Nash, Ogden (Poetry Criticism)
Ogden Nash 1902–1971
(Full name Frediric Ogden Nash) American poet and playwright.
Nash enjoyed one of the largest audiences of this century, attracting readers from all walks of life with his insightful, satirical view of human nature and human foibles. His biting wit was tempered by humor and sensitivity, enabling him to tread lightly over touchy subjects, including the behavior of other people's children, social affectations, and illness. Nash's unique style is characterized by his willful disregard for grammatical and spelling rules, and his deliberate mis-spelling of words to force a rhyme, such as spelling diapers "diopes" to rhyme with "calliopes." Many of Nash's poems have been so widely quoted, they have reached near-proverbial status. "Candy / Is dandy, / But liquor / Is quicker," and "If called by a panther, / Don't anther" are two Nash poems that are so familiar to the public that they are often attributed to "Anonymous." While the unconventional nature of his verse has denied him the status of a "serious" poet, Nash remains one of the most read and quoted poets of this century.
Born in Rye, New York, to a family of old Southern stock, Nash was raised along the Eastern Coast as his father's import-export business frequently moved the family from state to state. This nomadic childhood resulted in Nash's unique accent, which was part Southern drawl, and part New Englander. Nash attended St. George's School in Newport, Rhode Island, and Harvard University for one year, 1920-1921. Forced to drop out to earn his living, Nash tried his hand at several professions, including teaching at his alma mater, St. George's, and a brief, unsuccessful stint as a bond salesman. By 1925 Nash had settled into a career in advertising with the publishing house Doubleday, Page, later to become Doubleday, Doran. During this time, Nash attempted to write serious poetry, "sonnets about beauty and truth" in the tradition of Byron, Keats, and Shelley. It was while writing advertising copy at Doubleday, Doran, Nash found his poetic voice. His poem "Spring Comes To Murray Hill" was jotted down in a fit of procrastination and later sent to the New Yorker magazine, which published it in 1930. The poem exhibited all the traits that were to become Nash's characteristics: the whimsical tone, the outrageous mis-spellings and mis-pronunciations. Also present was Nash's characteristic theme—the trivial, often-overlooked details of life in the city, viewed through a cynical, almost curmudgeonly perspective.
Nash married Frances Leonard in 1931. His new roles of husband and father influenced his poetry as his initial crustiness softened into musings over his two small daughters, beginning with Happy Days. In 1936, Nash moved with his family to Hollywood where he wrote screenplays for MGM. During that time he produced The Shining Hair with Jane Murfin, The Feminine Touch with George Oppenheimer and Edmund L. Hartman, as well as The Firefly. None of these met with much success, and a somewhat discouraged Nash returned to the East Coast in 1942. One good thing came out of his time in Hollywood, however, and that was his friendship with S. J. Perelman, with whom he collaborated on the book and lyrics for One Touch of Venus, a smash hit during Broadway's 1943 season. In the 1950s and 1960s, Nash began writing children's poetry in addition to his whimsical verses for adults. Parents Keep Out: Elderly Poems for Youngerly Readers, The Christmas That Almost Wasn't, and Custard the Dragon are a few of his works addressed to children, partly influenced by his grandchildren, even as grandfatherly ruminations entered his verses for adults. Another topic that occurred with increasing frequency in Nash's later years was mild complaints about sickness and aging, always with a comic bent. Indicative of his position in American poetry, Nash was a member of both the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and the National Institute of Arts and Letters. Nash died in 1971 in Baltimore, Maryland.
Nash published his first poem, "Spring Comes to Murray Hill," in the New Yorker magazine in 1930. His first collections of poems, Hard Lines (1931) and Free Wheeling (1931), established Nash's reputation as an original, witty, and whimsical creator of humorous verse with wonderful insight into human nature. In 1933 Nash wrote Happy Days, which introduced new themes of matrimony, household crises, and fatherhood. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, Nash continued to produce collections in the same characteristic style that distinguished his verse, including The Primrose Path (1935), The Bad Parents' Garden of Verse (1936), I'm a Stranger Here Myself (1938), Good Intentions (1942), and Many Long Years Ago (1945). Nash collaborated on the smash Broadway musical One Touch of Venus in 1944, co-authoring the book and lyrics with S. J. Perelman. During the remainder of his career, Nash continued to write whimsical verse for adults, and began to write children's poetry as well, such as The Christmas That Almost Wasn't (1957), Custard the Dragon (1959), The Adventures of Isabel (1963), and The Mysterious Ouphe (1965).
