many other instances i n which i t appearsi (These sections) have, with a number of other passages, so f a r exceeded the delighted but inadequate powers of t h i s commentator.il The effect of such a passage perhaps defies analysis, but i t i s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g at i t s best.12 4. I s h a l l admit frankly that I did not at once understand these a r t i c l e s , but I was deeply impressed by them.13 The second paragraph of "Patriarchal Poetry" has also i t s s o l i d i t y , a s p e c i f i c gravity rare i n l i t e r a t u r e , though I have not the s l i g h t e s t idea what i t means.14 I t i s not my purpose, even i f I could, to enumerate or account f o r her many changes of s t y l e and intention...15 The l i s t could go on i n d e f i n i t e l y . Again, t h i s a t t i t u d e can be well understood by anyone who has read extensively i n Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g ; i t i s only another symptom of the d i f f i c u l t y - - a f a i r l y basic one! which c r i t i c i s m has had with Miss Stein's work. Since Gertrude Stein's death, c r i t i c s have been a l i t t l e less f e a r f u l of the d i f f i c u l t i e s encountered i n the canon. Indeed, the pendulum has swung i n quite the opposite d i r e c t i o n ! where, during her l i f e , her strong presence made anyone but a boor d i f f i d e n t of overly adventurous i n t e r p r e t a t i o n , a f t e r her death, i n t e r p r e t a t i o n has become bold and assured. The r e s u l t s have often been i l l u m i n a t i n g , but on other occasions they have been ludicrous. Allegra Stewart, i n Gertrude S t e i n and The 1 fi Present , devotes several pages to an i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of the f i r s t poem of Tender Buttons, "A Carafe, That i s 5. a Blind Glass", i n which she traces the etymological roots of the word "carafe" back to the Sanskrit, providing, i f nothing else, a tour de force of research that leaves the reader numb. Unfortunately, i t t e l l s us nothing about the poem. Rosalind S. M i l l e r , i n i 7 Gertrude Stein* Form and I n t e l l i g i b i l i t y x , provides desperate glosses f o r many of Stein's most d i f f i c u l t works, including Ida, which she reveals breathlessly to be the story of a whore who frequents army camps, a fascinating suggestion which one must, unhappily, decline to accept. Beneath such cheerful gaffs as these, however, there l i e s a more disturbing tendency, which i s that of approaching Stein's w r i t i n g from other than l i t e r a r y points of view. The two which are most prominent are the psychological and the philosophical, with the l a t t e r a strong leader. The philosophical group includes two of the best books on Miss Stein's w r i t i n g and one of the worst. The worst i s the book by Allegra Stewart mentioned e a r l i e r ; the two others are Norman Weinstein's Gertrude Stein and the Li t e r a t u r e 1 8 of the Modern Consciousness and the " c l a s s i c " study, Donald Sutherland's Gertrude S t e i n i A Biography of Her Work 1 9. 6. Weinstein's book, published i n 1970, relates Stein a e s t h e t i c a l l y and t e c h n i c a l l y to the avant garde writers of America today, while exploring her progress as a phenomenological thinker. While the influences of both Whitehead, Stein's close f r i e n d , and William James, her college teacher, are traceable i n her work, t h i s i s not s u f f i c i e n t evidence to lead one to the extreme which Miss Stewart reaches when she says that "...the t o t a l volume of Stein's work belongs to the phenomenology of 20 mind rather than to l i t e r a t u r e . " Although Weinstein errs toward a predominantly philosophical view, he does not view Stein primarily as a philosopher, but as an a r t i s t with philosophical leanings, a small but important difference. The book closes with a section of "Documents and Correspondences", consisting of excerpts from the c r i t i c a l and creative work of many prominent modern authors from I r i s Murdoch and D.H. Lawrence to Eugene Jolas, T r i s t a n Tzara and Clark Coolidge; these Weinstein comments upon and relates to ideas and technical achievements i n Miss Stein's work. Donald Sutherland's Gertrude S t e i n i A Biography of  her. Work was f i r s t published i n 1951, and was the f i r s t f u l l - l e n g t h study of Stein's w r i t i n g by a c r i t i c who had neither known her nor been old enough during her American 7. tour i n the mid- t h i r t i e s to have been interested i n her writings or thoughts. He comes fresh to the material, and presents what B. L. Reid has c a l l e d a "defense (which) i s meaty, eloquent, perspicuous, and wide i n range, f u l l y learned i n Miss Stein's w r i t i n g and i n l i t e r a t u r e 21 generally." While he tends to be a l i t t l e rapt, and to gloss over what the reader feels to be r e a l d i f f i c u l t i e s , he does cover the wide range of Miss Stein's w r i t i n g and places at least the major works i n a context which i s useful and persuasive, though, l i k e Weinstein's, more philosophical than l i t e r a r y . There remains one other important group: the negative c r i t i c s , represented by two books: B,L,Reid's .Art by Subtraction: A Dissenting Opinion of Gertrude 2 Stein, and Richard Bridgman's Gertrude Stein i n Pieces. Reid's book i s ex c e l l e n t l y written, scrupulously re-searched, and badly mistaken i n i t s major judgments, but he admits the work i s a subjective appraisal, the 23 re s u l t of "a gradual disenchantment" occasioned by his delight i n Three Lives and The Autobiography of A l i c e B.  Toklas' being shattered by the discovery that Gertrude Stein was not always as accesible as those two popular volumes might lead one to believe. The substance of Reid's argument i s that S t e i n i s not an e s s e n t i a l l y serious w r i t e r , and that "serious acceptance of wr i t i n g 8. which seems to me ultimately unserious i s wasteful of 24 time we need f o r reading toward r i c h e r increment." Apart from the misguided taste f o r "relevance" which seems to be the curse of many " modern readers, t h i s statement suggests that Reid was simply not w i l l i n g to work hard enough at Stein's w r i t i n g ; had he worked even a l i t t l e harder than he had,, he would surely have revised his opinion of Miss Stein as an "unserious" wr i t e r . Nevertheless, Reid i s no more subjective than Sutherland i n the opposing p o s i t i o n , and his chapter on Gertrude Stein's c r i t i c s should be read by anyone attempting to write more than a sentence or two on her work, f o r i t i s l u c i d and eminently sensible. Much fuss has been made over Richard Bridgman's Gertrude S t e i n i n Pieces. I t seems generally to be considered the successor to Donald Sutherland's book, and no less a c r i t i c than Sutherland himself has praised i t highly. Bridgman attempts a psychological treatment of Miss Stein and her work, and f a i l s both as a psychol-ogist and c r i t i c . His psychological judgments, based almost e n t i r e l y on Freud, are s i m p l i s t i c and often i r r e l e v a n t , and his l i t e r a r y opinions are i l l - c o n s i d e r e d . He seems i n some cases simply to have misread the text, as when he accuses her of contradicting herself by giving 9. a subjective rather than an h i s t o r i c a l view of English l i t e r a r y h i s t o r y i n "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e " , when i n fact the subjective view i s precisely what she promised. Bridgman*s book i s small-minded and inept. He. constantly resorts to proof-texting, and frequently misquotes;; He has avowedly set out to write a "preliminary inventory of Gertrude Stein's l i t e r a r y estate " , on the assumption that few of her c r i t i c s have had the time or the patience to read her complete works. In the l i g h t of the book he produced, i t were best f o r Bridgman i f that misguided opinion were true. His reliance on the ignorance of his readers has led him to set himself up as a hierophant whose word i s about as trustworthy as that of the Great Oz. But f o r a l l the negative q u a l i t i e s of t h i s supposedly p o s i t i v e book, Bridgman does make one v a l i d point, Before 27 discussing Lectures i n America , he gives a short appraisal of i t s worth as c r i t i c i s m . He i s , as usual, reckless i n his judgment, suggesting that " i t remade Gertrude Stein's a r t i s t i c past as the Autobiography had remade her personal 28 past," but he goes on to say that " ( c ) r i t i c s have heretofore r e l i e d too heavily upon i t s explanations i n order to c l a r i f y the huge s p l a t t e r of Gertrude Stein's 10. career." The error which Bridgman suggests i s one of commissions he sees the c r i t i c s as w i l l f u l l y accepting Gertrude Stein's statements i n the lectures as her l a s t word i n exegesis, as indeed many do; yet the r e a l error, and a f a r more serious one, i s one of omission; they have f a i l e d to r e a l i z e that Stein went much farther i n exegeting her own art u s e f u l l y i n such 30 31 works as How To Write , An Acquaintance With Description , 32 33 An Elucidation , and Descriptions of Li t e r a t u r e , and t h i s error Bridgman shares. Gertrude Stein used language with a f u l l sense of a l l i t s grammatical, s y n t a c t i c a l and etymological r e s t r a i n t s . With that language she examined a r t i s t i c genres, experiment-ing with forms -- prose and poetry -- and with modes --narration, description and expl i c a t i o n . In the combinations of these l i n g u i s t i c and a r t i s t i c factors, she found the means to voice the res u l t s of her meditations on character, perception and epistemology. In the l a s t twenty years of her l i f e , she succeeded i n synthesizing her thought i n a group of remarkable works! Lucy Church Amiably; Mrs. Reynolds; Four Saints i n Three Acts; Winning His Way. A Narrative Poem of Poetry; Four i n America; Ida; How To  Write; Stanzas i n Meditation; and The Geographical  History of America or the Relation of Human Nature to 11. the Human Mind. In these can be found the apotheoses of the theories which were f i r s t t e n t a t i v e l y presented to the public i n Lectures i n America. 12, PART ONE THE AMERICAN LECTURES ( i ) A Preliminary Survey I f the reader of Gertrude Stein's d i f f i c u l t works turns to the American lectures f o r explanation i t i s understandable. Even the most adventurous reader feel s dismay at f i n d i n g the s o l i d , dependable nouns which form the foundations of h i s understanding suddenly turned to active verbs which leave him i n a profoundly subjunctive frame of mind surrounded by the rubble of his grammar. While a lover of painting can spend an afternoon with Picasso's cubist p o r t r a i t s and s t i l l have no d i f f i c u l t y i n recognizing his wife when he arrives home; while a music lover can spend the evening immersed i t i n Schonberg's "Variations f or Orchestra" and s t i l l w histle "Show me the Way to go Home" as he prepares h i s midnight snack; even the enthusiastic reader of Stein, having read Tender Buttons or An Acquaintance With  Description at one s i t t i n g , may wonder whether he dare attempt speech, or whether he i s s t i l l capable of describing an elephant to his son. We guard our language jealously, and we require f a r more " r e s p o n s i b i l i t y " of our writers than of other a r t i s t s . 13. Recordings and r e c i t a l s of modern music and exhibitions of k i n e t i c sculpture we dismiss with a wave of the hand, but the knowledge that there i s a book i n which a c u t l e t i s described as "blind a g i t a t i o n i s manly and uttermost" drives many people into a frenzy. I t i s impossible, such f o l k argue, to communicate without an ordered common language, and so language must be defended against such w r i t i n g . I t was i n part for readers l i k e these that Gertrude Stein f i n a l l y decided to come to America to lecture. While she could be ruthless to i n t e l l e c t u a l s who refused to acknowledge the tr u t h of her ideas, she seemed to have i n f i n i t e patience with, and interest i n , those who were uneducated, whose minds were not sophisticated, or who were.simply not geared to aesthetics and philosophy. The stor i e s are legion of her long conversations with farmers i n B i l i g n i n , with GI's i n Pa r i s , and with students during her American tour and her English l e c t u r i n g t r i p s to Oxford and Cambridge. She intended to present her ideas to the people, and i t was la r g e l y as a r e s u l t of W.G. Rogers' assurance that she would be a popular success that she agreed, f i n a l l y , to return to the States, There was no mistaking her intentionss she had refused a very l u c r a t i v e o f f e r from a commercial lecture bureau on 14. the grounds that she would be seen as a c u r i o s i t y rather than an a r t i s t . "There i s not enough money i n the world," she said, "to persuade me to stand up before a horde of curious people who are interested i n my personality 35 rather than my work." In a l l , she presented ten lectures i n the United States, published i n two volumes. Lectures In America consists of s i x lectures, three concerned with general topics -- "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e " , "Pictures" and "Plays" -- and three d i r e c t l y concerned with Gertrude Stein's own w r i t i n g -- "The Gradual Making of The Making of Americans", "P o r t r a i t s and Repetition" and "Poetry and Grammar". I t i s the l a s t of these, "Poetry and Grammar", which i s the best known, and which has borne the brunt of the c r i t i c a l attention mentioned by Richard Bridgman i n Gertrude Stein i n Pieces. In t h i s lecture, Gertrude Stein came as close as she ever came i n her popular explanations to examining the bases of her a r t . In i t she discusses her feelings about punctuation, parts of speech, and the differences between poetry and prose so c l e a r l y that the temptation i s very strong to take i t as her l a s t word on a l l these subjects. The four lectures published i n 1935 as Narration 15. were written i n Chicago at the request of Thornton Wilder for Miss Stein's return v i s i t to the un i v e r s i t y there. They are given short s h r i f t by most c r i t i c s , and have only been dealt with extensively by Bridgman, who contents himself with inadequate glosses while f a i l i n g to see the connections which e x i s t between these four lectures and the e a r l i e r Lectures In America. In f a c t , the second Narration lecture provides a useful c o r o l l a r y to "Poetry and Grammar", r e l a t i n g poetry and prose to narrative while redefining and enlarging some of her e a r l i e r statements about t h e i r basic natures. The lectures i n Narration are f a r less general than those i n Lectures In America, as they are a l l directed to the scrutiny of one subject, while those i n Lectures  In America are concerned with introductions to a var i e t y of topics. Narration was wri t t e n s p e c i f i c a l l y f o r an academic audience, Lectures In America pr i m a r i l y for a lay audience. The Lectures In America, moreover, have been f a r more widely published and read than Narration and "Poetry and Grammar" remains the best known of them a l l . The popularity of "Poetry and Grammar" among readers of Gertrude S t e i n i s understandable. Throughout her d i f f i c u l t works, Stein forces the reader constantly to 16. re-examine his d e f i n i t i o n s of language, l i t e r a r y form, syntax, and grammar, and i t i s a r e l i e f to most readers, pushed to these basic questions, to f i n d S tein apparently answering them. Her remarks about punctuation are witty and sensible, as for example, when she abjures question marks because "anybody can know that a question i s a question and so why add to i t the question mark when i t i s already there when the question i s already 37 there i n the w r i t i n g . " She gives personal, but i l l u m i n a t i n g , p o r t r a i t s of the parts of speech, ranking them i n terms of t h e i r inherent i n t e r e s t . The noun i s not i n t e r e s t i n g because i t i s just the name of something, and "why a f t e r a thing i s named write about i t . A name 38 i s adequate or i t i s not." "Verbs and adverbs are 39 more i n t e r e s t i n g " because "they can be so mistaken." Yet these points are r e a l l y only by way of preface to her central concern i n "Poetry and Grammar" which was announced i n i t s f i r s t sentences "What i s poetry and 40 i f you know what poetry i s what i s prose." I t i s no mistake that t h i s question occupies the culminating lecture of the s i x . As the lectures were published, Miss Stein placed the three dealing with general topics f i r s t , followed by the three concerned with her work. She seems intent on allowing the reader time to work his way toward her w r i t i n g , which may be seen 17. as the technical culmination of much that has gone before. The f i r s t , "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e , " presents a useful general h i s t o r y of the l i t e r a t u r e of England, portraying each period i n terms of the way words were used i n i t . Her explanation, for example, of the s t y l e of Chaucer as one i n which the words "had not yet to be chosen, they had only as yet to be there 41 just there" i s wonderfully evocative, and conveys the l y r i c naivete of Chaucer exactly. The Elizabethans, coming on a language that was two centuries o l d , had to choose words to go beside one another, as the words no longer could "sing" by themselves, and they "did not care so much about what they said although they knew that what they said meant a great deal but they l i k e d the words, and one word and another word next to the other 42 word was always being chosen." This seems to me to describe p e r f e c t l y the q u a l i t y of many of Shakespeare's passages, p a r t i c u l a r l y the l y r i c s , sonnets and songs. And so i t goes on: the eighteenth century was a century of the "completed thing," where "words were not next to each other but a l l the words as they followed each other 43 were a l l together." The nineteenth century "proceeded 44 to l i v e by phrases," and the nineteenth century "needed a paragraph. A phrase no longer soothed, suggested or 18. convinced, they needed a whole paragraph. Whatever r h e t o r i c a l exception might be taken to these statements, they are examples of a much-maligned a r t , that of i n t e l l i g e n t generalization. Threaded through t h i s s t y l i s t i c chronology i s a discussion of the writer's decision whether to serve god or mammon, whether to write " d i r e c t l y " , i n obedience to his mind, or whether to cater to a preconceived audience, to write " i n d i r e c t l y " . Miss Stein i s , one sees, nothing i f not "di r e c t " . This i s probably, next to the t h i r d l ecture, "Plays", the most neglected of the s i x i n t h i s volume, and that i s unfortunate. "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e " i s b e a u t i f u l l y made, and i s very r i c h i n ideas. Among the many other threads woven into i t s f a b r i c are two which w i l l concern us laters the portrayal of " d a i l y i s l a n d l i v i n g " as a primary influence on the nature of English w r i t i n g , p a r t i c u l a r l y poetry; and the f i r s t "popular" presentation of her edict that paragraphs are "emotional" while sentences are not, an idea she mentions i n "Plays" and expands considerably i n "Poetry and Grammar". The f i r s t i s symptomatic of a t r a i n of meditation which became more and more frequent i n her l a t e r w ritings, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n The Geographical History of America; the second was f i r s t broached i n How To Write, and w i l l be of concern to us i n 19. our analysis of her prose theory. I t i s not necessary f o r me to gloss a l l s i x of the lectures so f u l l y . "Pictures" and "Plays" both present highly subjective aesthetics r e l a t i n g to painting and the theatre, and although they are by no means disappointing, t h e i r subjects set them s l i g h t l y apart from the purely l i t e r a r y thrust of the others. "Pictures" i s of p a r t i c u l a r value i n examining the influences of graphics on Miss Stein's w r i t i n g , and i n any study of her great acumen as a c o l l e c t o r of modern painting; as such i t has been widely quoted and studied. "Plays" i s perhaps the weakest of the s i x , as i t seems to set out s o l e l y to discuss Miss Stein's own explorations of the form, but i n addition provides a kind of theatergoer's handbook; i t deals well with both subjects, but somehow f a i l s to k n i t them together. Stein's plays are, i n any case, probably the most d i f f i c u l t items i n the canon, and i t i s l i k e l y that those who were lucky enough to see the production of V i r g i l Thomson's opera to her l i b r e t t o , Four Saints i n Three Acts, running at the time, discovered more i n that example than Miss Stein was able to give them i n a r e l a t i v e l y b r i e f lecture. To say that "Plays" i s the weakest of the lectures i s only to point out i t s weakness 20. as a lecture, rather than to imply any diminution of insight or wisdom. There remains much work to be done before the plays are given t h e i r due, and t h i s lecture i s only the f i r s t , hesitant step; i t i s worth noting that Miss Stein never attempted any other exegesis of her dramatic w r i t i n g . With "The Gradual Making of The Making of Americans" and " P o r t r a i t s and Repetition", we move into d i r e c t discourse on Miss Stein's work. Both were very t o p i c a l subjects to her audiences. By 1934, The Making of Americans had been published f o r ten years i n the Contact Press E d i t i o n , and just before her tour an abridgement by, Bernard Fay, approved by Miss Stein, had been published by Harcourt, Brace and Company^ Apart from The Making of Americans and Tender Buttons and Three Lives, the l a t t e r two long out of p r i n t , the greater portion of Stein's published and available works were p o r t r a i t s , and her most obvious and widely-parodied 46 s t y l i s t i c device was r e p e t i t i o n . "Poetry and Grammar" forms the centre of a t r i o , with "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e " and "Narration #2", which leads us into the most profound and basic i n v e s t i g a t i o n Stein advanced i n her exegesis. Although, as we s h a l l see, she does l i t t l e more than introduce the subject \ 21. of poetry and prose and the d i s t i n c t i o n s between them, the f e e l i n g that t h i s i s a central question f o r a reader of Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g i s strongly supported by the attention paid to i t here. She very s k i l l f u l l y moves the discussion f a r enough to be s a t i s f y i n g at what I have c a l l e d the "popular" l e v e l , while leaving the reader with profound i n t e r e s t , c u r i o s i t y and determination to explore further. Somehow, one f e e l s , the "answer" to Gertrude Stein may be there. In one sense, the "answer" to Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g i s summed up i n her answer to the young reporter who asked, "Why don't you write the way you t a l k ? " Miss Stein countered with her own question: "Why don't you read the way I write?" The Making of Americans, The  Autobiography of A l i c e B. Toklas, Three Lives, Paris  France and Ida are obviously prose; Before the Flowers  of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded, L i f t i n g B e l l y and Stanzas i n Meditation are c l e a r l y poetry. Beyond these, however, are a great many works which defy c l a s s i f i c a t i o n under either heading. Consider t h i s passage from Lend a Hand or Four Religions f F i r s t Religion Does she almost see the grasses grow four times yearly does she see the green grasses grow four times yearly and i s she nearly kneeling beside the water where the water i s flowing. Does she 22. touch i t and does she remove i t and does she see the green grasses grow nearly four times yearly. Does she see someone as she advances and does she kneel by the water i s she kneeling by the water where the water i s flowing. I do not think so, She i s f e e l i n g that the green grasses grow nearly four times yearly.47 One might well argue that t h i s i s prose. The structure seems to be that of a paragraph, with sentences which are s y n t a c t i c a l l y sound. Rhe t o r i c a l l y , there i s a conventional organization of questions posed and answered with a f i n a l assertion. In i t s o r i g i n a l form, i t i s set on the page as prose, with j u s t i f i e d margins. One understands i t as much by i t s l o g i c as by i t s manner. I t i s prose. But i s i t ? Consider the c l a r i t y and s i m p l i c i t y of the images, which are made more v i v i d by t h e i r r e p e t i t i o n and by t h e i r incorporation into phrases which are repeated as rhythmical forces to give the passage momentum. Surely the rhyme i n the phrase "nearly four times yearly" i s more sonal than rhetorical? And look at the symmetry of the constructions three compound sentences, each containing three questions, concluding with a simple sentence f o r contrast and a f i n a l re-evocation of the sonal and rhythmical elements of the passage. One understands i t as much by i t s manner as by i t s l o g i c . I t i s poetry. 23. This i s , of course, a game which might be played throughout l i t e r a t u r e . I t i s f o o l i s h to pretend that the d i s t i n c t i o n s between poetry and prose are so marked that the two have nothing i n common but the language which they use. Prose uses metaphor, cadence and son a l i t y , just as poetry uses l o g i c , p a r a l l e l structure and exposition, and both use the sentence as a basic r h e t o r i c a l unit. Yet there are technical and modal primacies within each: the imposition of a rhyme scheme on a passage of expository prose i s as discomfiting as the i n t e r j e c t i o n of a set of syllogisms into a l y r i c poem i s b a f f l i n g j and where there i s a choice, prose w i l l move to discursive c l a r i t y , where poetry w i l l embrace imaginative effect. F i n a l l y , beyond the text, i s the s p i r i t of the work, bound up i n the intent-ion of the author v i s - a - v i s the expectation of the reader. I am supposing that there i s an essential difference between the state of mind brought to the reading of poetry and that brought to the reading of prose. A reader attempting to discover the essential facts of Wordsworth's l i f e i n The Prelude soon turns to the standard biography, yet t h i s does not reveal the s p i r i t of Wordsworth as a poet or a man as The Prelude does. Wordsworth's in t e n t i o n i n The Prelude was to present a p o r t r a i t of his s p i r i t u a l and i n t e l l e c t u a l growth and the reader cannot expect to 24. f i n d more than an ephemeral account of t h i s i n h i s biography. But we do not, a f t e r a l l , approach l i t e r a t u r e as a. body of reference works, and i t i s i n the area of aesthetic expectation on the reader's part, and,aesthetic intention on the author's,that we encounter the differences between poetry and prose. 25. ( i i ) Theories of Prose The prose theories of Gertrude Stein as they are presented i n the American lectures may be divided into two main areas of study: the functions of parts of speech and punctuation, and the nature and construction of sentences and paragraphs; or, f o r our purposes, grammar and r h e t o r i c . While i t i s true that more time i s spent i n the American lectures i n discussing prose, i t should be noted that the techniques of prose are not nearly' so f u l l y discussed as those of poetry. The reasons for t h i s are rather d i f f i c u l t to determine, and w i l l be more f u l l y discussed l a t e r i n t h i s chapter. For the moment, i t i s s u f f i c i e n t to say that Gertrude Stein saw her prose s t y l e from a conventional aesthetic viewpoint, as growing from i t s content, with the content d i c t a t i n g the form the sentences and paragraphs would take. In "P o r t r a i t s and Repetition" and "The Gradual Making of The Making of . , Americans", she ta l k s about what she was t r y i n g to convey i n p o r t r a i t u r e and i n the use of r e p e t i t i o n as a mode of expression, but does not separately deal with syntax and composition. She did not, of course, have time to do 26. everything, and seems to have f e l t that the bases of prose could be assumed by her audiences. Nothing she says about her p o r t r a i t s or The Making of Americans i s contentious as f a r as the formal elements are concerned. Her p r i n c i p a l aim i s to persuade her audience that the p o r t r a i t s are portrayals of t h e i r subjects and that The Making of Americans r e a l l y i s a novel which conveys "an orderly h i s t o r y of everyone who ever was or i s or w i l l 48 be l i v i n g . " Whether or not her w r i t i n g employs orthodox sentences and paragraphs does not enter into the discussion u n t i l "Poetry and Grammar", i n which she b r i e f l y deals with the natures and roles of sentences and paragraphs a f t e r having appraised parts of speech and punctuation. Remembering that her basic premise about poetry, made l a t e r i n the same lecture, i s that i t i s concerned with the noun, one can safely assume that her remarks on these subjects are to be taken as r e l a t i n g to prose rather than poetry, and so may be said to constitute part of her discussion of prose theory and technique. As she does with poetry, S t e i n discusses prose f i r s t i n i t s h i s t o r i c a l context i n "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e " . I t i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note that prose i s not separately referred to u n t i l the eighteenth century, which was the age of the "completed sentence. To be sure, S t e i n speaks 27. of "Elizabethan prose and p o e t r y " , — b u t she makes no formal d i s t i n c t i o n between them. The d i s t i n c t i o n was one of intent, a choice between "god and mammon", and presumably both could be used f o r either purpose. The implication i s that, l i k e Elizabethan poetry, Elizabethan prose depended on the choosing of "one word and another word next to the other word."'"** Gertrude S t e i n i s curiously vague about the w r i t i n g of the seventeenth century, perhaps de l i b e r a t e l y , as she regards t h i s as a period of confusion. She suggests that the English C i v i l War confused the " d a i l y i s l a n d l i f e " , and that t h i s confusion resulted i n l i t t l e w r i t i n g of any consequence. (One notes the elimination of Milton with some dismayj he i s only mentioned as a w r i t e r i n whom t h i s confusion may be seem "And so we come to the confusion of which I spoke and which shows i n Milton and l a s t s pretty well to Pope and Gibbon and Swift and Johnson." ) Her point i s made quite c l e a r l y , however, and i t i s oohsistent with the rest of her argumenti This confusion comes when there i s a giving up choosing, words next to each other are no longer so s t r i c t l y chosen because there i s intention to say what they are saying more importantly than completely choosing the ^ words next each other which are to be chosen. The implied c r i t i c i s m of the seventeenth century as one i n 28. which what was said often overrode the manner i n which i t was said i s well taken, to my mind; c e r t a i n l y , as f a r as prose i s concerned, the seventeenth century could be c a l l e d "The Age of the Tract", but what i s important to our discussion i s Miss Stein's f e e l i n g that i t led natu r a l l y to a reaction i n the eighteenth century when the Restoration had ended the period of "confusion": ...then we come to the beginning when everything was c l e a r again and the d a i l y i s l a n d l i f e was being l i v e d with so much c l a r i t y that there could be nothing but the expression of that being that thing. That was the period that made Swift and Gibbon and Pope and Johnson and they had no longer to choose t h e i r words they could have a l l the pleasure i n t h e i r use. And they did. No one everrenjoyed the use of what they had more than they did. There was no separation anywhere, the complete-ness was i n the use.5$ And the "use" was the use of the sentences As I said the eighteenth century was c l e a r and so there was a choice and the choice was a completed thing and what i s a completed thing. A sentence i s a completed thing and so the eighteenth century chose the completed sentence as a completed t h i n g . 5 * The nineteenth century again presented a change i n prose w r i t i n g , due to the growth of B r i t i s h Imperialism. Because the B r i t i s h then owned "everything outside", they had to r e l a t e what they owned to t h e i r " d a i l y inside l i f e " . 29. This involved explanation, and explanation became a central preoccupation i n nineteenth century prose wr i t i n g : ... i t must be understood that explain-ing was invented, n a t u r a l l y invented by those l i v i n g a d a i l y i s l a n d l i f e and owning everything else outside. They owned everything inside of course but that they had always done, but now they owned everything outside and that r e i n -forced t h e i r owning everything i n s i d e , and that was as i t was only more so but as they owned everything outside, outside and inside had to be t o l d something about a l l t h i s owning, otherwise they might not remember a l l t h i s owning and so there was invented explaining and that made nineteenth century English l i t e r a t u r e what i t i s . And with explaining went emotional sentimental f e e l i n g because of course i t had to be explained a l l the owning had to be t o l d about i t s being owned about i t s owning and any-body can see that i f i s l a n d d a i l y l i f e were to continue i t s d a i l y e x i s t i n g there must be emotional sentimental f e e l i n g . 