21 September

21 September 1920

Travelling to Menton, France

Shaw seems a pure dotty in that review, and what a shameless piece of work. Its disgraceful lack of form its impertinent ½ padding & then when padding failed ‘quote'.
I constantly dream of the English Critic (Hurrah for Bogey!)  who'll set all these at nought.
I feel convinced by the way that Eliot[T. S. Eliot (1888-1965), American-born English poet.] is no good. Hes a dead horse at the races. Wish Id seen that football match.

My precious Bogey
I must answer your Sunday letter. Now DON'T bother to answer this. But it sends waves & waves of love beating through me - even tho' the storm that raises them is you as a landlord or the cuticura unguent. I had too my best night here and the day is surpassingly lovely. It rained all night. You know that freshness of early morning in the South. The palm swings, rocks, the sky is in great broad bands of white & deep blue; there's a sound of someone sawing wood & a sound of hens cackling. FIRST: About your poem. Devil take it - I am plagued in exactly the same way. I cant begin a thing yet. Ive put it down to my fatigue & then Im so troubled - just as if, beneath all my other feelings, someone stirred the pool with a stick & all is muddy. The someone is L.M. [L.M. was one of KM's nicknames for Ida Baker, friend and companion.] Ill get over it but my weakness has given her a chance she hasn't failed to take advantage of. Ill get over this, and perhaps its not that at all.

Truth to tell, I miss you, too, more than I'd imagined. Together, we seem to make something: we seem to be building something & I don't like to think of anything stopping those building operations. Time is too short. I wonder if you know what I mean?[Letter to J. M. Murry in Collected Letters]