The Letters of John Cowper Powys
to Glyn Hughes
Glyn Hughes was born in Liverpool in 1932 and died there in 1972. During his brief life he had many occupations: journalist, short-story writer, bookseller's assistant, musician in a circus, film extra, hotel liftman and song writer, to mention only a few. Having read some of John Cowper Powys's books, Glyn wrote to express his admiration and seek his advice. John was in his eighties, Glyn in his twenties. Thirty-four of John's letters to Glyn have survived, the majority of which appear here in print for the first time. Glyn himself wrote in a letter to the editor of this volume, 'to say I have an interest in John Cowper Powys is an understatement; in him or those books of his is my only hope. He helps me from day to day, his books, especially the philosophical ones are food and drink to me. I read a portion of them every night just as me old grandad read his portion of Scriptures every evening'.
In John's diverting letters to Glyn the topics change rapidly: from his idiosyncratic philosophy of life and his attitude to God, to his addiction to strong, sweet tea, to his favourite book both as a child and an octogenarian, to his sadistic practices as a schoolboy. The people, too, are as varied as they are fascinating: John recalls sitting next to Aleister Crowley ('the Great Beast') at a Foyle literary luncheon, W.B. Yeats advises John 'Don't let the development of character ever interfere with the increase of Imagination'; we catch a glimpse of the infamous Gilles de Retz, who tortured to death 250 women and children and whose vice John admits to sharing; we learn of John's great dislikes in literature, Carlyle and Shaw.
The everyday events of his life, the planning and progress of his books, and all the changes in his fortunes are here in his discursive letters to Glyn. Among the seemingly random odds and ends of knowledge and reminiscence the correspondence is full of curious insights. Generous as ever with his time and accumulated wisdom, John advises his young admirer to 'force yourself to enjoy the Present and let Past and Future go hang!' We must, he insists, 'forget ourselves completely and live in our sensations of hearing feeling seeing tasting, and...force ourselves to enjoy these sensations — yes force ourselves! "I will I will I will I will enjoy this music this book this view this picture!" To Hell whether we are ordinary or extraordinary! It doesn't matter at all what we are as long as we are enjoying ourselves'. And again he urges Glyn to 'forget yourself in your work and I must forget myself in my work, in fact that's what I have to do if I am to go on writing. I don't at all agree with certain modern writers that you have to work to discover some original strain in yourself. I think if you have some original strain in yourself it will only show itself if you force yourself and try to lose yourself in what you see hear and feel. When I say "You are you and I am I" what I mean is that the better we work and the harder we work and the more we lose ourselves in our work the more we shall be ourselves. We don't become ourselves by thinking about ourselves. On the contrary the more we lose ourselves in our work the more by a strange law of nature do we become our real selves'.
Glyn Hughes perceived the depth and radiance of his distinguished correspondent's mind and recorded his appreciation in an article included as an appendix.
214mm x 133mm, 80 pp. and 4 pp. of illustrations.
ISBN 0-900821-79-5 £14.95
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