STEWART UDALL: "On Oct. 26, 1963, John F. Kennedy delivered a eulogy of the then recently deceased Robert Frost. Few knew at the time that Frost, who had recited a poem at the President's inauguration, had been estranged from him for fully a year (see 'Poetry, Stalinism and the Cuban Missile Crisis,' Book Review, Oct. 30). After a trip to Moscow, Frost had quoted Nikita Khrushchev, incorrectly, that Americans were 'too liberal to fight.' The Washington Post headline the next day read: 'Frost says Khrushchev sees U.S. as Too Liberal to Defend Itself.' Kennedy was resentful, and he stayed that way until Frost's death.
"At that point, the President seems to have experienced a change of heart. I consider his eulogy of Frost the most majestic speech of his public career. The occasion was the ground-breaking for a Robert Frost library. Archibald MacLeish spoke first, movingly and at some length. Then the President spoke of the poet with uncommon eloquence, in words that conveyed a profound sympathy for the principles and truths that Robert Frost lived by. The peroration of President Kennedy's remarks follows":
This day, devoted to the memory of Robert Frost, offers an opportunity for reflection which is prized by politicians as well as by others and even by poets. For Robert Frost was one of the granite figures of our time in America. He was supremely two things--an artist and an American.
A nation reveals itself not only by the men it produces but also by the men it honors, the men it remembers.
In America our heroes have customarily run to men of large accomplishments. But today this college and country honor a man whose contribution was not to our size but to our spirit; not to our political beliefs but to our insight; not to our self-esteem but to our self-comprehension.
In honoring Robert Frost we therefore can pay honor to the deepest sources of our national strength. That strength takes many forms, and the most obvious forms are not always the most significant.
The men who create power make an indispensable contribution to the nation's greatness. But the men who question power make a contribution just as indispensable, especially when that questioning is disinterested.
For they determine whether we use power or power uses us. Our national strength matters; but the spirit which informs and controls our strength matters just as much. This was the special significance of Robert Frost.
He brought an unsparing instinct for reality to bear on the platitudes and pieties of society. His sense of human tragedy fortified him against self-deception and easy consolation.
"I have been," he wrote, "one acquainted with the night."
And because he knew the midnight as well as the high noon, because he understood the ordeal as well as the triumph of the human spirit, he gave his age strength with which to overcome despair.
At bottom he held a deep faith in the spirit of man. And it's hardly an accident that Robert Frost coupled poetry and power. For he saw poetry as the means of saving power from itself.
When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows areas of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.
For art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstones of our judgment. The artist, however faithful to his personal vision of reality, becomes the last champion of the individual mind and sensibility against an intrusive society and an officious state.
The great artist is thus a solitary figure. He has, as Frost said, "a lover's quarrel with the world." In pursuing his perceptions of reality he must often sail against the currents of his time. This is not a popular role.
If Robert Frost was much honored during his lifetime, it was because a good many preferred to ignore his darker truths.
Yet in retrospect we see how the artist's fidelity has strengthened the fiber of our national life. If sometimes our great artists have been the most critical of our society it is because their sensitivity and their concern for justice, which motivate the true artist, make them aware that our nation falls short of its highest potential.
I see little of more importance to the future of our country and our civilization than full recognition of the place of the artist. If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision wherever it takes him.
We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda, it is a form of truth. And as Mr. MacLeish once remarked of poets, "There is nothing worse for our trade than to be in style."
In a free society art is not a weapon and it does not belong in the sphere of polemics and ideology. Artists are not engineers of the soul.
It may be different elsewhere. But democratic society--in it--the highest duty of the writer, the composer, the artist, is to remain true to himself and let the chips fall where they may.