If the poet is to be held completely to the already evolved and exploited sequences of imagery and logic—what field of added consciousness and increased perceptions (the actual province of poetry, if not lullabyes) can be expected when one has to relatively return to the alphabet every breath or so? In the minds of people who have sensitively read, seen and experienced a great deal, isn’t there a terminology something like short-hand as compared to usual descriptions and dialects, which the artist ought to be right in trusting as a reasonable connective agent toward fresh concepts, more inclusive evaluations?
— Letter to Harriet Monroe, October 1926
These are dull times for poetry…and I must admit that with all my present salutary circumstances my impulses in that direction are surprisingly low. A beautiful environement and economic security are far from compensating for a world of chaotic values and frightful spiritual depression. And I can’t derive any satisfaction in the spinning out of mere personal moods and attitudes.
—Letter to Eda Lou Walton, November 1931