[In the following essay, Lask reports on Nemerov's musings on his literary career during a visit to New York City.]

Howard Nemerov, whose Collected Poems captured a Pulitzer Prize and a National Book Award last year, was in town recently on a brief visit from St. Louis, where he teaches at Washington University, to read at the 92d Street YM-YWHA. Mr. Nemerov's manner is almost formally courteous, but his judgments, usually succinct, are uncompromising, his language often harsh, his tone sardonic even if his humor is sometimes turned back on himself.

On the subject of his Collected Poems, Mr. Nemerov remarked that when the University of Chicago Press suggested a collection, he thought it too soon. But he did not think it too soon for the rewards it engendered. “After 20 years of being dismissed as an academic mediocrity, it was about time I received some rewards.”

This was said with an unsmiling smile and with a healthy expletive before “time.” And it was obvious from the subsequent conversation that he resented the catch-all phrase—“mere cleverness”—that used to be applied to his earlier work: “I never heard anyone say ‘mere stupidity.’”

Whether its origin was the unfeeling reaction to his work or his own philosophical conviction, Mr. Nemerov is committedly noncommittal about matters poetic. “I just want to get on with it,” he said, the “it” being the writing of poetry. “I write because it pleases me, because the language of the Muse allows me to do it. I keep to myself. There is no need to get into arguments.”

Of those who espouse all sorts of causes, who throw themselves in front of tanks in their ardor, he said shortly, “I admire their courage, not their wits.”

He refused to name poets he admired, on the ground that to do so was “bad union behavior” and that he liked poems rather than poets. He refused also to make a judgment about the ultimate influence of the the new poetry that emerged with such force after World War II. He cared little, he said, about poetic schools, and as to their influence, “What the hell difference does it make what happens to poetry when I am gone? Being around to do it is what's important.”

When the subject changed, Mr. Nemerov softened. Unlike so many teachers who complain about the inadequacies of their students, the poet praised his. “The students are absolutely good and beautifully trained by their high schools.” Recently he taught a course in George Herbert, William Blake and Richard Wilbur, a trio that didn't faze the students at all. Nevertheless, he said, “I insist on teaching freshmen, so that when they come back as seniors, they'll repeat my mistakes and not someone else's.”

Although he has written novels and short stories, he said he had given up writing fiction and can pinpoint the moment of that decision. It occurred while he was teaching at Bennington College. A faculty meeting, presided over by the critic Sidney Hyman, decided that Bennington needed a novelist on the faculty. Said a voice from the back, “Nemerov is a novelist.” Said Mr. Hyman in a no-backtalk voice, “He's a poet.” Bennington got Bernard Malamud and “never did regret it,” and Mr. Nemerov has been writing poetry ever since.