Although Nash was largely ignored by most critics in his lifetime, he was well liked by the public. Nash's ability to delight his readers through comical and entertaining verses often obscured the technical virtuosity required to produce them. Nash admitted to having "intentionally maltreated and man-handled every known rule of grammar, prosody, and spelling"; after Nash's death, a New York Times obituary by Albin Krebs suggested that, despite this disregard for convention, Nash's verse reveals "a carefully thought-out metrical scheme and a kind of relentless logic." Critics in more recent years have begun to reevaluate Nash's reputation, noting that, throughout his career, Nash demonstrated great flexibility and versatility of the English language in volume after volume. Moreover, his social and political satirical skills have earned him comparisons to the great eighteenth-century satirists Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift.
Hard Lines 1931
Free Wheeling 1931
Happy Days 1933
The Primrose Path 1935
The Bad Parents' Garden of Verse 1936
I'm a Stranger Here Myself 1938
The Face is Familiar: The Selected Verse of Ogden Nash 1940; revised edition, 1954
Good Intentions 1942; revised edition, 1956
The Ogden Nash Pocket Book 1944
Many Long Years Ago 1945
The Selected Verses of Ogden Nash 1946
Family Reunion 1950
The Private Dining Room, and Other New Verses 1953
The Pocket Book of Ogden Nash 1954
You Can't Get There From Here 1957
Verses From 1929 On 1959
Everyone but Thee and Me 1962
Marriage Lines: Notes of a Student Husband 1964
An Ogden Nash Bonanza. 5 Vols. 1964
The Animal Garden 1965
Funniest Verses of Ogden Nash: Light Lyrics by One of America's Favorite Humorists 1968
The Scroobious Pip [with Edward Lear] 1968
There's Always Another Windmill 1968...
(The entire section is 391 words.)
Show us the love and view this for free! Use the facebook like button, or any other share button on this page, and get this content free!free!
SOURCE: "Verses That Click," in New York Herald Tribune Books, Vol. 7, No. 19, January 18, 1931, p. 5.
[In the following review of Hard Lines, Bell comments on Nash's creative vocabulary and structure in his poetry, as well as his position in relation to "traditional" poets.]
When a new poet comes along, the least a reviewer can do is to find method in his madness—and write a paragraph on the technique of it. This—now that our chortles of enjoyment have partially subsided—we shall undertake.
Briefly and specifically, what Ogden Nash does is to take words apart to see what makes them tick, and put them together so that they click. And not necessarily in the condition in which he found them. Any one who is under the impression that the English language is not sufficiently flexible should study Hard Lines. It demonstrates that our mother tongue can be made to behave in a manner hardly becoming a mother, but irreproachably amusing. Here the English language is not only flexible; it is doublejointed, ambidextrous, telescopic, kaleidoscopic, and slightly demented. If this isn't flexibility, then a coil spring made out of piano wire is a ramrod.
Mr. Nash proves the poetic possibilities of words which have been lying around untouched since the days of Chaucer and Spenser. Also the poetic possibilities of words which are so young that they are still...
(The entire section is 375 words.)
Show us the love and view this for free! Use the facebook like button, or any other share button on this page, and get this content free!free!
SOURCE: "Goofy Gallopings in Verse," in The New York Herald Tribune Books, Vol. 11, No. 24, February 17, 1935, p. 2.
[In the following review of The Primrose Path, Bell praises Nash's trailblazing verse and examines several themes present in the collection.]
Opposite the title page of The Primrose Path there is a list of "other books by Ogden Nash" and one of them, we observe with mild surprise, is The Primrose Path. If there were some other author we'd call this a discrepancy, but with Mr. Nash one can't be certain. Quite possibly he devotes all his spare time to primrose pathfinding, and for the sake of a little privacy he may have a hidden primrose path from which the public is excluded—though that would be a crime.
A Daniel Boone on the fantastic frontiers of rhyme, Mr. Nash nonchalantly blazes trails of prosody which are rapidly hacked into highways by his imitators. But he has a goofy gallop in verse which leaves the copyists far behind. We'd rather watch Nash on his piebald Pegasus than Lady Godiva on a white horse. His performance is like that of the fellow who leaped into the saddle and dashed off in all directions. He goes neatly over social hedges and takes political ditches in his stride, and so—mind if we borrow your pencil, mister?—here's a straight tip: Put two berries and a half on Nash to win. It's in the book!