5 6 In order to explain s a t i s f a c t o r i l y , the nineteenth century had to devise a new kind of w r i t i n g ! they could not "write i n words that were simply words as Chaucer d i d , " because that was too simple f o r the necessary explanations; they could not "choose words to be next to each other and to be l i v e l y , " l i k e the Elizabethans, because "anything as l i v e l y as that could 30. not own everything"; they could not use a completed sentence, as the eighteenth century had, "because i f a thing i s a completed thing then i t does not need explan-ation, "~^ With these p o s s i b i l i t i e s ruled out, the nine-teenth century turned to the phrase: They thought about what they were thinking and i f you think about what you are thinking you are bound to think about i t i n phrases, because i f you think about what you are thinking you are not thinking about a whole thing. I f you are explaining, the same thing i s true, you cannot explain a whole thing because i f i t i s a whole thing i t does not need explaining, i t merely needs s t a t i n g . " ^ The end of the nineteenth century brought with i t a change i n the order of things, and "the d a i l y i s l a n d l i f e was less d a i l y and the owning everything outside 59 was less owning." With the advance of communications l i f e became less c l e a r l y ordered, and something else was needed to be used i n prose. Because the d i s t i n c t i o n s between " d a i l y i s l a n d l i v i n g " and the outside were breaking down,"explaining and expressing t h e i r f e e l i n g was not any fif) longer an in e v i t a b l e thing." What was required was control over one's thinking i n w r i t i n g , and f o r t h i s the paragraph was the proper t o o l . 31. Just as Gertrude Stein sees poetry as a r i s i n g from emotion, from c a l l i n g things "by t h e i r names with passion," so she sees the basic elements of her prose s t y l e , the sentence and the paragraph, a r i s i n g from the exigencies of presenting emotion i n wr i t i n g . In both cases, the juncture of emotion and the need to express i t fuses into a theory of form. I t i s t h i s conviction which led Stein to make her celebrated statement that 6 2 "a sentence i s not emotional a paragraph i s . " In "The Gradual Making of The Making of Americans" and "Portraits and Repetition," Stein discusses her prose techniques only obliquely, by providing examples from her work to demonstrate d i f f e r e n t stages of concern with such subjects as port r a i t u r e , landscape and the ro l e of r e p e t i t i o n , or "insistence." Again, however, i t i s i n "Poetry and Grammar" that she f i n a l l y lays down her findings about the nature and structure of prose, and as always, she begins very b a s i c a l l y , with an analysis of the parts of speech and the punctuation of the English language. She commences with a rather s t a r t l i n g pronouncement: Words have to do everything i n poetry and prose and some writers write more i n a r t i c l e s and prepositions and some say you should write i n nouns, and of course 32. one has to think of everything. Elizabeth Sprigge suggests that Gertrude Stein's studies with William James had a strong effect on her concepts of grammar.^ James, i n his P r i n c i p l e s of  Psychology (1890), had described thought as "sensibly continuous," a concept which l a t e r led to Stein's development of a continuous present i n such works as The Making of Americans. But James made another observ-ation which affected Gertrude Stein's prose w r i t i n g even more* We ought to say a f e e l i n g of "and," a f e e l i n g of " i f , " a f e e l i n g of "but," and a f e e l i n g of "by," quite as r e a d i l y as we say a f e e l i n g of "blue" or a fee l i n g of "coldT" Yet we do not: so inveterate has our habit become of recognizing the existence of the substantive parts alone, that language almost refuses to lend i t s e l f to any other use.65 There are areas of Stein's w r i t i n g which can be i d e n t i f i e d as " p a r t i c i p i a l " or "adverbial" w r i t i n g , i n which the emphasis of the writing's structure has been made to devolve on a c e r t a i n part of speech. We have already seen that her early poetry might well be referred to as "nounal" writing} t h i s a r b i t r a r y concentration on one or another part of speech leads away from a substantive sense of language i n which we leap from noun to verb to 33. noun again, t r u s t i n g i n the nets of p a r t i c l e s to save us should our understanding f a i l . The r e s u l t s of such experiments are often works of great s t r u c t u r a l beauty, but her r i g i d experiments i n i s o l a t e d parts of speech are very rare. This sort of study led Gertrude Stein very quickly to an acute understanding of the natures of words, and thence to the use of a p e c u l i a r l y "democrat-ized" language which served her i n much of her f i n e s t work. After her remarks about writ e r s ' choosing to write more i n one part of speech than another, Stein spends the f i r s t t h i r d of her lecture discussing the parts of speech and punctuation. Her treatment of them i s as d i r e c t as her analysis of the history of English l i t e r a t u r e . Our discussion of her early poetry has already shown her f e e l i n g that the noun i s "not r e a l l y i n t e r e s t i n g " ; i t n a t u r a l l y follows that the adjective i s uninteresting as w e l l , "because a f t e r a l l adjectives effect ( s i c ) nouns and as nouns are not r e a l l y i n t e r e s t i n g the thing that effects ( s i c ) a not too i n t e r e s t i n g thing i s of 66 necessity not i n t e r e s t i n g . " ,; Verbs and adverbs, on the other hand, "are more in t e r e s t i n g . In the f i r s t place they have one very nice q u a l i t y , and that i s that they 34. can be so mistaken." This q u a l i t y of being "mistaken," a reference to the i n f l e c t i o n of English verbs i n contrast to the dropping of noun declensions, offers an i n t r i g u i n g p o s s i b i l i t y to interpreters of Steins deliberate amiguity might be said to have i t s place i n her attitude to language. This proves to be true only s t r u c t u r a l l y , how-ever, i n works l i k e Tender Buttons where the "democratiz-ation" we have spoken of can be seen. Verbs, when appearing as gerunds and p a r t i c i p l e s and modal a u x i l i a r i e s "can change to something else. to look l i k e themselves or to look l i k e „69 Next, prepositions are discussed. Stein confesses to l i k i n g prepositions "the best of a l l , " because they "can l i v e one long l i f e being r e a l l y being nothing but absolutely nothing but mistaken."^ She acknowledges that t h i s i s something which some might f i n d " i r r i t a t i n g , " but gives as her opinion that they are both useful and enjoyable as a r e s u l t . A r t i c l e s are "varied and a l i v e " ^ and they "are in t e r e s t i n g because they do what a noun 72 might do i f a noun was not ... the name of something." 73 A r t i c l e s are "delicate and varied" because they presumably hint at any number of "things" -- i . e . nouns -- without being committed to the l i m i t a t i o n s of naming something. 35. Conjunctions are "not varied" but they have "a force that need not make anyone f e e l that they are 74 d u l l . " "Conjunctions have made themselves l i v e by 75 t h e i r work." One feels that pronouns w i l l come under censure, but i t appears that they do not. "(In) the f i r s t place p r a c t i c a l l y they cannot have adjectives go with them," and that "already makes them better than 76 nouns." Moreover, as they only "represent" a noun, they are not names. Stein rounds o f f the discussion of parts of speech with an i n t e r e s t i n g observation which constitutes another swipe at the noun: "That i s the reason that slang exists i t i s to change the nouns which have been names fo r so l o n g . " ^ A c h e c k l i s t of punctuation begins with those signs which are not " i n t e r e s t i n g " : question marks, exclamation marks, quotation marks, dashes, dots and spaces. The arguments against the f i r s t three are a l l the same: i f the sentence i s properly written i t should be p e r f e c t l y c l e a r l y a question, an exclamation or a quotation; they are, i n addition, an i r r i t a n t to the eye. "There so much 78 for that." The l a s t three "might be i n t e r e s t i n g ... 79 i f one f e l t that way about them." She then discourses d e l i g h t f u l l y on the apostrophe f o r possession, f i n a l l y leaving i t to the i n d i v i d u a l to decide for himself whether 36/ or not to use i t : "Well f e e l as you l i k e about that, I can see and I do see that f or many that f o r some the possessive case apostrophe has a gentle tender insinuation that makes i t very d i f f i c u l t to d e f i n i t e l y decide to do without i t . " 8 0 The rest of the discussion of punctuation centres around the more important points: "periods, commas,colons, 81 seim-colons and c a p i t a l s and small l e t t e r s . " Gertrude Stein's struggle with punctuation followed the increasingly f a m i l i a r pattern of outright r e j e c t i o n by l o g i c , followed by the gradual reappraisal of the rejected items u n t i l a useful and workable balance was reached. This process was at work i n her poetry, a l l but nouns being removed u n t i l absolute necessity drove her to use other parts of speech, r e s u l t i n g , i n the culmination of her early s t y l e , i n v i v i d genre pictures i n primary colours. In the case of punctuation, her i n i t i a l i n s t i n c t was to discard everything, and t h i s she did, re t a i n i n g only the period. Even the period had f i r s t been rejected, as she f e l t that w r i t i n g should above a l l be "going on," and that i f t h i s momentum were to be maintained, whatever halted or slowed or interfered with i t had no place. However, she rea l i z e d at once that "physically one had to again and again stop sometime," and that periods consequently had 37. "to e x i s t . " This did not, a f t e r a l l , i n t e r f e r e unnaturally* "Stopping sometime did not r e a l l y keep one from going on, i t was nothing that i n t e r f e r e d , i t was only something that happened and as i t happened as a perfectly natural happening, I did believe i n periods and I used them." Later, she f e l t that periods had "a l i f e of t h e i r own," and could be used to break a passage of w r i t i n g into a r b i t r a r y sections, as they were i n "Winning His Way." This use of periods was explored i n How To Write, and became an important part of her wr i t i n g i n such other l a t e works as "Brim Beauvais" (1931), "Marguerite; or, A Simple Novel of High L i f e " (1932) and "They Must. Be Wedded. To Their Wife. A Play." (1931). The colon and the semi-coIon are seen as functioning at a halfway point between the period and the comma, and Stein's contention i s that they can be seen either way. However, semi-colons and colons "had f o r me from the f i r s t completely t h i s character the character that a comma has and not the character that a period has and 84 therefore and d e f i n i t e l y I have never used them." She confesses that she has sensed occasionally that they might have "the character that a period has," making i t "an adventure to use them," but that she has always stopped short because they " r e a l l y have within 38. 85 them fundamentally within them the comma nature." The comma, as we have already inferred i t might, comes i n for quite a drubbings A comma by helping you along holding your coat for you and putting on your shoes keeps you from leading your l i f e as a c t i v e l y as you should lead i t and to me f o r many years and I s t i l l do f e e l that way about i t only now I do not pay as much attention to them, (ate) the use of them was p o s i t i v e l y degrading. 8 6 And what does a comma do, a comma does nothing but make easy a thing that i f you l i k e i t enough i s easy enough without the comma. A long complicated sentence should force i t s e l f upon-you, make you know yourself knowing i t and the comma, well at most the comma i s a poor period that i t l e t s you stop and take a breath but i f you want to take a breath you ought to know yourself that you want to take a breath. 8' The section on grammar and punctuation ends with a nod toward upper and lower case l e t t e r s , and Stein's attitude seems to be quite i n d i f f e r e n t : "I have always f e l t that one does do pretty well what one pleases with oo c a p i t a l s and small l e t t e r s . " She concludes that sentences, paragraphs and periods w i l l always be with us, and that "prose and also poetry w i l l also always always 89 be with us." I t i s at t h i s point that the long central 39. section of the lecture which deals with prose structure i s introduced; Sentences and paragraphs. Sentences are not emotional and paragraphs are. I can say that as often as I l i k e and i t always remains as i t i s , something that i s . I said I found t h i s out f i r s t i n l i s t e n i n g to Basket my dog drinking. And anybody l i s t e n i n g to any dog's drinking w i l l see what I mean.90 The meaning of t h i s observation, a f t e r the i n i t i a l j o l t which Gertrude Stein so often gives us, i s quite clear. Sentences are functional, presenting only one aspect of a subject; as a sentence i s a "completed thing," i t cannot be more than one thing, and so cannot change the statement i t makes; i t may modify or amplify or provide anfapposition to i t s basic statement, bu t ' i t cannot change i t and remain a "completed thing." The paragraph, on the other hand, consists of a succession of sentences which may, i n the course of the paragraph, comment upon and diverge from one another, so that the cumulative effect of the paragraph i s a changing of the state of the subject and a changing of the reader's attitude to i t ; i t i s therefore an aesthetic, or "emotional," response which the paragraph evokes, not merely an i n t e l l e c t u a l response to a statement. Just as each lap of a dog's drinking performs the function of taking water into i t s mouth, so the sentence provides 40. information; and as the r e l i e f from t h i r s t i s the f i n a l emotion of the cumulative effect of lapping, so the paragraph i s the emotional construct of many sentences. The next point i s a c o r o l l a r y to t h i s i sentences and paragraphs d i f f e r i n that each has a "balance," the balance of a sentence being "unemotional," and the balance of a 91 paragraph, "emotional." S t e i n then describes her endeavours to "break down t h i s essential combination by making enormously long sentences that would be as long as the longest paragraph and so to see i f there was r e a l l y and t r u l y t h i s essential difference between 92 paragraphs and sentences." She claims to have done t h i s i n The Making of Americans, although she provides no examples, her reason being that while she had succeeded i n doing i t , she f e l t that i t "was not leading to any-thing because a f t e r a l l you should not lose two things i n order to have one thing because i n doing so you 93 make w r i t i n g just that much less varied." Stein then turns to examples from How To Write to demonstrate what she feels were successful attempts to fus the emotional and unemotional balances of paragraphs and sentences without discarding the sentences and the paragraph as useful tools i n w r i t i n g ; i n short, to create a t h i r d p o s s i b i l i t y , a s y n t a c t i c a l - r h e t o r i c a l unit 41. which would d i s t i l the essences of both. Here are three of her nine examples: 94 He looks l i k e a young man grown ol d . A dog which you have never had before has sighed.^5 Poplars indeed w i l l be and may be indeed w i l l be cut down and w i l l be sawn up and indeed w i l l be used as wood and may be used for wood?^ I t i s d i f f i c u l t to imagine that even the most w i l l i n g and astute of Stein's audience can have followed t h i s . While the examples, with study, amply demonstrate what she claimed -- as we s h a l l see when we look at How To Write -- Stein undeniably expects too much of her audience. The sentences are b e a u t i f u l l y formed; they are assuredly i n t r i g u i n g ("They even make sense," some newly converted but s t i l l bewildered p h i l i s t i n e might have whispered to his wife) but they do not unequivocally convey the formal point t h e i r author i s t r y i n g to make. The r h e t o r i c a l effect i s pre c i s e l y the one which she would use s t r i k i n g l y l a t e r i n the evening, ending her discussion of her poetry with examples drawn from Before The Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship  Faded and leaving her audience s t r a i n i n g at the threshold of her greatest poems. But then, an audience expects to be l o s t when l i s t e n i n g to poetry, especially modern poetry; 42. on the contrary, i t expects to understand prose both te c h n i c a l l y and contextually. When presented with examples intended to c l a r i f y an abstruse point of aesthetics, c l a r i t y i s the very least one should expect. I t must be said that, while her audience may have sensed what was meant by the theory i t s e l f , the examples probably l e f t them confused. This may well have been her intention. In spite of t h i s , Stein quickly wins her audience back by confessing that while she was "intending to write about grammar and poetry (she i s ) s t i l l w r i t i n g about 97 grammar and prose." But, she goes on, " i f you f i n d out e s s e n t i a l l y what prose i s and e s s e n t i a l l y what poetry 98 i s may you not have an e x c i t i n g thing happening." Here she introduces the f i r s t concept which w i l l lead her into her discussion of poetryt After a l l the natural way to count i s not that one and one makes two but to go on counting .by one and one as chinamen do as anybody does as Spaniards do as my l i t t l e aunts did. One and one and one and one and one. That i s the natural way to go on counting.99 The idea of enumeration r e c a l l s "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e " , and dovetails n i c e l y with her l a t e r contention that poetry i s concerned with the c a l l i n g upon nouns. Now she begins to lead her audience toward the subject 43. of poetry by recounting her e f f o r t s to r i d herself of nouns i n The Making of Americans "by the method of l i v i n g i n adverbs i n verbs i n pronouns, i n adverbial clauses written or implied and i n conjunctions." 1*^ I t was a f t e r t h i s that she "decided not to get around (nouns) but ... to refuse them by using thern." 1^ 1 Before moving into poetry, we are given a summary of the functions of prose which have been discussed* We do know a l i t t l e now what prose i s . Prose i s the balance the emotional balance that makes the r e a l i t y of paragraphs and the unemotional balance that makes the r e a l i t y of sentences and having r e a l i z e d completely r e a l i z e d that sentences are not emotional while paragraphs are, prose can be the essential balance that i s made inside something that combines the sentence and the paragraph, examples of t h i s I have been reading to you. F i n a l l y , before leaving prose to introduce poetry, she makes reference once more to How To Write, t h i s time on the subject of vocabulary, the most basic element of language* The vocabulary i n prose of course i s important i f you l i k e vocabulary i s always important, i n fact one of the things that you can f i n d out and that I experimented with a great deal i n How To Write vocabulary i n i t s e l f and by i t s e l f can be i n t e r e s t i n g and can make sense. Anybody can know that by thinking of words. I t i s extraordinary how i t i s impossible that a 44. vocabulary does not make sense. But that i s natural indeed i n e v i t a b l e because a vocabulary i s that by d e f i n i t i o n , and so because t h i s i s so the vocabulary i n respect to prose i s less important than the parts of speech, and the in t e r n a l balance and the movement withi n a given space. So then we understand we do know what prose i s . This i s only one of many cases of Gertrude Stein's reducing what seems to be endless complication to utter 104 s i m p l i c i t y . The structure of "Poetry and Grammar" i s be a u t i f u l l y simple: an analysis of grammar, punctuation and composition and an increasingly complex description of poetry begin and end a lecture which has, as i t s calm centre, vocabulary. Words. I t i s , a f t e r a l l , from words that both poetry and prose must grow. 4 5 . ( i i i ) Theories of Poetry Gertrude S t e i n says of poetry that i t i s "a vocabulary e n t i r e l y based on the noun as prose i s e s s e n t i a l l y and determinately and vigorously not based on the noun."*0"5 She offers as an example of t h i s her much-maligned l i n e "rose i s a rose i s a rose i s a rose"i When I said, A rose i s a rose i s a rose i s a rose. And then l a t e r made that into a r i n g I made poetry and what did I do I caressed completely caressed and addressed a noun.107 This sense of poetry i s f i r s t encountered i n "What Is English L i t e r a t u r e , " when she discusses the attitude of Chaucer to his language. Because Chaucer l i v e d i n an "island l i f e " i n which everything was defined by geographical boundaries, he was shut i n with his language and with the objects which constituted his experience. A l l that was required f o r the making of poetry was the enumeration of the objects of the " d a i l y i s l a n d l i f e , " 1 A O because "anything shut i n with you can sing." She suggests that the geographical frame of the English l i f e , combined with i t s i n t e l l e c t u a l c o r o l l a r y , " d a i l y island l i v i n g , " constituted a state of being which made fo r i no poetry, as "the things being shut i n are free." This 46. attitude and s i t u a t i o n together contributed to the inception of a l i t e r a t u r e founded on aesthetic s i m p l i c i t y , on a lack of complication, on s t a b i l i t y and balance: In England the d a i l y i s l a n d l i f e was the d a i l y l i f e and i t was s o l i d l y that d a i l y l i f e and they generally always simply r e l i e d on i t . They r e l i e d on i t so completely that they did not describe i t they just had i t and t o l d i t . Just l i k e that. And then they had poetry, because everything was shut i n there with them and these things birds beasts woods flowers, roses, v i o l e t s and fishes were a l l there and as they were a l l there just t e l l i n g that they were a l l there made poetry f or any one A This simple attitude to poetry, that i t i s e s s e n t i a l l y enumeration, can indeed be seen as the basic mode of l y r i c poetry i n England. The opening of the "General Prologue" to the Canterbury Tales i s , af t e r a l l , nothing more or less than a l i s t of various natural events contributing to Spring: A p r i l showers; singing birds; l i g h t breezes; and sunshine. What follows i s another l i s t , t h i s one of people enumerated and described i n l i s t s of c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s , talents and items of appearance. Following that we have an enumeration, a l i s t i n g by t e l l i n g , of the tales which each p i l g r i m t o l d . The whole work i s , from a st r u c t u r a l viewpoint, a succession 47. Before assertions such as these are dismissed as rank generalization, i t i s in t e r e s t i n g to look cl o s e l y at works such as the Canterbury Tales to see what kind of description i s used. Certainly i n the "General Prologue" the predominant form i s the simple image conveyed 112 by the noun, sometimes with an adjective; "shoures soote"; "tendre croppes"; 1 1^ " f u l devout c o r a g e " ; " p a r f i t g e n t i l knyght, " 1 1 ~* and so on. The use of sim i l e i s quite rare, and simple when i t does appears "Embrouded was he, as i t were a meede/ Al f u l of fresshe floures, whyte and reede"; 1 1^ 1 "He was as fresshe as i s the month of May";11^ "His eyen twynkled i n his heed aryght,/ As doon the sterres i n the fros t y nyght." Metaphor i s very d i f f i c u l t to f i n d , and might best be exemplified as a type i n t h i s description 119 of the Franklins "Seint J u l i a n he was i n hi s contree." This i s metaphor at i t s most basic, l i t t l e more than simile with the connective adverb omitted. Within the h i s t o r i c a l context Stein has set up i n "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e , " her argument holds very w e l l . It i s , of course, clear to everyone that such a theory cannot be un i v e r s a l l y applied. Even i n the case of the Canterbury Tales, the presence of narrative removes i t to some extent from the usual sense of " l y r i c , " and although Stein does not use " l y r i c " as a term, her suggestion that early English poetry consists of the 48. enumeration of the things which surround the poet seems to apply only to l y r i c poetry. I t does not, f o r example, account f o r Piers Plowman, or for Chaucer's own "Merciles Beaute" or the "Parlement of Foules." As a statement concerning the poet's attitud e to language i t i s charming and useful; as a c r i t i c a l guide i t i s less so. This h i s t o r i c a l discussion of English poetry performs an i n t e r e s t i n g and useful function when we come to Stein's discussion of her own poetry i n "Poetry and Grammar." Our f i r s t impulse, when we read her remarks about poetry being "based on the noun," i s to r e c a l l her discussion of early English l y r i c s , and at once we see Gertrude Stein's poetry i n a context extending back to the beginning of English l i t e r a t u r e . To re-read the notorious "rose i s a rose i s a rose i s a rose" i n that l i g h t i s not at a l l the same as to come across i t i n a facetious e d i t o r i a l or to hear i t quoted out of context over the radio. A moment's contemplation i n such a perspective w i l l bring to mind several well-known roses -- "0 my Luve i s l i k e a red, red rose"; "A rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet"; "Rose, thou art sick";; "There w i l l I make thee beds of roses" -- and a few minutes more w i l l conjure up armfuls of flowers of every sort, from Shakespeare's "cowslips t a l l " and "daisies 49. pied and v i o l e t s blue" to Wordsworth's d a f f o d i l s and Housman's "cherry hung with snow." The effect i s both j u d i c i o u s l y prepared and apt, f o r Stein's poetry, with one or two notable exceptions, i s e s s e n t i a l l y l y r i c and 1 20 descriptive. But her concern i n "Poetry and Grammar" i s to give a technical and aesthetic rat i o n a l e for her own poetry, and t h i s she proceeds to do. Her f i r s t statements about poetry are unequivocal and s t a r t l i n g : Poetry i s concerned with using with abusing, with losing with wanting, with denying with avoiding with adoring with replacing the noun. I t i s doing that always doing that, doing that and doing nothing but that. Poetry i s doing nothing but using losi n g refusing and pleasing and betraying and caressing nouns. That i s what poetry does, that i s what poetry has to do no matter what kind of poetry i t i s . And there are a great many kinds of poetry.12d The reader's immediate reaction i s to c i t e exceptions. What about epic poetry? Well, Stein might answer, what about i t ? Isn't epic poetry simply the c i t i n g of great men or events? Doesn't Paradise Lost consist of a series of events? And i s n ' t an event e s s e n t i a l l y a noun? What about the l i s t of demons' names i n Book One? But Paradise Lost i s a narrative poem, and 50. narrative involves more than strings of nouns. This charge i s answered by Stein i n "Narration #2:" If poetry i s the c a l l i n g upon a name u n t i l that name comes to be anything i f one goes on c a l l i n g on that name more and more c a l l i n g upon that name as poetry does then poetry does make of that c a l l i n g upon a name a narrative i t i s a narrative of c a l l i n g upon that name.122 The continuous c a l l i n g upon a name, which occupies time, has to be seen as a progression or succession of technical or formal events i n the poem, and t h i s makes a narrative of the poem of which i t i s a part. This suggests an i n t r i g u i n g p o s s i b i l i t y : the "story" i n a poetic narrative consists of events, which are nouns; the "poetry" of the poetic narrative consists of the c a l l i n g upon, the recounting of, those nouns: therefore, the "story" which the poem t e l l s i s equally a product of the necessities of poetic form and the sequential ordering of the t a l e being t o l d . Poetry i s the c a l l i n g upon nouns; narrative i s the ordering of nouns i n some sequence; narrative poetry i s then the c a l l i n g upon sequences of nouns. Narrative poetry may be simply an a r b i t r a r y ordering of the elements which make up any and a l l poetry. Exceptions to the statements Gertrude Stein makes 51. might seem to l i t t e r the ground, but we must remember that her primary intention i n these lectures i s to present her own views of poetry and prose as a w r i t e r and to show t h e i r r e l a t i o n to her own work. She goes on to discuss two of the major technical areas of poetry, l i n e formation and rhyme: Why are the l i n e s of poetry short, so much shorter than prose, why do they rhyme, why i n order to complete themselves do they have to end with what they began, why are a l l these things the things that are i n the essence of poetry even when the poetry was long even when now the poetry has changed i t s form. Once more the answer i s the same and that i s that such a way to express oneself i s the natural way when one expresses oneself i n loving the name of anything.123 The answer, that the use of rhyme and short l i n e s i s a "natural way" to express love f o r an object, brings us back once more to the o r i g i n a l contention that poetry i s the caressing of nouns. The person c a l l i n g out the noun does so repeatedly: "Do you not i n e v i t a b l y repeat what you c a l l out and i s that c a l l i n g out not of necessity 12 4 i n short l i n e s . " Repetition must in e v i t a b l y lead to rhyme, i f only to i d e n t i c a l rhyme -- t h i s seems to be the only statement Stein cares to make about i t . She does explore, however, the beginnings of her f e e l i n g that poetry i s concerned with nouns, and the process, where d i r e c t l y stated, i s i n t e r e s t i n g . 52. During the wr i t i n g of The Making of Americans, i t became necessary to discuss things other than the inner l i v e s of the characters with which the book begins. In the early sections of the book the struggle had been with the sentence and the paragraph, with the i n t e r n a l balance of the w r i t i n g which must be made to correspond with the subject matter. This was prose, and poetry was of no re a l concern to her then. But as the book progressed, i t became necessary to use nouns, "to discover the names of things, that i s not discover the names but discover 1 25 the things the things to see the things to look at." As these things were already represented by nouns, she natu r a l l y "called them by the names they had and i n doing so... I c a l l e d them by t h e i r names with passion 12 6 and that made poetry." This was an unwanted development ("I did not mean i t to make poetry but i t 1 27 did..." but i t led her eventually to the wr i t i n g of Tender Buttons. However, even at t h i s point, Stein was unhappy about the use of nouns. She knew "dimly...that nouns made 1 28 poetry," but was troubled with the f e e l i n g that she needed them i n poetry when she f e l t she did not need them i n prose. I commenced t r y i n g to do something i n Tender Buttons about t h i s thing. I went on and on 53. t r y i n g to do t h i s thing. I remember i n w r i t i n g An Acquaintance With Description looking at anything u n t i l something that was not the name of that thing but was i n a way t h a a c t u a l thing would come to be written. 1^ This replacing of the name with another name i s , a f t e r a l l , the basis of metaphor. She r e a l i z e d that i t was not possible to create new nouns, as i t requires "a tremendous 1 30 amount of inner necessity to invent even one word." Her concern i n poetry was with "the recreation and the avoidance of nouns as nouns and yet poetry being poetry 131 nouns are nouns." In t h i s sentence we come to the crux of her d i s t i n c t i o n between poetry and prose to the extent that she deals with i t i n the American lectures: i n poetry, nouns r e t a i n t h e i r nature as nouns; i n prose they become mere verbal elements i n a larger structure, as we have seen. She would be r i d of nouns, but not by ignoring them; she would be r i d of them by "refusing" them. As an example of her early poetry, demonstrating the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s she discusses i n "Poetry and Grammar," Stein quotes two sections from "A Valentine £9."-. Sherwood Anderson": "A Very Valentine" and "Bundles f o r them. A History of Giving Bundles." The f i r s t of these presents Stein's poetry at i t s most unequivocally poetic i n what might be c a l l e d her " j i n g l e " s t y l e : 54. Very f i n e i s my valentine. Very fine and very mine. Very mine i s my valentine very mine and very f i n e . Very f i n e i s my valentine and mine, very f i n e very mine and mine i s my valentine.