Feb. 19, 1947
Pm
Dear Emily:
Had the urge to say "my Emily" -- for that
seems the more natural: But since custom (?)
prevents it, I must, for the time say,
Dear Emily,
This morning I was about a half hour late to
Dr. Rich's lecture on intermodulation frequencies --
intentionally. I usually get up at 6:30, have breakfast,
read the morning paper and listen to the news. At
about 7:45, I start for the lab and arrive at 8:10.
But this morning, so great was the desire to
hear from you that I said to myself -- "There must
be a letter in the box uptown." So I stole a half hour
of the Dr's valuable time and raced up. Sure enough,
there was a letter from you -- and opening of it
then and there, the cold of this winter day was
shoved back with the depth, simplicity (genuineness)
and warmth of your talking to me.
I promise you that, from now on, you will never
be disappointed when you reach into the letter box.
All this while I have wanted to write you every day --
have always had the urge to put down my work and
write you, even before I knew you (does that sound
like idiotic raving?) -- but I have only held back so
far because I know only too well how easily a new
thing -- no matter how excellent and good --
becomes an excess.
I should have known better in your (our) case.
Yes, I must (and am perfectly unwilling to)
admit that you seem very close to me, and so
magnificent is it that I doubt that I shall ever
come any closer to happiness than this.
I can tell from your letters that there is much
you'd like me to know, as you said. And I want
to hear every word of it, but only whenever it
comes freely to your mind. Don't push it -- that's
too much like work -- but wait for the moments
when they become so clear and "tellable", that
they fly almost masked into your letters. I will
be waiting for them when they come -- until
then, I know they are there and that you will
enjoy telling them to me.
Yes, I suppose I should sleep more -- you and
Dr. Thorne would agree on that -- but one gets
absorbed - one follows the day in his mind,
squeezing the last drop out of everything -- one
thought leads to another -- old ones come back
and new ones come until today takes a definite
place -- in a unique link between yesterday and
tomorrow. Every moment in those wee hours,
one sees himself more clearly -- finds that spot
on the road to which he has gotten himself.
Or one struggles with a new problem -- and, after
hours, realizes that the new is only combinations
of the old and that a knowledge of the old,
correctly applied, can solve it for you. You
approach a solution, and although you must
keep your mind calm -- keep your thoughts
marching straight to the point, one building
solidly on the other, excitement shoots you
through and through while the hours as minutes,
race away.
And not just my formal work here -- but my
other "work" -- my other thinking which is fully
as important to me -- and to anyone affected
by me -- as that more formal work.
During the day, I talk and work with people --
seeing and hearing what they'd like to be --
seeing their "outside": at night, at these hours,
I bring them before me, one by one and examine
the "inside" of them. I must know these people,
for the life I live is affected by them -- if I hope
to control my life (to a reasonable extent) I
must also know how to control them -- by knowing
what they want -- what they can do -- and
therefore, what they will do -- and how well or badly.
You would be amazed to know how many of
these people you crowd out of my mind. But that
is your place -- since you need to be there -- and
I need you there.
I look at you constantly and examine every
detail I know about you, trying to find the flaw in
this wonderful, but almost too perfect situation.
After turning over everything for the hundredth
time I say, "incredible, Bostick! Your very mirror
if you'll be frank about it". Perhaps that's self
flattery -- it certainly would be if I weren't
convinced that it's very true. I know from
common sense that no two things alike are
ever made but haven't I already said that things
are what we interpret them to mean -- and not
absolute in themselves?
I can see no absolutely no essential difference:
the small difference is that you're a woman (how
very fortunate and pleasant for me) and I'm a man.
I may be allowed to be aggressive while you are
receptive -- but both dealing in the same things --
same values -- same meanings: and when the
"man-woman" aspect is considered -- we are
equivalent.
Your ideas -- the same as mine -- are touched
with femininity: by perhaps a broader experience --
due to my being a man, and having lived my life
instead of yours, I have been forced to accept
some working answer to the questions which
are constantly on your lips -- and whereas they
are not perfect answers, still I have accepted
them -- for the present until their severed small
parts came along to replace the improvisation -
as suited to your life, as mine are to mine --
still we have a host of the unanswerables --
and they are much alike.
Go ahead and cry -- you may -- and call me a
fool -- there must be some deep satisfaction
in crying. We men lost a potent lifespan and tons
when we forgot how to cry.
We have attached a weakness to the expression
of sorrow, which is a pure emotion. Why do we
not then attach a weakness to the expression of
merriment -- which is also a pure emotion?
One of the many artificial things which make
us men -- and your sex -- women.
Now I must close and go about less
pleasant tasks.
love
George
P. S. For Emily
my latest master piece
Fall down bridges, across the moat --
No longer bridging a flood --
Save a dry one -- indefensible
Over your dark and stagnant world.
The sun streams
And what lurked -- was feared -- has never been,
No longer seems
Fall down, her legions having sun!
Can you withstand triumph? Regain?
Loss somehow never loss?
Fall back! Wall that has remained
Where long the emissary begged to cross.
Heart trumpet, peal her in!
Fear is night and day has come.
Bell, silent these years, begin!
Toll the invader home?
-- GB
letters through April 17, 1947
- from another correspondent, January 6, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, February 19, 1947 (handwritten) (current letter)
- from George to Emily, February 21, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, February 22, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, February 23, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, March 14, 1947 (typed)
- from Emily to George, March 23, 1947 (typed)
- from Emily to George, March 24, 1947 (typed)
- from Emily to George, March 29, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, April 5, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, April 6, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, April 7, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, April 7, 1947 (typed)
- from George to Emily, April 7, 1947 (handwritten)
- from Emily to George, April 9, 1947 (handwritten)
- from George to Emily, April 10, 1947 (typed)
- from Emily to George, April 15, 1947 (handwritten)
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