(The entire section is 370 words.)
SOURCE: "Evolution of a Benedick," in Saturday Review, October 10, 1936, p. 15.
[Below, McGinley reviews The Bad Parent's Garden of Verse in verse, imitating Nash's style.]
(The entire section is 24 words.)
SOURCE: "Inventory of Nash: 1938," in Saturday Review, June 4, 1938, pp. 6-7.
[In the following review, Untermeyer offers criticism of Nash's technique, contending that the rhyme scheme and long, asymmetrical lines obscure serious themes in his poetry.]
Ogden Nash has been both over-praised and underrated; his stock has gone up and down and up again; his highs are often confused with his lows. Nevertheless, in a rapidly changing world and a nervously fluctuating market, he has always had more orders than he could fill. Although highly salable, his work is interesting to brows of all altitudes; it is intelligent and always unpredictable. Nash is, therefore, something of a phenomenon as poet and producer, and he merits a more detailed stock-taking than he has received.
There are, first of all, Nash's two most obvious characteristics. Both of them are curiosities in technique: the long, asymmetrical lines, and the elaborately inexact rhymes. One or two fanatical source-hunters have found the origin of Nash's lengthy eccentricities in Gilbert's "Lost Mr. Blake." But an unprejudiced comparison will show that the two styles have nothing in common. Apart from the almost opposite idioms, Gilbert's lines are consistently long and fairly regular, while Nash's line-lengths vary from two to sixty-two syllables; Nash's unmatched and unscannable lines are his own, a distinct technical departure....
(The entire section is 1217 words.)
SOURCE: "Lines By Ogden Nash," in New York Times Book Review, November 29, 1942, p. 16.
[In the following review of Good Intentions, Tinker comments upon Nash's insight into human nature and his ability to succinctly, accurately, and wittily incorporate those observations into his poems.]
To present an adequate picture of the blithe, careless quality of Ogden Nash's rib-tickling poems one would have to be another Ogden Nash—and he is sui generis. He takes his fellow man, and woman, apart in his new collection of vivacious verse [Good Intentions]—the first in four years—with engaging cheerfulness and an insight into their foibles that is almost uncanny. This deep and mellow understanding of human nature pervades his work and gives substance to what otherwise might be only frothy, funny verse.
Few of the perennial bores have escaped his stabbing pen, and his portrait of the "man who when he bares his breast to life it comes back to him all covered with welts, because everything that happens to him is much worse than the same thing happening to any one else … Other people with indigestion just have indigestion, but his indigestion ranks somewhere between appendicitis and cholera" is life-like.
His particular enmity is reserved for the horny-handed enthusiast who always encores the most boring numbers. His head should be amputated and brought...
(The entire section is 580 words.)
SOURCE: "Ogden Nash Nosegay," in The New York Times Book Review, October 14, 1945, p. 4.
[In the following review of Many Long Years Ago, Maloney describes Nash as a poet of the cynical generation produced by the Depression, who possesses the ability to make readers laugh at the foibles and inconveniences of modern life.]
Many long years ago it was, indeed—fifteen, I be lieve—that Ogden Nash's first published writing appeared in The New Yorker. It was the immortal lyric entitled "Spring Comes to Murray Hill," which contained the couplet:
The Pilgrims setled Massachusetts in 1620 when they landed on a stone hummock,
Maybe if they were here now they would settle my stomach.
The depression had produced a poet. Since then Ogden Nash has been, at one time or another, a magazine editor, Hollywood writer and musical-show librettist, but students yet unborn will find him listed in their History of English Literature as a poet.
Nash is the laureate of a generation which had to develop its own wry, none-too-joyful humor as the alternative to simply lying down on the floor and screaming. His ragged verse is remarkably like Ring Lardner's unpruned prose in effect—a catalogue of the annoying trifles that constitute our contemporary civilization, set down with a friendly leer. Lardner wrote about prohibition, golf, the stock market,...
(The entire section is 437 words.)
SOURCE: "Nash as Only Nash Can," in Times Literary Supplement, December 9, 1949, p. 811.