* 32 Certainly t h i s i s d i r e c t l y connected with the statements Stein has just been making to her audience about the uses of rhyme and short l i n e s . The content i s the c a l l i n g upon someone who i s loved, a "valentine," and t h i s noun, with the rhyming pronoun "mine," governs the piece. There i s as well a conjunction ("and") an adverb ("very") two adjectives ("my" and "fine") and a copula verb ("is") which stitches the language together grammatically. The ryme between "valentine," " f i n e " and "mine" accentuates the essential "noun-ness" of the passage by f;ocussing sonally on the central grammatical construction of adjective, pronoun, and noun. The next passage i s more complex, but retains t h i s "nounal" q u a l i t y with soph i s t i c a t i o n and adroitness i BUNDLES FOR THEM A History of Giving Bundles We were able to notice that each one i n a way carr i e d a bundle, they were not a trouble to them nor were they a l l bundles as some of them were chickens some of them pheasants some of them sheep and some of them bundles, they were not a trouble to them and then indeed we 55. learned that i t was the p r i n c i p a l recreation and they were so arranged that they were not given away, and today they were given away. I w i l l not look at them again. They w i l l not look for them again. They have not seen them here again. They are i n there and we hear them again. In which way are stars brighter than they are. When we have come to t h i s decision. We mention many thousands of buds. And when I close my eyes I see them. If you hear her snore I t i s not before you love her You love her so that to be her beau i s very lovely She i s sweetly there and her c u r l y h a i r i s very lovely. She i s sweetly here and I am very near and that i s very lovely. She i s my tender sweet and her l i t t l e feet are stretched out well which i s a treat and very lovely. Her l i t t l e tender nose i s between her l i t t l e eyes which close and are very lovely. She is,.,very lovely and mine which i s very lovely. I-** The t i t l e at once prepares us for the profusion of nouns by announcing i t s concern with "bundles," with c o l l e c t i o n s of objects: that t h i s i s "A History of Giving Bundles" ( i t a l i c s mine) makes the t e l l i n g i t s e l f a thing, an event, a noun. This i s what we discussed e a r l i e r , "a narrative 56. of c a l l i n g upon" nouns. The opening l i n e s immediately imply groups of people as well as many "bundles": "each one i n a way ca r r i e d a bundle." The next clause has "they" the bundles --as i t s subject, and continues to suggest great numbers: "nor were they a l l bundles." These "bundles" suddenly explode into many p o s s i b i l i t i e s -- "some of them were chickens some of them pheasants some of them sheep" --before returning to the enriched basic noun once more "and some of them bundles." What follows i s , e s p e c i a l l y i n the context of the lecture f or which t h i s piece serves as an example, a d e l i g h t f u l and s i g n i f i c a n t pun: "they were not a trouble to them and then indeed we learned that i t was the p r i n c i p a l recreation" ( i t a l i c s mine). Immediately before beginning to read, S t e i n had spoken of struggling with "the recreation and the avoidance of nouns as nouns," and here i n the poem she i s happily playing with nouns which contain nouns, nouns which when "opened" w i l l reveal p o s s i b i l i t i e s which are a l l "things," and which can be "given away." She then discourses b r i e f l y on the experiencing of these "bundles" of nouns, making the f i r s t person singular and the t h i r d person p l u r a l pronouns c i r c l e the "bundles" l i k e cats, a l l eyes and ears: "I w i l l not look at them again./ They w i l l not look f o r them again./ 57. They have not seen them here again./ They are i n there and we hear them again." These troublesome "bundles" having been disposed of, or at least accounted f o r , she i s faced with two incalculably huge further "bundles," "stars" and "many thousands of buds," and finds that she cannot escape nouns after a l l s "And when I close my eyes I see them." In the next section quoted i n the lecture, there i s a s l i g h t removal, f o r contrast, from the c l u t t e r of nouns which has preceded. In t h i s recounting of the charms of a lover there i s a l i s t of nouns, but the speaker and the subject are only pronouns, and the passage i s softened a l i t t l e i n tone as a r e s u l t . There i s also a s h i f t i n point of view i n the f i r s t f i v e l i n e s , from the second person singular i n the opening three ("You love her so that to be her beau i s very lovely") through a modulation i n the fourth where only the object of the attention i s present i n the t h i r d person ("She i s sweetly there and her cur l y hair i s very lovely") to the f i r s t person singular i n l i n e f i v e ("She i s sweetly there and I am very near"). The effect of t h i s passage i s s i m i l a r to the "valentine" passage dealt with e a r l i e r , but i t i s more subtle, and allows the careful reader a closer insight into the problems Stein i s c i t i n g by l e t t i n g him see the 58. power of nouns and pronouns which she f e l t i n her experi-ments with verse. This was, to her, a continuing struggle: I knew nouns must go i n poetry as they had gone i n prose i f anything that i s , everything was to go on meaning something.13^ I had to f e e l anything and everything that for me was e x i s t i n g so intensely that I could put i t down i n w r i t i n g as a thing i n i t s e l f ' g without at a l l necessarily using i t s name. And here was the question i f i n poetry one could lose the noun as I had r e a l l y and t r u l y l o s t i t i n prose would there be any difference between poetry and prose.136 She also r e a l i z e d , i n w r i t i n g Before the Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded, that she "could use very few nouns i n poetry and c a l l out p r a c t i c a l l y no names i n poetry and yet make poetry r e a l l y f e e l and sound as 137 poetry" , and she quotes two passages from t h i s poem as examples. Here i s the second of the two: It could be seen very n i c e l y That doves have each a heart, Each one i s always seeing that they could not be apart, A l i t t l e lake makes fountains And fountains have no flow, And a dove has need of f l y i n g And water can be low, Let me go. Any week i s what they seek When they have to halve a beak. I l i k e a painting on a wall of doves And what do they do, 59. They have hearts They are apart L i t t l e doves are winsome But not when they are l i t t l e and l e f t . Although i t i s one of the more accessible sections of the poem and c e r t a i n l y the easier of the two examples quoted i n "Poetry and Grammar," t h i s stanza i s considerably more d i f f i c u l t than the e a r l i e r selections from "A Valen-t i n e to Sherwood Anderson." The use of a pattern of nouns i s evident ("doves"; "beaks"; " f l y i n g " ) and there i s a d e f i n i t e mood of a f f e c t i o n and tenderness. The use of such a cloying rhyme scheme and metric pattern i n the f i r s t half lends an almost s u r r e a l i s t i c touch, however, and makes what might otherwise appear to be simple images appear strange. This no longer a simple c a l l i n g upon nouns. In short, the piece can be understood only with some e f f o r t , l i k e the sentences from How To Write used as examples at the end of the prose section of the lecture; and l i k e those sentences, t h i s verse receives v i r t u a l l y no comment from Stein, and the audience i s l e f t once more at the threshold of some discovery which i s not explored any further. Before the Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship  Faded i s a f i t t i n g place f o r Stein to end t h i s popular discussion of her poetics because i t shows her f i n a l l y 60. breaking the hold of nouns on her poetry and moving to-ward a deeper sense of the poem, toward being able to "put i t down i n w r i t i n g as a thing i n i t s e l f without at«:all necessarily using i t s name." I t i s in t e r e s t i n g , and worth remembering, that Before the Flowers of Friendship Faded  Friendship Faded began as quite another exercise, that of t r a n s l a t i o n . Georges Hugnet, a young French poet, had asked Gertrude Stein to translate h i s long poem, Enfjance, and t h i s she had agreed to do. As she began to work on i t , however, she discovered a d i f f e r e n t q u a l i t y i n the words she was w r i t i n g , because the "recognition," the inception of the poem, had already been done for her: she had only to write what was a f a i t accompli. The r e s u l t was perhaps the f i r s t poetic example i n her experience as a writer of w r i t i n g "through" something. The noun --Hugnet*s poem -- was the object of her attention and the subject of her wr i t i n g . By concentrating on that "noun," she discovered that she was not t r a n s l a t i n g Hugnet's poem, but w r i t i n g a meditation of her own upon i t : she was, i n fact,"(putting) i t down i n w r i t i n g as a thing i n i t s e l f without necessarily using i t s name." This was the f i r s t step toward her own great poem, Stanzas i n Meditation 1 i n which the inner nature of poetry i t s e l f would come under poetic scrutiny, and the poem would comment on i t s e l f . 61. The poetry with which she deals i n "Poetry and Gram-mar" i s a l l early work which she demonstrates to have grown out of prose, poetry arrived at by a sense that there was another function i n w r i t i n g which prose could not f u l f i l . She came on i t f i r s t i n her repeated and f r u i t -less attempts to avoid the noun. Discovering that t h i s was impossible, she decided to "meet" nouns, and " i n that 140 way (her) r e a l acquaintance with poetry was begun." ~v Leaving her audience with the quotations from Before  the Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded, apart from being an e f f e c t i v e r h e t o r i c a l stroke, was a necessity for Stein. While by t h i s time she knew f a r more than she had discussed i n "Poetry and Grammar" about the differences between poetry and prose, she could not t e l l what she knew. She had learned i t through a painstaking process which had begun eleven years e a r l i e r with an abstract piece c a l l e d "An ElucidationV'ihad progressed through How To  Write, from which she had drawn a few examples e a r l i e r , and had ended i n 1932 with Stanzas i n Meditation. In the process she had returned to the roots of her language and had reassessed i t step by step, allowing i t to reassemble as she watched, studied and documented i t . These works had taken her beyond the language of the lecture h a l l . I f anyone wished to explore her findings, he would have to 62. follow her research from beginning to end, through the most abstruse and complex studies created by any major writer i n English. 63. ( i v ) Summary I t should be obvious even to a cursory reader of Stein that, i n the American lectures, she does not begin to deal with what Bridgman c a l l s "the huge s p l a t t e r " of her work. 1^ 1 Three Lives i s not even mentioned i n the lectures, nor are Stanzas i n Meditation, "An Elucidation," A Novel of Thank You, or "As A Wife Has A Cow A Love Story," a l l of which were important works i n Gertrude Stein's develop-ment of character study, poetry, exegesis, narrative structure and grammatical analysis, and a l l of which she would c e r t a i n l y have dealt with, probably to the exclusion of the f i r s t three lectures of Lectures i n America, had she r e a l l y intended a c l a r i f i c a t i o n .of her whole a r t i s t i c career. How To Write and Before the Flowers of Friendship  Faded Friendship Faded are only b r i e f l y mentioned: from How To Write she c i t e s her central concept of "emotional" paragraphs and "unemotional" sentences (but the book con-tains f a r more than that) and quotes a few b r i e f excerpts with v i r t u a l l y no comment, as we have seen; from Before  the Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded she quotes two sections with s i m i l a r l y scanty remarks. In both cases, as was pointed out e a r l i e r , strong r h e t o r i c a l points are made, but Stein can hardly be said to have dealt f u l l y with either work. 64. The lectures form only a part of a most important segment of Gertrude Stein's work, that of t h e o r e t i c a l w r i t i n g . This group of works may be divided into two sec-ti o n s , the f i r s t of which we s h a l l c a l l exegetical, and 142 the second, exemplary. The exegetical writings include "How Writing i s Written," "What Are Masterpieces," Compo-s i t i o n as Explanation," parts of The Making of Americans, Lectures i n America and Narration. These works a l l discuss theories of w r i t i n g or aesthetics, explaining p r i n c i p l e s , providing examples and developing arguments. They are, i n short, pieces of expository w r i t i n g i n which w r i t i n g i s p r i n c i p a l l y discussed. The second group, the "exemplary" writings, are f a r more important and very d i f f i c u l t to define. The group includes An Acquaintance With Description,"Descriptions of L i t e r a t u r e , " "An Elucidation," "Winning His Way. A Narrative Poem of Poetry," How To Write and Stanzas i n Meditation. A l l these works are characterized by t h e i r presenting to the reader l i t e r a r y p r i n c i p l e s , formal, tech-n i c a l and aesthetic, i n aj form .which i s i t s e l f an "exemplar" of the p r i n c i p l e being discussed. To paraphrase the t i t l e of one of the exegetical pieces, these are "compositions as explanations," i n which Gertrude S t e i n constantly im-merses herself i n the making a work. Occasionally she w i l l 65. step aside long enough to o f f e r some comment on what i s being done, but these asides are not disconnections! they are glosses, and are themselves part of the f a b r i c of the work. Here i s an example of t h i s process from How To Write t They w i l l be ready to have him. We think so. He looks l i k e a young man grown old. That i s a sentence that they could use. I was overcome with remorse. I t was my f a u l t that my wife did not have a cow. This sentence they cannot use. A r e p e t i t i o n of prettiness,makes i t re-peated. With them looking.143 I t i s the exemplary writings which represent the most profound portions of Gertrude Stein's t h e o r e t i c a l w r i t i n g and which enabled her to create the greatest of her purely creative works, Lucy Church Amiably. Mrs. Reynolds, A Novel of Thank You, and The Geographical  History of America, auong others. Stanzas i n Meditation represents the culmination of her poetic output, and as such holds a unique p o s i t i o n which bridges the exemplary writings and the purely creative pieces. The reason f o r Gertrude Stein's having developed her exemplary w r i t i n g i s simple enough: there was no other way for her to write about the kinds of w r i t i n g she was attempting to create than i n the s t y l e of that w r i t i n g 66. i t s e l f . There i s no other way to describe i t than i n i t s own terras. One can r e a l l y only provide a sett i n g and com-mentary to such writings as How To Write and Stanzas i n Meditation, although commentary can sometimes provide considerable insight. These works are neither impregnable nor f r a g i l e : they respond well to scrutiny and they are composed of parts which may be i n d i v i d u a l l y examined with-out damage to the work as a whole. They are so well crafted that they rearrange themselves imperturbably. I t i s very easy to be fond of them. For a l l these reasons, the exemplary writings had no place i n the American lectures except as guests. They represent Gertrude Stein's exploration beyond the other works discussed and sampled i n Lectures i n America: aes-t h e t i c a l l y , t e c h n i c a l l y and formally they are beyond the language of exegesis which serves her purpose so wel l . By leaving her audiences with glimpses of her further discoveries, she was i m p l i c i t l y t e l l i n g them that these works could only be described i n t h e i r own terms. She was asking them, i n the most d i r e c t way possible, to read as she wrote. 67. PART TWO THE EXEMPLARY PROSE WORKS ( i ) Introduction The f i r s t work using the exemplary method was "An Elucidation," written i n 1923. I t f i r s t appeared i n A p r i l , 1927, i n t r a n s i t i o n , as a supplement to the magazine's regular issue. I t a c t u a l l y appeared i n the magazine proper, but the text had been garbled at the printers and the supplement was included at Stein's insistence to present the work i n i t s proper form. In a note preceding the text, E l l i o t Paul made the following observations: "An. Elucidation" i s p a r t i c u l a r l y valuable to followers and admirers of Miss Stein's work since i n i t , by means of a series of examples, she makes clear i n a less obvious but much more e f f e c t i v e way what was l a t e r embodied i n "Composition as Explanation", f i r s t delivered as a lecture at Oxford and l a t e r printed i n the Hogarth Essays. To explain i n even a semblance of the usual way, a technique and a r t i s t i c conception transcending the kind of w r i t i n g which consists i n a long l i n e of b i t s of information placed end to end, i s indeed d i f f i c u l t . This d i f f i c u l t y i s apparent i n "Composition as Explanation." I t disappears i n "An Elucidation" because Miss Stein h i t s upon the happy idea of explaining herself i n her own terms.144 In his note, Paul makes a number of assumptions, not a l l of which are correct. To begin with, there i s 68. no r e l a t i o n at a l l between the intentions of Gertrude Stein i n "An Elucidation" and i n "Composition as Explanation." "Composition as Explanation" i s concerned with the r e l a t i o n of time to creation, and i n p a r t i c u l a r with the r e l a t i o n of the creator to his time and his contemporaries. I t i s written i n the "exegetical" s t y l e of the American lectures, and proceeds to make i t s points by f a i r l y orthodox expository steps, "An Elucidation" i s Gertrude Stein's f i r s t attempt at "exemplary" w r i t i n g , and i s r e l a t i v e l y simple when compared to other pieces such as "Regular Regularly i n Narrative," which had already been written by the time t r a n s i t i o n printed "An Elucidation". "An Elucidation" i s r e a l l y a miniature sampler of various grammatical, s y n t a c t i c a l , and r h e t o r i c a l devices which Gertrude Stein would use to more d i r e c t effect i n her l a t e r works. I t i s an anthology of p o s s i b i l i t i e s , but i t i s not, despite i t s t i t l e , an elucidation of anything i n pa r t i c u l a r . I t "elucidates" only insofar as i t accurately exemplifies kinds of writing. Because i t i s directed to no expository end, the reader i s creating unnecessary problems for himself i f he does more than view i t as examples of s t y l e . Although he i s wrong i n seeing a re l a t i o n s h i p between these two works, Paul i s probably r i g h t i n his opinion that "An Elucidation" 69, represents a more e f f e c t i v e manner of presentation f o r Stein's d i f f i c u l t t h e o r e t i c a l w r i t i n g than i s offered by simple expository prose. While "Composition as Explanation," l i k e Lectures In America, presents s t r i k i n g ideas i n a charming and generally l u c i d s t y l e , i t does not equal the element of surprise and excitement which greets a resourceful reader faced with so apparently obscure "An Elucidation" as t h i s . Paul's other major assumption, that works such as "An Elucidation" transcend "the kind of w r i t i n g which consists i n a long l i n e of b i t s of information placed end to end," i s su b s t a n t i a l l y correct. The exegetical writings present sequential expository arguments, and i n fact often depend on a chronology which i s e a s i l y referred to at any point,* i n Lectures In America, f o r instance, "What Is English L i t e r a t u r e " uses the established l i t e r a r y periods as a set of d i v i s i o n s , "The Gradual Making of The Making of Americans" follows a series of stages i n Gertrude Stein's evolution as a writ e r , and "Poetry and Grammar" divides i t s e l f by references to l i s t s of parts of speech, points of punctuation, and so on. These are orthodox and useful forms of presentation, but the exemplary writings "transcend" t h i s i n that they simply do not require i t . Gertrude S t e i n intended to 70. present her d i f f i c u l t theories i n t h e i r own forms, and they are presentations rather than developed pieces of explanation or even example. They are exemplars of thought about language and i t s structures, and the p a r t i c u l a r elements of language to be exemplified are announced i n the t i t l e ("Sentences and Paragraphs") or are allowed to manifest themselves as the work i s presented (2'Forensics"). The process i s b a s i c a l l y the same as that used i n music, i n which the t i t l e "Symphony i n C Major," f o r example, simply announces an essential fact about the nature of the sounds and forms which w i l l be heard; i t i s not a symphony about the key of C major, but a C major symphony. This fact about the nature of these works i s embodied with delight-f u l whimsy i n such t i t l e s as "Arthur a Grammar" and " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking"; why, a f t e r a l l , should a grammar or a vocabulary not be named? The exemplary works develop as they progress. I t i s impossible to read any of them without accumulating a sense of some aspect of language. This cumulative effect allows Stein to develop structures of climax, anti-climax, questions and answers, and to take advantage of the l i n e a r i t y of writing. There i s no way to escape the l i n e a r nature of language, and more than once i n the 71. exegetical writings she mused over the d i f f i c u l t y of having to write i n a l i n e a r fashion what one knew i n an instant. The writer contains and i s aware of a complete concept before he begins to write, but he must plot the symbols which w i l l convey that concept to h i s reader from point to point, through subject, verb and object, word, phrase and clause,* That i s an inherent paradox i n w r i t i n g which has always been with w r i t e r s , and Gertrude Stein never f u l l y accepted i t . She uses i t perforce and avoids i t as much as possible, but the repetitions which appear i n many of her writings may be seen, on one l e v e l , as attempts to freeze the l i n e a r i t y of language and to force a single unit of thought to hold s t i l l and to be re a l i z e d . To say that the exemplary writings "transcend" l i n e a r w r i t i n g i s only to say that they are not enslaved by i t . Gertrude Stein's entire output of t h e o r e t i c a l w r i t i n g s ; i n both the exegetical and exemplary modes was created i n less than twelve years, beginning with "An Elucidation" i n 1923 and ending with "How Writing i s Written" i n 1935. In that time she explored every basic aspect of w r i t i n g technique: the word, the phrase, the clause, the sentence and the paragraph; exposition, description and narration; sonality, rhythm, rhyme, 72. stanza form and imagery. The "myth of order" which 146 Bridgman claims i s created i n Lectures In America i s shown to be a matter of f a c t , not myth, since the t h e o r e t i c a l writings give ample proof of a steady and conscientious technical development. Toward the beginning of the series, a f t e r "An Elucidation," a pattern begins to emerge i n which exemplary writings are frequently followed by purely creative works embodying the techniques which the t h e o r e t i c a l piece has developed. Sections of "If I Told Him. A Completed P o r t r a i t of Picasso" and "As a Wife Has a Cow a Love Story" c l e a r l y spring from the paradigms of "An Elucidation," written e a r l i e r the same year. The r e l a t i o n among these three works i s one of hypothesis followed by proofs. Compare a paragraph from the f i r s t section of "An Elucidation" with the closing paragraph of "As a Wife Has a Cow a Love Story": You do see that halve r i v e r s and harbours, halve r i v e r s and harbours, you do see that halve r i v e r s and harbours makeshalve r i v e r s and harbours and you do see, you do see that you that you do not have r i v e r s and harbours when you halve r i v e r s and harbours, you do see that you can halve r i v e r s and harbours. Have i t as having having i t as happening, happening to have i t as having, having to have i t as happening. Happening and have i t as happening and having i t happen as happening and having to have i t happen as 73. happening, and my wife has a cow as now, my wife having a cow as now, my wife having a cow as now and having a cow as now and having a cow and having a cow now, my wife has a cow and now. My wife has a cow.148 The most obvious difference between these two excerpts i s the development toward a more sophisticated use of sonality i n the l a t t e r example. The coincidental use of the verb "have" i n both makes i t easier to see that "An Elucidation" r e l i e s upon a very simple c o r r e l a t i o n of sound and sense i n the form of a pun on "have" and "halve". The passage begins quite abstractly with an imperative verb phrase ("halve r i v e r s and harbours") placed s t r u c t u r a l l y as the object of the verb "see." This appears four times before the syntax releases the tension by placing the pronoun "you" at the head of the "punned" phrase "have r i v e r s and harbours," and the o r i g i n a l phrase i s f i n a l l y switched from the imperative to the i n d i c a t i v e mood by the same device. The passage from "As a Wife has a Cow a Love Story" has, f i r s t of a l l , moved completely away from d i r e c t statement, whereas "An Elucidation" retains the bases of regular syntax and deductive grammar. In "As a Wife Has a Cow a Love Story" we have an abstract composition of some complexity, with the two verbs "have" and "happen" used i n both the i n d i c a t i v e and imperative moods, i n 74. p a r t i c i p i a l and i n f i n i t i v e forms, and as a u x i l i a r y and main verbs set against one another. The r e s u l t i s a paradigm of some of t h e i r potentials as grammatical objects divorced from any but a s t r u c t u r a l context. Already "An Elucidation," which Carl van Vechten referred 149 to as "the most ' d i f f i c u l t * of her explanations" begins to look r e l a t i v e l y simple. Another c l e a r example of the r e l a t i o n s h i p between "An Elucidation" and a l a t e r work may be seen i n a comparison of the section from "An Elucidation" e n t i t l e d "Another explanation" with a passage from " I f I Told Him. A Completed P o r t r a i t of Picasso." I think I won' t I think I w i l l I think I w i l l I think I won't I think I won't I think I w i l l I think I w i l l I think I won't. I think I won't I think I w i l l I think I w i l l I think I won' t I think I w i l l I think I won't I think I w i l l I think I won't. I think I w i l l I think I won't I think I won't I think I won * t I think I won't I think I w i l l 75. I think I won't Of course I think I w i l l I think I won't I think I won't I think I w i l l This i s a good example i f you do not abuse i t . Where they l i k e . Can follow where they l i k e . I think t h i s i s a good example. I think I w i l l . I am a f r a i d I have been too ca r e f u l . I think I w i l l . Two examples and then an elu c i d a t i o n and a separation of one example from the other one. I think I w i l l . 150 Then very c e r t a i n l y we need not repeat. Exactly do they do. F i r s t exactly. Exactly do they do too. F i r s t Exactly. And f i r s t exactly. Exactly do they do. And f i r s t exactly and exactly. And do they do. At afirst..exactly and f i r s t exactly and do they do. The f i r s t exactly. And do they do. The f i r s t exactly. At f i r s t exactly. F i r s t as exactly. At f i r s t as exactly. Presently. As presently. As as presently. He he he he and he and he and and he and he and he and and as and as he and as he and he. He i s and as he i s , and as he i s and he i s , he i s and as he and he and as he i s and he and he and and he and he.1-*1 Again, the excerpt from "An Elucidation," which counterpoises a main clause with i t s negative i n a rhythmical series of r e p e t i t i o n s , sounds f a i r l y simple 76. i n contrast to the manipulations of the abstract phrase "do they do" with the a u x i l i a r y adverbs " f i r s t , " and "exactly," and "presently." In the second passage, the r e i t e r a t i o n s are less d i r e c t l y r e p e t i t i v e than those i n "An Elucidation," and with the closing paragraph of the "Picasso" excerpt repetitions are varied and coloured by being given d i f f e r e n t s y n t a c t i c a l or rhythmical emphases. This excerpt from "An Elucidation," however, introduces a s t y l i s t i c device which was to play an increasingly important part i n Gertrude Stein's exemplary w r i t i n g . Toward the close of the passage, we discover the writer commenting on the e f f i c a c y of her examples, or describing what she has just effected: "This i s a good example i f you do not abuse i t " ; "Two examples and then an elucidation and a separation of one example from the other one." This early example of the running commentaries which the exemplary writings i n t r o -duced i s , again, less sophisticated than the l a t e r examples would come to be. As we s h a l l see, what i s a stepping aside into "commentary" here, becomes i n How  To Write and Stanzas i n Meditation, an adroit system of glossing which i s i t s e l f an i n t e g r a l part of the f a b r i c of the whole work. 77. By the end of 1927 the exemplary works were becoming more sophisticated, and began to take on an independence and s t y l i s t i c q u a l i t y comparable to purely creative w r i t i n g . Lucy Church Amiably was written l a t e i n 1927 and had been preceded i n 1926 by An Acquaintance with Description, the f i r s t major exemplary work of depth and consistency. Early i n 1927, the w r i t i n g of "Patriarchal Poetry" had given Gertrude Stein a further impetus toward the creation of her "novel of romantic 152 beauty." In An Acquaintance With Description, Gertrude Stein had begun her r e a l surrender to the noun, Where Tender Buttons had been a r i o t of nouns removed from 153 syntax, An Acquaintance With Description was an ordering of them within the sentence. Her l a t e r i n t erest i n geography as a r e f l e c t i o n of the human mind f i r s t took the basic form of a concern with r e l a t i v e p o s i t i o n , and t h i s meant the use of prepositional placement within 154 the sentence. This concern with the placing of things, to some extent a matter of point of view, i s seen i n countless passages of An Acquaintance With Description. Here i s an example from the beginning of the book: ...Why when the sun i s here and there i s i t here. Acquainted with the sun to be acquainted to to be unacquainted and to be unacquainted and to be un-acquainted . and to be i n the sun and to be acquainted to be acquainted with the sun. I t can be there. 78. Look down and see a blue cu r t a i n and a white h a l l . A horse asleep l y i n g surrounded by cows. There i s a great difference not only then but now. i D D The "Advertisement" to Lucy Church Amiably evokes t h i s within a syntax which has become more graceful than that of An Acquaintance With Description In the "Advertisement," the names given are characters' names, and these and the other nouns r e c a l l Gertrude Stein's e a r l i e r "addressing and caressing" of nouns i n order to make poetry. That element of her wr i t i n g has been assimilated too, and combines with the sense of placement anticipated i n An Acquaintance With Description to form a pleasing synthesis: Lucy Church Amiably. There i s a church and i t i s i n Lucey and i t has a steeple and the steeple i s a pagoda and there i s no reason f o r i t and i t looks l i k e something else. Beside t h i s there i s amiably and t h i s comes from the paragraph. Select your song she said and i t was done and then she said and i t was done with a nod and then she bent her head i n the d i r e c t i o n of the f a l l i n g water. Amiably. This altogether makes a return to romantic nature that i s i t makes a landscape look l i k e an engraving i n which there are some people, a f t e r a l l i f they are to be seen there they f e e l as pretty as they look and t h i s makes i t have a r i v e r a gorge an inundation and a remarkable meadowed mass which i s whatever they use not to feed but to bed cows. Lucy Church Amiably i s a novel of romantic beauty and nature and of Lucy Church and John Mary and Simon Therese.156 79. Meanwhile;, immediately a f t e r w r i t i n g "Patriarchal Poetry" early i n 1927, Gertrude Stein had written "Regular Regularly i n Narrative," the f i r s t of the eight exemplary prose studies which together would form How To  Write (1931). In 1928, three more were written: " F i n a l l y George, A Vocabulary of Thinking"; "Arthur a Grammar"; and "Sentences." "Saving the Sentence" followed i n 1929, "Sentences and Paragraphs" and "A Grammarian" appeared i n 1930, and 1931 produced "Forensics," the volumejs closing piece. "Forensics" struck off i n a new d i r e c t i o n which had emerged i n 1930 through her experience with Before the Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded 8 t h i s " t r a n s l a t i o n " of Georges Hugnet's "Enfance" had interested Gertrude Stein i n the poetic mode, and she followed i t with several short and tentative poems of her own, including the "exemplary" poem, "Narrative." "Forensics" i n some ways provides a further step i n t h i s poetic sequence of studies, although i t i s equally applicable to prose, However, the two works which followed i t , the l a s t of the exemplary writings, were t o t a l l y occupied with poetry: "Winning His Way, A Narrative Poem of Poetry." and Stanzas i n Meditation. After Stanzas i n Meditation, Gertrude Stein never f e l t the need to use the exemplary mode of i t s e l f again. 