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phoenix
Fiction Editor
Charles Wm. Logsdon
Non-Fiction Editor
Gary Kaufman
FALL 1969
Poetry Editor
Tina I nge
Art Editor
Randy Phillips
EDITORIAL COMMENT
Review Editor
Chris Hurwitz
Everyone appears to be condemning
everyone else lately for one thing or
another. I think it would be appropriate here to do some condemning
myself. I would like to condemn those
who "speak with forked tongue."
This age should not be named the
"Age of Aquarius" or the "Age of
Love," it should be named the "Age of
the Big Bull Artist." There are so
many of them around, at UT as well in
Washington.
Listen- don't you hear them? "We
want
peace . . . We
want
equality ...We want more active participation ...We want a more democratic process . ..We care .... " Sincerity is so beautiful.
Sure, they want everything; they
want the whole world to be born
anew, to be "cleansed." Sure, and
they're doing a good job at it. Just
take a look at the good old U.S.A.wars, bloodshed in the streets, dope on
the rise, indifference towards the arts,
climbing mental illness rate, climbing
cancer rate: A nice job, fellows!
Photography Editor
Don Dudenbostel
Editorial Assistants
Ava Wilhite, Ryque Tate
Alice Furlong, Suzl Nelson
Harlan Hambright, Christine Glftner
Robert Nelson, Ann Scandlyn
Advisory Committee
Dr. Richard Kelly, Mr. Richard LeFevre
Editor - Bob Migliara
Managing Editor - Bruce Colbert
Layout and Production
Rock Rockenfield
Sally Blanchard
General Editor - Mary ,Kelly
Proofreader - Judy Eastman
In This Issue
Vol. 11
No.1
Non-Fiction
Marius' Paradox of History: The Coming of Rain
By Tom Conway ............................ ... page 1.
Let's Bring Back Public Hangings ... By Tom Pilant ....... page 4.
Essence of a Poet ... By Kenneth S. Kallin . ............. page 6.
Country Music ... By Bruce Colbert .................. page 14.
John Crowe Ransom's Beautiful Dead People
By Charles Wm. Logsdon ....................... page 16.
Fiction
Faust Revisited ... By Gary Kaufman .................. page 9.
The Frog. : . By Tom Pilant ........................ page 19.
Reviews
Through a Glass Darkly ... By Gayle McLain ........... page 20.
Easy Rider ... By Rock Rockenfield ................. page 21.
Easy Rider ... By Patricia Hitchcock ................. page 21.
Fantasticks ... By Judy Eastman .................... page 22.
Abbey Road ... By William Frohlick ................. page 22.
California Bloodlines and Signals Through Glass
By Larry Dearing ............................. page 23.
Poems
Pages ....... . ............... 2, 3, 5, 7, 12, 13, 15, 17, 18, 23
Contributors-Ava Wilhite, David Jones, K.C. Spengeman, Charles W.
Logsdon, Douglas Gordon, Brooke Dilly, Christine Griftner, Anne
Roney, Jean Paul Ghislain Tippit, Ryque Tate, Darrell E. Anderson,
Rago, Patricia Ellis, and Susanna Cantor.
Cover: Randy Phillips
Centerfold: Beverly Moon
You-you who are guilty of infecting this nation and this world with the
most hideous of sicknesses, untruths, I
condemn. When I and millions of
others begin to see some drastic
improvements, that is when I will
retract my condemnation, not until
then.
People are human beings. They have
feelings and wants and needs. They
need to be treated with kindness,
understanding
and consideration.
People are not machines, to be
classified in numerical groups and
repaired every so often when they
break down. They need faith, hope,
and love. They don't need untruths.
~~~?:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~~~~~
:::::: Copyright 1969, all rights reserved. The ::::::
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{:~ see Publishing Association, Inc. Submit ~{:
~~} editorial contributions to PHOENIX, ~~t
~:} The University of Tennessee, Knox- i}~
~}~ ville, Tenn., 37916.
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Phoenix Feature
Marins' Paradox of History:
The Coming of Rain
by Tom Conway
A
man is being hanged. He has killed his wife for no
apparent reason. Now he is to pay. Bourbonville is to be
vindicated. The people of the valley are gathered to witness
justice. However, something beisdes Bourbonville is to be
vindicated.
The Coming of Rain by Dr. Richard C. Marius rises out
of the dust of a drought-ridden liourbonville, Tennessee, to
lay bare the defects of memory- the memory of the
people.
The novel is set twenty years after the Civil War.
Reconstruction is over. Bourbonville has been fairly
prosperous in the past, but this year an oppressive drought
is broadcasting economical ruin. The society is wearing
thin; the binding force of the past seems to be cracking.
But perhaps the drought and the time are not the
causative factors of the strain distorting the society. The
personalities of Bourbonville ride through the novel as if
they were still coughing from the dust kicked up by J .E.B.
Stuart's horse.
John Wesley Campbell, attorney at law, had been in the
Mexican War and afterwards stayed on in the West awhile.
But an irresistible force eventually drew him back to
Bourbonville. There, to study his law and stand in awe at
his son after his wife died. There, to be transported into the
Civil War and lose a son. And back to Bourbonville to live
out a meaningless present and an illusive past to become
bitter.
"You go to hell, Bazely."
The Reverend Thomas Bazely has no public past. The
town idiot claims he saw him in the Civil War with the
infamous Quantrill's Raiders. But people like to hear
Preacher Bazely describe week after week the horrors of hell.
"Then damn you to hell!"
Samuel Beckwith, Jr .., was a legacy of Samuel Beckwith,
Sr., and Sarah Crittendon Beckwith. Sam Beckwith was
haunted by a nameless entity which determined his every
thought and action. It was prophesied that he would go
West one day. But the prophecy was not the nameless
entity.
"I think he's just bad. He's the most evil man I ever
knew!"
Sarah Crittendon Beckwith was the living remnant of the
time when the South was a fine upstanding aristocracy,
days when life was sumptuous. The madness of life was to
be cauterized by preserving the sanctity of the memory of
those who were good while annointing their whips with
illusion. The seeds no longer existed, but Sarah Crittedon
Beckwith had stored the chaff.
"The boy still thinks of his father," she cried. "You see,
he still loves his dear father!"
Emily was a foreigner. Bourbonville was too old to
remember that once everyone was an intruder. But it was
Sarah Beckwith who opposed Emily's relationship to Sam
Beckwith. Mter all, the South had fought for a certain
"purity" in the War. A Prussian blonde with a decidedly
different countenance was, of course, unacceptable. It was
a matter of principle.
"When I leave I want it all to be a part of me because the
more you have in your heart, the bigger your life is."
The characters continue to ride through the valley of
Phoenix: Fall 1969
1
Bourbonville. There is to be no cessation. They are to ride
until their cough ejects a sputum of perpetual regret.
ANALYSIS
Memory is choking this country to death. Memory IS a
rag in our throats. And we hand it on when we die.
Memory is the principal possession of our estate. That, my
young friend, is the supreme injustice. We grub around in
garbage and unroll memory, and we choke on it, but the
instant we expire we manage to jerk the damned thing out
of our own mouths and stuff it down the throats of our
children, and we die secure in the knowledge that they will
choke on the same crazy thing that killed us.
The Coming .of Rain is concerned with a paradox.
Memory is accused of being the poison that inflamed
Southern society in the post-Reconstruction era to the
point of suppuration . This seems to be a paradoxical stand
for a historian to take. But perhaps it is a proclamation on
the "estate" of history .
Dr. Marius' novel can be analyzed in two manners:
sqciologically and historically. The sociological aspects are
but a base for what Dr. Marius has to say about history.
This base consists of many observations about small-town
life. The religion, politics, social life, economy, and
ideology of a small Southern town are related to the theme.
Religion is seen to glaze the life in Bourbonville. There is
barely any distinction between what is "secular" and what
is in 'God's' world. Bible readings, revivals, and wakes
determine the social life. But something seems to be missing
from the earlier religious practices of the small town. That
is the practice of confession.