[In this review, the critic lauds Nash's abilities as an ironist and philosopher, in addition to his talent as a humorist.]
Although it is impossible to appreciate all the subtleties and refinements of Mr. Ogden Nash's humour without some knowledge of the domestic habits of the Americans, or at least of the New Yorker's attitude to them, the welcome given on this side of the Atlantic to his two previous collections of nonsense rhymes and cautionary tales in verse would certainly seem to justify a separate English edition of his latest one [Versus]. Mr. Nash's English readers will be delighted by it, for once again he proves himself to be a most ingenious and amusing critic of human frailty and absurdity. It would be a mistake, however, to think of him merely as a funny man; like Mr. Thurber, he has a Democritean streak which entitles him to the respect due to a philosopher, albeit a laughing one. His philosophy is that of the ironist rather than that of the satirist. "Well," he says,
The vicissitudes and eccentricitudes of domestic life, as they affect a gentle, somewhat bewildered man of forty-five, are responsible for the vicissitudes and eccentricitudes of the form as well as the substance of his verses. Like a clown, he is most endearing when he is most deeply involved in them,...
(The entire section is 581 words.)
SOURCE: "In Nick-of-Time Rhyme," in The New York Times Book Review, November 19, 1950, p. 4.
[Below, Frankenberg analyzes Nash's theme of family as addressed in Family Reunion, and comments upon his irregular use of meter.]
At first glance there is no resemblance between Family Reunion, Ogden Nash's latest collection of verses, and T. S. Eliot's play of some years back, The Family Reunion. With second sight, however, and something of a shiver, I have apprehended the striking of at least one identical theme: "I regret that before people can be reformed they have to be sinners."
The theme is struck, yes; so hard it never shows its head again. For Nash's development of this theme is another story; a plangent tangent: "And that before you have pianists in the family you have to have beginners."
Nash's development is always another story. It may be the story of the little boy who didn't believe in Santa Claus, and how the reindeer got even with him. It may be a gripping adventure, like eating outdoors in the dark:
If your half-broiled chicken leaps about,
That's half the excitement of eating out;
If you dust it with sugar instead of salt,
It's everyone's fun and nobody's fault;
And if anything flies in your mouth, perchance,
Why, that is mystery, that's romance!
(The entire section is 628 words.)
SOURCE: "Nashsense Under One Roof," in The Saturday Review, February 10, 1951, p. 18.
[In the excerpt below, McCord praises Family Reunion as a collection that appeals to all ages, and feels that it is representative of the body of Nash's work.]
It may be assumed that Ogden Nash is America's No. 1 family man. The title of Family Reunion therefore suggests a selection of the master's work as closely knit as the poet's knitting allows, with the notion in mind that any member of any family can read it with comfort and delight. The present selection which Mr. Nash has made fully lives up to this happy expectation. There are verses here for father, for mother, and verses about children and about various animals domestic, feral, and in between. I should not say that the verses about children are also for children, though I am not really sure that the whole book is not addressed to children as much as to beleaguered parents. I for one have never been quite satisfied with any previous selection of Mr. Nash's verse as representing the total area of his paper work. Somehow the present volume, assembled as it were under one leaky roof, is the volume for which one reader at least has been waiting. Some day the critics will either divide Mr. Nash's output into the bachelor and parent categories or else discover that by some osmotic process they are all for one and one for all. Just now it...
(The entire section is 761 words.)
SOURCE: "In Nashion Fashion," in The New York Times Book Review, April 12, 1953, p. 10.
[Here, Nichols contends that in The Private Dining Room Nash's style and subject matter matures, and, in an interview with the poet, discusses the factors that influenced his development]
Mr. Nash notes the symptoms of middle age: he defends trains, he welcomes the arrival in the house of a son-inlaw "to chew the fat with." Salad dressing comes under his eye—he likes it simple—and parents and children, and there is a summation of all the clichés about dogs and their owners which should end that subject forever. Obviously the only kind of poetry that counts, and at its best.
"What I do is pick up poetry and bash its brains against the sidewalk," said Mr. Nash the other day.
At 50, a date he acquired simultaneously with a grand-child, he now describes himself as a "middle-aged writer of light verse." There is, perhaps, a little less hair on the top of him and the beginnings of a little more front to the body of him, but there is no lament about the old days. Mr. Nash ages properly—viz. the beginning of bashed poetry entitled "Peekaboo, I Almost See You":
"About five years ago I decided I was getting along," he said. "The umpires at ball games began to look like good guys. I grew conscious of the passing of time. But I'm not...
