Typed letter signed (“Leonard”) to Marianne Ihlen ("My darling Marianne"), Hydra, 24 October 1961.

One page, 280 x 215mm.

On experimenting with drugs ("I keep wanting to blur myself"), feelings of ennui, and work on his novel. He begins by remarking on pictures of baby Axel—“Your baby is beautiful!”—and confesses to falling into despair when he doesn’t hear from her: “I hate not know what you are doing and feeling.”

Life on the island is simply not the same without her. He comments, "everybody here bores me to death" and although he is taking Greek lessons, "after the lessons I find I have nothing to say to anybody." On drugs and writing: "I have written a lot of wild poems I hardly understand myself and I prefer to haunt this crumbling house or watch the bad movies on the port. I have even experimented with hashish and opium, but they make me as tired as alcohol. It seems that I can’t get addicted to anything. Nothing can intrude between me and my particular vision of the world, not even cigarettes. I keep wanting to blur myself even though I know I am happiest when I am most sober. My only certainty is that I must keep working and complete this book of mine."

He closes: "We gave each other much comfort. Do you think it will ever work again? Do not gather from this that I am unhappy. It is just that I foolishly demand passion and ecstasy and I know how frail these are. There’s too much to tell you right now. All my love, Leonard.”

By descent from Marianne Ihlen.