80. (There are hints of i t i n The Geographical History of  America, but they are infused i n the whole structure of the piece to such an extent that t h e i r exemplary nature i s decidedly secondary, and they do not add to what has already appeared.) After a brief respite from t h e o r e t i c a l w r i t i n g , during which the whodunit, B^lood on the Dining  Room Floor, was written, she returned to the exegetical writings which she had abandoned i n 1926 a f t e r "Composition as Explanation." The t h i r d section of Four i n America, "Henry James," i s a curious combination of the exemplary and the exegetical; i t deals peripherally with Gertrude Stein's experience with Before the Flowers Of Friendship  Faded Friendship Faded, but i s only i n c i d e n t a l l y connected to the mainstream of the theo r e t i c a l writings. This book was followed i n 1934 by Lectures i n America, and Narration, "What Are Masterpieces" and "How Writing i s Written." With the exceptions of passages i n Everybody's Auto-biography, these were Gertrude Stein's l a s t attempts to explain herself. 1936 saw the publication of her major masterpiece, The Geographical History of America or the  Relation of Human Nature to the Human Mind, which was i n large part made possible by the exemplary writings of the preceding twelve years. I t i s important that the thorough l o g i c of t h i s 81. sequence of works be emphasized. Each of them leads to the next with an i n t e n s i t y and sureness based on utter conviction and a long-range sense of purpose. The main stream of thought from 1924 to 1930 concerns "writing," which to Gertrude Stein generally meant prose, but i n "Natural Phenomena" and An Acquaintance  With Description a concern with poetic matters begins to run beneath the surface. This i s brought out by the Hugnet "t r a n s l a t i o n " i n 1930, a catalyst which s p l i t s her attention into two d i s t i n c t parts, one concerned with poetry and the other with prose. By examining sections of How To Write and Stanzas i n Meditation, we are able to see the new insights which Gertrude St e i n had achieved through her exemplary writings, and to understand the d i s t i n c t i o n s between her poetry and her prose. 82. ( i i ) Approaches to How To Write The eight exemplary prose pieces which comprise How  To Write were written separately, and there i s no evidence to suggest that Gertrude Stein intended them to be grouped together as she was w r i t i n g them. While the pfeeces were not intended to be read as a "sequence" as they have been referred to by more than one c r i t i c -- they did o f f e r a natural selection of works to make up a book when, i n 1931, Gertrude Stein and AliceToklas were preparing the t h i r d of t h e i r " P l a i n Editions" of Gertrude Stein's unpublished w r i t i n g s . T h e works are a l l concerned with either the nature of w r i t i n g or the q u a l i t i e s of language, and they are a l l written i n the. exemplary s t y l e . Their published order seems quite a r b i t r a r y , being neither chronological nor thematic, but the eight pieces quite r e a d i l y sort themselves into three groups, each dealing with a large facet of language and writing. The f i r s t of these i s concerned with words, t h e i r generation and t h e i r ordering into vocabulary, grammar and syntax, and comprises " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking" and "Arthur a Grammar". The second group 83. deals with the larger compositional elements of the sentence and the paragraph, and includes three works: "Sentences," "Saving the Sentence," and "Sentences and Paragraphs." The l a s t group considers modes of w r i t i n g and aesthetic questions i n three works: "A Grammarian" i s concerned with the r e l a t i o n of the w r i t e r to his language, "Regular Regularly i n Narrative" deals with narration, and "Forensics" explores exposition and argument while i n i t i a t i n g some formal experiments which lead d i r e c t l y into the exemplary poems of 1932. " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking," the e a r l i e r of the two pieces i n the f i r s t group, presents words i n vocabulary, as l i s t s or enumerations of words i n a r b i t r a r y order, interspersed with the glosses which we have mentioned before. Later, i n "Poetry and Grammar," Gertrude Stein would say that "vocabulary i n i t s e l f and 158 by i t s e l f can be i n t e r e s t i n g and can make sense." The long, dense, bewildering groups of words and phrases i n " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking" provide some of the most inscrutable pages Gertrude Stein ever produced, but we must acknowledge that, however ar b i t r a r y t h i s work might seem, i t i s indeed a vocabulary, a l i s t i n g of words and phrases uncommitted to purpose. I f t h i s work comes closest to the tendency which led some wag to dub Gertrude Stein "the Mama of Dada," that tendency i s 84. dis p e l l e d by i t s closing l i n e s , which form a gloss summarizing the nature of vocabulary and leading the reader to "Arthur a Grammar," composed immediately a f t e r " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking": There i s a very great difference between a vocabulary a dictionary and Arthur Arthur and Ernest becoming George. Danny becoming a very increased produce a prosody. That i s what a vocabulary i s . What i s a vocabulary. S e t t l i n g the North Pole l i t t l e by a l i k e and never not l i k i n g a d i s t i n c t layer of t h e i r repeal. The way to have a grammar i s to learn diagram. A be l i e f i n ri g h t away they may, they may be following me up. Up cup culpable custard culpable account occupied and t h e i r t e l l . I see through a part of t h e i r say so. The next i s more vocabulary and some grammar or more grammar ormore grammar. Arthur or more grammar aft e r F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary. 1 5" An analysis of t h i s passage w i l l serve to present something of the nature of " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking" while introducing the method of exemplar-with-gloss which forms the mode of the exemplary writings. The opening statement presents both d i r e c t gloss and the exemplary use of words. The clause "There i s a very great difference between a vocabulary a dictionary" i s quite straightforward, and performs two functions: i t equates "vocabulary" with "dictionary" by implied oppos-i t i o n , each being a l i s t of words, the f i r s t ordered from within, the second a r b i t r a r i l y from without; and i t 85. anticipates a r h e t o r i c a l structure which i s only p a r t i a l l y provided. The reader i s prepared for another clause a f t e r "and" which w i l l contrast the f i r s t . For example; the sentence might have read: "There i s a very great difference between a vocabulary a dictionary and the use of words i n sentences and paragraphs." That would be "pla i n English" at least. Instead, we are t o l d that there " i s a very great difference between a vocabulary a dictionary and Arthur Arthur and Ernest becoming George." Where we expect a cogent p a r a l l e l phrase, we f i n d four nouns, a conjunction, and a present p a r t i c i p l e . They are arranged, to be sure, i n a s t r u c t u r a l l y sound order: i f we take the parts of speech as a blueprint, and sub-s t i t u t e other words we can construct a "sensible," though a r b i t r a r y , p a r a l l e l clause: noun noun conj. noun p a r t i c i p l e noun Arthur Arthur and Ernest becoming George grammar syntax and l o g i c producing exposition Now our sentence reads: "There i s a very great difference between a vocabulary, a dictionary, and grammar, syntax and l o g i c producing exposition," With some commas, t h i s becomes a plausible statement, i f not a world-shaking one. But i n the context, we have l o s t an immense amount, * For one thing, the very f i x i n g of meaning i s a n t i t h e t i c a l 86. to Gertrude Stein's intention here. What she intended to demonstrate i s the,very p l a s t i c i t y of language within i t s structures. Even i f we whimsically treat "Arthur" as a "grammar" (s t e a l i n g from the t i t l e of the next piece) r e - s p e l l Ernest as an adjective, and take "George" as being "a vocabulary," as the t i t l e of t h i s piece allows, we are s t i l l faced with a most evasive and e l l i p t i c a l statement. Gertrude Stein's purpose only becomes cl e a r when we consider that the confusing second half of the sentence i s i t s e l f a l i s t , a vocabulary, of nouns, of proper nouns, of names, while at the same time i t f a l l s into a grammatical structure. So, while retaining the "vocabularic" nature of t h i s piece, Gertrude Stein i s exemplifying the' nature of the next, which she announces l a t e r i n the paragraph. The next sentence reaffirms t h i s intention by making an a r b i t r a r y l i s t of words which f a l l s into a s t r u c t u r a l framework: "Danny becoming a very increased produce a prosody." There are t r i c k s here: the p a r t i c i p l e "increased" seems to beg a complementary noun to form a phrase, and the number of verbs -- i f "produce" i s a verb and not a noun -- i s at odds with the singular subject," "Danny." But despite these rough edges, the sentence i s s t r u c t u r a l l y sound. I t combines vocabulary 87. with syntax while compromising neither. There follows a comment: "That i s what a vocabulary i s . " Then, i n a deliberate wrenching of expositional l o g i c , we f i n d the question posed to which the preceding has provided the answer: "What i s a vocabulary." The question i s answered again, however, i n a sentence which once more combines vocabulary with grammar: " S e t t l i n g the North Pole l i t t l e by a l i k e and never not l i k i n g a d i s t i n c t layer of t h e i r repeal." Here there are more rough edges, the roughest being that the "sentence" i s actu a l l y a fragment, having no f i n i t e verb. Moreover, the phrase " l i t t l e by a l i k e " teases us into thinking " l i t t l e by l i t t l e , " thus slapping at c o l l o q u i a l patterning. Beyond these, the "sentence" can again be made no more than a l i s t of words, although i t seems to be s l i g h t l y closer to orthodox syntax than the two e a r l i e r examples, possibly because of i t s having drawn attention to the o v e r a l l sentence structure by fragmenting i t . The second half of the passage i s i n i t i a t e d by a clear statement: "They way to have a grammar i s to learn diagram." Not "diagrams" or "a diagram", but "diagram": s t i l l , the usage i s defensible, and the sentence makes a clear statement. I t i s followed by another of the "diagrammed vocabularies" (Gertrude 88. Stein has given us a term for them now): "A beli e f i n rig h t away they may, they may be following me up." This i s s t r u c t u r a l l y more obscure than the e a r l i e r exemplars, but the comma aiding the structure, and the possibly inverted order of the f i r s t clause with i t s verb at the end, combine with the rhythm of the "sentence" to suggest an o r a t o r i c a l f l o u r i s h . The vocabulary has thinned here and phrases are forming more r e a d i l y than before, and i t s nature i s obviously associated through sound xtfith the preceding "sentence": "up cup culpable custard culpable account occupied and t h e i r t e l l . " The "dictionary" of the f i r s t sentence i s re c a l l e d by the a l l i t e r a t i o n of the f i r s t part, and s t r u c t u r a l l y t h i s seems quite removed from sense. The next sentence has i t s structure i n t a c t i f we allow the slang verbal noun "say so" to stand as the object of the verb. The passage closes with a statement of Gertrude Stein's intention i n the piece which i s to be written next: "The next i s more vocabulary and some grammar or more grammar or more grammar. Arthur or more grammar a f t e r F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary." In "Arthur a Grammar," Gertrude Stein would reconsider word l i s t s as she had presented them i n " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary," but they would be "grammatical" rather than "vocabularic," i f at f i r s t only by v i r t u e of the t i t l e under which they would appear. "Arthur a Grammar" progresses; i t does become 89 "more grammar" than vocabulary, as i f the seemingly aleatory successions of words were gradually sorting and arranging themselves and s e t t l i n g into grammatical structure. This may serve as a f a i r example of the, method of the exemplary writings. The problem facing the c r i t i c i s obvious, f o r i t seems that to comment on a work which i s so intact within i t s e l f i s to break i t s f a b r i c e n t i r e l y . However, How To Write and Stanzas i n Meditation have a toughness and r e s i l i e n c e which allows them, once examined, to spring back e a s i l y into t h e i r former shape. The danger of sophistry i s greatest during the process of examination i t s e l f . There are, as always, tempting extremes. I t i s easy, on one hand, to pass the works by with general comment, allowing the reader to forage f o r himself. This has amounted, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n the case of How To Write, to there being v i r t u a l l y no c r i t i c i s m at a l l ; i n the case of Stanzas i n Meditation, i t has led to Sutherland's rather f l o r i d generalizations i n h i s introduction to the poern*^0 and to Norman Weinstein's misinterpretation of the work as a "phenomenology of mind" rather than an exemplification of the a c t i v i t y of poetry, a small but essential d i s t i n c t i o n . 90. (Weinstein, p a r t i c u l a r l y , tends toward a related error, that of constructing a mammoth c r i t i c a l machine to deal with the special problem of the poem, l i k e a m i l l i o n d o l l a r computer programmed to count apples.) The opposite extreme i s just as tempting, easier to detect, and common to almost every Stein c r i t i c : proof texting and "tran s l a t i o n . " In the case of the exemplary w r i t i n g , t h i s takes the insidious form of the c r i t i c ' s g r a v i t a t i n g to the glosses l i k e a drowning man clutching at a straw -- and when faced with the perplexing sprawl of How To Write, the temptation to do so i s very great. The glosses are objectively easier to understand than the material which surrounds them, and they may a l l too ea s i l y be used as signposts along the way. The c r i t i c most g u i l t y of t h i s i s Bridgman, who builds his treatment of nearly every work of Gertrude Stein, exemplary or otherwise, on proof texts or free trans-l a t i o n into "normal" English. Writing about "Sentences," he says: "Gertrude Stein's conclusions have an aphoristic s o l i d i t y , " In r e l a t i o n to How To  Write, t h i s commits the two cardinal errors: i t centres on the glosses, assigning them ar b i t r a r y meanings, and ignores the rest of the work: and i t implies an expository, l o g i c a l sequence ( i n i t s use of the word "conclusion,") which we s h a l l seeuis completely eliminated from the 91. exemplary writings, which, when they are not forming abstract construction, have as t h e i r central function a s t r i v i n g toward simultaneity at the cost of the l i n e a r i t y which i s ^a primary component of l o g i c a l exposition. Having dispensed of the two most obvious hazards, we must now f i n d the proper method of analysis f o r these d i f f i c u l t works. The answer to t h i s i s simple enough, because there i s no reason why we should not treat them i n the same way as the d i f f i c u l t Cantos of Pound or the abstractions of Joyce i n Finnegan's Wake, with one main d i s t i n c t i o n : whereas the words of Pound and Joyce r e l y on t h e i r past f o r understanding, the words of Gertrude Stein have no past and r e l y on t h e i r future. That i s to say that while the Cantos and Finnegan's Wake and any number of other obscure writings may be understood by the discovery of a l l u s i o n , etymology, symbolic value and so on i n t h e i r words, phrases, and clauses, that i s , by t h e i r pasts; these words of Stein's d i f f i c u l t works, as so many c r i t i c s have pointed out without much conviction, are f i r s t of a l l stripped of any a l l u s i o n , allowing Gertrude Stein to add d e f i n i t i o n , grammatical function and st r u c t u r a l implications as she w i l l . Furthermore, to r e l y on even 92. the most obvious sequential pattern i s dangerous, as we saw when, i n the above example, a question followed i t s answer, and a standard p a r a l l e l sentence structure was dislodged at the l a s t minute. The method of analysis which w i l l best serve for the exemplary writings i s a s t r u c t u r a l one. After a l l , structure i s the concern of a l l these works. I t would be quite possible to analyze the complete texts of How  To Write, Stanzas i n Meditation and the other exemplary works i n the way I have used with the paragraph from " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking," but the resultant work would be both gratuitous and enormously long. Once the pr i n c i p l e s at work are understood, the pieces begin to open slowly, l i k e oysters i n fresh water, and much of the point derived from these works i s contingent upon the reader's e f f o r t i n entering them. These exemplary writings of Gertrude Stein introduce the layman to the process and struggle of l i t e r a r y creation. They exemplify the building of l i n g u i s t i c and l i t e r a r y structures, and i n order to examine them we need go no farther than the page on which they appear. 93. ( i i i ) "Arthur a Grammar" A detailed analysis of even the shortest piece from How To Write would be impractical, but we can gain some understanding of the progress of these studies by f i r s t i nvestigating the large designs which they encompass. I f we begin by looking at the o v e r a l l shape of the piece, then look more c l o s e l y at two or three short passages from d i f f e r e n t parts of i t , we w i l l have gone f a r toward mapping the major contours of what might be seen as a "landscape of language." For t h i s purpose, I w i l l choose one example from each of the three groupings i n the books "Arthur a Grammar" from the pieces concerned with words; "Sentences and Paragraphs" from the group concerned with compositional elements; and "Forensics" from the works on aesthetics and modes of w r i t i n g . "Arthur a Grammar" was written immediately a f t e r " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking," and shares i t s concern with the generation and ordering of words as vocabulary and grammar. The piece i s more than s i x t y pages long, and i s arranged i n four numbered parts, the two central ones both being c a l l e d "Part I I . " The f i r s t and l a s t parts are each about twenty-five 94. pages long; the central two are twelve and two pages respectively. Part I i s very much i n the s t y l e of " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking," with t h i c k , dark blocks of words as abstracted as anything i n the preceding work. I t begins with an important gloss, 162 "Successions of words are so agreeable" and then immediately diverts to abstract constructions as exemplars of t h i s , consisting either of l i s t s or blocks of words seemingly chosen at random. Toward the end of the f i r s t part, the word "grammar" begins to appear more frequently, seeming to move the constructions into l i n e with the order implied i n the t i t l e . L i s t s of phrases, rather than just words, begin to appear. A vocabulary concerned with domestic l i f e , food, and farming, interspersed with the increasing appear-ance of "grammar," seems to shape the language a l i t t l e , narrowing the focus of the substantives. Toward the end of the section there i s a burst of the e a r l i e r vocabularic w r i t i n g before the domestic images strengthen and the section ends. The two second parts have s i m i l a r imagery but employ d i f f e r e n t treatments of i t . The f i r s t of the two, 95. and the longer, uses the t i t l e , " A r t h u r a Grammar," as a key phrase to which i t constantly returns. This sec-tion's p r i n c i p a l s t y l i s t i c c h a r a c t e r i s t i c i s itemization. Long passages of short l i n e s consisting of the word "grammar" followed by a short phrase or abstract group of words make up much of i t s length, and towards the end of i t there i s a brief passage of four word groups headed by the numerals 1 to 4. There are several small vocabularies which provide images here, one concerned with garments and sewing, another with small creatures and babies, and a t h i r d with flowers. The continual references to "grammar" suggest a strengthening of the ordering of words, and the passage ends with i t s only 1 6 3 d i r e c t gloss* "Grammar i s i n our power." The second "Part I I " i s a very short section of phrases and occasional sentences which serves as a t r a n s i t i o n to the l a s t part. I t s most important func-t i o n i s to introduce a new vocabulary which i s of great importance i n Part I I I * words and phrases having to do with landscape and perspective. I t too concludes with a gloss which moves the d e l i b e r a t i o n of the piece forward s i g n i f i c a n t l y * "Why i s grammar not d u l l . Be-cause i t i s a diagram." 1^ 96. Part I I I begins with a very basic "diagram'? indeed, i n the form of an abecedarian formula which, though un-orthodox, i n i t i a t e s an elementary attitude toward language. "A f o r watches. B f o r below m f o r mountain d f o r does i t k f o r a l r i g h t . " The implication that we have re-turned to f i r s t p r i n c i p l e s i s confirmed by the r e l a t i v e l y large number of " d e f i n i t i o n s " of grammar appearing i n t h i s l a s t section. They form combinations of d i r e c t glosses and abstract constructions akin to the s y n t a c t i c a l l y structured vocabulary l i s t s i n " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking"! "Grammar i s and and did do day deign divide."* U n t i l the l a s t two or three pages of the piece, t h i s part i s f u l l of landscape vocabulary mingled with statements using the word "grammar." The glosses here have also moved toward a more di r e c t state, as for the f i r s t time they frequently begin "grammar is. . . ," and while the complement of the verb i s f a r more often abstract than not, the movement toward overt d e f i n i t i o n i s clear. The closing pages drop nearly a l l the specialized vocabularies developed through the e a r l i e r parts, and concentrate on maxims to do with grammar which are constructed from abstractions such as "usefulness," "secretiveness," and •I fL"J "expectation," Unlike the preceding three sections, the l a s t does not close with a gloss of any kind, but with an is o l a t e d phrase: " V i s i b l y comforting."*^ 8 97. We now have a rough sketch of the work. We know i t s d i v i s i o n s and t h e i r r e l a t i v e lengths. We know something of the patterns of vocabulary and syntax at work i n each. We have noted a development from blocks of raw vocabulary i n the f i r s t to abstracted d e f i n i t i o n i n the l a s t . We have seen various methods of forcing language to systematize i t s e l f s aleatory word l i s t s ; simple l i s t s ; enumerative l i s t s ; and alphabetical l i s t s . Now we can examine a brief passage from each of the four parts to see these patterns at work. Maintained authorise colored postals make macadamised roads never the less i n u n i f i -c a tion extraordinary believed relayed p l a i n l y coupled e n t i r e l y antelope with our precaution pardonably raised intercourse administer heard negatively how outer below candid meant i n t e r -p o s i t i o n f a i n t l y have i t opposite l a i n customary blooms conceive having E l l e n i n l a i n to be aroused that i t was trained r e l a t i o n remainder consign preeminent caused causasus yes no How are Arthur Arthur's aim aimed cause pleas placate presently dominated having used close however may we stare to saw s e l l heaving a grass.169 This cannot even be analyzed as an abstract s t r u c t u r a l passage l i k e the closing of " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of• Thinking"; i t i s p l a i n l y a block of words, a c e r t a i n vocabulary of the moment of w r i t i n g . The method by which Gertrude S t e i n arrived at t h i s p a r t i c u l a r assortment of words, whether by a T r i s t a n Tzara-inspired bag of cut-outs 98. or a system of free association, i s r e a l l y unimportant. There are two things which should be noticed. F i r s t , there i s a sense of grammatical va r i e t y here; there are examples of every part of speech except the conjunction, which might have implied a connection between parts of the l i s t which Stein did not wish to encourage. Second, note how, even on f i r s t reading, combinations of words form i n our mindss "authorise colored postals"; "with our precaution pardon-ably raised"; "conceive having E l l e n i n l a i n to be aroused." A few minutes' experimentation w i l l show how very d i f f i c u l t i t i s de l i b e r a t e l y to construct a l i s t of words unsusceptible to organization of t h i s sort. As Gertrude St e i n said i n "Poetry and Grammar," " i t i s extraordinary how i t i s im-possible that a vocabulary does not make sense. The constructions of "Arthur a Grammar" have begun i n the most basic way here. Without help from the wr i t e r , the words are l e f t to c l u s t e r together as they can. This i s elemental w r i t i n g . Toward the end of the f i r s t "Part I I " we encounter t h i s passages Grammar. In a breath. 1. What i s the doubt when a f t e r a l l . 2. Oblige a taken get well f i n a l l y double parted i n case remainder loan a boat about. 99. 3. With a withdraw fi n d i n g two more mend matter meanwhile applied i n opportunity t e l l and t e l l , 4. Four f i v e s i x seven a l l good children go to heaven some are good and some are bad one two three four f i v e s i x seven. Grammar. In seduced. Grammar. Remain. Grammar. Out and about. Grammar. He w i l l have had doubt. Grammar. Enemies deter partners from leaning advisably to i n r e l a t i o n then remarkably l a t e l y north with tableing i n fern with aground t h e i r s i n r e d i s t r i b u t i o n does prefer l a i n to take.1'1 While c e r t a i n important s t y l i s t i c elements found i n Part I I do not appear i n t h i s passage (such as the voca-bularies of garments and flowers, and the repeated use of the t i t l e as a key phrase), i t does represent the move toward a systematic itemization which i s f i r s t explored i n t h i s part. There are two kinds of itemization used. The f i r s t , and more common, juxtaposes the word "grammar" with single words, dissociated groups of words, and phrases. There i s even one pe r f e c t l y orthodox clause: "He w i l l have had doubt." The use of the word "grammar" to set off one item from another serves the dual purpose of s i g n a l l i n g new "entries" and ste a d i l y abstracting the word "grammar" u n t i l we begin to lose our expectations about i t , just as children repeat a word u n t i l i t becomes nothing but a sound without meaning. Interposed among these "grammar" items i s the small enumerated l i s t , the only one of i t s kind i n the whole 100. work. I t provides a passing mention of what i s , a f t e r a l l , the most usual form of l i s t i n g , but more than that, i t offers a r e s p i t e from the abstracting use of "grammar," and introduces an a l l u s i o n to the vocabulary of babies and small creatures i n the nursery rhyme of item 4. The use of a l l u s i o n i s one of the more notable omissions from many of the exemplary writings, f o r the very good reason that when words have been stripped of meaning to some degree, i t i s d i f f i c u l t to allude to anything but word patterns, as i s the case here. While none of the words of the "baby" vocabulary are c i t e d i n the item, the nature of the rhyme r e c a l l s the presence of the vocabulary else-where, and may even draw the reader's attention to i t for the f i r s t time. This i s one of two uses of a l l u s i o n i n "Arthur a Grammar," the second occurring f a r more subtly i n Part I I I . F i n a l l y , the tendency of words to c l u s t e r together unavoidably even i n the most a r b i t r a r y assortment i s picked up here and allox^ed to develop into c l e a r phrases ("In a breath"), complete clauses ("He w i l l have had doubt"), verbal systems ("one two three four f i v e s i x seven") and unfinished, but c l e a r l y prepared, s y n t a c t i c a l or c o l l o q u i a l patterns ("What i s doubt when a f t e r a l l " ) . 101. Here i s a section from the middle of the second Part H i What i s an answer. What i s a grammar. Grammatical when the sun i s sunday. Grammar i s the breaking of forests i n the coming of the extra sun and the existence p r i n c i p a l l y of which i t was. Grammar r e a d i l y begins. Grammar i s occupied allowances. Grammar made making of grain grain i s put about and at a splendid eagle eglantine and a c i r c l e of preventing wishes. Imagine i n grammar.1'2 The p r i n c i p a l contribution of t h i s part to the whole i s the introduction of the landscape vocabulary which forms a very important part of the l a s t section. While the use of t h i s vocabulary i s not nearly so pronounced here as i t i s i n Part I I I , such a clause as "Grammar i s the breaking of forests i n the coming of the extra sun" evokes quite a clear landscape image. This appearance of deliberate imagery centred i n a p a r t i c u l a r vocabulary a kind of a l l u s i o n , enters here f o r the f i r s t time. While a l l the exemplary works are t i g h t l y and i n t r i c a t e l y woven, Part I I I of "Arthur a Grammar" i s so organically conceived that i t i s very d i f f i c u l t to excerpt any passage without s a c r i f i c i n g the effect of the whole section. The following segments are f a i r l y representative: 102. Grammar makes no mistakes. Grammar uses indisposes i n that way. There can be a name for riches. Grammar has a measure f o r poplars. They are f o r near and f o r f a r . Grammar also has a place for prizes. Grammar also makes one branch shake before another. So i t does. Grammar does not need a balustrade to be broken so much so that separate parts of i t are fa r apart and i n that way are recognised and very pretty. I t i s p a r t l y there as earns. Very w e l l . Grammar may not be counted. Make i t changes. Tomorrow i s grammar. Allow. P a r t l y they wait for f r u i t which i s grapes and peaches. If peaches are c a l l e d peaches do they grow where they grow that i s where grapes grow. Grammar of intermittence. If a sound i s made which grows louder and then stops how many times may i t be repeated. H i l l s a grammar. A h i l l slopes and there i s a long length when ' there i s not a deception. H i l l s a grammar. Battles become h i l l s . H i l l s a grammar. H i l l s give names to battles. H i l l s a grammar. Battles are named because there have been h i l l s which have made a h i l l i n a b a t t l e . H i l l s a grammar. A bay and h i l l s h i l l s are surrounded by t h e i r having t h e i r distance very near. H i l l s a grammar. What i s the difference between a description and a grammar. H i l l s a grammar. Very nearly h i l l s . There are h i l l s which are very well known very w e l l known h i l l s . Poplars. Poplars may be they c e r t a i n l y w i l l be cut down and sawn up. Poplars may be indeed they w i l l be cut down and used as wood. Indeed, a grammar. Poplars indeed w i l l be and may be indeed w i l l be cut down and w i l l be sawn up and indeed w i l l 103. be used as wood and may be used f o r wood. Indeed a grammar. F i n a l l y w i l l be and indeed may be cut down and having grown t a l l poplars are very e a s i l y sawn into boards and used as wood.1'4 These two passages between them demonstrate the major s t y l i s t i c t r a i t s of Part l i l t landscape vocabulary and imagery, and glosses tending toward direct d e f i n i t i o n , with "grammar" as at least the s t r u c t u r a l subject of most of the sentences i n which i t appears. Especially noteworthy i s the movement from the presentation of voca-bulary i n various imposed systems such as l i s t s and word cl u s t e r s , to the working of that same vocabulary -- i n t h i s case, one of landscape -- into imagery and metaphors d i -r e c t l y related to the concept of grammar. "Grammar" now becomes a word among words. As;metaphor i s a very sophisticated system of a l l u s i o n , t h i s can be seen as a progression, by continual building and re-structuring, from the simple a l l u s i o n of the nursery rhyme motif i n the second Part I I . The most d i r e c t examples of metaphors for grammar a r i s i n g from the fusion of landscape images and glosses appear i n the passage concerned with poplars being "sawn dp and . . . used as wood." The statements about the transformation of a tree (which has a name, "poplar," which i s a noun) into lumber (another noun, syno-nymous i n t h i s passage with "wood" and "boards"), i s i n t e r -104. woven with the observation "Indeed a grammar" i n a way which inescapably l i n k s the two. One noun becomes another noun; i n another sense a name -- "poplar" -- becomes a to o l -- "boards;" The process of metaphor i s exemplified i n t h e i r appearance together: rather than speak meta-ph o r i c a l l y about grammar, Gertrude Stein grows both metaphor and grammar for us on the page, one i n d i v i s i b l e from the other. Another important facet of grammar i s i t s l i n e a r i t y , which I have said Gertrude Stein t r i e d to escape a l l her wr i t i n g l i f e . Here she faces i t through t h i s "landscaped metaphor," to assign a whimsical term to the process. The h i l l s are presented i n terms of t h e i r "long length" and t h e i r being "surrounded by t h e i r having t h e i r distance very near." Again, these statements are interspersed with a repeated phrase, " ( h ) i l l s a grammar." As Gertrude Stein says, "What i s the difference between a description and a grammar." The process of transformation i s accounted for too, i n the statements about h i l l s giving t h e i r names to battles. In the other passage I have quoted, a s i m i l a r effect i s r e a l i z e d i n the sentence about the balustrade, the parts of which, when broken, "are f a r apart and i n that way are recognised and very pretty." 