(The entire section is 697 words.)
SOURCE: "A Cache of Ogden Nash," in The New York Times Book Review, June 9, 1957, p. 7.
[Below, American poet David McCord evaluates Nash's highly original voice and inventive genius, and compares Nash to other established American poets such as Robert Frost, E. B. White, e. e. cummings, and W. H. Auden.]
Perhaps you can't get there from here, but in Ogden Nash's company you will reach any number of pleasant destinations. You will also reach an inevitable conclusion, if you have not come to it years and lines ago: Nash is a genuine original voice, and such voices in any literature are rare. Consider the living American writers who combine in high degree wit with poetry or poetry with wit. Who are those with established reputations? Robert Frost, E. B. White, Ogden Nash, Thornton Wilder, James Thurber, E. E. Cummings, W. H. Auden, Morris Bishop. A very small company, and under these limitations not easily expanded. A few lines, fewer sentences, sometimes but a few words chosen blindfold from the mature work of any of these men are sufficient to establish the authorship. However much a poet or prose writer may perfect and enhance his skill, he will never achieve a truly original voice. He must be born with it.
Now one of the blessings of original voice, particularly in the poet, is that the assembled work in convenient book lengths reveals the total writer—that is the whole is greater...
(The entire section is 668 words.)
SOURCE: "An Antidote to Miltown," Saturday Review, June 29, 1957, p. 24.
[In the following review of You Can't Get There From Here, Redman reiterates critics' inability to analyze or categorize Nash's verse, while emphasizing his skill in the traditional verse forms that are often overshadowed by his renowned unconventional style.]
Nash the Man and Nash the Poet are well on their way to becoming Nash the Institution. A generation of readers has grown up that would find it hard to imagine a world without Nash, a world without his jagged lines, his inversions (no less famous than many religious conversions), his wry rhymes, and his polymorphic prosody. This being so, it is high time that his work was made the subject of Definitive Criticism. But criticism of what kind, what school? Ah, there's the rub!
The historical-comparative school might give him a working over as a jovial Juvenal. The psychoanalytic school could have a Roman holiday with his confessed likes and dislikes, his fears, joys, and obsessions, all of which, of course, may be traced to traumatic experiences that he tripped over before the age of three, or earlier. One Nash on the couch might well prove worth a gross of ordinary recumbent poets. The technical-metrical school could drive itself quite mad by trying to define his poetic devices, and distempers. And the New Critics, now not so new? How I should like to see...
(The entire section is 760 words.)
SOURCE: "The Golden Trashery of Ogden Nashery," in The Arizona Quarterly, Vol. 27, 1971, pp. 241-50.
[In the following excerpt, Hasley examines the literary merits of Nash's poetry, evaluating themes, seriousness of subject matter, consistency in composition and editing, and Nash's elaborately artificial voice of naïveté.]
A well of poor English undefiled. A fountain of fizz, fun, and frolic. A Christmas tree under a colored light wheel. Plus gentle admonitions about the p's and q's of this world….
In undertaking to write about the poems of Ogden Nash, I think one may be excused, if not exonerated, for thus trying to seize in metaphor some breath of the poet's spirit. For in the world of humorous literature he is sui generis, almost without lineage; certainly we have little critical tradition to account for how he came to be. That is, if you take the world of literature to exclude the writers of bad verse, including "the sweet singer of Michigan," Julia Moore, whose verses inspired his artfully distorted syntax, gnarled rhythms, and mangled rhymes. Not since Lewis Carroll, I suppose, has any versifier gathered such a universal readership among both ordinary and discriminating readers. And probably no poet has had so many imitators.
I have been able to locate only a few of the poems of Julia Moore, but from them I can readily see that her...
(The entire section is 3158 words.)
SOURCE: "End of the Old Vaudeville," in The New Republic, Vol. 167, No. 15, October 21, 1972, p. 33.
[In the following excerpt, Whittemore singles out Nash for his distinct verse and voice, the qualities by which Whittemore measures 20th-century poets, and describes Nash's legacy to the genre of American light verse.]