Public confession had been a common practice in small
towns in the first half of the nineteenth century. It had
served the purpose of a safety valve for the members of the
community. It was a catharsis. But in Bourbonville,
confession is forfeited for the sake of perpetuating a period
of history in the South. If the people of Bourbonville were
to confess their individual unjust acts, then the past would
seem no better than the present. This apparently would
have been too traumatic so soon after the Great Defeat for
Bourbonville to withstand.
The effect on individual expression is also depicted by
Dr. Marius. Every thought or opinion must be kept to
oneself. The myth of the small town which says that an
individual is able to have his political views heard because
he is not one of thousands is simply not true. Conformity
of thought is demanded for two reasons. First of all, the
economy of a small town is not too stable, so any political
action has to be basically conservative in order to maintain
the status gap. Secondly, people in a small town are in
fairly close contact with each other. Too many dissenting
views on political ideas would be detrimental to the
community because of the extreme strife which was likely
to result.
Bourbonville seems to simply drift. There appears to be
no concrete ideology. Here is the subliminal infection of
the valley. There is no ideology or philosophy about
anything. There is nothing but the endless progression of
2
Phoenix: Fall 1969
days that are predetermined by an effort to cling to the
past.
There is this great illusion which permeates Bourbonville.
It can only be described as the illusion of history. The fact
that one soon forgets the fetor of the battlefield. The fact
that one forgets the immorality caused by having slaves.
The fact that one forgets everything worth learning from.
The people of Bourbonville appear basically masochistic.
They,want to suffer in the present in order to vindicate the
the past. Reconstruction has not destroyed the South.
Besides, it was now twenty years later. Slavery had been
proven to be uneconomical. The "one-crop" system was
known to be harmful to the soil. But the people of
Bourbonville persisted in laboring under a pernicious
illusion.
This illusion is what Dr. Marius describes as "folk
history." It is not scholarly history, but the history that the
general population believes in. It is derived from the
newspapers, the older generation, and from accepting an
almost mythological explanation of the past.
So here we have the paradox: the study of history may
be shackling to those with estates, but historians have
always cautioned the public to study history in order to
prevent recurrences of past horrors. What Dr. Marius makes
evident in The Coming of the Rain is that the study of
history can also cause the perpetuation of the past to the
present.
Myth
Jason, who held the Golden Fleece,
Found his hands too mortalFelt it crumble from him,
Sifting in streams of pale sawdust
Through his clutching fingers
To lie scattered on the floor
And be swept to the winds
By the over-zealous cleaning
Of sweet sorceress Medea, she
Whose laughter sounds like sobbing.
Ava Wilhite
FALL
FOR JACKSON POLLACK
Fall is the collness in the air
That tightens your skin
And makes your face feel cIeanWhen Trees blush as they
Slowly reveal their nudity
Laughing with the wind
At the joy of it all.
David Jones
LOVE
Love has stung
As a bee would sting a
Less capable man
Running through a lonely clearing
Forcing him to submit to the pain
And suppress his anger
Until the poison slackens in his veins.
K. C. Spengeman
BLACK UMBRELLAS
) Black umbrellas
held close
sign of rain
of mist and sadness
passing figures
sheltered by
portable awnings
sad inside
the circle dryness
of black umbrellas.
Charles Wm. Logsdon
No one chopped
Up Jack
Son's and
Putitinabox
For three
Fifty (plus tax).
Anyone bought
Puzzles for
Fun or leisure
Or just the Hellofit
Picked up a
Chopped
Up Pol
Lock
For three
Fifty (plus tax)
Took it home
Emptied it on a
Cardtable
(In good light)
Tried toput the
Pieces to
Gether in an hour
Or so and
Gave up.
Puzzle pieces
Broken before
Stampedon and separated
Took someone
For ever and
Nooneasecond and
Anyone tried for an hour
Or so and
Gave up.
Pieces inabox and
Only a picture of
Acompletedpuzzle and
Anyone's or no one's
Heap of broken
Broken images.
Douglas Gordon
Phoenix: Fall 1 9sg
3
Let's Bring Back
Public Hangings
•••
'"
by Tom Pilant
"From Baltimore to Bean Station, Burbank
to Bull's Gap, every chamber of commerce
would fight to be the first community in
their area to have one."
As long as there are some states that insist upon hanging
on to captial punishment, the least these states could do is
to be American about it; indeed, they ought to Americanize
capital punishment by making·it profitable. Why not?
The law enforcement agencies are paid to apprehend the
villain; the courts-and even some witnesses-are paid to
process him; the prison officials are paid; even the good,
dependable executioner gets paid. Probably even the
minister gets something out of a villain's death. And that's
not even to mention all of the community merchants that
derive one profit or another from the fattening-up and
killing of a poor wretch. Still, though, there's a lot of profit
to be extracted from human life. We must end this tragic
waste.
Let's bring back public hangings! The idea has the
simplicity of genius. It is precisely what would appeal to
the average American mentality. Polonius politicians would
jump to endorse such a plan; indeed, as they walked
through their respective campaigns they would use the
idea as a plank. Ambitious politicians would use this
proposal as a spring-board to greater heights. It would be so
easy to bring back public hangings.
Consider all ofthe poor wretches just sitting around in
prison with all of that empty non-productive time on their
hands. Many of these men have loved ones out in society
Who suffer because their bread-steaker is not allowed to
provide for them. Think of what it would mean to the
imprisoned and their families if they were but allowed to
end it all with a profit. To explain: We ought to give the
condemned a choice of a public or private hanging. If the
hanging were properly managed, the remaining loved ones
would receive a percentage of whatever profit realized.
As things are now, executions are rather private affairs.
The state invites a few witnesses and proceeds unprofitably
with its business. This is reprehensible! The state should sell
tickets to the condemned's in-laws and enemies. Private
4
Phoenix: Fall 1969
hangings could be made most profitable. Of course, some
ministers might object to the state's-er, rather to the
vengeance of God being prostituted. They would be easily
brought over to the avant it boutez point of view once it
was mentioned that gallows have always existed in Christian
lands.
Private hangings would provide but small profit to the
condemned's loved ones-and to the state-however. Public
hangings would be the big thing. Our banks would bulge
with the money that flowed in from public hangings. There
are still those that would probably fmd some reason to
prevent making profit in this manner: nevertheless, public
hangings would be better for everyone all around. Why, it
would even be better for the condemned. Instead of being
timid about his fate the villain would step forth and state,
" I'll be hanged!"
The villain wouldn't have to worry aboutthe care and
upkeep of his family once his fate was sealed. There would
be legal and financial knots to be dealt with but public
hangings could be managed so that the state could split
monies received from the gate, souvenir programs, and
concession stands with the mournful loved ones. Additional
monies could be gained from selling television rights to the
event; and profits wouldn't end there.
Hollywood would frantically try to obtain movie rights
to such an event. Why they'd probably pay a million dollars
for a real-live hanging scene. Realism would flourish. And at
a million dollars, Hollywood would be getting a bargain. As
soon as they had their film developed, they could put out a
road show , perhaps titled "For A Lot of Dollars More ."
And still the profits would flow in .
Owners of ghost-town tourist attractions would out-do
one another throwing money at the states' scaffold.
Advertising agencies would work creatively coming up with
clever new ideas on how to sell death. Some industrious
toy manufacturer would come out with a new game called
" Hang-Urn" and many parents would be relieved of
Christmas worries. A cereal concern would produce a new
breakfast treat , "Twist."
Public hangings would be held on special days, high days,
and holy days . New Year's Day would especially fit the
national mood . Zionists might prefer Easter. The more
provincial might hold out for Ground Hog Day. Las Vegas
would easily be able to afford one every day.
Rain or bad weather would not discourage attendance;
and the hangings could be held indoors or out. Places for
these high events would not be hard to come by. From
Saratoga to Hialeah, from the Astrodome to Candlestick
Park , and back again , many sites would be available.
Imfoverished states wouldn't be handicapped. The poor
soverigns could hold the event out in a pasture somewhere;
hire a couple of gospel quartets; and bill their attraction as
an "All Day Singing and Hanging On the Grounds."
As time passed, public hangings would prove to be this
nation's number one spectator sport . From Baltimore to
Bean Station, Burbank to Bull's Gap, every chamber of
commerce would fight to be the first community in their
area to have one. All kinds of service organizations would
vie with one another to assist their local chamber of
commerce. The 4-H Club would become 5-H; and the Boy
Scouts would institute yet another merit badge. Every
community would drag up its contenders for fame. A
National Hanging League would probably be established.