105. While these concepts appear i n Part I I I for the f i r s t time, the techniques which give r i s e to them have been i n use throughout the piece. Many of the sentences of Part I I I are not greatly d i f f e r e n t i n structure from some of the abstract glosses or word groups of Part I» the difference between them l i e s i n the systematization of vocabulary i n the l a t e r structures which the e a r l i e r ones lacked. "Arthur a Grammar," apart from i t s place i n the sequence of exemplary writings, has a strong r e l a t i o n to several of the important creative works. I t s origins can be traced back two years to An Acquaintance  With Description , which amounted to a preliminary study for Lucy Church Amiably, but "Arthur a Grammar" redefines and i n f i n i t e l y improves many of the key concerns of An Acquaintance With Description, and adopts some of the findings of the novel. The use of proper names associated with inanimate objects as well as with people (embodied i n Lucy Church, a name derived from a church with a curious steeple i n the hamlet of Lucey) was deeply ingrained i n Four Saints  i n Three Acts, written i n 1927 a few months before Lucy Church Amiably. This becomes the property of two t i t l e s i n How To Write, " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary 106. of Thinking" and "Arthur a Grammar", but t h i s i s of less importance than the whole concept of the r e l a t i o n between landscape and mind. I have already c i t e d an example of t h i s concern as f a r back as 1913, i n "England," and we have seen that i t i s the basis of her argument i n "What i s English L i t e r a t u r e . " I t reappears i n Four i n America, i s discussed i n Everybody's Autobiography, and even i n i t i a t e s the action of her 1 75 children's book, The World i s Round. But i t s most important manifestation occurs i n The Geo.graphical History of America, i n which the thesis of landscape and mind forms the central hypothesis of the work that i s i n many ways Gertrude Stein's masterpiece. "Arthur a Grammar" i s a c r u c i a l step i n the movement toward The Geographical History of America, as i t documents the growth of a systematic, l u c i d and useful language from a chaos of l i n g u i s t i c fragments, and uses the metaphor of landscape to present t h i s process. 107. ( i v ) "Sentences and Paragraphs" "Sentences and Paragraphs" was the l a s t w ritten of the three pieces focusing on the sentence and the paragraph, and i s prefaced by the famous epigram, "A Sentence i s not emotional a paragraph i s . " I t begins with single sentences and clauses presented without any apparent connection, except that many of them are accompanied by glosses which comment on t h e i r effectiveness. There follows a set of genitive phrases, linked by structure, and then a return to the method of the opening. The piece continues the pattern of sentences and clauses followed by glosses almost throughout, but aft e r the f i r s t page, paragraphs begin to appear occasionally, increasing i n length toward the end. I ref e r to them as "paragraphs" simply because they are constituted of sentences written as a group rather than i n d i v i d u a l l y but they are not markedly d i f f e r e n t from the free standing sentences elsewhere i n the text. In fa c t , the pattern of sentence and gloss i s adhered to even more s t r i c t l y i n the "paragraphs" than i n the rest of the piece. The sense of the paragraph as opposed to the sentence seems at f i r s t to be one of arb i t r a r y structure, but 108. t h i s idea i s gradually changed toward the end, with paragraphs which seem to develop an idea through successive sentences. If there i s no consistent imagery i n "Sentences and Paragraphs," as there was i n "Arthur a Grammar," there i s i n the l a s t few pages a preponderance of nouns to do with rhetoric ("question," 176 "answer," "meaning") and mental events ("premeditated meditation," "concerns," " a n a l y s i s " ) 1 ^ and t h i s leads toward the two exemplary works which follow, "A Grammarian" and "Forensics." I t s physical c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s are possibly more important to the point of "Sentences and Paragraphs" than are those of the other exemplary pieces. The paragraph is. to some extent a physical form, making a v i s u a l as well as a r h e t o r i c a l impression on the reader. The v i s u a l impact of the few long paragraphs i n the midst of the welter of disconnected sentences i n these pages i s strong. Even i n the opening passage, the paragraph beginning "A r e p e t i t i o n of sweetness..." draws the reader into a sense of security. After the i n i t i a l epithets, one unconsciously "settl e s back" to take i n the development of what has been introduced, only to f i n d that there i s no development of the expected kinds 109. Dates of what they bought. They w i l l be ready to have him. We think so. He looks l i k e a young man grown old. That i s a sentence that they could use. I was overcome with remorse. I t was my f a u l t that my wife did not have a cow. This sentence they cannot use. A r e p e t i t i o n of prettiness makes i t repeated. With them looking. A r e p e t i t i o n of sweetness makes i t not repeating but a t t r a c t i v e and making soup and dreaming coincidences. The sentence w i l l be saved. He raises his head and l i f t s i t . A sentence i s not whether i t i s beaut i f u l . Beautiful i s not thought without asking as i f they are well able to be forgi v i n g . George Maratier i n America. The sexual l i f e of Genia Berman. A book of George Hugnet. The choice of E r i c H a u l v i l l e . The wealth of Henri d'Ursal. The r e l i e f of Harry Horwood. The mention of Walter Winterberg. The renown of Bernard Fay. The pleasure of prophecy con-cerning Rene Crevel. T i t l e s are made of sentences without interuption. Sucking i s dangerous. The danger of sucking. 1'" The opening clause, "Dates of what they bought," seems by i t s separation from the rest of the text to be a s u b t i t l e , a l b e i t a meaningless one. The l i n e which follows presents a s t r u c t u r a l pattern which w i l l r a p i d l y become f a m i l i a r as the work progresses, consisting of a sentence or clause followed either by a gloss, a restatement or reworking of the sentence, a comment on the sentence, or another sentence t o t a l l y unrelated to the f i r s t . Here the sentence, ("They 110. w i l l be ready to have him,") quite a commonplace a f f a i r , i s followed by the anomalous comment, "We think so." Who "we" might be i s a question which only serves to accentuate the abstraction of the language from ordinary meaning or context, so that the two sentences together exemplify the physical pattern to follow while establishing the lack of context which i t i s essential the reader r e a l i z e before continuing. The physical structure i s immediately reinforced by the 179 sentence, "He looks l i k e a young man grown o l d , which i s followed by the comment, "That i s a sentence that they could use." This i s followed by another such grouping, t h i s time with two sentences followed by the negative comment, "This sentence they cannot use." The reader i s n a t u r a l l y drawn to wonder why the f i r s t sentence should be more "useful" than the second two. The answer probably l i e s i n the structure. Apart from the fact that "He looks l i k e a young man grown o l d " i s rather a pleasing sentence i n i t s e l f , i t i s a single u n i t , while the second "sentence" which "they cannot use" i s not one sentence, but two. I t has a diffuseness which the f i r s t sentence lacks. Struc t u r a l l y , the two sentences of the second passage could be fused into one by the i n t e r j e c t i o n between them of a coordinating conjunction, thus: "I was overcome with 111. remorse, as i t was my f a u l t that my wife did not have a cow." In t h e i r present state, they form a paragraph-l i k e structure, with a l o g i c a l sequences the f i r s t of them states a f e e l i n g which the second explains. Perhaps because they can exis t as a sentence, a single u n i t , Stein's f e e l i n g i s that they should, and that to present the emotion i n two parts i s to destroy the effect f o r which, i n "Poetry and Grammar," she t e l l s us she i s s t r i v i n g , namely a s y n t a c t i c a l unit which w i l l combine the "unemotional balance of a sentence" and the 1 o n "emotional balance of a paragraph" I t i s also worth noting that the character of the exemplary writings avoids sequential development wherever possible, although i n the l a s t pages of "Sentences and Paragraphs" and i n "Forensics" t h i s becomes more and more d i f f i c u l t to achieve. F i n a l l y , "He looks l i k e a young man grown old" implies, as a'statement, that a great many events and a long period of time are contained i n the aspect of the sentence's subject; the fullness of the sentence makes a paragraph on the subject unnecessary. There i s a gloss a f t e r t h i s ("The r e p e t i t i o n of prettiness makes i t repeated.") and then what, structur-a l l y , we would expect to be a comment on the gloss ("With them looking.") This i s the t h i r d use of a t h i r d 112. person p l u r a l pronoun, and as we read on we discover more and more such references. There seems to be a cast of "eminences grises" who anonymously provide material for the generation of exemplary sentences. The sentences which make up the paragraph beginning "A r e p e t i t i o n of sweetness" are almost completely unrelated. The r e p e t i t i o n of c e r t a i n words between them constitutes the only binding, as i n the r e p e t i t i o n of "sentence" i n the second and fourth sentences, and the use of "beautiful" i n the fourth and f i f t h . "The sentence w i l l be saved" constitutes a gloss which l i n k s the f i r s t and t h i r d sentences: the f i r s t i s more abstract than the sentences we have seen so f a r , seeming by comparison with them to be about to f l y out of i t s structure e n t i r e l y . "The sentence w i l l be saved" seems to be a reaction to t h i s weakness and precedes the t h i r d sentence,* which i s straightforward enough and s t r u c t u r a l l y sound. "He raises his head and l i f t s i t . " The second gloss ("A sentence i s not whether i t i s beautiful.") provides the subject ("beautiful," an adjective used s t r u c t u r a l l y as a noun) of the l a s t sentence of the paragraph, which i s as abstract as the f i r s t , though more soundly structured. 113. After the uncertain form of that paragraph, careful structuring i s most pronounced i n the next passage, which consists of nine noun phrases, a l l but the f i r s t i n the genetive case. They sound l i k e t i t l e s ; t h i s i s , of course, a l i s t of nouns, harking back to "Arthur a Grammar." The structuring of these i s i n t e r e s t i n g and even rather amusing, esp e c i a l l y i n the l i g h t of the f a i l e d paragraph which precedes them. As she l i s t s the f i r s t s i x of them as detached phrases, Stein seems to be gathering momentum, and with the seventh she dives into a paragraph, using the l a s t three phrases as i t s f i r s t three elements, and sealing them h a s t i l y with a glossed comments " T i t l e s are made of sentences without i n t e r -ruption." But t h i s seems to have broken the momentum. For no p a r t i c u l a r reason, the injunction "Sucking i s dangerous" i s introduced, and the paragraph i s only just "saved" s t r u c t u r a l l y as i t i s rounded o f f with another genetive phrase, reminiscent of the e a r l i e r one, but b u i l t from t h i s non sequitur: "The danger of sucking." This sort of juggling of the sentence and the paragraph i n various combinations and with varying success continues through "Sentences and Paragraphs." One t y p i c a l experiment occurs toward the middle of 114. the piece, when the two elements are combined i n an attempt to create a structure which uses both while allowing each to have i t s i n t e g r i t y . A single sentence i s followed by a paragraph which glosses and comments on i t before introducing new material.. The paragraph ends and the o r i g i n a l sentence i s repeated to form a c y c l i c a l structure. Once when they were nearly ready they had ordered i t to close. This i s a perfect example and i t i s not because i t i s a f i n i s h i t i s not ended nor i s i t continued i t i s not fastened and they w i l l not.:neglect. There you are they w i l l not neglect and yet once again they have mustaches. Think well do they grow any t a l l e r a f t e r they have a beard. They do although a l l experience i s to the contrary. Once when they were nearly ready they had ordered i t to close.1°1 The connections between the two elements are clear enough. The f i r s t sentence of the paragraph forms a ^rloss on the sentence preceding i t . I t s second, t h i r d and fourth sentences refer to the subject, ("they") of the sentence, and so presumably add to that abstract development through the use of the grammatical reference of the pronoun. The r e p e t i t i o n of the i n i t i a l sentence closes the form. 115. I t i s quite easy to see why t h i s p a r t i c u l a r variant was discarded. The continued use of such a pattern would severely l i m i t the content of wr i t i n g by i n s i s t i n g on a progression whereby i n d i v i d u a l sentences would have constantly to generate paragraphs, or paragraphs generate sentences. . The matter which could be put into t h i s mould would be as varied as the author's imagination allowed, but because of the structure the re s u l t would always be exposition of some kind, whether exemplary or exegetical. Narrative, description or e x p l i c a t i o n could only appear as material for the f i l l i n g out of th i s p a r t i c u l a r structure, and could not generate t h e i r own forms. The same argument could of course be l e v e l l e d at many of the structures Gertrude Stein t r i e s i n How To Write, but i n t h i s p a r t i c u l a r case we are shown the opposite extreme of the completely aleatory w r i t i n g of " F i n a l l y George A Vocabulary Of Thinking" and sections of Part I of "Arthur a Grammar." Where, i n " F i n a l l y George A Vocabulary Of Thinking," grammatical and s y n t a c t i c a l structures are e n t i r e l y abandoned for short periods, i n t h i s passage from "Sentences and Paragraphs" the language i s cramped not only into grammatical correctness, but into correct syntax, into 116. paragraph structure, and f i n a l l y into a form designed to serve a very p a r t i c u l a r r h e t o r i c a l function, namely exposition by example and comment. In both cases the re s u l t i s unusable i n any other circumstance, but i n both cases Stein has demonstrated extremes which r e s t r i c t themselves by t h e i r nature, and i n both cases the nature of the extreme grows from the nature of language i t s e l f . In the former, complete variance with organization of any kind r e s u l t s i n chaos which, i f i t has any inherent aesthetic or l i n g u i s t i c value at a l l , only serves as a potential f or the application of s t r u c t u r a l experiment. In the l a t t e r , s t r u c t u r a l contrivance to a p a r t i c u l a r end has eliminated a l l but that p a r t i c u l a r p o s s i b i l i t y . I f I seem to be labouring t h i s point, we should remember that the exemplary writings aim, on one l e v e l , to experiment with new structures i n language and new potentials f o r words. I f they are viewed t h i s way, extremes such as the two I have discussed must be presented i f the exemplary p r i n c i p l e i s to be maintained. We should note that the process of w r i t i n g these works constituted a learning process for Gertrude Stein, and i t i s t h i s which^aesthetically defines the exemplary from a l l her other w r i t i n g . These are the only writings 117. i n which St e i n was r e a l l y f e e l i n g her way. I t i s true, as even a bri e f skimming of The Making of Americans-Will show, that she often commented on her progress within the text as she wrote, and offered signposts to the reader: .. . t h i s i s a l i t t l e description of something that happened once and i t i s very i n t e r e s t i n g . Perhaps now I w i l l give just a l i t t l e d e scription of i t , l a t e r I w i l l give more description of i t . I understand i t and I can t e l l i t , I w i l l wait a l i t t l e longer before I t e l l very much about i t . Now there w i l l be only a l i t t l e d escription of i t . 1 8 J Passages such as these are found i n a l l periods of her work, and c l e a r l y document her i n t e r e s t i n the progress of the creative function. But when, i n a work l i k e The Making Of Americans, she comments on her progress or announces her intentions, she does so with a f u l l knowledge not only of what those intentions are, but of how they w i l l appear when they are written. In the exemplary writings, while she does announce her intentions i n the t i t l e s themselves i f nowhere else, she does not suggest that she has planned what her conclusions w i l l be. Indeed the t i t l e s are best considered as analogous to key signatures i n music or directions f o r lens settings i n photography; they indicate 118. the nature of the material to be presented, and suggest the focus required to deal with i t most use f u l l y . But i n the exemplary writings she sets out to t r y something. She i s not: so bold as i n The Making of Americans, when she states f o r example, that " l a t e r (she) w i l l give more description," f or i n How To Write she allows herself to be led from word to word, phrase to sentence to paragraph, u n t i l she knows that she has reached the end of her investigations, u n t i l , i n a sense, a further t i t l e i s required. If there i s any sequence at a l l to these pieces, i t i s a sequence which must, by the nature of the works, be provided by hindsight. The t r a i l from " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking" and "Arthur a Grammar" to "Saving the Sentence" and "Sentences and Paragraphs" can only be followed because Stein herself t r a v e l l e d i t f i r s t . "Sentences and Paragraphs" was the l a s t of the second group of pieces i n How To Write to be written. The paragraph and sentence debacle which has been discussed occurs on the f i f t h of i t s eleven pages. As the piece continues, the constraints which Gertrude Stein has imposed on her w r i t i n g become increasingly c r i p p l i n g . In attempting to combine the sentence and the paragraph as forms regardless of content, she arrives 119. at the point at which pure form must take some att i t u d e , must be directed to some objective purpose, must adopt a mode. If we look back at the f i r s t of these pieces to be written, "Regular Regularly i n Narrative," we f i n d that Gertrude Stein explored some s u p e r f i c i a l .elements of narration as a l i t e r a r y mode, mainly sequence and the l i s t i n g of nouns. I t was i n t h i s work that she l a i d down the bases of her theory that narrative i n poetry i s a c a l l i n g upon sequences of nouns, regardless of t h e i r order: whatever the order, the poem was always "a 1 84 narrative of c a l l i n g upon that name." However, i t may have been the d i f f i c u l t y she encountered i n exemplifying narrative structures that led her into the series of studies beginning with "Arthur a Grammar," i n which she returned to the elements of language i n order to work the problems of w r i t i n g from the root. The d i f f i c u l t y she encountered i n "Regular Regularly" was larg e l y i n distinguishing between sequential l i n g u i s t i c systems, such as counting and sonal patterns, and true narrative i n the sense that i t might be "the c a l l i n g upon" a noun i n which the noun would be the 185 centre of attention. A system i s a formal structure d i s t i n c t from context, while a mode i s an application 120. of systems to a p a r t i c u l a r aesthetic or i n t e l l e c t u a l purpose. Thus l i s t s , l o g i c a l structures, phrases, clauses, sentences, paragraphs, are a l l systems. They may a l l be used i n creating a piece of w r i t i n g i n some mode, be i t descriptive, expository, or narrative, but of themselves and without context or applied content, they cannot be greatly useful except as objects f or perusal. While i t was true that by c i t i n g them she was giving them a context of t h e i r own -•- a central q u a l i t y of a l l the exemplary writings -- and while many of the exemplary writings are objectively pleasing to read and s t r u c t u r a l l y very b e a u t i f u l , they are means to an end. An Acquaintance With Description i s pleasing to read as a structure, but Lucy Church Amiably takes the discoveries of An Acquaintance With Description and transforms them into a pastoral novel, however abstract. Where An Acquaintance With Description i s s t a t i c and imposing, Lucy Church Amiably i s mutable and charming: while the effect of one i s i n t e l l e c t u a l , that of the other i s aesthetic and, more important, a r t i s t i c . The same may be said of other pairs made of exemplary writings and t h e i r creative counterparts, such as those formed with "An Elucidation" which were discussed e a r l i e r . Having reached t h i s c r u c i a l stalemate midway i n 121. "Sentences and Paragraphs", Gertrude Stein begins i n the remainder of the piece to move toward the t h i r d group i n How To Write, concerned with modes and aesthetic questions, and comprising "A Grammarian" and "Forensics" with the e a r l i e r "Regular Regularly i n Narrative." Previous mention was made of the appearance of nouns concerned with rhetoric and mental events, and these anticipate the concerns of the t h i r d group, p a r t i c u l a r l y of "Forensics." Moreover, a technical element which has not appeared before makes a b r i e f showing: Now make a sentence a l l alone. They remember a walk. They remember a part of i t . Which they took with them.l°° Here the sentence i s s p l i t by a period a f t e r the main clause, separating i t from the subordinate clause "whixh they took with them." Having b u i l t up the sentence through i n d i v i d u a l words and phrases i n the f i r s t group, and through clauses and paragraphs i n the second, Stein i s now fragmenting i t and re-examining i t s parts. The form of the sentence with i t s constituent parts i s now f i r m l y established, making i t susceptible to moulding and shaping without fear of i t s being damaged. Now i t may be taken apart purely f o r the delight of our seeing i t s workings. 122. Another appearance of t h i s sentence fragmentation i n "Sentences and Paragraphs" comes at a s i g n i f i c a n t point -- at the entry of the nouns concerned with mental events. The suggestion i s i m p l i c i t i n the use of these words that w r i t i n g , as exemplified i n t h i s group of pieces, has arrived at the necessity f o r context and the adoption of modes. This implication i s reinforced by evidence of freedom with i n the structure of the sentence which has been so painstakingly researched and learned. Premeditated. That i s meditated before meditation. Meditation. Means reserved the r i g h t to meditate. Concerns. This cannot be a word i n a sentence. Because i t i s not of use i n i t s e l f . Analysis i s a womanly word. I t means that they discover there are laws.187 As i f to confirm the adoption of a context, these four l i n e s are a l l d e f i n i t i o n s of a kind, and i n the l a s t there even seems to be an announcement of what S t e i n has achieved: the r e a l i z a t i o n , through "analysis" that there are laws. In each of these l i n e s there i s a re-evocation of one of the techniques which has predominated through the e a r l i e r works. In the f i r s t , there i s an ambiguity centering on the word "that": i t may be a 123. demonstrative pronoun, i n which case the second part of the l i n e i s a complete sentence; or i t may be part of the coordinating phrase, "that i s " ( i . e . "that i s to say"), making the second part a sentence fragment o f f e r i n g a simple d e f i n i t i o n of "premeditated." In the second l i n e , an elusive statement of the disembodied nature of pure meditation i s w i t t i l y implied by the absence of the subject i n the second part and by the use of the period to break up the sentence structure while maintaining a f a m i l i a r pattern of single word and gloss. The t h i r d l i n e once more embodies the breaking of the sentence by a period, here between the main and subordinate clauses. In the fourth l i n e , as i f by contrast, we are given two pe r f e c t l y straight- • forward sentences, and a statement which, i n the l i g h t of what has been achieved here, i s hard to treat with the detachment one has had formerly to< apply to glosses. The l a s t few pages of "Sentences and Paragraphs" consist almost e n t i r e l y on sentences concerned with sentences, appearing singly and i n combination to form paragraphs and glosses. Although a year and several other exemplary experiments would precede i t , the entry of words concerned with rhetoric ("question," "answer" and "meaning") provides further preparation for "Forensics," and the closing passage announces i t i n a l l but name. 124. A sentence th@n can e a s i l y make a mistake. A sentence must be used. Who has had a sentence read f o r him. He w i l l be pleased with what he has and has heard. This i s an exceedingly pretty sentence which has been changed. I did not expect to be interested but I am. Now the whole question of questions and not answer i s very i n t e r e s t i n g . The whole thing about a l l day i s not at a l l when they were owned. What i s a question. To thank f o r a question i s no mistake. We change from Saturday to to-day. 125. (v) "Forensics" Between "Sentences and Paragraphs" and "Forensics" a year elapsed, during which time Stein continued exper-imenting with exemplary writings. In the three exemplary prose works which were written between them, she attempted, without marked success, to overcome the tendency toward modal wr i t i n g and context which "Sentences and Paragraphs" had i n i t i a t e d . There i s no f e e l i n g of desperation about t h i s : Stein was interested i n f i n d i n g out the t r u t h about her w r i t i n g , and explored every p o s s i b i l i t y before advancing. "More Grammar for 189 a Sentence" continues the experiments with the fusion of the sentence and the paragraph, but uses small p o r t r a i t s and scraps of narrative as content, with the re s u l t that the piece i s a r i o t of imagery and colour but succeeds even less than "Sentences and Paragraphs" i n ef f e c t i n g what i t attempts to do. In "A Grammarian" she experiments with the problem of mode i n a d i f f e r e n t way. She adopts an e x p l i c i t a ttitude, that of a grammarian toward his language, to see whether the content can be obviated by i t s closeness 126. to the manner i n which i t i s presented, an attempt which r e c a l l s her remark i n "Poetry and Grammar" about "refusing" nouns by "using" them. "A Grammarian" also experiments with the breaking of sentences by ar b i t r a r y periods which had been introduced i n "Sentences and Paragraphs," often with considerable wi t." 190 Grammar. F i l l s me with delight. If a sentence i s choosing. They make i t i n l i t t l e p i e c e s . 1 ^ 1 The success of "A Grammarian" i n remaining true to a purely exemplary method i s even less pronounced than that of "More Grammar for a Sentence." While i t i s amusing, and i n s t r u c t i v e to a degree, the reader finds himself reading i t more as an exegetical than an exemplary piece. I t induces him to read with an eye to the content more than to the structure, whereas the reading of the exemplary works requires, and forces, a perfect balance of attention to both. "Evidence" 1 9 2 and " T i t l e , S u b - T i t l e " 1 9 3 are both very short pieces, and each attempts to circumvent the same problem of content by other means. "Evidence" i s 127. divided into several i n d i v i d u a l l y t i t l e d short sections which seem unrelated and inconclusive: indeed, the l a s t part, "Why Willows," was written several months afte r the rest and tacked on to the end. The lack of apparent progression i s common to most of the exemplary writings, but i n no section of "Evidence" does there seem to be a concentration on any one s t r u c t u r a l problem. " T i t l e , Sub-Title," assuming t i t l e s to be representative of content, l i s t s t i t l e s and glosses t h e i r effectiveness. This ploy i s s i m i l a r to that used i n "A Grammarian," begging the question by employing as i t s content something which i s i t s e l f the announcer of every kind of content. The r e s u l t i s , l i k e "A Grammarian," amusing but unconvincing. Stein had discovered that context i n prose was as unavoidable as were progression and sequence. It was at t h i s point that she wrote the " t r a n s l a t i o n " of Hugnet * s Enfance which was to become Before the Flowers  of Friendship-Faded! Friendship Faded. This was followed by a number of short poems which seemed to owe t h e i r inception more to the momentum the long poem had created than to any inner necessity of t h e i r own. They experiment with l i n e form and sona l i t y i n short poetic descriptions of objects or people. However, t h i s r e l i e f from her 128. concentration on exemplary prose enabled her to adopt a perspective toward i t s problems which she had been unable to do while she was working on them, and the res u l t was one of the best of a l l the exemplary works, "Forensics," which forms a bridge between the prose pieces and the exemplary poems which were to follow. "Forensics" manages to come to grips with the problems encountered i n "Sentences and Paragraphs" i n several d i s t i n c t i v e ways. Its t i t l e , i n the f i r s t place, d i f f e r s from a l l the others i n How To Write because i t does not consist of a grammatical or stru c t u r a l l a b e l , but a r h e t o r i c a l one, and as the reader begins the work he sees that he i s expected to draw inferences from the t i t l e . Although i t i s given i n i t s noun form, meaning the argument of "one side or 195 the other of a given question." Stein c l e a r l y has taken into account i t s a d j e c t i v a l form as w e l l , f o r the t r y i n g of questions and the atmosphere of the witness-box i s strongly implied i n many places. Exactness of expression i s mentioned many times, and the piece abounds with d e f i n i t i o n s of the word "forensics" which summarize discoveries which have taken place i n f e r e n t i a l l y i n the text. 129. Now what i s forensics. Forensics i s eloquence and reduction.196 Forensics i s a taught paragraph.197 What i s forensics forensics i s an argument to be fought.198 What are forensics. Forensics are elaborated argument.199 The most basic format of a l l the other pieces i n How To Write takes one of two forms, each centering on the use of example: the f i r s t of these has an example, or an exemplary unit, followed by a gloss commenting upon i t ; the second i s merely an extension of the f i r s t , and consists of an exemplary statement or gloss followed by an example or a p a r a l l e l u n i t , followed by a gloss. In both cases, each unit of the structure can stand by i t s e l f , and no expectation i s created by any one unit. Their relationship i s i n i t i a t e d p r i n c i p a l l y by t h e i r appearing next to one another. There are many examples of exemplary statements standing without glosses, and often glosses appear as statements without being linked d i r e c t l y to any passage of the text. But i n the use of question and answer, which i s a predominant form i n "Forensics," there i s a necessary r e l a t i o n between the two parts of the structure. A question demands an answer -- even a r h e t o r i c a l question i n a sense answers i t s e l f -- and the reader i n f e r s an 130. answer when he sees a question posed. The i n d i v i d u a l units of the text are therefore no longer sovereign, but linked by s t r u c t u r a l dependance to one another. Furthermore, the form of question and answer embodies a sequence, as the answer must follow the question i f each i s to r e t a i n i t s nature. While there are elements i n "Forensics" which are unavoidably sequential, and so l i n e a r , i t remains f i r m l y i n the s t y l e of the other pieces i n How To Write i n