If we are to measure poets by their distinctiveness—and for better or worse the achieving of distinctiveness is the raison d'être for most 20th-century American poetry—it simply won't do to think of Ogden Nash as a minor figure. He is as distinctive as Cummings, and will perhaps be around as long as Cummings. He was slightly younger but not much, and his death in 1971 left us with acres of Ogden Nashery as well as with a clear—maybe too clear—vision of how the art of light verse should be perpetrated. He created a body of work that went triumphantly against the prevailing esthetic of poetry as a lofty, Sextus-Propertius affair, and he stuck with his creation for nearly forever, thereby becoming the chief poetic practitioner of the grand mundane in our country's most successful literary magazine, The New Yorker. The New Yorker has published good and important works by most of America's most highly thought-of sobersides, but it would nonetheless have been a nothing venture without its comedians. Nash was, forever, its chief verse comedian. Nash was the one who kept...
(The entire section is 520 words.)
SOURCE: Introduction to I Wouldn't Have Missed It; Selected Poems of Ogden Nash, Little, Brown, and Company, 1972, pp. vii-ix.
[In the excerpt below, MacLeish argues that Nash did not write "light verse," but rather invented a unique, inimitable form that represented his times.]
Ogden Nash's admirable obituary in the New York Times appeared under the heading "Master of Light Verse Dies." There are three things wrong with those five words. Nash's most important and most characteristic work is not in "verse." It is not "light." And his mastery, which was real enough, had nothing to do with a combination of the two. It consisted in the invention of a form, uniquely his own, which defied all the categories and, far more than that, altered the sensibility of his time: a form like the magic shoes in a Celtic tale which enable the wearer to enter an untraveled world—the untraveled world, in Nash's case, of the infinite banalities of the contemporary city.
Eliot had discovered that world with the aid of the ironic meters he borrowed so brilliantly from Laforgue, but only the sophisticated knew of his famous journey. Nash settled there and then went back to fetch his readers. His colloquial couplets in rhymed prose with their honest grins and innocent disguises gave him entrance everywhere. And once his foot was in the door his readers had no choice but listen. He was a humorist, wasn't...
(The entire section is 1439 words.)
SOURCE: "Moral Incongruity and Humor: The 'Good Bad' Poetry of Ogden Nash," in Studies In American Humor, Vol. 7, 1989, pp. 94-103.
[In the excerpt below, Crandell examines the relationship between humor and art in Nash's poetry.]
For some readers, the term "humorous poetry" is an oxymoron. "Poetry" denotes something serious, while "humorous," by definition, means just the opposite. Equating "serious" with "good" and "humorous" with "bad," the same individuals use "humorous" in a pejorative sense to distinguish writing that has some of the formal characteristics of poetry, rhyme and meter for example, but which lacks the seriousness of lyric, narrative or dramatic verse. Likewise, the terms vers de société and "light verse" have sometimes been used synonymously with "humorous poetry" to denote a type of writing lacking both seriousness and significant aesthetic value.
This line of argument has even been carried to the point of dissociating humor and art. Immanuel Kant, for example, commenting on the "humorous manner," perceives a qualitative difference between humor and art such that the creative act of humor "belongs rather to pleasant than to beautiful art, because the object of the latter must always show proper worth in itself, and hence requires a certain seriousness in the presentation, as taste does in the act of judging" [Critique of Judgment, translated by J. H....
(The entire section is 3139 words.)
Crandell, George W. Ogden Nash: A Descriptive Bibliography. Metuchen, N. J.: The Scarecrow Press, Inc., 1990, 466 p.
Complete bibliography of Nash's publications, excluding reprintings in periodicals and anthologies.
Bacon, Leonard. "A Self-Appointed Love-Child." Saturday Review X, No. 14 (October 21, 1933): 197, 202.
A verse review of Happy Days.
"Come Mr. N., Are You Men or Are You Milne?" The New York Times Book Review (October 4, 1936): 4.
Finds fault with Nash's long poems.
"Criminal Hyminal." The North American Review II, No. 1 (Spring 1965): 58.
This review praises Nash in verse imitative of his style.
Disch, Tom. "With the Best of Intentions." Times Literary Supplement (February 3, 1984): 118.
Presents an overview of Nash's career and poetic hallmarks.
Frankenberg, Lloyd. "Father Nash's Mother Goose." The New York Times Book Review (November 10, 1957): 39.
Review of Nash's Christmas poem The Christmas That Almost Wasn't....
(The entire section is 305 words.)