Then, as the profits really started stacking up, a Federal
Hanging Commission would be developed , with Congress
approving an excise tax on hemp .
There would be other benefits from public hangings . Law
and order advocates would take new faith in the American
system of justice; and although police departments would
be overworked, for the first time they would be able to pay
salary plus commission. The FBI would take collar sizes
along with fingerprints; and department store shirt-clerks
would pick up pin-money from the CIA.
The Department of Defense would arrange secret rope
research with the nation's colleges ; graduate students would
work on projects an inch at a time so that they wouldn 't
know what they were doing. Alumni associations would
sigh a prayer of thanks for the additional funds . Campus
public relations officials would bite their collective nails
worrying about what would happen to their schools' image
once the radical students caught on to the rope bit.
Eventually, the student radicals would catch on . But it
would be easy to deal with any threat they might represent.
The trustees or regents would consult the personnel
computer; and the computer would spit out the name of
some professor with kami-kaze experience , the man would
then be installed as Chancellor or President.
The Man, shouting "Hard-line," would straighten out
the radicals in a hurry. He would string them along with
rhetoric until that failed; then, he would ask the governor
for help. The governor would ask the legislature for
emergency legislation, which- after the liberals had been
allowed to save face-would be supplied. With this
legislation . The Man would take care of the student
hang-ups. Then, after student protest had died down, the
air would be cleared for more progress.
The socially involved would be upset for awhile ; but
even they would come to see the benefits of public
hangings. New doors would be opened to the lower class.
There would be no discrimination red , yellow , black, even
white , every American's potential would be anticipated.
Ghettos and reservations would disappear over a stretch
of time. The poor would be liberated, free at last to hold
their heads up high. Middle and upper classes would no
longer look down on people. The hopes of this nation
would be lifted . The sky would be the limit to the peace
and prosperity of all. Let's bring back public hangings . Let
this be everyone's common goal . Let our motto henceforth
be "America, Be Hanged!"
Room 119
One day the janitor pushed back the chairs
and made physical the gulf
between the teaching and the taught.
Brooke Dilly
Phoenix: Fall 19'9
5
Essence Of A Poet
by Kenneth S. Kallin
Poetry is the aesthetic, all-encomposing view of man and his
environment.
h e word poet is derived from a Greek word meaning
"maker ," and it is this notion that dominated the
Augustain idea of the poet: he is not a prophet, a visionary,
a seer, but a maker of an object, a poem. He must have
"invention," the gift of finding materials for his
poems-fictional, but representative, images of human
actions and of the world in which those actions take place;
and he must also verify, heighten, and order those materials
that they seem true pictures of what is, or might or ought
to be, or of the evil and folly that we should avoid. For the
poet makes this image of life in order to teach, not so much
by precept and moral sentences as by examples that move
our love and admiration or evoke our fear and detestation.
And to teach effectively he must please by his fictions and
by all the ornaments of language, metrics, and rhetoric that
belong to his craft.
The materials of peotry must derive from, conform to,
and recognizably represent "Nature," a word of many
meanings to be interpreted and expounded upon by each
individual poet in his own individualistic, intuitive style.
Nature can be felt to be the universal, permanent, and
representative element in the moral and intellectual
experience of man. External nature-the landscape-can be
used as a source of aesthetic pleasure, as an object of
scientific inquiry or religious contemplation, or as an image
or reality. Human nature can be used as human experience
in view, and as insight into the permanent, enduring general
truths of mankind which are universal for all times and
places. The poet exists not to take the reader on long
voyages to discover the new and unique but to reveal the
permanent and the representative in human experience
through what becomes for us an act of recognition. True
poetry gives the poet back an image of his mind.
Emphasis on the general and the representative excluding
the particular and reducing ideas to merely obvious, typical
and familiar things should be closely scrutinized to avoid
trampling the essential qualitites of a poet--originiality,
novelty, and accuracy of observation. If human nature is
uniform, men are known to be infmitely varied, and the
task of the artist is to treat the particular as to render it
representative.
How does the poet come to · know Nature? Not,
certainly, by a life of solitude or rural retirement, or by the
intermittent light of visionary gleams. The poet has to be a
man living among men and speaking to men, a member of
society, an important and functional part of a civilized
community that would not be civilized without hi~
Phoenix: Fall 1969
•
presence. Only by living among men and by ceaseless and
sympathetic observation of them could he gain the
knowledge of Nature required of him as a poet. However,
periodically the artist should relieve himself of the burdens
of society and seclude himself within his thoughts to
conjugate and assemble the knowledge he has gained
through his ceaseless and sympathetic observation of man
and his environment. One form of seclusion, whereby true
aesthetic, artistic contemplation can be gained, is by
making the depth of night your home.
Night is a genuine attitude
A sort of peace and solitude
A time to gain and undertake
To ask if I am real or fake
To sit and ponder whaes out yonder
To analyze what's in the skies
To diarize our daily lives
To eat some left over mince meat or apple pie
Here in his own little world he can conglomerate all that he
has seen, heard, and learned while observing the reality of
time.
A true artist's duty to himself as well as to rus readers is
to supplement his own inevitably limited experience by the
wisdom and talent of the past and present through
contemplative reading and analization of works by other
talented artists-living or dead, major or minor. He may and
must learn from many minds the essences of style, form,
tone, inventiveness, abstraction, truth, correlation, diversification, wit, imagery, analysis, examination, focus, and
ability; and bring all of this cumulative knowledge together
to form his own particular, individualized work of art.
A true literary artist must be diverse in his endeavors;
diverse within a single realm of literature, using variation of
style, technique, etc. while remaining individually categorized; and diversely attempting all aspects of creative
art-prose, poetry, short-story, novel (fiction or nonfiction), plays, essays, etc.-and doing whatever he is
stimulated to do. Within his own realm of literary talent,
diversification should most assuredly be successful,
however, by venturing into new literary fields success is less
assured but the challenge is ever increased. One important
thing should be noted that even though the field. of
endeavor is changed the ingredients for success, mentioned
previously, remain unchanged.
FROM ONE THOUGHT TO ANOTHER
POEM
Henry was standing there,
among a few friends (who I knew better than Henry).
They were standing in front of a place, that was mine
or so I felt, (yet I've never been there before)
And he walked toward me
and stared at me
and I stared at him
We began to walk out into the open land
lavished with a thousand greens, a bit of blue
and trees like in a water color
(his friends all smiled and watched)
Henry and I never said a word
but I felt a conversation
We walked along the greens and it seemed to me
that Henry had a gun shot in his side
and blood on his shirt, but he kept his arm over it
We came to little hills and dips and noticed
a little island, just past a few more hills
Try as we may, to reach this envisioned utopia
we couldn't.
After each hill, the mossy dip would seem soaked
with treacherous water we dare not touch
I almost laughed at the "tag" game with water
Henry's face only reflected mine.
I can't remember what happened; seems like we kept going
then everything faded, and blurred, and quit.
Christine Griftner
1. Rooms through from gold to blue
as bodies turn to one from two.
2. Worry is a blank stare.
And there are so many blanks to stare at.
3. Love is a restoration of faith
in fragile things.
4. Hunger is a candy wrapper in the gutter
and wishing you'd had a bite.
s.
There are so many people wandering around
lost, and trying to look intelligent about it
Brooke Dilly
POEM
Love makes the world go 'round
So would it be profound
To say that gravity
Makes love concavity?
K. C. Spengeman
I FOUND A BOOK ....
I found a book my son had read,
The selections marked yes, no, okay, and love:
Terse communications from his other world
Offering me shadowy reflections
To help me know a boy, my child
Now, reading a favorite book, I find
No scribbled comments from my heart,
Overtaught in false respect for margins:
What will he read and ponder
In distant days, to understand his mother?
-Anne Roney
Anne Roney
SOONL Y SUMMER
These summer days
are so soon
.in my left-over
spring timeness
I've not prepared
for the solstice
and find myself untanned
in a swim-tan world.