i t s absence of expository progression. By the end of the piece, the reader has gathered what i s there to be seen, but the material has not been presented i n a p a r t i c u l a r order. Passages of the w r i t i n g create effects which contribute to the whole work, and there i s an accumulation of techniques toward the end, as they recur and are recognized, but Stein has not imposed a predetermined structure on the w r i t i n g here any more than i n "Arthur a Grammar." Her r e a l i z a t i o n s are documented as she writes, and the reader shares them. The one technique which i s advanced here i s the use of the period begun i n "Sentences and Paragraphs," In "Forensics" i t i s developed and explored, and at times almost succeeds i n creating the fusion between the 131. sentence and the paragraph which Stein had spoken of i n "Poetry and Grammar." The s t y l e appears twice at some length, most markedly at the end. A detachment of troops. Who can. Be c a r e f u l . Of a. Detachment. Of troops. And i f they are. What i s i t . That they leave there. As they leave a l i k e . I t . A l i k e . As a bother. To them. This can show. That they Must. Accept. A denial. They have authority. For a l l . That they want. As t h e i r . Treasure. And. Do they. Hope. To show. Something.. For i t . Without. An appointment. Just when they went. Usefully. In t h e i r . Destruction. In. Enjoyment. Such forensics can l a t e l y take shape. Just plan t h e i r use. Then carry i t out i n p r i n c i p l e . Find i t a favourable moment. To advance. Their i n t e r e s t s . Moreover. Just at once. Which i s . By t h e i r account. That they w i l l have i t as a blemish. In t h e i r s . In unison. An advantage to forsake. Which they w i l l . As they may glean. More fac t s . For which. By t h e i r ordinary values. They w i l l be p r a c t i c a l l y . As f a r apart. Forensics may be a t h i r s t f or gold. I t may with them battle and die. I t can as much bequeath and condole. For them. To merit. That they. Should console. Them.201 Rather i n the way that faces and objects are concealed i n the design of a c h i l d ' s maze, the sentences i r i these paragraphs are hidden by the l i b e r a l strewing of periods throughout them. More than that, the clauses and phrases are often broken midway rather than allowed to maintain t h e i r own forms. (."Of'-a. 132. Detachment.") As a r e s u l t of t h i s , the sentences are fused i n the paragraph by being unrecognizable as cl e a r e n t i t i e s within i t ; they are i n the paragraph, but t h e i r outlines are so i n d i s t i n c t that one must take the paragraph with a l l i t s sentences, or the sentences with the paragraph by default. The most important r e s u l t of t h i s use of periods i s the effect i t has on the-motion of prose. By stopping the reader v i s u a l l y at places where the syntax t e l l s his ear he should go on, Stein focuses attention on t h i s progressive q u a l i t y i n prose, discovering that even so f i n a l a signal as a period w i l l neither stop nor appreciably slow the momentum of sense. This was the f i n a l proof i n the exemplary prose writings of the one most essential q u a l i t y of prose: forward movement. In How To Write, she had explored every aspect of the making of prose, from the grammatical natures of words, through the structuring of phrases and clauses, to the q u a l i t i e s of the sentence and the paragraph. She had attempted to use language abstractly to exemplify form without depending on objective contexts, and discovered that such w r i t i n g presented only l i m i t e d p o s s i b i l i t i e s . By then allowing c a r e f u l l y selected 133. contexts to inform the exemplary s t y l e she had developed, she discovered that the "excitingness of pure being" withdrew from the form, that the unalloyed structure immediately took on the context and fused with i t . Language demanded meaning. Furthermore, the l i n e a r i t y of language was brought f o r c i b l y home i n many ways. Only i n "Arthur a Grammar" and " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking," had she succeeded i n making language s t a t i c , with del i b e r a t e l y unpatterned masses of words, and that at the expense of every other qu a l i t y i t possessed. Even i n those works, the r e a l i z a t i o n which grew from her discovery led her to t r y further arrangements of words, and t h i s was i t s e l f a process of movement, The use of re p e t i t i o n , present i n so much of her w r i t i n g , momentarily stopped progression i n a s u p e r f i c i a l way, but as i t created a pattern which was re a l i z e d cumulatively as the repetitions were read, i t , too, moved. The exemplary studies of sentences and paragraphs which formed the second of the three groups i n How To  Write had already capitulated i n t h i s matter to some extent: a sentence and a paragraph, unless merely viewed as shapes on a page, must be read from beginning 134. to end, another form of forward movement. Her attempt to discover a form which would successfully combine what she c a l l e d "the emotional balance" of a sentence with that of a paragraph ended i n a c y c l i c a l form which allowed the two to function w i t h i n i t only at the cost of constant reference to one another. While t h i s would allow the author any content he desired, and while i t would stop the outer motion of at least that structure, i t would be useless except as a rather p l a i n abstract form, because anything put into i t would i n e v i t a b l y s e t t l e into a pattern of reciprocating references which would only be useful i n expository w r i t i n g . This led her to the r e a l i z a t i o n that, i f w r i t i n g was to r e t a i n i t s v a r iety, i t must adopt modality, must become narrative, or descriptive, or expository. This, i n turn, meant that i t must have content, and content meant that i t must have motion. Gertrude Stein's f i n a l attempt, i n "A Grammarian" and "Forensics," to stop the flow of language by del i b e r a t e l y breaking i t s momentum at unnatural places i n the .text was her l a s t experiment with developing a non-linear s t y l e of w r i t i n g . I t i s wrong to suppose that these experiments, which warred against theAmost basic q u a l i t i e s of language and w r i t i n g , sprang from' aesthetic anarchy or n i h i l i s m . Gertrude Stein loved language and 135. loved w r i t i n g , and a l l her experiments were directed toward the end of improving e x i s t i n g forms, or providing supplemental ones. She said i n "Poetry and Grammar" that she had attempted to f i n d a form which combined the balance of the sentence and the paragraph as early as The Making of Americans, and even f e l t she had succeeded at that time, but that she had decided to abandon the experiment on the grounds that i t "was not leading to anything because a f t e r a l l you should not lose two things i n order to have one thing because 20' i n doing so you make w r i t i n g just that much less varied." Her apparent decision to take the problem up again twenty years l a t e r i n How To Write was r e a l l y a d i f f e r e n t matter. In The Making of Americans she had been attempting t h i s experiment within the body of a novel, and f e l t a r e s p o n s i b i l i t y to the context which did not altogether free her to t r y out st r u c t u r a l theories. How To Write, by contrast, was intended to be a series of experiments, with no r e s p o n s i b i l i t y to anything but the p r i n c i p l e s of investigation. She was not, a f t e r a l l , obliged to use the res u l t s of these studies, even i f they worked. In the end, the one q u a l i t y of wr i t i n g i n How To  Write which she had not been able to dislodge was i t s 136. l i n e a r i t y . Even i n "Forensics," the one technique which jarred i t s progress more strongly than any other f i n a l l y only served to accentuate what i t disturbed. I t was at t h i s point that Gertrude Stein saw a p o s s i b i l i t y which had not presented i t s e l f before. The essential q u a l i t y of prose w r i t i n g , the one quality she had been unable to escape as she had explored i t i n How To Write, was that i t had to move. If prose did d i f f e r i n a basic way from poetry, i t was l o g i c a l that the difference lay i n that d i r e c t i o n . As the essential nature of prose was movement, i t followed that the essential nature of poetry was s t i l l n e s s . Perhaps the development of a s t a t i c structure within the confines of language could be re a l i z e d i n poetry. 137. PART THREE THE EXEMPLARY POEMS ( i ) "Winning His Way" The word which Gertrude Stein used i n reference to herself was "writer," rather than "novelist," "poet," or "playwright." She f e l t that, as an a r t i s t with language, she could control any genre she chose, and she wrote plays, poems, novels, essays, lectures, p o r t r a i t s and anything else her imagination demanded. Rather than consider herself a s p e c i a l i s t i n any one f i e l d of l i t e r a t u r e , shaping her conceptions to the exigencies of a p a r t i c u l a r genre, she chose to l e t her ideas assume the form they must take, to follow a course i n which they shaped themselves to the mould which would best contain them. This b e l i e f i n the i n t e g r i t y of ideas resulted i n her works being t r u l y "organic" -- to use a much overworked word quite c o r r e c t l y . Stein's concern with the idea per se as the matter of w r i t i n g , a process which we saw i n How To Write, has often resulted i n a f a l s e impression about the nature of her work. I t i s not, as Weinsteiri has said i n reference to Stanzas i n Meditation, a "phenomenology of 138. mind,'" 1^ because i t was not epistemology which interested Stein, but temporal s p a t i a l r e l a t i o n s h i p s . When she said i n "Poetry and Grammar," that she l i k e d 204 prepositions "the best of a l l , " she was f a r from being whimsical. Prepositions designate the s p a t i a l , temporal and mental relationships between things, and throughout her w r i t i n g t h i s had concerned Gertrude Stein deeply. In Four Saints i n Three Acts she had made the saints form the landscape of the play; i n Tender Buttons she had written through nouns to a r r i v e at t h e i r true nature. This interest carried over into the exemplary writings. In "Arthur a Grammar" she had created a landscape which was grammatical, a grammar which arrayed i t s e l f around the contours of thought. Her attempts to dispense with the l i n e a r q u a l i t y of prose i n the second group of writings i n How To Write was also, i n i t s way, an attention to a prepositional relationship* i n progressing forward, whether by l o g i c or r h e t o r i c a l sequence, prose constantly realigned i t s e l f with i t s past, just as a conclusion i s appreciated i n r e l a t i o n to the propositions which have preceded i t , and the answer to a question i s the answer to a question. Stein's two successful attempts to make prose s t a t i c were both encumbered by other problems. In " F i n a l l y 139. George a Vocabulary of Thinking" she had managed to freeze the motion of language by robbing i t of every c h a r a c t e r i s t i c which gave i t value, presenting blocks of undigested and i n d i g e s t i b l e verbiage. Even then, the words began to arrange themselves s t r u c t u r a l l y i n s p i t e of t h e i r random q u a l i t y , and just by t h e i r appearing together, formed a vocabulary of that moment. In "Forensics," the technique of randomly placed periods did stop the flow of the sentences momentarily, but the forward impetus remained. Her r e a l i z a t i o n that t h i s forward motion was an essential q u a l i t y of prose led Gertrude Stein at once to experiment with a long poem, "Winning His Way. A Narrative Poem of Poetry." There was a c e r t a i n bravado i n t h i s . By r e f e r r i n g to the poem as a narrative, Stein weighted the scales against herself, as narrative i s acknowledged to be a sequential mode of w r i t i n g . But, as she was to explain .three years l a t e r i n "Narration #2," i t was not necessary that narrative move forward, only that i t be a sequence of c a l l i n g upon nouns, and the elements of a narrative, being events, were nouns. If the movement forward which the t i t l e suggested -- both i n the word "narrative" and i n the implications of "winning his way," gaining ground 140. -- were modified by the imposition of some outside influence, some a r b i t r a r y form, perhaps the l i n e a r momentum of the "narrative" could be modified, or dissipated, to such an extent that the reader would abandon the attempt to f i n d the sequence he expected and read for the iso l a t e d moment, for the "nouns" themselves. A l l t h i s was very problematic, and the poem did not succeed i n stopping t h i s flow. The techniques Stein used were basic and incompletely applied. She borrowed the period technique of "Forensics" and constructed her poem i n l i n e s which were not markedly d i f f e r e n t from those of "Arthur a Grammar" or " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking," thus harking back to the e a r l i e s t group of works i n How To Write which dealt with the i s o l a t e d word. Line length was inconsistent, and there was no metrical or sonal pattern which recurred with any frequency; had there been, expectancy on the reader's part would have led to the poem's having a momentum imposed upon i t . The subject matter of the poem places i t quite c l e a r l y i n the exemplary writings. There are abundant references to the t i t l e and to the process of the 141. w r i t i n g , implying a return to the beginning of the poem. Winning his way. A poem. A long narrative poem. Of poetry. And winning. His way. The poetry. Of paper moving. Because. She was sleeping. Winning h i s way. A narrative poem. Of poetry. And friendships. And not. To be removed. As leaving. Winning his way. A narrative poem. Of poetry and of friendship. Winning his way. In. Coming. Why have they not made. A pansy perfume. Since pansies smell. So d e l i c i o u s . They are bea u t i f u l . And. Delicious. Pansy perfume would be d e l i c i o u s , A narrative poem e n t i t l e d . Winning h i s way. A poem. Of poetry. And friendship, A narrative. Should be. A poem. T e l l i n g . Of poetry. And friendship. And i t should have the name. Of. Winning h i s way. 205 This i s such a narrative poem. There i s a l i m i t e d charm i n t h i s s t y l e , although i t does not achieve what i t set out to do. As was the case i n "Forensics," the poem i s crippled at once by an inconsistency of logic« i f the periods are to be a r b i t r a r -i l y placed, they must be placed i n sentences, or clauses, or phrases, so that the reader can r e a l i z e that there i s some movement which i s being broken. To place periods throughout one of the blocks of words which appeared i n " F i n a l l y George A Vocabulary of Thinking" would not 142. achieve the same effect at a l l , because as there i s no sense of progressive syntax or r h e t o r i c a l form i n the words, there would be nothing to interrupt. As a r e s u l t , i n the process of recognizing the a r b i t r a r y placing of periods, the reader must note the forward motion of the sense. The poem requires forward motion i n order to exercise i t s ef f e c t s . "Winning His Way" i s further hampered by a more basic problem, that i t f a i l s to hold the interest of the reader. The reason f o r t h i s i s not hard to discover: where i n the exemplary prose, the structures of the sentences and paragraphs, the r e l a t i o n s between them and the play of grammatical reference a l l contribute to the effect of the piece, i n a poem one i s to concentrate on nouns, or on elements which are to be seen as objects, however composite they might be. "Arthur a Grammar" can provide exemplars f o r grammatical construction f o r s i x t y pages without becoming tedious, because the v a r i e t y inherent i n i t s subject matter, which i s a system of r e l a t i v i s t i c materials, provides constant tension and f l u x regardless of progression. "Winning His Way," i n attempting to follow the exemplary method of self-examination, and i n further t r y i n g to e s t a b l i s h a s t a t i c nature which i s e s s e n t i a l l y poetic, must r e l y 143. s o l e l y on nouns, and p a r t i c u l a r l y on i t s own t i t l e and some few other events and objects and characters which are brought i n . The r e s u l t i s tedious because the techniques used to effect i t were brought over from prose to poetry without modification. The most important effect of "Winning His Way" was.its dullness, because i t revealed the necessity of finding a technique which would be capable of sustaining interest over some length, and which would allow poetry to take on i t s proper q u a l i t y of s t i l l n e s s , without having i t roughly imposed. One of the most, important things' Gertrudei"Stein learned through her exemplary studies was the necessity of allowing the raw material of her a r t , the idea, to take i t s form through her agency, rather than under her ru l e . 144. ( i i ) Stanzas i n Meditation In Stanzas i n Meditation, Gertrude Stein allowed her poetry to take on i t s proper form. U n t i l that time her sense of poetry was not formal, but r h e t o r i c a l . When she wrote pieces such as "Sonnets that Please" and others designated as poems by t h e i r t i t l e s or by references w i t h i n t h e i r texts, she was not w r i t i n g sonnets or l y r i c s (although she might have been w r i t i n g l y r i c a l l y , a very d i f f e r e n t thing). Her insistence that these were poems was based on her long-held contention that poetry had to do with nouns. If a work seemed to be concerned i n some way with exploring the nature of the noun, i t was avowed to be; poetry. While her sense of prose was acute and t a s t e f u l from the e a r l i e s t days of her career, her sense of poetry tended to the pr i m i t i v e . She must surely have read the great poetry -- c e r t a i n l y she had read Shakespeare, Pope and Chaucer -- but she had not r e a l l y t r i e d to emulate i t . Her interest lay i n prose w r i t i n g , and 207 tended toward exposition. I use the word "pri m i t i v e " to describe Gertrude Stein's early sense of poetry advisedly, because her early work tended to be very simply and openly rhymed 145. and metred, l i k e the "Valentine" segment of "A Valentine to Sherwood Anderson." We saw t h i s s t y l e i n Before The Flowers Of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded' i n the short "dove" section Stein quoted i n "Poetry and Grammar," and i t remains r i g h t into Stanzas i n Meditation, where i t s naivete i n contrast to the elegance and cool l y r i c i s m of much of the rest of the poem can be doubly enjoyed. Stanzas i n Meditation i s p e r f e c t l y i n accord with Stein's sense of poetry, because i t i s f u l l of objects, often natural objects, and of the immediate present, the process of creation. The language i s simple, although t h i s does not make the poem immediately accessible: i n f a c t , Stanzas i n Meditation i s at least as d i f f i c u l t of access as How To Write. I t s concern with objects, events, and other substantives, however, allows Gertrude Stein to indulge her love of prepositions to a degree which i s unsurpassed anywhere else i n her work, as the poem i s deeply concerned with the relationships between a l l the elements which make i t up. Stein had learned from "Winning His Way" that the form of a successful poem (which now meant a poem which 146. was s t a t i c by nature) had to be a poetic one, and her directness led her to decide that the poem should be divided into "stanzas" of varying length. This had the double effect of announcing her poetic intention and providing a f l e x i b l e but d e f i n i t e set of d i v i s i o n s which might be played against one another -- the f i r s t "objects" of the work. Within the stanzas, the materials of the poem would shape themselves into smaller units: l i n e s . The metric of the l i n e should be set; because Gertrude Stein's reading i n poetry had always been concentrated on Shakespeare, the metre chosen to begin the poem was what Donald Sutherland 208 c a l l s "a very p l a i n iambic a f f a i r . " As the poem progressed and Stein f e l t more sure of hers e l f , the lin e s would begin to vary, becoming sometimes s t r i c t l y m etrical, sometimes very free, but always the l i n e would be the noticable unit of the poem's construction. Within the structure of the stanza, the l i n e s were allowed considerable play. The stanzas range i n length from one l i n e to over a hundred, but i n nearly every case each l i n e constitutes a s y n t a c t i c a l u n i t , and the rel a t i o n s between them tend to be r h e t o r i c a l rather than poetic. For example a closed couplet w i l l often be formed by two main clauses, 147. I caught a bird which made a b a l l And they thought better of it.209 by a main clause with an appositive addition, I t i s not only early that they make no mistake A nightingale and a robin.210 or by a main clause followed by a modifying phrase or clause, They can be no occasion to leave roses On bushes.211 Sequences of l i n e s often consist of a succession of p a r a l l e l clauses, i n t h i s case with a rare example of enjambmenti If she said very much or l i t t l e or not at a l l If she said very much or not at a l l If she said a l i t t l e very much or not at a l l 212 Who i s winning why the answer of course i s she,is. Stein's purely poetic techniques are less varied, but e f f e c t i v e and pleasurable. She r e l i e s c h i e f l y on the use of perfect rhyme with a very conventional metre, or on d i r e c t r e p e t i t i o n , r e s u l t i n g i n i d e n t i c a l rhyme: I think very w e l l of Susan but I do not know her name I think very well of E l l e n but which i s not the same 148. I think very well of Paul I t e l l him not to do so I think very w e l l of Francis Charles but do I do so Mama loves you best because you are Spanish Mama loves you best because you are Spanish Spanish or which or a day.214 The stanzas as units are i n t e r n a l l y organized by t h e i r content, usually the exploration of an object or .a group of objects i n various s y n t a c t i c a l , r h e t o r i c a l 215 and contextual relationships. Sometimes the organiz-ation takes the form of overt poetic structuring of a simple kind, often i n a quatrain or couplet, and these "prosodic" stanzas - - a s opposed to the more " r h e t o r i c a l " ones -- frequently provide the glosses which we have come to expect i n Gertrude Stein's exemplary w r i t i n g : A stanza should be thought And i f which can they do Very well for very w e l l And very well for you.2l° This l i t t l e stanza appears very near the end of the work, yet i t provides an important clue to the reading O I Stanzas i n Meditation. Donald Sutherland said that only "the most i n t r e p i d reader should t r y to begin (the "Stanzas") at the beginning and read through consecutively. If read at random, as one may read the Old Testament or In Memoriam. (the "Stanzas") 149. y i e l d more more r e a d i l y . " Reading i t through from the beginning i s only the most obvious way of reading Stanzas i n Meditation, and i t can indeed y i e l d to browsing most productively. What Sutherland does not mention i s that the reason f o r t h i s i s founded i n Stein's concern with escaping the l i n e a r i t y of w r i t i n g . How To Write consists of a group of works studying the nature of language, and each devotes i t s e l f to one aspect,of t h i s study. Yet within each piece, no matter how abstracted the method, the accumulation of exper-iments leads the reader to a p o s i t i o n where he knows more than when he began to read. This i s l i n e a r , and the same thing occurs i n Stanzas i n Meditation, but there randomness .• i s f a r more marked than i n How To Write, i f only because the form allows Stein to designate each stanza as a self-contained unit. In a way t h i s makes the work less arduous to deal with, as a few stanzas w i l l demonstrate the method and the matter of the poem, whereas How To Write demanded a f u l l e r attention to successive steps, as both the r e s u l t and the indicator of i t s e s s e n t i a l l y l i n e a r s t y l e . The stanzas as a whole deal with one subject -- the r e l a t i o n a l aspect of thought. I have already suggested that Stein's love of 150. prepositions was an early i n d i c a t i o n of t h i s f a s c i n a t i o n with what things have to do with each other. Her studies i n c l i n i c a l psychology at R a d c l i f f e and Johns Hopkins and the studies of families and i n d i v i d u a l s i n The Making of Americans were more d i r e c t r e s u l t s of i t . In How To Write she had explored the relationships within language, the tendency of a vocabulary to make sense, the almost automatic structuring of words according to t h e i r functions, and the relationships between sentences and paragraphs. I t was natural that a w r i t e r so concerned with the nature of language would single out f o r her special a f f e c t i o n the part of speech which designates rela t i o n s of any kind, s p a t i a l , temporal, or i n t e l l e c t u a l . I t i s puzzling at f i r s t to see how very l i t t l e overt use of metaphor or s i m i l e there i s i n any of Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g , because these are the r h e t o r i c a l and poetic devices which have been devised to specify the r e l a t i o n s between things, no matter how abstruse. Stanzas i n Meditation i s asffree of them as any other work, perhaps even more. This can be explained anal-ogously by r e c a l l i n g that, although she understood grammar very w e l l , was acutely aware of i t , could use i t , and never claimed to f i n d i t inadequate to i t s 151. purpose, she spent nearly ten years s t r i p p i n g i t down and reassembling i t , documenting i t s processes. For Gertrude Stein to accept grammar without knowing a l l the alternatives w i t h i n i t seemed too easy, and i t i s not hard to see that f o r her to accept s i m i l e and metaphor as they were was too easy as w e l l . In Tender  Buttons, her f i r s t poetry, she had already passed the rudimentary use of tenor and vehicle i n metaphor by f a i l i n g e n t i r e l y to define the tenor of the metaphorical relationships she expressed i n the poems. The structures which resulted were only abstract because the t i t l e s were inadequate to paraphrase t h e i r contents to the reader -- even the re l a t i o n s h i p between the t i t l e and the poem i t prefaced was o b j e c t i v e l y undefined. That the t i t l e and the piece appeared together was enough, and was a r e l a t i o n s h i p i n i t s e l f . Most readers of Tender Buttons today read out of c u r i o s i t y , to t r y to f i n d out what Gertrude Stein i s t r y i n g to t e l l them, which i s another way of saying "to t r y to f i n d out what i s tender about what buttons," A preposition even serves to ask the question, "What i s Tender Buttons about?" Stanzas i n Meditation i s about "about-ness," i f I may be forgiven such a word. The stanzas are i n medit-152. ation just as Beethoven's F i f t h Symphony i s i n C minor: the ambience of the musical materials consists of the p a r t i c u l a r set of sonal relationships we. ; have agreed to c a l l "the key of C minor." S i m i l a r l y , the ambience of the verbal materials i n Stanzas i n Meditation i s what we c a l l "meditationj' the process of mental r e f l e c t i o n . The r e l a t i o n a l nature of thought i s exemplified by the very fact that we have a word to s i g n i f y i t . Relation i s as fundamental to thought as grammar i s to language. Each i s the system which makes the other possible. Stanzas i n Meditation, by exploring r e l a t i o n , goes past the structure of language to the structures which made language and which created the need f o r there to be language i n the f i r s t place. We have not yet r e a l l y moved away from the t i t l e of Stanzas i n Meditation. We began by discussing the use of the stanza as a form, a mould, f o r the content of the poem. We went on to say that prepositions function as the designators of the r e l a t i o n a l i n language, as can be demonstrated by the phrase "stanzas i n meditation," which says that the stanzas are immersed i n some mental surround which we c a l l "meditation." We then saw that "meditation" s i g n i f i e s the process of mental r e f l e c t i o n , and now we may say that " r e f l e c t i o n " 153. i s impossible unless i t i s directed toward something, so that when we say that we are " r e f l e c t i n g on poetry," or "meditating on words," we are using a preposition to show the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of the process, the perspect-ive of the thinker i n r e l a t i o n to the thought. An experienced reader of poetry i s fundamentally sensitive to the words of the poem he i s reading, and we are accustomed to noticing p a r t i c u l a r words or groups of words which are more frequently used than others i n a given poem, Thus i n "Rime of the Ancient Mariner," taking a cue from the t i t l e , we f i n d our-selves p a r t i c u l a r l y aware of words connected with the sea and seafaring. On a less obvious l e v e l , the reader of Wordsworth's The Prelude becomes aware of a recurring use of words to do with time and memory, and develops a s e n s i t i v i t y to the use of tense and sequence. Even more subtly, the t i t l e of Hopkins' "The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo" makes one acutely appreciative of the i n t r i c a t e use of rhyme and r e p e t i t i o n as formal poetic renderings of the "echo" of the t i t l e . In Stanzas i n Meditation, then, we may keep our ears open for words to do with thought or mental processes, or expect to f i n d statements about the q u a l i t y of mental r e f l e c t i o n or i n t e l l e c t u a l recreation, but we are no 154. more rewarded i n that than i f we had spent our f i r s t reading of Tender Buttons looking f o r references to buttons and tenderness. Stanzas i n Meditation i s a d i f f i c u l t work even f or an experienced reader of Stein and Donald Sutherland's suggestion that they w i l l " y i e l d more more r e a d i l y " i f read at random i s a good one. I have already quoted the l i t t l e quatrain which states t h i s almost d i r e c t l y . However, there are patterns to be seen, both i n the form of the poem and i n i t s language, and i f the browser i n the work becomes aware of any p a r t i c u l a r word more than another, that word i s the r e l a t i v e pronoun "which." There i s no p a r t i c u l a r reason why the word should be apparent except f o r the frequency of i t s use, as normally we do not notice words such as a r t i c l e s , conjunctions, and prepositions which are widely used. But "which" i s noticeable, and appears f a r more than usual i n t h i s poem. (A simple s t a t i s t i c w i l l make i t plains of the one hundred six t y - f o u r stanzas which make up the poem, a quick count w i l l show that thirty-seven use the word "which" i n t h e i r f i r s t two l i n e s . ) If we follow t h i s l i n e of research, we come on t h i s stanzas Which can be which i f there This which I f i n d I l i k e 155. Not i f which i f I l i k e . This which i f I l i k e . I have f e l t t h i s which I l i k e . I t i s more then. I wish to say that I take pleasure i n i t The method used here i s quite l i k e that of the exemplary prose works. The word "which" i s considered from several viewpoints. I t i s used i n a grammatically orthodox way i n l i n e s two and f i v e , heading a pronominal phrase i n apposition to the demonstrative pronoun " t h i s " i n l i n e two, and appearing again as a r e l a t i v e pronoun i n a main clause i n l i n e f i v e . In the f i r s t l i n e , however, i t i s s t r u c t u r a l l y the object of perusal, demanding that the reader mentally set i t between inverted commas i n each of i t s two appearances, thus* ""Which" can be "which" i f ( i t i s ) there," with "there" pointing to the second l i n e where "which" i s used grammatically, as i f by demonstration. I t can be construed as a demonstrative pronoun i n l i n e three ( i . e . "which ' i f I l i k e " ) although the l i n e does not connect s y n t a c t i c a l l y with the rest of the "sentence" set off by the period at the end of the t h i r d l i n e . Line four seems to constitute a summary of the concerns of the f i r s t three l i n e s , although i t i s more a catalogue of them than a statement or a reappraisal. The f i f t h l i n e , again using "which" grammatically, i s a subjective 156. comment by Stein professing her enjoyment of the knowledge she has acquired, and she adds that " i t ( i . e . "which") i s more then," that the word "which" i s more useful and enriched than she had r e a l i z e d . She "takes pleasure i n i t . " Paraphrase i s odious, but i t i s important to see the vigour with which Stein approaches her inv e s t i g a t i o n of t h i s key word. As was the case with the quatrain suggesting the non-sequential nature of the stanzas, each of which "should be thought," t h i s important stanza occurs i n the l a s t part of the poem. To the reader who has read through from the beginning, the importance of "which" as a key word i n the poem might have become apparent, i n which case t h i s stanza would simply be an affirmation of what was already suspected; i t i s possible, however, that the r e a l i z a t i o n provided here would require a re-reading of a l l that had gone before. Within the