From "Mr. Standfast"

Yes, they had these kind of folk in the early twentieth century. Much of the novel, Mr. Standfast, spends it's time describing these people of enlightenment. I can't help but remember the "tousle headed youth" that C.S. Lewis writes of in The Great Divorce. So demanding that people read their material and agree that it is great art; and never ought they say otherwise so as to lower the self esteem of these individual children. O, We of our old fashioned gatherings of objective reality that say, "Art has a definition." And with heavy sarcasm I say, "Grace us, new progressed modern mind, with your plentiful wisdom on the things of which you know little!" So anyway, here is the quote of which I speak:

"Aronson, the novelist, proved on acquaintance the worst kind of blighter. He considered himself a genius whom it was the duty of the country to support, and he sponged on his wretched relatives and anyone who would lend him money. He was always babbling about his sins, and pretty squalid they were. I should like to have flung him among a few good old fashioned full blooded sinners of my acquaintance; they would have scared him considerably. He told me that he sought 'reality' and 'life' and 'truth', but it was hard to see how he could know much about them, for he spent half the day in bed smoking cheap cigarettes, and the rest sunning himself in the admiration of half-witted girls. The creature was tuberculous in mind and body, and the only novel of his I read pretty well turned my stomach."

- John Buchan

Lord Ali the Lion (Lord Nevai)

Great Nevai, you troubled man,
A poor profession for one to take!
You left your duties to retrieve the lamb,
Of neglected poetry for poetry's sake.

Dull you knew, but requests came hard,
To blame thyself under govenor's name.
Figured quickly gave action's card,
Swiftly revealed the deciders fame.

Rest now, and rest well poor soul!
Know that we understand your call,
And only wish for your writings infull,
Which presently decay and fame with all.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

To Alexander -

This is a poem I wrote nearly right after I thought of the subject. It is to my first nephew; a creature that has only experienced this life for four weeks now. He abides with his parents on the opposite side of the country so I only know him through pictures. He knows not me, nor right now does he care to know. I have yet to well up any sentiment towards this kid, but perhaps I can start eighteen years from now and buy him his first cigar. Anyway, here goes:

You are the prime of the McEvan Clan,
Since a third generation was our demand.
Though the Wilsons are a pugnacious lot,
We pray you'll be grac'd; your sins forgot.
I know you so little, what is to be said,
But generic blessings that you will be fed.
Likely, I'll see you on occasions rare,
For a couple years you'll do nothing but stare.
Know thyself, and as well know thy name,
Know the man from whence it has fame.
Understand this: to be great is not far;
Live a pure life and then go to war.

By Evan Gunn Wilson