Charles Wm. Logsdon
7
PbAenlx: Fall 1969
Phoenix Bestseller List
Fiction
1. Hailey: Airport
2. Marius: Coming of Rain
3. Green: I Never Promised You A Rose Garden
4. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings
5. Heller: Catch 22
6. Anonymous: Pearl
7. Vidal: Myra Breckinridge
8. Goldman: Boys and Girls Together
9. Hailey: Hotel
10. Southern: Candy
Non-Fiction
1. Cleaver: Soul on Ice
2. McKuen: Listen to the Warm
3. Morris: Naked Ape
4. Smith: Money Game
5 . Ginnott: Between Parent and Child
6. Wolf: The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test
7. Peter and Hull: The Peter Principle
8. Malcolm X: Autobiography of Malcolm X
9. Ferlinghetti: Coney Island of the Mind
10. Grier: Black Rage
This is the top-ten bestseller list in the Knoxville area for the month of October,
according to surveys taken at the Campus, Gateway, and University Bookstores.
8
Phoenix: Fall 1969
Faust Revisited
by Gary Kaufman
PROLOGUE IN HELL
comp~ex
The head of the immensely powerful and
Hell
Incorporated, one rather stout, ruddy-complexioned fallen
angel by the name of Satan, was pacing back and forth
across the smooth, red coals on the floor of his
underground office. He crushed the stub of a black,
pungent cigar with one thump from his powerful tail.
"Meph," Satan shouted as he banged his desk buzzer
repeatedly. Satan was calling for Mephistopheles, his
number one salesman and ambassador. "Dammit Meph,
where are you?"
Satan lit another cigar just as the door of his office
opened and in stepped a tall, middle-aged devil carrying his
tail suavely in the crook of his arm. Satan greeted the thin
figure with an impatient snort and growled for him to sit
down.
"Look Meph, I've got a job for you, and it is not going to
be easy." Mephistopheles smiled with confidence.
Satan looked Mephistopheles in the eyes and settled back
in his desk chair. "Okay, the situation is this. The
stronghold of all good, devil-fearing Christians in North
America and Western Europe is becoming indifferent to our
organization. Our latest survey indicates that only a
minority of the Western world now believes in Hell or
myself. In fact, my image is slipping faster than God's and
that is something I will not tolerate.
Mephistopheles placed the tips of his fmgers together and
raised his left eyebrow. "So my job is what, Boss?"
"You, my number one son and right hand man, are going
to reverse the trend and put Hell back into the mind and
eye of the public."
PART ONE: ON EARTH
·F
arnsworth Augustus Underwood Sartorius Timpani II,
son of wealthy industrialist and political buffoon, Papa
Timpani, mixed his flISt drink of the morning. Farnsworth
carefully measured four and one quarter ounces of gin and
three quarters ounce of fresh lime juice. Meanwhile,
Mephistopheles perched delicately on the ledge of a high
window that opened into Farnsworth's private lounge and
waited patiently for just the right moment. Farnsworth
poured the gin and lime juice into a shaker of crushed ice
and began to carefully blend the two together with a long,
silver stirring rod. He then removed a tall, frosted glass from
the bar freezer and strained the mixture as he poured it into
the glass. Farnsworth picked up his drink and carried it to a
black leather and stainless steel easy chair. He set the drink
in a coaster and collapsed his long, indolent body down on
the cool leather. Mephistopheles waited like a hungry, red
cat, not moving a muscle.
Farnsworth was in a good mood. He reflected on the past
weekend. He had accomplished a brilliant and daring
cuckold of a French count who was renounced for his
violent jealousy and murderous temper. Farnsworth smiled
as he thought of his split second escape from the arms of
the countess just as the Count's battle ax splintered the
locked door of her bedroom. "Ah, what a life! I should like
to indulge in many more of these escapades if they were
not quite so risky."
Mephistopheles' ears became more pointed than they
usually were as he waited alertly on the ledge.
"Yes," thought Farnsworth, "there are millions of really
fun things left to be done in this world, if there was just
some way one could avoid dying while doing them."
Farnsworth stood up and picked up his empty glass. He
walked over to the car and chose three bright green limes
from a bowl behind the counter. There was a knock on the
door, and Farnsworth walked across the room and pulled
open the heavy oak door. There stood a tall, thin gentleman
in a charcoal grey three-piece suit and hat. Farnsworth
thought he looked distinguished and invited him to come
in.
Mephistopheles smiled and stepped inside the lounge.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mephistopheles. Here
is my card." And he handed Farnsworth a white business
card with "Hell Incorporated" printed on it in small red
letters. Farnsworth first looked at Mephistopheles, then at
the card, and back at Mephistopheles. "You're kidding, of
course." But Mephistopheles just bowed and took off his
hat, revealing a fine set of pearly white horns. Although it
was touch and go for a few moments, Farnsworth's "cool"
managed to limit the expression of his surprise to several
rapid blinks of his small brown eyes.
"Well, I've heard a lot about you; but one really doesn't
believe all he hears these days. Won't you have a drink?"
"Why yes, thank you."
Farnsworth returned to the bar and mixed and poured
two fresh drinks. He handed one to Mephistopheles and
took a long swallow of the other, while motioning
Mephistopheles to a black leather chair opposite his.
Phoenix: Fall 1969
9
"I suppose you are wonClering about the purpose of my
visit." Mephistopheles spoke with a smooth,1gliding tone
and Farnsworth thought him to be a very congenial person
even though he was a devil.
"Well, Mr. Timpani, the purpose of my visit is to make a
deal with you. But this is not an ordinary deal, for I know
you have nearly everything you want. I am here to offer
you one thing that no amount of money can buy. I'm going
to permit you to purchase immortality."
Farnsworth's "cool" took another heavy shot to the
chin, but he recovered and managed to ask how much was
the going price of immortality. Mephistopheles' voice
became very confidential.
"The price is usually very steep, Mr. Timpani. Namely ,
you have to die first. However, I have made some special
arrangements. "
"You have?"
"Yes, indeed I have." Mephistopheles molded the bait on
the end of his hook. "My Boss and I were reading a certain
magazine the other day, and we saw an ad that said there
were openings for college students who would be the
magazine's representative on a particular campus. My Boss
thought that the idea was basically sound, and proposed
that we establish a sort of Hell's-man-on-Earth promotion
campaign. And, Mr. Timpani, I am pleased to inform you
that from literally thousands of prospective clients, we
have chosen you to be our representative on Earth."
Farnsworth felt considerably honored and asked what
the duties of such a position were.
"They are fairly simple. You will go on enjoying life as
you have been . The only difference will be that your
adventures will naturally be more risky than usual; but you,
being immortal, will always escape certain death unharmed.
Then all you have to do is to tell people, when they ask you
how you accomplished a particular feat, that you have
Satan on your side."
Farnsworth's eyes lit up, the bait was swallowed, and the
hook imbedded itself in the wall of his stomach.
"So you see, Mr. Timpani, all you have to do is have the
time of your life and give a little credit where credit is
due."
"Hm-m-m," said Farnsworth, "what does it cost? You
mentioned a special price."
"Ah yes, I did. Okay, the price is your soul-but wait,
before you make a decision, listen to the terms of the
contract. You do pay us your soul in return for
immortality; but, get this, you don't have to pay us until
you want to."
"You mean," said Farnsworth, "that I can have
immortality as long as I want and don't have to give up my
soul until I'm ready?"
"That is exactly right. All you do is sign the contract,
and you are in business."
Mephistopheles reached out with a dip net. Farnsworth
Timpani signed the contract in blood and became Hell's
rust man on Earth.
10
Phoenix: Fall 1969
PART TWO: IN fIELL
"What the Hell!" shouted Satan. "Does this contract say
what I think it says?" Satan pounded his desk buzzer, and
Mephistopheles came silently in. "What's the deal, Meph?
You can't just go around giving away immortality like any
old trinket that we happen to have hanging around. We
have got to show a profit."
Mephistopheles smiled. "Okay, Boss, I'll explain it to
you. You wanted to improve the image of Hell. You figured
we were going to fade into obscurity faster than God and
His crew. So what do we do? Well, I'll tell you what I did. I
have us a representative on the Earth. You know, sort of an
upside-down Jesus Christ. This guy Farnsworth is a walking
testimonial to the existence of Hell."