purview of Stanzas i n Meditation, "which" has an importance going beyond i t s purely grammatical nature. As a pronoun, i t stands for a great v a r i e t y of nouns i n the course of the poem, and with i t s accentuated presence i t serves i n the process as a reminder of the nounal nature of poetry. I t i s as a 157. r e l a t i v e pronoun that i t acquires i t s greatest importance, however, by r e l a t i n g the materials of the poem to one another. I t s function as a " r e l a t o r " of things should i t s e l f be considered as a statement of Stein's intentions. I t i s , of course, frequently associated with prepositions i n the text, forming phrases such as "by which," "with which," and " i n which," and i s thus conjoined with the other primary grammatical inst i g a t o r s of the poem. In t h i s process of r e l a t i n g two substantives, whether they are abstractions or concrete objects, there i s a perspective which i s taken f o r granted, and i t i s fundamental to Stein's conception of poetry. If two things are related to one another grammatically, rather than just placed together, they are r e l a t i v e to one another i n some sort of pos i t i o n , whether s p a t i a l , temporal or i n t e l l e c t u a l . The attention i s f i r s t drawn to one, then to the other i n terms of that f i r s t one, so that while there may be movement from one to the other, the movement goes no further than the second object of the comparison of the r e l a t i o n , but remains with i n and informs the space separating the two. So, to say "the man and the dog" i s to move from the man, to the dog, and thence to some further point which, i f that i s the only phrase avai l a b l e , i s void. The c i t i n g 158. of the two objects may be seen as a unit by i t s e l f , but i t does not contain movement within i t s e l f . But i f we say, "the man near the dog," we have f i x e d the two i n some r e l a t i o n . We move from the man to the dog, but our sense of where the dog i s , namely "near" the man, l i m i t s the p o s s i b i l i t i e s of our conception of the two together by narrowing the range to a small area. Once our attention i n the course of the phrase l i g h t s upon the dog, our mind reassesses and affirms the r e l a t i o n , because we are aware of the dog as an adjunct of our consciousness of the man. That r e a l i z a t i o n has brought our attention back to the man, which w i l l i n turn give us a further sense of the p o s i t i o n of the dog, and so on. This i s fundamental to our use of language and to our thinking about r e a l i t y . Consider the difference betx^een these two passages from Stanzas i n Meditation t Coming to think i t only as they knew Known makes i t p l a i n I s h a l l Think birds and ways and frogs and grass and now That they c a l l meadows more I have seen what they knew.219 I could not be i n doubt About. The beauty of San Remy, That i s to say The h i l l s small h i l l s Beside or rather r e a l l y a l l behind. Where the Roman arches stay ...220 159. The t h i r d l i n e of the f i r s t example i s r e a l l y nothing more than a l i s t , and such r e l a t i o n as exists i s merely the r e s u l t of the items i n the l i s t ' s a l l being objects of "think." The grammatical perspective i n which the words appear i s so tenuous, indeed, that the adverb "now" at the l i n e ' s end seems f o r a moment to be an item i n the l i s t . The movement of the l i n e i s progress-ive and u n i d i r e c t i o n a l , as successive conjunctions without the r e s t r i c t i o n of a preposition simply gather momentum. The second example i s much closer to the state of the poem Stein i s t r y i n g to achieve. In the f i r s t place, the passage begins with the establishment of a mental p o s i t i o n , "not... i n doubt," which i s hardly conclusive but i s at least precise within i t s broad boundaries. This i n t e r n a l state i s linked preposition-a l l y to "the beauty of San Remy" by being placed "about" that beauty; the mind of the speaker can consider one thing from any number of attitudes surrounding that thing, and t h i s generous perspective linked to a r e l a t i v e l y small object i s a nice counterpoise to the sweeping nature of not being " i n doubt." There i s then a s y n t a c t i c a l r e l a t i o n between "the beauty of San Remy" 160. and the following " h i l l s " and " a r c h e s i n the form of a connective clause, "that i s to say." "The beauty of San Remy" then equals"the h i l l s , " and the h i l l s are placed i n two relati o n s to the "Roman arches," f i r s t "beside," then "behind," when "beside" i s considered to be inaccurate. This "corrected" relationship neatly balances the negative element of the f i r s t l i n e and provides a tension which binds the l i n e s together i n more than a merely grammatical way. "The beauty of San Remy," the object of a l l t h i s attention, i t s e l f has a r e l a t i o n a l structure, as the "beauty" i s defined i n terms of the thing which possesses i t , "San Remy." The movement of the prepositional r e l a - . tionships throughout the few l i n e s forms an i n t r i c a t e balance as precise as the workings of a watch. We can r e a d i l y see that while the f i r s t example, by enumerating several nouns, i n i t i a t e s a movement i n one d i r e c t i o n , the second achieves a complexity which i s important to an understanding of the poem while being a e s t h e t i c a l l y pleasing as a poetic and grammatical pat-tern. Moreover, i f Gertrude Stein's p r i n c i p a l objective i n Stanzas i n Meditation i s s t a t i c composition, or at least a succession of self-contained u n i t s , the second exemplar binds i t s e l f together i n a sound and consistent fashion which grows from the basic nature of language, 161. rather than from such an imposed whim as the periods of "Winning His Way" had come to be. There i s a very strong temptation to o f f e r a "per-sonal anthology" of excerpts from Stanzas i n Meditation i n l i e u of further theorizing. In a way, the r e l a t i o n a l aspects of the poem lose i n being is o l a t e d and analyzed because they are so common to the language of our everyday l i f e J prepositions are, a f t e r a l l , essential to the most mediocre demands of speech. Systems of r e l a t i o n such as I have discussed are quite n a t u r a l l y to be found i n every stanza, almost i n every l i n e , of the poem, just because prepositions are nearly as hard to avoid as verbs. They are also remarkably a c q u i s i t i v e parts of speech, and reference to the vocabulary groups of " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking" w i l l show that i t i s prepositions which f i r s t suggest phrases and word groups to the reader intent on winning through the mass of words. Their point i n Stanzas i n Meditation i s not simply that they are there, but that the attention focussed on them w i l l be rewarded by a deepening understanding of a very fine poem. Stanzas i n Meditation i s i n the t r a d i t i o n of Aiken's Preludes and Stevens' "Idea of Order at Key West," the American philosophical poem of order and decorum. 162. I t points i n many ways toward The Geographical History  of America, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n i t s attention to the r e l a t i o n of the mind to the setting i n which i t finds i t s e l f . I t i s not so simple as thought's being affected by environ-ment, although that plays a p a r t } ; i t i s rather that the landscape and the mind create metaphorical r e l a t i o n s with one another which move beyond the grammatical into the aesthetic. Just as i n "Arthur a Grammar" Stein was not content to leave language to f i n d i t s own structures simply because i t seemed able to do so, i n Stanzas i n Meditation she i s not content to allow the prepositions to overrun the poem. She very often creates deliberate ambiguities within otherwise c l e a r passages i n o r d e r . i t almost seems, to watch language wriggle out of i t . In one d i r e c t i o n there i s the sun and moon In the other d i r e c t i o n there are cumulous clouds and the sky In the other d i r e c t i o n there i s why They look at what they see. . . 221 The "problem" which Gertrude Stein has set her l i n e s here i s very simple: where i s the t h i r d direction? Grammatical sense and the dictionary t e l l us that i f we begin with one d i r e c t i o n , then look i n "the other," there are only two di r e c t i o n s . The t h i r d must be accounted f o r as more than merely a r e i t e r a t i v e function of the second d i r e c t i o n . 163. The l i n e s have a cool poise to them which i s most con-vincing, and the problem's so l u t i o n -- that the t h i r d d i r e c t i o n i s the r a t i o n a l e of the mind, the central r e l a t o r of everything that i s perceived -- comes to us as f i t t i n g the d i c t i o n and temper of the l i n e s . As i s always the case with Stein's exemplary works, once a new technique has been discovered i t may be used any-where i n the work. If we proceed i n sequence from the beginning, t h i s i s the f i r s t hint of t r u l y metaphorical structure i n the poem, and occurs midway i n Part One. In the t h i r d section we f i n d these l i n e s i I t i s not only that I have not described A lake i n trees only there are no trees Just not there where they do not l i k e not having these T r e e s . . . ^ 2 2 This creates a scene by noting what i t does not contain. There i s no lake, as i t has not been described, and con-sequently the lake i s not among the trees which are, i n any case, not there, a fact which causes regret among those who do not l i k e t h e i r not being there. But where i s "there"? This i s the creation of a vacuum where there was the p o s s i b i l i t y of a prepositional r e l a t i o n s h i p . There i s almost the creation of a metaphorical r e l a t i o n s h i p between t h i s negative statement and i t s possible image: the l i n e s are so completely negative that they allow 164. us to construct t h e i r p o s i t i v e counterpart, thus f a b r i -cating a "mirror image" of the stanza, a r e f l e c t i o n . These are only two of many such l i n g u i s t i c and poetic puzzles i n Stanzas i n Meditation, and only serve to draw attention once more to the poem's basic concern with the r e l a t i o n a l nature of thought. In Part Five there i s a f i n a l s t r u c t u r a l innovation found nowhere else i n the poem, a set of stanzas which, operating across the boundaries of the stanzas as a closed form, gloss Stein's whole concern with r e l a t i o n , again i n terms of geographical images: STANZA XXXVI What i s strange i s t h i s . As I come up and down e a s i l y I have been looking down and looking up ea s i l y And I look down e a s i l y And I look up and. down not e a s i l y Because i t i s t h i s which I know It i s a l i k e that i s . I have seen i t or before. STANZA XXXVII That feels fortunately a l i k e . STANZA XXXVIII Which I wish to say i s t h i s There i s no beginning to an end But there i s a beginning and an end To beginning. Why yes of course. Any one can learn that north of course Is not only north but north as north Why were they worried. What I wish to say i s t h i s . Yes of course 165. STANZA XXXIX What I wish to say i s t h i s of course It i s the same of course Not yet of course But which they w i l l not only yet Of course. This brings me back to t h i s of course. I t i s the same of course i t i s the same Now even not the name But which i s i t when they gathered which A broad black b u t t e r f l y i s white with t h i s . Which i s which which of course Did which of course Why I wish to say i n reason i s t h i s . When they begin I did begin and win Win which of course. It i s easy to say ea s i l y . That t h i s i s the same i n which I do not do not l i k e the name Which wind of course. This which I say i s t h i s Which i t i s . I t i s a difference i n which I send a l i k e In which instance which. I wish to say t h i s . That here now i t i s l i k e Exactly l i k e t h i s . I know how exactly l i k e t h i s i s . I cannot think how they can say t h i s This i s better than I know i f I do That I i f I say t h i s . Now there i s an interference i n t h i s . I i n t e r f e r e i n I i n t e r f e r e i n which t h i s . They do not count a l i k e . One two t h r e e . l l i These stanzas form a set i n which Stein explores s i m i l a r i t y as a non-prepositional phenomenon. In order to say that one thing i s l i k e another, we are provided i n English with the phrase "s i m i l a r t o," where "to" i s a preposition which does no more than act as an index 166. finger pointing from one noun to another. Although i t retains i t s basic q u a l i t y , i t i s not nearly so complete as the same word i n the clause "I am looking to you," which states a f a r more di r e c t movement which i s a l l i e d to purpose or desire i n the speaker. Moreover, "to" i s quite abstract when contrasted with prepositions l i k e "between" or "behind" which state an unequivocal physical r e l a t i o n . Nevertheless, the process of s i m i l a r i t y , of two or more things being a l i k e -- i f I may c a l l that a pro-cess -- can be very concrete indeed, and can create a d i s t i n c t r e l a t i o n between or among the nouns which make i t up. I t can even make "a broad black b u t t e r f l y " seem white, or make i t s blackness inconsequential. The stanzas which make up t h i s group are d i f f e r e n t from one another, because each i s a stanza i n a poem which has otherwise depended on each stanza's re t a i n i n g i t s i n t e g r i t y . But i n the process of the poem, Stein states that the making of even the most separate things i s connected i n that they begin ("There i s a beginning and an end to beginning") and are a l i k e i n that. Things are a l i k e i n themselves and i n having a relationship between them by v i r t u e of t h e i r common existence, and Ste i n creates an exemplary phrase to embody t h i s trenchantly, using the key word 167. "which," so basic to the Stanzas: "Which i s which which of course / Did which of course. . ." The whole nature of the poem i s perhaps summed up i n the l i n e " I t i s a difference i n which I send a l i k e " -- which may be para-phrased as "The poem i s a construction of separate stanzas ("a difference") i n "which" ( i . e . i n the relationships of which)I can discuss the re l a t i o n s between things (" a l i k e " ) . " As she says i n the f i r s t of t h i s set of stanzas, " I t i s a l i k e that i s , " and the i n t e g r i t y of any noun, any thing, may be defined i n terms of i t s r e l a t i o n to i t s e l f : "Anyone can learn that north of course / Is not only north but north as north. . ." There i s a beguiling sense of affirmation i n these stanzas, centred around the phrase "of course." I t begins to appear i n Stanza XXXVIII i n connection with "north," and i n Stanza XXXIX i t becomes extremely noticeable, being added to every clause i n the f i r s t s i x l i n e s . Like the repeated phrases i n many of Stein's works, i t takes on mystery as i t progresses, becoming a figure rather than a phrase. Frequently t h i s technique signals that some new material i s to be added to the wr i t i n g , and i n Stanza XXXIX t h i s occurs very f o r c e f u l l y indeed, beginning with l i n e 7: 168. I t i s the same of course i t i s the same Now even not the name But which i s i t when they gathered which A broad black b u t t e r f l y i s white with t h i s . This represents the thematic climax of the poem, and unequivocally states Stein's bel i e f that the essence of the thing i t s e l f could be achieved, as she was to say l a t e r , by w r i t i n g i t "as a thing i n i t s e l f without at a l l necessarily using i t s name." In the context of Stanzas i n Meditation, i t goes beyond t h e o r e t i c a l state-ment to become an aesthetic standard which, r e f l e c t i o n w i l l show, i s present to varying degrees i n many of Stein's writings. Stanzas i n Meditation was w r i t t e n during the nights of the l a t e summer of 1932 i n the country house which Gertrude Stein and A l i c e Toklas leased i n B i l i g n i n . She was surrounded by the landscape and the "natural phenomena" which informed so many of her exemplary works, most of which had been written during other B i l i g n i n summers. The poem she was w r i t i n g was the l a s t of a long series of writings i n which she had explored, both for herself 224 and "strangers," the things which she made with language, and the ways i n which she made them. After working through the nights on the Stanzas, she would sleep u n t i l noon, 169. and during the long summer afternoons she worked on another quite d i f f e r e n t piece of w r i t i n g , The Autobiography of  A l i c e B. T o k l a s . 2 2 5 Stanzas i n Meditation would not be published u n t i l a f t e r her death, and How To Write and An Acquaintance With  Description were already out of p r i n t . A year l a t e r The Autobiography of A l i c e B. Toklas would be published, and Gertrude Stein would become a b e s t - s e l l i n g author. People would be relieved to discover that she had written something they could understand, and she would be asked to come to America to lecture. She would go, taking with her a sheaf of lectures also written i n B i l i g n i n during the following summer. She would explain herself and audiences would go away impressed and informed, but i n none of the American lectures would she reach the r e a l centres of her w r i t i n g as she had i n the exemplary works. In America, Gertrude Stein said to a group of school-y ? 6 boys at Choate school that she would not be accepted fo r another t h i r t y years, although to most authors the c e l e b r i t y she achieved i n the year following the publication of The Autobiography would have constituted undreamed-of acceptance. But i n 1933 she had implied that by "acceptance" she meant attention to a l l her writings, including"everything 170. that (had) made the autobiography." The exemplary writings had surely helped to make i t , and only through proper attention to them can Stein's f u l l s k i l l as a writer be appraised. 171. CONCLUSION Gertrude Stein's reputation has suffered a l i t t l e from the comprehensibility of her f i r s t works. The Making  of Americans and Three Lives are not Stein's best books by any means, they are only much easier to read than many of the l a t e r ones. Three Lives i s a good, even a remarkably good, f i r s t book, but i t i s f a r from Gertrude Stein's best wr i t i n g . As an attempt to formalize the dia l e c t of the American negro, "Melanctha" i s an adven-turous work which succeeded to a great degree i n what i t set out to do. Carl van Vechten speaks of having read i t to a group of negro factory workers with great success, and t h i s might well be true, but i t i s s t i l l s t i f f and badly conceived as a narrative, and f a r too long for i t s content. S t e i n herself seemed to r e a l i z e t h i s , as she ra r e l y referred to the book, a fact which B. L. Reid finds surprising, as he i s one of i t s strongest supporters, holding i t up as an example of Stein's unrealized p o t e n t i a l . The Making of Americans i s a d i f f e r e n t problem. I t , too, i s possibly too long, although one should be d i f f i d e n t of suggesting sweeping corrections to a work which so c l e a r l y was preparing new ground. I t i s worth noting that Stein authorized an abridgement i n 1934-(and much has been made of t h i s by c r i t i c s of the book's length) but i t should be noted that the abridgement mainly consists 172. of the extraction of one of the sections of the book with very l i t t l e c u t t i n g within that section; as the sections of The Making of Americans are quite self-contained anyway, the abridgement did not v i o l a t e the structure of the book very much. The t h e o r e t i c a l writings with which t h i s thesis has been concerned divide Gertrude Stein's career between the early writings such as The Making of Americans, Three  Lives and Tender Buttons, and the l a t e works beginning with The Geographical History of America and going to her death i n 1946. From The Making of Americans on, one can see an increasing interest i n formal experiment which she indulged within the structures of works which were e s s e n t i a l l y creative, that i s , which were not intended to be exercises i n experimental w r i t i n g . While there i s much f i n e work i n th i s f i r s t period, notably Tender  Buttons and A Long Gay Book.,, most of the works suffer from t h i s r e l entless experimentation within the f a b r i c of t h e i r content. The fusion of form with content i s not r e a l l y accomplished except i n parts of the l a t t e r half of The Making of Americans and i n Tender Buttons. When S/tein f i r s t attempted to explain herself i n "An Elucidation," she achieved a marked a r t i s t i c success, 173. f o r a l l the piece's s t i f f n e s s . She was at l a s t allowing her form to shape i t s e l f to what she wanted to say, and while the resultant work was ex t r a o r d i n a r i l y d i f f i c u l t to read and understand -- being as much a new a r t i s t i c event as Picasso's "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" -- i t was a notable achievement. She must have r e a l i z e d t h i s , f o r as we have seen, she plunged into nearly ten years' work i n such exemplary forms, exploring the bases of the s t y l e which she knew i n s t i n c t i v e l y was hers. I t i s possible that no other writer, of however d i s t i n c t i v e a s t y l e , has ever created one as c l o s e l y matching his personality as Stein's matches hers. I t i s c r y p t i c , elegant, perspicacious, romantic, p l a y f u l , s a l t y , funny and wise. The w r i t i n g of The Autobiography of A l i c e B. Toklas i n 1932, just as she was f i n i s h i n g her experiments i n prose and poetry, i n i t i a t e d the f i n a l stage of her w r i t i n g l i f e and launched her i n a career as a l i t e r a r y l i o n . While she enjoyed t h i s very much, and although she retained her a r t i s t i c i n t e g r i t y , most of her works a f t e r the American tour i n 1934-35 were much easier to read and, with two exceptions, simpler i n intention. The exceptions are The Geographical History of America and Mrs. Reynolds. Enough has been said e a r l i e r about The Geographical 174. History of America to allow me to say only that i t brought to a serene conclusion both her interest i n the r e l a t i o n a l aspects of thought and her investigations of form. Mrs.  Reynolds, written i n 1940, i s a "commonplace" novel of a woman i n wartime: i t i s d i f f i c u l t , but no more so than Lucy Church Amiably, and i t has much that i s beautiful and considerable psychological depth. In t h i s l a s t period we also f i n d the four children's books, most of the j o u r n a l i s t i c w r i t i n g for magazines and newspapers i n America, and the autobiographical books Everybody's Autobiography, Wars I Have Seen and Paris  France. The l i t t l e book on Picasso and the G.I. novel Brewsie and W i l l i e are also part of t h i s period, as are the two f i n e dramatic works Yes i s for a Very Young Man (also c a l l e d In Savoy) and The Mother of Us A l l , which was her l a s t work. Much of the s i m p l i c i t y of t h i s l a s t period of Stein's career can be attributed to her exemplary and exegetical writings. What she learned about language enabled her to write simply, although that did not mean that the w r i t i n g was always easy to read. I t did mean, however, that the works were only as d i f f i c u l t as they needed to be, a perfect marriage of technique and intention. Her 175. trouble with and exploration of the differences i n poetry and prose became, i n her l a t e r l i f e , transcended by the importance of seeing that what she said was i n control of i t s form at a l l times. In The Geographical History  of America she wrote what seems to me to be the summing up of what she had learned about w r i t i n g f o r people, a ch a r a c t e r i s t i c which had come to replace her e a r l i e r sole concern with w r i t i n g for i t s e l f alonet Poetry and prose i s not in t e r e s t i n g . What i s necessary now i s not form but content. That i s why i n t h i s epoch a woman does the l i t e r a r y thinking. 228 Kindly learn everything please. FOOTNOTES 176. 1. Gertrude Stein, Lectures i n America (New York: Random House, 1935), p. 243. 2 . Gertrude Stein. Stanzas i n Meditation. Part V, Stanza xxix, i n Stanzas i n Meditation and other  Poems (1929 - 1933) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1956), p. 116. 3 . Gertrude Stein, "Saving the Sentence," i n How To Write (Paris« P l a i n E d i t i o n , 1931), p. 11 . 4 . Gertrude Stein, "Why Are There Whites To Console. A History i n Three Parts," i n As Fine As Melanctha  (1914 - 1930) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1954), p. 198. 5. I b i d . , "More Grammar for a Sentence," p. 361. 6. Gertrude Stein, Geography and Plays (Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1922), pp. 5 - 8. 7. Gertrude Stein, Four i n America (New Haven: Yale University Press, 19477, pp. v - x x v i i . 8. Gertrude Stein, The Geographical History of  America or the Relation of Human Nature to the  Human Mind.(New York: Random House, 193677 PP. 7 - 1 4 . 9. Gertrude Stein, Narration (Chicago: University of Chicago Press^ 1935), pp. v - v i i i . 10. Stein, Geographical History, front f l a p of dust-wrapper . 11. Stein, Geographical History, p. 11 . 12. Gertrude Stein, Alphabets and Birthdays (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1957), Introduction by Donald Gallup, p. x i v . 13. Gertrude Stein, Painted Lace and Other Pieces 1914-1937 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1955), Introduction by Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, p. x i . 177. 14. Gertrude Stein, Bee Time Vine and Other Pieces (1913 - 1927) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953), Preface by V i r g i l Thomson, p. v i . 15. Gertrude Stein, Mrs. Reynolds and Five E a r l i e r  Novelettes (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1952), Foreword by Lloyd Frankenberg, p. v i i . 16. Allegra Stewart, Gertrude Stein and the Present (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967). 17. Rosalind S. M i l l e r , Gertrude Stein: Form and  I n t e l l i g i b i l i t y (New York: The Exposition Press, 1949). 18. Norman Weinstein, Gertrude Stein and the L i t -erature of the Modern Consciousness (New York: Frederick Ungar, 1970). 19. Donald Sutherland, Gertrude Stein: A Biography  of Her Work (New Haven: Yale University Press, 195TT7 20. Stewart, p. 66. 21. B. L. Reid, Art by Subtraction: A Dissenting  Opinion of Gertrude Stein (Norman: University of Oklahoma press, 1958), p. i x . 22. Richard Bridgman, Gertrude Stein i n Pieces (New York: Oxford University Press, 197077 23. Reid, p. v i i . 24. I b i d . , p. i x 25. Bridgman, p. 246 - 7. 26. Ib i d . , p. x i i i . 27. Bridgman's discussion of Lectures i n America occupies pages 243 to 256 of his book, and con-s i s t s l a r g e l y of synopsis. 28. 29. Bridgman, p. 244. Ib i d . , loc. c i t . 178. 30. Gertrude Stein, How To Write (Paris: P l a i n E d i t i o n , 1931). 31. Gertrude Stein, An Acquaintance with Descrip-t i o n (London: The S e i z i n Press, 1929). 32. Gertrude Stein, An Elucidation, supplement to t r a n s i t i o n 1 ( A p r i l , 1927). 33. Gertrude Stein, Descriptions of Li t e r a t u r e , As Stable Pamphlet #2 (Englewood, New Jersey: George P i a t t Lynes•and Adlai Harbeck, 1926). 34. Gertrude Stein, Tender Buttons (New York: C l a i r e Marie, 1914), p. 21. 35. New York World-Telegram. 5 October, 1934. Quoted i n James R. Mellow, Charmed Circles Gertrude Stein and Company (New York: Prager Publishers, 1974), p. 377. Mellow c i t e s t h i s quote as being from the New York Herald Tribune, 5 October, 1934. However, J u l i a n Sawyer, i n his Gertrude Stein: A Bibliography (New York: Arrow Editions, 19407, under "Miscellanea, Reported Conversations," shows the interview of t h i s date under the World-Telegram, with the headline, "Gertrude Stein, Champion Ob-scurantist at 60, i s Coming Back to U.S. af t e r 30 Years Abroad," (Sawyer, p. 152). The only Herald Tribune interview i n 1934 was dated January 4, several months before Gertrude Stein had made the decision to come to the United States (Mellow, p. 373). Not only was Stein interested i n people who -panted to know about her work rather than about her, but she expected a great deal from her audiences. In a l e t t e r to W.G. Rogers she said: "The lectures are good . . . but they are for a pretty i n t e l l i g e n t audience and though they are clear very c l e a r they are not too easy." (Quoted i n W.G. Rogers, When This You See Remember Me: Gertrude Stein i n Person Hew York: Avon Books, 1973), p. 93,T"Thornton Wilder takes note of t h i s high expectation i n his introduction to Narration (p. v i i ) : "(Stein's) ideas are presented to us i n a highly abstract form. Miss S t e i n pays her li s t e n e r s the^ high compliment of dispensing for the most part with that apparatus of i l l u s t r a t i v e 179. si m i l e and anecdote that i s so often employed to recommend ideas. She assumes, that the at-tentive l i s t e n e r w i l l bring, from a store of observation and r e f l e c t i o n , the concrete i l -l u s t r a t i o n of her generalization." 36. See Mellow, pp. 402 - 404 f o r an account of the w r i t i n g of these lectures and her experience with the selected group of students at the University of Chicago to whom they were d e l i -vered . 37. Lectures, p. 215. 38. Ib i d . , p. 210. 39. Ibi d . , p. 211. 40. Ib i d . , p. 209. 41. Ib i d . , p. 30 42. Ibi d . , loc. c i t . 43. I b i d . , p. 33. 44. I b i d . , p. 43. 45. Ib i d . , p. 49. 46. On the day of her f i r s t lecture, Random House had published P o r t r a i t s and Prayers. Apart from the p u b l i c i t y the lectures would afford t h i s and the abridged Making of Americans, Stein could reasonably expect that her audience would be able to ref e r to the works she discussed i n t h e i r own copies. Both lectures treat t h e i r subjects f u l l y and entertainingly, i l l u m i n a t i n g and providing an expert introduction to The  Making of Americans, and giving insight into the nature of modern l i t e r a r y p o r t r a i t u r e and the meaning and value of r e p e t i t i o n . Although neither lecture i s i n the least defensive, both neatly puncture the canards which had grown up about her r e p e t i t i v e s t y l e ( r e s u l t i n g i n such bizarre headlines i n the New York papers as "GERTY GERTY STEIN STEIN IS BACK HOME HOME BACK") by simply making p l a i n good sense. Despite the d i f f i c u l t i e s of her lectures, her audiences almost always l e f t convinced that;she knew what she was doing. 180. 47. Gertrude Stein, Useful Knowledge (New York» Payson and Clarke, 1928), p. 174. 48. Lectures, p. 140. 49. Ib i d . , P. 42. 50. Ibi d . , P. 22. 51. Ib i d . , P. 30. 52. Ib i d . , P. 32. 53. Ibi d . , P. 31. 54. Ibi d . , P. 26. 55. I b i d . , P. 42. 56. I b i d . , P. 40. 57. Ib i d . , P- 43. 58. Ibi d . , P. 44. 59. Ibi d . , P. 46. 60. I b i d . , P. 47. 61. Ib i d . , P- 235. 62. How To Write, p. 23. 63. Lectures, p. 209. 64. Gertrude Stein, Look at Me Now and Here I Ami Writings and Lectures 1911 - 1945, ed. P a t r i c i a Meyerowitz, with an Introduction by Elizabeth Sprigge (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1971), p. 14. 65. I b i d . , l o c . c i t . Quoted by Sprigge. Uncited. 66. Lectures, p. 211. Bridgman, i n a footnote on page 244 of Gertrude S t e i n i n Pieces i n which he offers evidence that "Gertrude Stein had not markedly improved her knowledge of grammar" since her u n i v e r s i t y days, singles out t h i s apparent mistake of "effect" f o r "a f f e c t , " also c i t i n g 181. an e a r l i e r example of the same "error" on page 28 of the Lectures. It i s not at a l l c l e ar to me that Stein's use of "effect" was not deliberate. The difference may not be apparent when the lecture i s read aloud, but when i t i s read s i l e n t l y an i n t e r e s t i n g ambiguity result s from t h i s usage. Far from making the l i n e meaningless, i t adds a resonance to i t . At the very worst, i t may seem to be a bad pun. In the e a r l i e r instance, i n "What Is English L i t -erature," where "effect" occurs i n the c u l -minating sentence of a passage too long to quote here (but which the reader may examine for himself) the context makes "effect" f a r more plausible that " a f f e c t . " Even i f we accept the suggestion that Stein made t h i s mistake through a s l i p of the pen or a perennial i n a b i l i t y to remember which word was which, i t i s u n l i k e l y that such an apparent "error" would have slipped past A l i c e Toklas, who typed the lectures from Stein's manuscript, and the editors of Random House, who published i t . There i s ample evidence i n l e t t e r s to S t e i n from Bennett Cerf of Random House that he read her work very c a r e f u l l y ; and Toklas, according to every biographer who deals with the subject of her s e c r e t a r i a l duties, was caref u l to check \tfith Stein anything i n the manuscripts of which she was unsure. In addition to a l l t h i s , Stein mentions i n a l e t t e r to W.G. Rogers that she has read the lectures to Bernard Fay and James Laughlin, and i t seems l i k e l y that i n the discussion of the ideas involved the d i s t i n c t i o n between the two verbs would have arisen. 67. I b i d . , l o c . c i t . 