Full text: The little review (12 (1926), 1)

courage. West Nohno 4 long trips to West Africa with a sick 
and physically dead chief engineer. I break my leg—he dies— 
all hands drunk and criminally neglectful—I take charge with 
a useless leg and body filled with fever and bring her home with 
credit. Now holding ship for me, also offered post engineer 
and dock master’s job at Nigeria—unable however to take either 
account this broken leg. 
Drink is something that does not bother me—a drink or 
two and finish—that is my absolute rule—there have only been 
some three times during my life time when I have gone under. 
Once at Doc. B’s after coming back from a big party and cele 
bration in Newark, poison home made stuff and then at B’s a 
glass of absinth on top. I’ve felt more sorry than I can say for 
that. Once in France when because I would never carouse 
with the gang they doped a bacardi on me, then left me to stagger 
on by myself. But though it took near all night I got safely back 
to my ship alone. The other time I can’t remember except in a 
foggy uncertain way, I’m certain however that there was an 
other. That is the extent of drink. I’ve got a bottle of Johnny 
Walker, black label, right here in my room—for me it will last 
six months or a year. I like however to bring it back to my 
friends—think perhaps they might appreciate it. 
Now for women—yes—I don’t hate them too much—but not 
just any woman and never a bad one. Comparing myself with 
a lot of men I know I would certainly draw down the grand halo 
for purity etc. etc. etc. No joke. 
Now what’s next? Go west. Well we’ll see. I had hopes 
of taking a run out there this time being as I simply can’t do 
any work anyhow. As to staying out there—I can’t see it—that 
is to staying in Chicago. As to running vessels on the Mississippi 
—well— 
Now please write some more and let’s get at the base trouble 
of your wonderful attitude. One thing is sure, I never loaf— 
with health and able body I couldn’t—not only on my own part 
—but the shipping men who know me wouldn’t let me alone. 
I’m wanted. How now for your good for nothing—drunkard 
—women master and man of no honor. Pray that I may get a 
good leg that I may go some more. 
Love and kindest wishes B.O.S. 
4 
TWO FUGITIVE POEMS (1910) 
MARTIN AND KATHERINE 
Alone today I mounted that steep hill 
On which the Wartburg stands. Here Luther dwelt
	        
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