"Okay, Meph, I see your point; but what if this guy
doesn't ever want to give up his soul?"
"Oh, I think he will come around sooner than you
expect. Mortal men are a funny lot. They don't consider
life worth living unless there is death involved to spice
things up. In fact, they can't even enjoy success without the
possibility of failure."
Satan's eyes glittered, and he came close to a smile .
"Meph, you've done it again . I think old Farnsworth is in
for more than one surprise."
PART THREE: ON EARTH
Satan was right, of course. Farnsworth started with a
bang. The very next weekend after signing the contract, he
flew to a small South American country and seduced the
wife of a fierce dictator. And to top it all off, he calmly
dove twelve stories from the lovely lady's bedroom to the
cobblestone courtyard and sauntered away under a barrage
of small arms fIre.
Farnsworth was elated. He quickly pulled off a string of
fantastic escapades that would make one shudder just to
think about them. But at the end of the week. he felt as
though he hadn't really done anything. The next week
Farnsworth tried even harder to have the good time he
knew he should be having.
On Monday, he bought a powerful motorcycle and
attempted to jump the Grand Canyon by driving the cycle
at 200 miles an hour up an inclined ramp on one edge of
the canyon. He made it but the cycle did not. On
Wednesday, Farnsworth startled and amazed several
honeymooning couples and a crowd of reporters by going
over Horseshoe Falls in an old wooden beer barrel. On
Thursday, he stunned a somewhat larger crowd by going
over American Falls on one of Wednesday's barrel staves,
which had been picked up by the Maid of the Mist.
On Friday, Farnsworth made love to four publicity
seeking starlets on a public beach, drank a quart of
whiskey, and cried himself to sleep. He awoke Saturday
noon, drank another quart of whiskey, and mumbled
something about the world being screwed up. He passed out
fully clothed in his custom made, sunken bathtub.
So as to not prolong Farnsworth's agony, it will suffice
to say that after another four days and as many quarts of
whiskey, he managed to drag himself from his alcoholic
stupor long enough to call for Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles, dressed in somber black, arrived the
next morning at the great oak door . It was raining outside
and a red-eyed, very haggard Farnsworth opened the door
with a nervous jerk. Seeing who had come, Farnsworth
shouted , "You bastard!" Mephistopheles just smiled and
said, "Probably." And then asked if he could come in.
Farnsworth swung the heavy door wide open and
returned to his chair. Mephistopheles stepped in and closed
the door behind him. "I could not come last night. I had
something important to do ."
Farnsworth screamed with almost infinite frustration.
"You knew this would happen. You knew it all along, and
yet you tricked me. You tricked me so bad, but I want you
to know I'm not done for yet. I'm getting out. I'm not
going to play your patsy anymore. Take my God damned
soul and leave. "
Mephistopheles just kept smiling and reached into
Farnsworth's chest and extracted a frail, flattering soul
and left through the oak door. Farnsworth stood in the
middle of the room and stared at the door for a long time .
Then he took a large, very deadly looking revolver from his
coat pocket and placing the barrel inside his mouth, pulled
the trigger several times. But of course he could not die ; he
was immortal.
PART FOUR: IN HELL
Satan was laughing. He was laughing so hard that his
usually red face was dark purple . "Ha ha, oh Hell, did you
see his face when he pulled the trigger? Ha ha, ha ha."
Mephistopheles was grinning with pride. He knew that he
had succeeded in a really big way. He had actually
transplanted a piece of Hell on to the Earth.
EPILOGUE
The moral of this story is quite simple. Don't worry if
you are a failure. The time to worry is when you can't fail .
WRITER: SURPRISE
Listen to the crickets calling
for me: wonder what they'd do
if I stole the night by surprise
and left them in the morning.
Christopher Hunvitz
Phoenix : Fall 1969
11
12
Phoenix: Fall 1969
LIFE ISA gift-open it.
A pleasure-have some.
A game- play it.
A joy-share it.
A dream- make it come true.
An offer-accept it.
A ball-catch it.
An experience-live it.
A victory-gain it.
Jean Paul Ghislain Tippit
Phoenix: Fall 1969
13
Country Music: The Early Years
by Bruce Colbert
Editor's Note: This is part one of a two part series.
Part two will appear in the winter Phoenix.
There is hidden among the mountains of Kentucky,
Tennessee and the Carolinas, a people of whose inner
nature and musical expression very little has been said. The
music of the Southern mountaineer is not only peculiar,
but like himself it is peculiarly American. Nearly all
mountaineers are singers of one sort or other. Their
untrained voices are of a powerful timbre, their women's
voices are sweet, high and tremulous-their sense of pitch,
tone and harmony is also remarkably true. In this society
the fiddler or banjo player is beloved and sought after as
was the minstrel of feudal days.
It seems that country music has always expressed those
truths to which sharecroppers, village storekeepers and
truck-stop waitresses cling. Born in the early 1920's from a
mixture of gospel airs, folk airs, and blues, their music runs
deep. This so-called "Hillbilly" music is the direct
descendant of the Scottish, Irish and English ballads that
were brought to the Southern region by the earliest white
settlers. The melody of these songs is usually quite simple
and many are repeated with only a change of lyrics. The
songs really derive their quality from the words-long
narrative poems evolved by generations of backwoodsmen.
"You ask what makes our kind of music successful, "said
country great Hank Williams. "I'll tell you: 'It can be
explained in just one word : sincerity. When a hillbilly sings
a crazy song, he feels crazy. When he sings, I laid my
Mother Away;' he sees her lying right there in the coffm.
He sings more sincere than most entertainers because the
hillbilly was raised rougher than most entertainers. You got
to know a lot about hard work. You got to have smelt a lot
of mule .manure before you can sing like a hillbilly. The
people who have been raised something like the way the.
hillbilly has, knows what he is singing about and
appreciates it. For what he is singing is the hopes and
prayers and dreams and experiences of what some call the
common people."
I think Hank Williams gives us a perspectus of the
country sound as he felt it and perhaps as many others do .
But let us start at the beginning of modern country music
as we know it today.
14
Phoenix: Fall 1969
Singing and playing for handouts of food, gas, and
lodging, a tubercular ex-brakeman drove with his family
and "hillbilly ork," as he called it, to the town of Bristol,
on the border of Tennessee and Virginia. Here, a field scout
for the Victor Talking Machine Company of Camden, New
Jersey, was auditioning country talent. Several days after
the audition and after he had separated the yodeling singera
from his three-piece band, the Victor scout cut two sides
with Jimmie Rodgers: "Sleep, Baby, Sleep," a traditional
mountain lullaby, and "Soldier's Sweetheart."
In six short years Rodgers recorded ' 111 sides,
including 13 of his "Blue Yodels," and attained
a degree of popularity so great that general stores
throughout the South became accustomed to hearing
farmers order, "A pound of butter, a keg of nails and the
latest Jimmie Rodgers record." By May, 1933, Rodgers was
dead of the disease that drove him out of railroading. He
had been outselling every other artist on the Victor label.
Displaying a feeling for Negro music his yodels were blue
and he introduced a crooning style of delivery dominated
by a nasal twang.
Jimmie Rodger's influence was so great that radio
stations all over the country were flooded with requests for
auditions by aspiring youngsters who claimed to be just like
the old master.
One such aspirant who made good was an Ozark
mountain boy named Elton Britt, who left a farm in
Arkansas to land a broadcasting berth in Oklahoma where
his enchantment of the airwaves soon became the talk of
the Southwest. Jimmie heard Elton and told him to
audition. Within a year Elton Britt was a sensation.
At the same time Jimmie Rodgers was first recording, the
Victor scout ,Ralph Peer, also recorded the famous Carter
family-old A.P., Sara and Maybelle. The Carter family
featured A.P. as bass; he also did much of the writing and
arranging of songs. His wife Sara played rhythm on the
autoharp and sang alto while her fllst cousin Maybelle
played lead in a clear-toned style on the guitar. One of the
first songs the Carters recorded became an immediate hit.