68. Consider these l i n e s from Tender Buttons, "Food" #38, "Dinner": Not a l i t t l e f i t , not a l i t t l e f i t sun sat i n shed more mentally. Let us why, l e t us why weight, l e t us why winter chess, l e t us why why. 182. Only a moon to soup her, only that i n the s e l l never never be the cocups nice be, shatter i t they lay. I t i s only necessary to take notice of the s h i f t s i n function of c e r t a i n words i n t h i s passage to see what t h i s process of ambiguity can achieve. I c i t e , only as obvious examples, the following: the use of " f i t , " f i r s t as a noun, then as an adjective, i n the f i r s t sentence; the use of "why" masquerading as a verb, suddenly confronted at the end of the second sentence by i t s r e a l -adverbial s e l f i n a moment of Punch and Judy humour; the use of "soup" as a verb, and the use of " s e l l " as a noun, i n the t h i r d sentence. Tender Buttons i s f u l l of such verbal games, and while they are whimsical and d e l i g h t f u l , i t i s not enough to dismiss them as mere games. This i s formal experiment of. a very serious and basic kind. 69. Lectures, p. 212. 70. I b i d . , loc . c i t . 71. Ibi d . , p. 213. 72. I b i d . , p. 212. 73. Ib i d . , p. 213. 74. Ib i d . , loc . c i t . 75. Ib i d . , loc . c i t . 76. Ib i d . , loc . c i t . 77. Ib i d . , p. 214. 78. Ib i d . , pp. 214-5. 79. Ibi d . , p. 216. 80. Ib i d . , loc. c i t . 81. Ibi d . , loc . c i t . 82. Ibi d . , p. 217. 83. Ib i d . , loc . c i t . 183. 84. Ib i d . , p. 219. 85. Ib i d . , loc. c i t . 86. Ibid., p. 220. 87. Ib i d . , p. 221. 88. Ib i d . , p. 222. 89. Ib i d . , p. 223. 90. Ib i d . , l o c . c i t . 91. I b i d . , 225. 92. Ib i d . , p. 223. 93. Ib i d . , p. 224. This concern that w r i t i n g should not become "less varied" contradicts B. L. Reid's thesis that Stein's i s an "art by subtraction," i n which she consciously stripped away the art-i c l e s of the c r a f t u n t i l there was nothing l e f t to work with, "At which point," he might have siad, "she worked with i t anyway." He does not take account of t h i s passage i n "Poetry and Grammar," yet he claims to have been steeped i n the lectures f o r longer than he could have wished. (Reid, 144) 94. How To Write, p. 25. 95. I b i d . , p. 27. 96. Ibid.,, p. 90. 97.0 Lectures, p. 227. 98. I b i d . , l o c . c i t . 99. I b i d . , loc. c i t . Stein i s r e c a l l i n g i n t h i s i n -junction her e a r l i e r piece, "An Instant Answer or A Hundred Prominent Men" (1922, Useful Knowledge, 144). Here she provided a passage for each of the hundred "subjects," numbering each one; under the f o r t y - s i x t h "subject" she counts to one hundred by means of t h i s non-sequential system of enumeration: "I t e l l t h e i r names because i n t h i s way I know that one and one and one and one and one . . . " and so on. (Useful Knowledge. 150-151.) 184. Stein's love of numbers i s obvious to anyone who has spent any time with her work. Dozens of t i t l e s employ them, from "Two: Gertrude Stein and her Brother" and "One or Two. I've Finished" to "As Eighty Or Numbered from One to Eighty-One, A Disputation" and Four Saints i n Three Acts. Counting games figure prominently i n Four Saints and i n many other of the plays, and i n the children's books, p a r t i c u l a r l y The  Gertrude Stein F i r s t Reader and Three Plays. I t i s not only the names of numbers (which she said once she thought beautiful) but the pro-cess of counting which intrigued her. In Every-body 's Autobiography (New York: Random House, 1937)she says, "I always l i k e d counting but I l i k e d counting one two three four f i v e s i x seven, or one l i t t l e Indian two l i t t l e Indians three l i t t l e Indian boys counting more than ten i s not i n t e r e s t i n g at least not to me because the numbers higher than ten unless they are f i f t y -f i v e or something l i k e that do not look i n t e r -esting . . . " (EA, 120). . 100. Lectures, p. 228. 101. Ib i d . , l o c . c i t . 102. I b i d . , p. 229. 103. I b i d . , p. 230. 104. She was fond of quoting William James on t h i s point: "Complicate your l i f e as much as you please, i t has got to s i m p l i f y . " ("A Trans-a t l a n t i c Interview," A Primer f o r the Gradual  Understanding of Gertrude Stein, ed. Robert B a r t l e t t Haas (Tos Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1971), p. 34.) 105. Lectures, p. 231. 106. Gertrude Stein, "Sacred Emily," i n Geography and  Plays (Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1922), p. 187. 107. Lectures, p. 231. 108. Lectures, pp. 15-6. c f , Geographical History passim. 185. 109. Lectures, p. 18. 110. I b i d . , pp. 49-50. 111. L i s t s are another strong interest of Gertrude Stein's. Many of her works, such as Alphabets  and Birthdays and "A Birthday Book" (Alphabets, p. 127.) and the previously mentioned "An Instant Answer or a Hundred Prominent Men" are structured as l i s t s . There i s as well a play c a l l e d "A L i s t " : (Gertrude Stein, Operas and Plays (Paris? P l a i n E d i t i o n , 1932), p. 89.), and l i s t s f igure promi-nently i n works such as "A Valentine to Sherwood Anderson" (Useful Knowledge, p. 90) and Four  Saints i n Three Acts (New York: Random House, 1934$. 112. Geoffrey Chaucer, "General Prologue" to The  Canterbury Tales, The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F. N. Robinson, 2nd e d i t i o n (Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n Company, 1957), 1. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. While she was le c t u r i n g to Thornton Wilder's students at the University of Chicago i n 1935, one of them asked her about "Rose i s a rose i s a rose i s a rose," and Wilder took down her answer i n shorthand: I b i d . , 7. Ibi d . , 22. I b i d . , 72. Ib i d . , 89-90. Ib i d . , 92. I b i d . , 267-268. Ib i d . , 340. Now l i s t e n . Can't you see that when the language was new -- as i t was with Chaucer and Homer -- the poet could use the name of the thing and the thing was r e a l l y there. He could say "0 moon," "0 sea," "0 love," and the moon and the sea and love were r e a l l y there. And can't you see that a f t e r hundreds of years had gone by and thousands of poems had been written, he could c a l l on those words and f i n d that they were just wornout l i t e r a r y words. The excitingness of pure being had withdrawn from them,- they were 186. just rather s t a l e l i t e r a r y words. Now the poet has to work i n the excitingness of pure being; he has to get back that i n t e n s i t y into the language. We a l l know that i t ' s hard to write poetry i n a l a t e age; and we know that you have to put some strangeness, as something unexpected, into the structure of the sentence i n order to bring back v i t -a l i t y to the noun. Now i t ' s not enough to be bizarre; the strangeness i n the sentence structure has to come from the poetic g i f t , too. That's why i t • s doubly hard to be a poet i n a l a t e age. Now you a l l have seen hundreds of poems about roses and you know i n your bones that the rose i s not there. A l l those songs that sopranos sing as en-cores about "I have a garden! oh, what a garden!" Now I don't want to put too much emphasis on that l i n e , because i t ' s just one l i n e i n a longer poem. But I notice that you a l l know i t ; you make fun of i t , but you know i t . Now l i s t e n ! I'm no f o o l . I know that i n d a i l y l i f e we don't go around saying " ... i s a ... i s a ... i s a . . .." Yes, I'm no f o o l ; but I think that i n that l i n e the rose i s red for the f i r s t time i n English poetry f o r a hundred years. The simple attention to the word "rose" which allows i t to be "red f o r the f i r s t time . . . for a hundred years" r e c a l l s her claim f o r the early poets, such as Chaucer, whose poetry could "sing" because the- things which made i t s subjects were "shut i n , " and "anything shut i n with you can sing." Gertrude Stein's purpose i n Lectures i n America was to present herself as a writer and as a thinker. She had anticipated the central idea of *What i s English L i t e r a t u r e , " -- the influence of England's geography on i t s writers -- as early as 1913, i n the essay, "England"« "Nothing i s perplexing i f there i s an i s l a n d . " (Geography and Plays, 91.) In 1928, Useful Knowledge had consisted almost e n t i r e l y of such studies as "Wherein the South D i f f e r s from the North" and "Near East or Chicago, a Description." Just before coming to the U.S. she had been w r i t i n g Four i n America, and the next year was to see the publication of The  Geographical History of America, which brought 187. her meditations on geography and many of her experiments with form to a b r i l l i a n t conclusion. With these facts i n mind, we can see that i n "What Is English L i t e r a t u r e " Stein i s i n t r o -ducing herself more as a thinker than as a writer, Stein quite r i g h t l y r e a l i z e d that the reader of the lectures would be more l i k e l y to grasp the technical points put forward i n the l a s t three lectures i f he understood the kind of mind with which he was to become acquainted. In a sense, i t would not have mattered i f the f i r s t three lectures had concerned "them-selves with the h i s t o r y of the automobile, French cuisine and the care of dogs, a l l sub-jects which interested Gertrude Stein: the fact that she chose to write about the history of English l i t e r a t u r e , painting, and the theatre perhaps only suggests that she f e l t that the thrust of the lectures should be toward the arts. The end which she intended, an acquaint-ance with Gertrude Stein, i s well achieved. 121. Lectures, p. 231. 122. Narration, p. 26. 123. Lectures, p. 234. 124. I b i d . , loc. c i t . 125. I b i d . , p. 235. 126. Ibid., loc. c i t . 127. I b i d . , loc. c i t . 128. I b i d . , p. 236. 129. I b i d . , p. 237. 130. I b i d . , p. 238. 131. I b i d . , l o c . c i t . I t a l i c s mine. 132. I b i d . , p. 239. This poem i n i t s e n t i r e t y has a strange publication h i s t o r y . Written i n 1922, i t s f i r s t appearance was i n The L i t t l e Review " E x i l e s ' Number" (IX.3 , Spring, 19237] There i t was entered i n the table of contents as two separate items: "Idem the Same --188. A Valentine to Sherwood Anderson," which included the f i r s t f i v e sections, to the end of "Kneeling"; and "Bundles f o r Them," which included the l a s t four, through "Let Us Describe." In i t s next appearance, i n Useful Knowledge, the piece i s printed as a complete e n t i t y under the f i r s t t i t l e , but there are two typographical errors and one misreading, where i n "Bundles for Them" the phrase "her l i t t l e feet are stretched out w e l l " reads "stretching out w e l l " ; i n addition to t h i s , the l a s t two sections, "In This Way" and "Let Us Describe" are omitted e n t i r e l y . In P o r t r a i t s and Prayers the typographical errors and the misreading are corrected, and the two f i n a l sections are restored; yet i n the colophon, where acknowledgement i s accorded Harcourt, Brace and Company for permission to reprint the work, there i s no mention made of the restoration, In the recording of the work made by Gertrude Stein at Columbia University i n 1935, she her-s e l f omits three sections: "Why Do You Feel D i f f e r e n t l y , " "Kneeling," and "In This Way." In her anthology of Gertrude Stein's w r i t i n g c a l l e d Look At Me Now And Here I Am: Writings  And Lectures 1911-1945 (see note 64 above), P a t r i c i a Meyerowitz restores the piece to i t s (presumably) proper form by r e p r i n t i n g the version found i n P o r t r a i t s and Prayers, as does Robert Haas i n the Primer (see note 104 above). Probably i n an e f f o r t to s k i r t a l l t h i s confusion, Robert A. Wilson, i n his d e f i n i t i v e Gertrude  Stein A Bibliography (New York: The Phoenix Book Shop, 1974), c i t e s the section t i t l e s i n -d i v i d u a l l y i n his contents for the Haas anthology, and of course enters them separately i n his own index. This sort of confusion i s happily not usual with Stein's work, even with those pieces which have often been reprinted. I am at a loss to know why "A Valentine To Sherwood Anderson" should have caused such problems where more d i f f i c u l t works seem to have escaped. 133. Lectures, p. 239-40. 189. 134. Ibid. , p. 242. 135. Ibid. , l o c . c i t . 136. Ibid. , p. 243. 137. Ibid. , loc. c i t . 138. Ibid. , p. 245. This i s section XIV of the poem. 139. Note that there i s another quality(which Stein does not mention i n the Lectures)which i s displayed i n Stanzasi s t a t i c presentation. The whole problem of movement i n prose ( l i n e a r i t y ) v i s a v i s non-movement i n poetry i s touched on i n Narration, but was evidently too d i f f i c u l t f or i n c l u s i o n i n t h i s already-long lecture. 140. Lectures, p. 228. 141. Bridgman, 244. Bridgman's suggestion that the lectures are an attempt to "remake" Stein's l i t e r a r y past i s wrong, f i r s t , because a chrono-l o g i c a l examination of her writings i n any of the areas she discusses i n the lectures w i l l show that things happened precisely as she claims they did; and, second, because i t implies that Lectures i n America and Narration together com-prise a complete evaluation by Stein of her own work. This i s simply not true. There i s another point to be made peripheral to t h i s , which i s that while Stein knew that the lectures were to be published, she was con-cerned with w r i t i n g lectures which she also knew would be heard i n d i v i d u a l l y by most members of her audience, because the lectures were de-l i v e r e d i n single appearances rather than i n series. • Thus, any one member of the audience would l i k e l y only hear one lecture, and her concern must have been to see that, within that one lecture, her meaning would be c l e a r , and that the audience would take away something complete i n i t s e l f . I t should be pointed out, however, that they were apparently composed i n roughly the published order. In a l e t t e r to W.G, Rogers, written from B i l i g n i n during the summer of 1934, she sayss "I am solemnly going on w r i t i n g the lectures. 190. I have finished one about pictures, one about the theatre and am now doing the one about English l i t e r a t u r e . Then there are three about my work, Making of Americans, 2, P o r t r a i t s and so-called r e p e t i t i o n and what i s and what i s not, 3, Grammar and tenses." (quoted Mellow, 376) Note that "What Is English L i t e r a t u r e , " apparently written t h i r d , was published i n f i r s t place, and that the lecture that became "Poetry and Grammar" was f i r s t conceived as dealing with "Grammar and tenses," although i t was already evidently dele-gated to the l a s t place. In a l e t t e r to the wr i t e r dated 14 A p r i l , 1975, Donald Gallup points out that there i s no re a d i l y available record of the lecture i t i n e r a r y followed by Gertrude Stein, or of which lectures were delivered to what audiences. I t would be int e r e s t i n g to know whether or not she gave any of the lectures primacy, and, i f so, to what audiences. 142. The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Hist-o r i c a l P r i n c i p l e s (London: Oxford University Press, 1933), 3rd ed., revised, 1970, defines the nouns from which these two words are derived as follows: "exegesis: explanation, exposition"; and "exemplar: 1. a model f o r i m i t a t i o n , an example. 2. an archetype whether r e a l or i d e a l . " 143. How To Write, p. 25. 144. t r a n s i t i o n , !>.. Supplement, p. i . , ( A p r i l , 1927.) 145. There i s a charming misprint of the f i r s t of these t i t l e s i n Bridgman (197), where i t appears as "Arthur A. Grammar." 146. Bridgman, p. 256. See Appendix f o r a conspectus of the th e o r e t i c a l works. 147. Elucidation, p. 2. 148. A Book Concluding With As A Wife Has A Cow A Love  Story (Pari s : Editions de l a Galerie Simon, 1926), pTT24). 149. Gertrude Stein, Selected Writings of Gertrude  Stein, ed. Carl van Vechten (New York: Random House, 1946), p. 512. 150. Elucidation, pp. 9-10. 151. P o r t r a i t s and Prayers, pp. 22-23. 152. While An Acquaintance With Description and "Patriarchal Poetry" are l i s t e d i n the Appendix under t h e o r e t i c a l writings concerned with poetry, they are not purely poetic exemplary writings. I have included them with poetry because description of the intensive kind they disclose revolves around the noun, and i s thus closer to the poetic mode of Gertrude Stein's work than to the r h e t o r i c a l one. They do not, however, explore poetic form, as do "Narrative," "Winning His Way. A Narrative Poem of Poetry," and Stanzas i n Meditation. It i s at about t h i s point, i n An Acquaintance  With Description, that Stein begins to use the glossing which w i l l become essential to the structure of the l a t e r exemplary works. This tendency i s not peculiar to Stein i n works of t h i s period; there are many other contemporary examples of the working process entering into the work which i t builds. In E. E. Cummings' & (New York: Har-court, Brace and Company, 19257 f sonnet xx of "Sonnets -- A c t u a l i t i e s " begins: "my sonnet i s A l i g h t goes on i n / the toiletwindow,that's straightacross from / my window . . ."; and i n No Thanks (1935), #7 begins: "sonnet e n t i t l e d how to run the world). ..." and proceeds through the octave with an abecedarian formula consisting of c a p i t a l l e t t e r s which itemize clauses,each of which begins with the l e t t e r heading i t , i . e . "A always don't there B being no such thing / f o r C can't cast no shadow. . ." etc.; the sestet's f i r s t l i n e further describes the structure of the sonnet and comments on i t s theme: "(sestet e n t i t l e d grass i s f l e s h or swim. . In M e r r i l l Moore's M: One Thousand Autobiographical Sonnets (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1938), the seventh section, e n t i t l e d "Dreams and Symbols," has many sonnets whose t i t l e s describe both t h e i r natures and t h e i r processes: "Sonnet i n Code?"; ."Sonnet Splotched by Rain"; "Sonnet Without Syntax"; "Sonnet of Pullman Names and Other Words," and one extreme example of concrete poetry e n t i t l e d " " and consisting of fourteen l i n e s of dots. 192. 153. See note 68 above. 154. See Lectures, p. 212, for Stein on prepositions. 155. Acquaintance, p. 5. 156. Gertrude Stein, Lucy Church Amiably (Paris* P l a i n E d i t i o n , 1930), p. 7. 157. How To Write was f i r s t announced as Grammar  Paragraphs Sentences Vocabulary Etcetera (Wilson, 25). Apparently the f i n a l t i t l e was not confirmed u n t i l the eleventh hour, and only then a f t e r a second change: a catalogue from L.W. Currey Rare Books Incorporated, New York, i n 1973, offers for sale the page proofs of How To Write; i n his description of the item, Mr. Currey notes that "the o r i g i n a l t i t l e , Saving the Sentence, ( i s ) cancelled by the author who has then penned the t i t l e of the published version." There was a good reason for t h i s , just as there was reason for her discarding the long f i r s t p rovisional t i t l e . The f i r s t t i t l e provided a l i s t of the elements of w r i t i n g which would appear i n the book. In a sense i t was an exemplary t i t l e : the book would be "grammar, paragraphs, sentences and vocabulary," and the t i t l e was the book. However, Gertrude Stein obviously f e l t that the works i n the book had an application, and t h i s was not suggested by a t i t l e which simply catalogued the book's components. The book had to be given an impetus. The t i t l e should provide a d i r e c t i v e to the book's use. To c a l l the book Saving the Sentence would have thrown f a r too much, emphasis on only one aspect of i t s intention. While the sentence might be . symbolic i n many peoples' minds of w r i t i n g i n general, and p a r t i c u l a r l y of t r a d i t i o n a l w r i t i n g , i t was t h i s very symbolism that S t e i n would work to d i s p e l i n her book. She was c e r t a i n l y t r y i n g to "save the sentence," but she was t r y i n g to save the paragraph too, and to revive grammar and to portray vocabularies, and the t i t l e had to imply a l l these things. How To Write was a t i t l e which embraced every aspect of composition from grammar to modes such as narrative and exposition. At the same time, i t suggested usefulness and p r a c t i -c a l i t y . 193. 158. Lectures. p. 230. 159. How To Write, p. 382. 160. Stanzas i n Meditation, pp. (v)-xx. 161. This passage from Gertrude Stein i n Pieces gives a f a i r example of Bridgman's approach. On page 199, he i s discussing "Forensics," the l a s t piece i n How To Write (see p. 125 f f . of t h i s paper): She meant by forensics argumentation f o r the sake of v i c t o r y rather than t r u t h , the shrewd u t i l i z a t i o n of emotional appeals, d i s t o r t i o n , and s i m p l i f i c a t i o n wherever necessary to win. "Forensics i s eloquence and reduction," she said. "Forensics leads to reputation." But, "Forensics may pale. I t often does" (386, 388, 394). So t h i s was her dismissal of r h e t o r i c a l strategy i n composition. " 162. How To Write, p. 39. 163. Ib i d . , p. 73. 164. Ib i d . , p. 75. 165. Ib i d . , loc. c i t . 166. Ib i d . , loc. c i t . 167. Ib i d . , p. 100. 168. Ib i d . , p. 101. 169. Ib i d . , p. 51. 170. Lectures, p. 230. 171. How To Write, pp. 69-70. 172. Ib i d . , p. 74. 173. Ib i d . , p. 81. 174. Ib i d . , pp. 89-90. 175. Gertrude Stein, The World William R. Scott, Inc., 1939). 194. 176. How To Write, p. 34. 177. I b i d , , p. 32. 178. • I b i d . , p. 25. 179. The reader w i l l remember that t h i s i s one of the nine sentences drawn from How To Write which S t e i n used i n "Poetry and Grammar" to exemplify the fusion of the sentence and the paragraph. In her l e t t e r of 1930 to Henry McBride, e n t i t l e d "Genuine Crea-t i v e A b i l i t y , " she quotes t h i s sentence and the next, and modifies her rather s t r i c t p o s i t i o n about sentences' being "unemotional" and paragraphs "emotional." Paragraphs. How to write. Paragraphs are natural and sentences are not and i f I must forget the reason why. (Primer, p. 105.) According to the Yale Catalogue, "Sentences and Paragraphs" was the f i r s t work written i n 1930, "Genuine Creative A b i l i t y , " the l a s t . In the l i g h t of the t i t l e change for the book discussed i n note 157 above, the use of the phrase "how to write" i n t h i s passage i s very i n t e r e s t i n g . 180. Lectures, p. 225. 181. How To Write, p. 29, c f . Lectures, p. 226. 182. Gertrude Stein, The Making of Americans Being a History of a Family's Progress (New^York: Something Else Press, 1966), p. 490. This i s a photo-offset of the o r i g i n a l Contact Press e d i t i o n of 1925. 183. Ibid. , p. '347. 184. Narration, p. 26. 185. See also Part I, Section i i i , p. 50. 186. How To Write, p. 31. 187. I b i d . , p. 32. 188. I b i d . , p. 35. 189. As Fine As Melanctha. p. 361. 195. 190. How To Write, p. 106. 191. Ib i d . , p. 108. 192. Gertrude Stein, Reflection on the Atomic Bombs Volume I of the Previously Uncollected Writings of Gertrude Stein, ed. Robert Bartlett. Haas TLOS Angeless Black Sparrow Press, 1973), p. 153. 193. As Fine As Melanctha. p. 386. 194. See Appendix. 195. Oxford English Dictionary, Shorter Edition,p. 734. 196. How To Write, p. 386. 197. I b i d . , l o c . c i t . 198. I b i d . , loc. c i t . 199. I b i d . , p. 387. 200. See also Part I I , Section i i , p. 87,,, concerning the passage from " F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking" i n which the question follows i t s answer. 201. How To Write, p. 395. 202. Lectures, p. 224. 203. Weinstein, p. 81. 204. Lectures, p. 212. 205. Stanzas i n Meditation, pp. 169-170. 206. Bee Time Vine, p. 220. 207. Gertrude Stein took two courses i n composition during her time at Harvard Annex ( R a d c l i f f e ) . In English 22, a sophomore composition course, she received only a C, but i n her junior year she took English C (Forensics), and received an A-. 208. Stanzas i n Meditation, p. x v i . 209. Stanzas, I.i.1-2. 210. I b i d . , II.xiv.1-2. 196. 211. I b i d . , V.xlix.13-14. 212. I b i d . , IV.xxiv.121-24. 213. I b i d . , I I I . i i ; l - 4 . 214. I b i d . , IV.iv.1-2. 215. The larger organization of the poem should be mentioned. I t i s divided into f i v e large "parts." Fart I consists of f i f t e e n stanzas; Part I I , of nineteen; Part I I I , of twenty-three; Part IV, of twenty-four; and Part V, of eighty-three, many consisting of only one or two l i n e s . This organization seems to have no p a r t i c u l a r raison d'etre. The stanzas within any one part do not embody images or forms peculiar to that part alone, and none of the parts forms a d i s -cernable whole except by v i r t u e of i t s being designated a "part." 216. Stanzas, V.xxix. 217. Stanzas i n Meditation, p. x i x . 218. Stanzas, V.xxv. 219. I b i d . , I.xi.42-6. 220. I b i d . , V.lxxvi.1-7. 221. I b i d . , I.xv.10-13. 222. I b i d . , I I I . i i ( b ) . 8 7 - 9 0 . 223. I b i d . , V.xxxvi to V.xxxix. 224. The Making of Americans, p. 289. 225. Gertrude Stein, The Autobiography of A l i c e B. Toklas (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 19337 226. Gertrude Stein, How Writing i s Written: Volume I I of the Previously Uncollected Writings of Gertrude  Stein, ed. Robert B a r t l e t t Haas (Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1974), p. 151. 227. "The Story of a Book," How Writing i s Written, p. 62. 197. 228. Geographical History, p. 187. 198. BIBLIOGRAPHY Bridgman, Richard, Gertrude Stein i n Pieces. New York: Oxford University Press, 1970. Brinnin, John Malcolm. The Third Rose: Gertrude Stein and Her World. Boston: L i t t l e , Brown and Company, 1959. Firmage, George, A Check-List of the Published Writings  of Gertrude Stein. Amherst: University of Massa-chusetts, 1954. Gallup, Donald C., ed. The Flowers of Friendship: Letters Written to Gertrude Stein. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1953. Haas, Robert B a r t l e t t and Donald C l i f f o r d Gallup. A Cata-logue of the Published and Unpublished Writings  of Gertrude Stein. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1941. Hoffman, Frederick J. Gertrude Stein. University of Min-nesota Pamphlets on American Writers No. 10.Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1961. Mellow, James. Charmed C i r c l e : Gertrude Stein and Com-pany. New York: Praeger Publishers, 1974. Reid, B.L. Art by Subtraction: A Dissenting Opinion of Gertrude Stein. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1958. Rogers, W.G. When This You See Remember Me: Gertrude Stein i n Person. New York: Rinehart and Company, 1948. Sawyer, J u l i a n . Gertrude Stein: A Bibliography. New York: Arrow Editions, 1940. Stein, Gertrude. Alphabets and Birthdays. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1957. Stein, Gertrude. An Elucidation. Supplement to t r a n s i t i o n 1, A p r i l , 1927. Stein, Gertrude. As Fine As Melanctha (1914-1930). New Haven: Yale University Press, 1954. 199. Stein, Gertrude. The Autobiography of A l i c e B. Toklas. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1933. Stein, Gertrude. Bee Time Vine and Other Pieces (1913-1927). New Haven: Yale University Press, 1953. Stein, Gertrude. A Book Concluding With As A Wife Has A Cow A Love Story. Paris: Editions de l a Galerie Simon, 1926. Stein, Gertrude. Everybody's Autobiography. New York: Random House, 1937. Stein, Gertrude. Four In America. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1947. Stein, Gertrude. Four Saints In Three Acts. New York: Random House, 1934. Stein, Gertrude. The Geographical History of America or The Relation of Human Nature to the Human Mind. New York: Random House, 1936. Stein, Gertrude. Geography and Plays. Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1922. Stein, Gertrude. The Gertrude Stein F i r s t Reader and  Three Plays. London: Maurice Fridberg, 1946. Stein, Gertrude. How To Write. Paris: P l a i n E d i t i o n , 1931. Stein, Gertrude. How Writing Is Written. Ed. Robert B a r t l e t t Haas. Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1974. Stein, Gertrude. Ida: A Novel. New York: Random House, 1941. Stein, Gertrude. Lectures In America. New York: Random House, 1935. Stein, Gertrude. Lucy Church Amiably: A Novel of Romantic Beauty and Nature and which Looks Like an Engraving. Paris: Imprimerie (Union), 1930. Stein, Gertrude. The Making of Americans: Being A History  of a Family's Progress. Dijon: Maurice Darantiere, 200. Stein, Gertrude. Mrs. Reynolds and Five E a r l i e r Novelettes. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1952. Stein, Gertrude. Narration. Chicago: The University of Chic ago Pres s, 1935. Stein, Gertrude. A Novel of Thank You. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1958. Stein, Gertrude. Painted Lace and Other Pieces (1914-1937). New Haven: Yale University Press, 1955. Stein, Gertrude. P o r t r a i t s and Prayers. New York: Random House, 1934. Stein, Gertrude. A Primer f o r the Gradual Und erst and i ng  of Gertrude Stein. Ed. Robert B a r t l e t t Haas. Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1971. Stein, Gertrude. Reflection on the Atomic Bomb. Ed. Robert B a r t l e t t Haas. Los Angeles: Black Sparrow Press, 1973. Stein, Gertrude. Selected Operas and Flays. Ed. John Malcolm Brinnin. Pittsburgh: University of P i t t s -burgh Press, 1970. Stein, Gertrude. Selected Writings of Gertrude Stein. Ed. Carl Van Vechten. New York: Random House, 1946. Stein, Gertrude. Stanzas In Meditation. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1956. Stein, Gertrude. Tender Buttons. New York: C l a i r e Marie, 1914. Stein, Gertrude. Useful Knowledge.London: John Lane, The Bodley Head Limited, 1929. Stein, Gertrude. What Are Masterpieces. Los Angeles: The Conference Press, 1940. Stein, Gertrude. Writings and Lectures 1911-1945. Ed. P a t r i c i a Meyerowitz. London: Peter Owen, 1967. Stewart, Allegra. Gertrude Stein and the Present. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1967. 201. Sutherland, Donald. Gertrude Stein; A Biography of  Her Work. New Haven: Yale University Fress, 1951. Weinstein, Norman. Gertrude Stein and the Li t e r a t u r e of the Modern Consciousness. New York: Frederick Ungar, 1970. Wilson, Edmund. Axel's Castle: A Study i n the Imaginative  Lit e r a t u r e of 1870-1930. 1931; rpt. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1947. Wilson, Robert A. Gertrude Stein: A Bibliography. New York: The Phoenix Bookshop, 1974. 202. APPENDIX CONSPECTUS OF THE THEORETICAL WRITINGS OF GERTRUDE STEIN N.B.i 1. Works concerned with prose or with "writing" i n a general sense appear in' the l e f t column; works con-cerned wholly or pa r t l y with poetry, i n the r i g h t column. 2. The exegetical works are placed i n parentheses. The pieces i n Lectures i n America and Narration are cit e d separately. 3. The reader i s referred to Appendix D i n Richard Bridgman's Gertrude Stein i n Pieces f o r an index of references to various of her works made by Gertrude Stein i n The Autobiography of A l i c e B. Toklas and Everybody's Auto biography, and Lectures i n America. The f i r s t two w i l l not otherwise appear here. 4. A page reference to the most r e a d i l y available e d i t i o n i n which the work appears follows each t i t l e , with the following abbreviations representing the volanes. F u l l publishing information for these works w i l l be found i n Gertrude Steins A Bibliography, by Robert A. Wilson (New York* The Phoenix Book Shop, 1974). PGU - A Primer f o r the Gradual Understanding of Gertrude Stein,(Los Angeles, 1973) ;.; PL - Painted Lace (New Haven, 1955) AAWD - An Acquaintance With Description (London, 1929) BTV - Bee Time Vine (New Haven, 1953) HTW - How To Write (New York, 1973) P&P - P o r t r a i t s and Prayers (New York, 1934) RAB - Reflections on the Atomic Bomb (Los Angeles,1973) AFAM - As Fine as Melanctha (New Haven, 1954) W&L - Writings and Lectures; 1909-1911 (Harmondsworth, 1971) SIM - Stanzas i n Meditation (New Haven, 1956) FIA - Four i n America (New Haven, 1947) HWIW - How Writings i s Written (Los Angeles, 1974) NARR - Narration (Chicago, 1969) 5. The items appear i n the order of composition within each year, according to Appendix C of Bridgman. 203. 1923 - An Elucidation. PGU, 91. 1924 -1925 - Natural Phenomena. PL, 167. 1926 - (Composition as Explanation) W&L, 21. An Acquaintance With Descrip-t i o n . AAWD, 1. 1927 - Pa t r i a r c h a l Poetry. BTV, 249. Regular Regularly i n Narrative. HTW, 215. 1928 - F i n a l l y George a Vocabulary of Thinking. HTW, 271. Arthur a Grammar. HTW, 37. S entenc es. HTW,113. 1929 - Bernard Fay. W&L, 236. More Grammar Genia Berman. P&P, 185. Saving the Sentence. HTW, 11. Paragraphs. (Later included i n "More Grammar for a Sentence." See Below.) 1930 - Sentences and Paragraphs. HTW, 23. Evidence. RAB, 153. More Grammar f o r a Sentence. AFAM, 359. A Grammarian. HTW, 103. T i t l e , Sub-Title. AFAM, 386. 204. Why Willows. (Added to "Evidence." See above.) Before the Flowers of Friend-ship Faded Friendship Faded. W&L, 274. Narrative. SIM, 250. 1931 - Forensics. HTW, 383. Forensics. HTW, 383. Winning His Way. A Narrative Poem of Poetry. SIM, 153. 1932 - Stanzas i n Meditation. SIM, 1. 1933 - (Henry James. FIA, (Henry James. FIA, 119.) 119.) (What i s English (What i s English Literature. W&L, 31w Literature. W&L, 31;) (Plays. W&L, 59.) (The Gradual Making of The Making of Americans * W&L, 84.) (P o r t r a i t s and Repetition. W&L, 99.) (Poetry and Grammar. (Poetry and Grammar. W&L, 125.) W&L, 125.) 1935 - (Narration #2. NARR, (Narration #2. NARR, 16.) 16.) (What Are Masterpieces. W&L, 148.) (How Writing i s Written. HWIW, 151.) 

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