I wrote my poem--_A Day in a Japanese Garden_, ... only two lines I
remember:
"And black cranes trailed their long legs as they flew
Down to it, somewhere out of Heaven's blue,"
descriptive of a little lake ... oh, yes, and two more I remember,
descriptive of sunset:
"And Fujiyama's far and sacred top
Became a jewel shining in the sun."
The poem was an over-laquered, metaphor-cloyed thing ... much like the
bulk of our free verse of to-day ... but it was superior to all the rest
of the contributions.
The prize was declared off. After an evening's serious discussion the
committee decided that, though my effort was far and away the best, it
would not do to let me have the prize, because I was so wild-appearing
... because I was known as having been a tramp. And because seniors and
students of correct standing at the university had tried. And it would
not be good for the school morale to let me have what I had won.
They compromised by declaring the prize off.
A year after, Professor Black, assistant professor in English
literature, who served on the judging board, told me confidentially of
this ... though he declared that he had fought for me, alleging how I
needed the money, and how I had honestly won the award.
I thought of the couplet of Gay:
"He who would without malice pass his days
Must live obscure and never merit praise.
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