"Meet Me by Moonlight, Alone," a lonesome song of a
forsaken girl being driven from home by cruel parents. This
type of love song became very populars, though it
manifested a mournful melancholy tone. These songs
attained popularity not only because the Carter family
skillfully played and snag them but because they were the
experiences of many love affairs. The Carter tradition is
carried on today by Maybelle, called Mother Maybelle now
because the rest of the family consists of her daughters,
June, Anita, and Irene. Daughter June is also a member of
another top country act, she's the wife of singer Johnny
Cash, winner of five awards for excellance in the field of
country music.
Performing with a multitude of string instrument players
(including Bashful Brother Oswald), Roy Acuff, the senior
member of the Grand Ole Opry has reached the point
where he merely rules from his throne in the Ryman
auditorium each weekend.
Crowds love Roy his vans
include people of all ages from Teenagers to aging
grandfathers. His songs were inspirational, they helped
another day in the fields more quickly, and gave a bit more
assurance for folks to keep on plugging.
In 1944, a reporter for the Naslwille Tennessean
informed Acuff one night at the Opry that the Governor
had refused to sit on the stage of Ryman Auditiorium
because he thought Opry M.C. Roy Acuff was disgracing
the state by making Nashville the hillbilly capital of the
country. It took no more than a nod of the head for Acuff
to be entered in the Democratic primaries. Four years later
Acuff, who could weld a yo-yo and twirl a fiddle bow as
expertly as he sang, ran unsuccessfully for the governorship.
But W. Lee "Pappy" O'Daniel did ride into the Texas
Governor's mansion and later the Senate to the lively
strains of western swing. In two successful bids for the
governorship of Louisiana, Jimmie Davis used "You are My
Sunshine" and "Nobody's Darling but Mine," two song hits
he wrote. Davis' opponents reportedly said, "How in the
devil can you fight a song?" You just can't beat Davis."
Jimmie recently appeared as a guest on the Tonite show, a
little bit older but still singing right on key. Never
underestimate the political power of country music in the
South.
When singer-writer Merle Travis wrote "Sixteen Tons,"
he hardly thought of himself as a protest writer, or of his
song as any type of social commentary. Travis just related
much of what he saw and felt. His father was a Kentucky
coal miner and Travis had grown up on a more subsistance
level. He had vivid recolections of the hardships endured by
the family-of how the miner's low pay was reduced further
by exhorbitant prices charged at the company store. Travis'
recording released on Capitol in 1947, caused no great stir.
Eight years later when another country singer cut "Sixteen
Tons," it became one of the big songs of 1955-56. like
Travis, Tennessee Ernie Ford approached the song simply as
a tough, earthy tale of mountain life.
Workers of the World, their hobo songs were nomadic
expressions of love for the great outdoors and drifter
freedom. Country music embraces a larger complement of
protest material than one would surmise. This really
shouldn't occasion surprise since most country singers came
from poverty backgrounds. As Jimmie Rodgers sang
"Brakeman's Blues," and Ted Doffan described "Truck
Driver Blues," both songs embodied the potential of
meaningful social commentary. In the depression years,
simply reporting events became a tragic panorama . Songs of
this era illustrated the life of the displaced Dust Bowl
farmer in Woddy 'Guthrie's works; the life of the textile
worker with songs of Dorsey Dixon and Dave McCarn; and
of the coal miner in eastern Kentucky in the songsof Aunt
Molly Jackson and Merle TIavis. The depression also moved
Roy Acuff and Uncle Dave Macon to record "Old Age
Pension Check" and "All I've Got's Gone." Young Hank
Williams won an amateur contest with an orginal he wrote
about the WPA. These songs were typical of the late 1920's
and 30's when young men were leaving the country
homesteads, the farms, the mountain valleys in the
Appalachian areas to fmd employment and to seek a better
way of life. On the eve of World War II,
country music still covered a multitude of variants, from
dulcet singing of western movie stars to lone performers
who wandered among rural radio stations, or performed in
the seedy bars of the little Kentuckys and Tennessees in
tlorthern industrial cities. Gradually the older musicians and
the older styles were being pushed out by new singers and
new techniques. The jukebox and radio show were
beginning to threaten th~ live local performer. The electric
guitar was altering the sound of country music and bringing
it closer to the mainstream of American popular music.
Little by little the music appealed less to the the old folk
values and became a bridge between rural folk culture and
urban mass culture. The war made the bridge a solid
structure, and country music never really returned to rural
America.
J. A. YEAR GONE
Thoughts like echos in small
places caught, as words
to teD of them are sought, rebound within'thisanticline. Bombardment till they reach
a fault, through which they thrust,
new chambers find.
Erosions expand to cayes of mind.
-Brooke Daily
Althought both the "Texas Drifter," (Goebel Reeves,
and Harry McClintock were both active in the Industrial
Phoenix: Fall 1969
15
HaWltingly beautiful and desperately dead, JOM C~owe
Ransom's people move in spectre"splendor among his image
poems. Have you met them? Have you met the dead
people? Have you met the "dynastic bough" wrenched
from its family tree in Ransom's "Dead Boy?" Have you
' bumped into" . . John Whiteside's Daughter," she iA her
"brown study" of so much speculation and controver~y?
Have you been introduced to the beau of the waiting death
of "Emily Hardcastle, Spinster?" Or have you encountered
the "burning lady" of "chills and fxre," and the livi,ng dooIp
of death? Have you met the dead people, the beautiful
dead, the image dead and the spectre dead, and the living
dead of John Crowe Ransom's poems? The dead are not so
really dead, after all.
Ah, grand image death, so tender, so sweetly enhanced
by the grace and poise of dying, so fmal. Ransom, in his
rejection of the stock response of the "universal experjence
(Le., religion, romanticism, perfection), has taken yet
another common experience, death, and has made itlive (if
that be possible), and beguile, and entice, "Here ' Ues a
Lady" praises the "luck" of graceful dying. The Pgem does
not praise perfect dying, for the irony within prevents an
admission of perfection.
Ransom calls attention to that lady in "flowers and
lace," slipping into infmity admits "love and great honor."
The lady does not die perfectly (although we migltt say she
is perfectly dead), and Ransom tells us that "she lay
discouraged and cold," " until fifullly "the' cold"" settled
down ." The image "cold" c()mplements the reality
"death," and if perfection is possible, I suppose this is as
close as Ransom would have us go.
The dead people are, gracious and poised, honored, but
irrevocably dead.
Death awaits life, just as life awaits" death. "Emily
Hardcastle, Spinster," has crossed that I!eu!ral point and
has caught up with oblivion. Ransom's "symbolic use of
"waiting" brings a quality of marking time to this poem. ,
The feeling of stopped time, the feeling of grey hairs on the
temples of those masculine admirers of ~ss Hardcastl~, the
feeling of something hanging ,back (not death);'4he feeling
of marching in place, and of waiting, and of the humid
ringing of stillness; these combine in Ransqm's lin~s and
cause us to read, then re-read the poem. Itls 'the same. It is
pure, subtle, imagery. It waits.
What was the "brown study" of Whiteside's daughter1 So
many have spe,culated and argued, an,? decide?'; ~nd y~t·the
opinions hold ' about as much w4t«:l as ~ Il~.t! Dere, fattem(>t
to enter, perhaps rashly, into the storm of,contro:versy . '
First, excluding , Ransom,'s death ~gein i: the ',w~ol~,
poem, we must observe the , daughter's '''tireless'' energy,
16
Phoenix: Fall 1969
Beautiful Dead
People
and her unfemi,nine chasing of geese. she, in her exuberance
of living (youth untried by tenacious competition for
husband, love, happiness, and children) possesses all of the
attributes of a Tom-boy. Her femininity is hidden by a
Freudian latent stage (that stage characterized by the
Oedipus and Electra concepts of psychology; (girls prefer
fathers, boys mothers), and she subconsciously desires the
masculine privileges of boys (i.e. "speed," "taking arms
agajnst her shadow," and tal9ng a "rod" against the geese).
It seems possible that all of her relatives and acquaintances
have always associated her w.ith the ,rough-and-tumble lawn
play of ,boys; suddenly, upon her death, her relatives are
surprised at the laced and frilly "primly propped" dresser
(study?) ,in her room.
DeaCl: molHer-wife ; ~spinster ;Virgin ; girl-youth. Ransom's
hanq kills them off; destroys them in "one fell swoop ."
Death is supreme, fmal, but not perfect. Even as death is
not perfect, neither are th~ dead. The "dynastic" death of
the "little causin" in the "Dead Boy" is a brief look into
the aristocratic life that Ransom, and the New Critics (Alan
Tate, Robert Penn Warren, Donald Davidson, Yvor Winters,
and Cleanth Brooks), admrred so much. Herein death is
fxnal,"n()t only in its ~'foul subtraction" of one life , but also
in the "old tree's late branch wrenched away;" perhaps the
·last "branch." Is death the more sorrowful for this one
dying? '"
Ransom tells us harshly, defxantly, somewhat gleefully,
that the ~tDead Boy" is "not beautiful, nor good nor
clever," and that he is "a pig with a pasty face . ..
squealing for copkies." But, as we have asked, is the death,
the imperfection of dying the more sorrowful for this one
lossf Yes, the sorrow of this ungracious death is the more
ppignapt because of its resulting fmality.
Ransom's dead people; gracious and virgin, youthful and
ugly, ,. lmagery and reality, People with one thing in
coIll~oii. AJ.l' gf them dead. Have you met John Crowe
Ransom'~ dead people? So beautlfully poetic and dead.
FROM THE WINDOW
Stained glass is so impractical.
Windows are, after all, made to see through
Not to marvel at .
I stand at this casement
Trying to watch the people who walk below,
But my vision is distorted
By having to look through
A Savior and his Virgin mother.
The light shines so peculiarly
Through their faces.
I wonder, Kysha, what you would look like
Through the stained glass.
Rygue Tate
TURNABOUT
I went down a stairway
At the workshop for the blind
And found the basement
Much too dark to see.
Funny! I thought,
It wouldn't bother them.
You usually don't think of
Sight as a handicap.
Anne Roney
Phoenix: Fall 1969
17
The scotch an finger their cloth of black
An nibble their concrete apples an listen
To me on the flowered rug on painted floor
An closed blinds an as I finger my robe
Of yellow they marvel an laugh an sing,
FLYING THEONE, G. L. E.
The great legions of Eagles soared above the clouds
An even further above the Earth an sought
The lonely mountaintops to rest their cares
An touched each island in the clouds
To stay only till they could drink a cup
Or eat one local unfortunate an then
Moved on to their journey's end, which at
This time was a kingly aerie inhabited for
Eons and forever as long as time was recorded
In the scholarly pages of the ancients of
All eagles, by the greatest and loftiest Eagle-Lord
Who inhabited the aerie an remained untouched.
The Great Legions, an one named Theone soared above
The sea of clouds an stopped to rest
As always on some unfamiliar mountaintop
An discussed the teachings of the Eagle-Lord
An tried to show Theone that the wisdom
Taught by the grand Eagle-Lord was forever
An the legions and Theone skipped from apex to apex
Staying only to record the places they had been
Always remembering the direction they were to go,
That being always back to the Kingly aerie.
The solitary figure perched on the lonely peak
An viewed the clouds an other islands
An a thirst grew in the depth of his throat
An he skipped an tripped over many nameless peaks
'Til he found a mysterious satisfaction
An Theone ventured an lingered around
An over the peaks and down down down
Through the clouds an saw lower peaks
An ventured further down an further down
'Til he walked naked into a virgin ocean
An emerged clothed in a robe of yellow.
On an older day I am lying still
Upon my flowered rug an naked no longer
An tell of the aeries an the Eagle-Lord
An about how Theone in his
Younger days did venture alone an naked
An thirsty an seeking into the
Virginal ocean an emerged in the robe of yellow
An as they sit an hear the tale
Of the eagle's aerie an as they sit
An listen an smoke the cigarette and drink
"8
'Phoenix: Fall 1969
"Are not the eagles a backward lot, to
Never venture into the valley?" an I
Take up my rug from under their feet
An smile .....
An shake my head .....
An return to my lofty aerie.
Darrell E. Anderson
IN MY OLD BROWN BUREAU
In myoId brown bureau
I keep God
Heaven is the last drawer, under the underwear
He is safe there
Because no one can find Him
So when someone says
God is dead
I know better
He's hidden in my drawer
Waiting
Rago
COMING OF SENSATION
I hadn't noticed how whiskers scratch your shoulder.
The sharp, bristle sting I knew before;
But not the warm edge of comfort that surrounds it
And makes you want to fill your IWlgs with air .
And concrete blocks, funny things,
Rough in a wall painted white.
Before I liked their whiteness, now my eyes
Like the way they would feel against my touch.
Patricia Ellis
The Frog
by Tom Pilant
Once upon a time there was a frog that couldn't hop. It
wasn't that he wouldn't; it was simply that he couldn't. As
a tadpole, he had been fairly nonna!, except for a rather
pronounced tendency to swim vertically. All of the other
little tadpoles thought of him as uppity, or straight. Other
than that, he had a happy tadpolehood, and nothing
especially worthy of mention came of it.
When puberty was reached, he became worried,for-try
as he might- he could not hop. In fact, he had to crawl
everywhere he went. Puberty passed and the poor wretched
frog despaired of ever hopping. He almost became neurotic.
Then, one day he heard of a frog of a different pond that
sat differently. He decided that he would sit differently,
too. So, he sat and he sat-and don't ask why, for who
knows what goes on in the mind of a hopless frog? And so
he sat ..
Summer faded to rust, and rust froze-still yet, he sat.
All of the other frogs had thought him insane; they had
had the good sense to snuggle down beneath the mud when
the sun became indifferent. Ah, but not poor hopless.
He sat when others had the proper sense to hide, and
experienced things not intended for insignificant creatures.
He saw new colors, smelled new odors, heard deeper
sounds. Then~ he became torpid and dreamed of crystal
things unknOWl.. .
The sun became civil again; flowers gave botanical musk;
and, the buried arose. The hopless one had eagerly awaited
his friend's 'return. My, the things he would reveal to the
timid! He called them to his stance, inviting them to
partake of revelation. Slowly, they came forth. Some still
clotted with mud, some still dripping, some on first legs,
some beaten and aged: All came to hear what the hopless
one would say.
As he opened his mouth to speak, a cry of alarm was
given: "The Bird! The Bird!" The hopless one looked above
and saw death hunting' his kindred. And then a miraculous
thing happened! Just as the bird swooped, the hopless one
stood. For the fust time in his life, he stood! The bird was
so alarmed that it missed its prey, and flapped frantically
away from the. mon&trous beast that had faced it. Alarm
must have been sounded throughout the flock of death, as
none returned that season.
All of the pond-folk ' breathed a sigh of thankfulness.
Then, they remembered what had saved them. Spontaneously, all turned and started to voice their blessful croaks to
the hopless one. Ah, how their hearts dropped. The hopless
one had died from the strain of standing alone. As the
seasons passed, the birds returned.
PhoenIX: Fall " . .
"
REVIEWS
FILMS, THEATER, ALBUMS
'Through A Glass Darkly'
Bergman challenges film viewers'
minds with the first of a famous
trilogy.
by Gayle McLain
The American movie industry is
notorious for selling sex and glamor
per se in order to draw the millions of
theatre-goers that retreat to their
neighborhood cinemas every week.
Anxious to add a dash of savory spice
to their habitual routine, flick fans
eagerly scan the assortment of lewd
advertisements, pick the one that
promises thrills every moment, and
rush down to the local Bijou to plunk
down their coins.
In return they witness animated
versions of cheap paperback novels. It
is unfortunate that most film producers, directors, and writers continue
to turn out more of these mediocre
fIlms, and it is encouraging to fmd an
artist who does not surrender his
artistic aims to commercial interests.
In an age in which visual media
exert such profound influence on the
human mind, it is encouraging to
witness the work
of Ingemar
Bergman, the Swedish playwrightdirector. UT audiences sampled a piece
of this man's creativity when
"Through A Glass Darkly," the first of
a three-film trilogy, was shown at the
University Center Auditorium in October. His devotion to exploring the
deeper aspects and possibilities of
cinema art is probably why he
suffered a long period of unprofitable
apprenticeship (his first commendable
success did not happen until his
sixteenth fIlm, "Smiles of a Summer
Night").
With his characteristically Swedish
emphasis on black and white photography, Bergman revels in the creative
freedom of directors. This freedom is
20
Phoenix: Fall 1969
considerably more important to him
than conforming to conventional success-patterns.
Undoubtedly, much of what the
viewer perceives on the screen is the
man's own philosophy and experience,
expressed in his attempt to delve deep
into the unexplored regions of the
human mind.
He has said, "I only want to make
films .. .films about conditions, tensions, pictures, rhythms, and characters which are in one way or another
important to me."
For this sensitive, conscientious
artist, the motion picture media is his
way of saying what he wants to his
fellow men. And before conveying
that message, he prepares himself and
his co-workers, for an emotional and
intellectual experience. When the crew
is ready . .to shoot a sC,ene, he is no
longer exclusively himself, but part of
the camera. Bergman has such an
intense degree of involvement that he
cannot help but transmit part of
himself onto the screen.
In many of his fIlms, he is involved
in youth's "coming to terms" with the
imperfect life. Realizing the evident
gap between reality and fantasy and
learning to live with this knowledge is
the primary theme of Bergman's
"Through a Glass Darkly." Using black
and white photography portraying
relatively bleak scenery, Bergman
transmitted a chilly mood to the
audience. The lonesome cries of birds,
the violent roar of the sea, and the
suspenseful silence of the beach house
all blended to convey a gray atmosphere.
As the plot unfolds, Papa has just
returned from Switzerland where he
. has been working on his novel. He
escapes sad circumstances at home by
traveling to other · countries. Responding as he did when his wife was
wasting away from her fatal illness, he
has sought refuge from the unbearable
reality of his daughter Karin's identical
illness.
Papa is told by Karin's husband
that he is perverted in his lack of
feeling. There is only one phenomenon
that he has not an inkling of- like
itself. He is interested only in establishing a name for himself as an
author, his first success meaning more
to him than his wife's death. He would
rather sacrifice his family's lives than
his art.
Papa writes in his diary that, to his
horror, he finds himself actually
"interested" in Karin's illness , obsessed with a desire to watch the horrible
course of the disease as it eats her
away.
Karin secretly reads the entry in her
father's diary. Eventually, he admits to
her that he has drawn a circle around
himself, shutting out everything that
has no place in his own private little
game.
He admits, "Every time life smashes
the circle, the game turns in to
something gray, tiny, ridiculous. So
one draws a new circle, builds up new
barriers. "
The father's observation is reflected
in Bergman's own philosophy: "We
walk in circles so limited by our own
anxieties that we can no longer
distinguish between true and false ,
between the gangster's whim and the
purest ideal."
After an unsuccessful attempt at
suicide, Papa reconciles himself to
reality. He no longer has a facade to
keep up.
"Truth requires no catastrophes ,"
he admits. "I can see myself. Out of
my emptiness, something was born
which I hardly dare touch or give a
name to. A love-for Karin and Minus
(his son) and you (Martin, his
son-in-law).
However his final acceptance of the
cold facts of life and his resulting love
are of no help to his daughter, Karin.
Besides inheriting her mother's incurable illness, the young woman is a
schizophrenic. Only when she reaches
the fmal extremities of her illness does
he show her compassion, an open need
for her love.
Karin tells him that she wants to go
to the hospital to live since she cannot
endure living in t4e two worlds of her
present existence, going from one to
the other. Her illusions tell her that
God will come through a door in their
own house and that there will be love.
But when her God fmally reveals
himself to her, she sees Him as a cold,
calm spider.
Neither can Minus, her brother, live
with the reality that has thrust itself so
harshly upon his adolescent world.
Confused by his awakening awareness.
Minus ponders, "I wonder if everyone
is shut up in himself... each of us in
his own box. All of us."
Minus feels an emptiness because
Papa is constantly absorbed in his own
affairs. Reality ,as Minus has known it
until now, has been shattered. Grappling with the cold barrenness of
truth, his senses begin to change and
harden while his receptivity sharpens
as he moves from the make-believe
world of innocence to the torment of
insight.
Minus is driven to confide to his
father that he cannot live with reality.
Reassuring him that he can, Papa
advises him that he must have
something to hold onto; for example,
God. Asked to prove the existence of
God, Papa answers that his own
personal hope lies in the knowledge
that love as God exists as something
real in a world of men. He says that his
hope turns emptiness in to wealth and
hopelessness into life.
"It's like a pardon ...from a sentence of death," he describes.
Minus's evident relief appears to
stem from the fact that his father
actually communicates with him, for
as the movie ends, Minus whispers in
amazement, "Papa spoke to me."
Innumerable observations and valuable truths are related in "Through a
Glass Darkly." Consequently, fIlm
viewers feel that their sensibilities are
newly awakened regarding insight into
human experience. Bergman challenges
men to think, to grow more aware of
the vast regions and possiblities of the
mind which man has not yet conquered.
The fIlm master does not offer the
"cheap thrills of quick-sca1e" type of
entertainment to the public. On the
contrary, those who witness his
quality work leave the theater with the
suspicion that they have been challenged, for a change, instead of
underestimated. In short Bergman, the
creator-artist, produced "Through a
Glass Darkly" in an effort to give men
better insight into themselves by
observing other men through the eyes
of one sensitive artist.
Two interpretations of a powerful
contemporory motion-picture and winner of the Cannes Film Festival.
'Easy Rider'
by Rock Rockenfield
"Easy Rider ," has been billed as "A
man that went searching for America,
and couldn't find it anywhere." The
billing is wrong. "A man who went
looking for America and Found it," is
the proper billing. You want to leave
the theatre and prove to yourself that
America isn't what Billy and Wyatt
found in the movie, but you wonder if
you can. You wonder if it's really
there.
While searching yourself, think
about the story. In some form you've
seen something like it before: The
adventurous, dissenting American
youth who travels across America
seeking his own "Holy Grail." There
was always the kindly old timer
(very wise) who straightened him out
and sent him home to momma and the
girl next-door.
"Easy Rider" shows what it's like
today: prejudice and fear combined
with two freaks on big choppers. When
fear (in the guise of a pick-up truck)
meets the freaks, you receive an
overdose of hatred and rejection. As
Billy (Dennis Hopper) says, "They're
afraid of us. They resent our freedom." It bugs you off, but it's good
for you.
The best performance is given by
Jack Nicholson, playing the alcoholic
lawyer the two meet in a small town
jail. Nicholson's frrst taste of moving
panacea is probably the most humorous scene in "Easy Rider." Good 01'
George Hanson (Nicholson) makes the
going much sweeter for a while.
Dennis Hopper's direction of the
fIlm is frne. Hopper didn't follow a
preplanned script; he took the entire
cast and crew for a trip, and when
they found an appropriate setting, the
scene was shot. If local residents
gathered to watch the screening of the
fIlm, in many cases they were used as
"extras."
Hopper also did a good job of
portraying the outgoing, impetuous
partner. The man who went searching
in his red, white, and blue Harley is
Peter Fonda. He is the "Easy Rider,"
and his search carries him throughout
the Southwest and Southeast.
Some of the most popular recording
artists and groups provide backround
music for the fIlm. The call of the
wide-country is strong when you see
the two nomads toss off their
watches and head out on their bikes to
the open road to Steppenwolfs "Born
to be Wild." Other well-known artists
employed in the fIlm are the Byrds,
Jimi Hendrix, and Roger McGuinn.
Every song is well suited to accent the
scene in which it is heard, and it brings
out much emotion with little pain.
"Easy Rider" is one for the road: a
trip through the America of truth,
beauty, and hatred.
'Easy Rider'
by PatricUJ Hitchcock
Cannes Film Festival winner "Easy
Rider" is exactly as the marquee bills
it-a trip in reality. Bigotry narrowmindedness, ignorance, prostitution
Jin more than one sense) and phoniness abound in this fIlm which
portrays, very basically, America.
Peter Fonda, as Captain America,
and .his rather insensitive sidekick
Billy, played by Dennis Hopper, trip
across the country fmding some real,
and some very unreal people. In their
quest for the ultimate New Orleans
Mardi Gras, they "blow it," as Captain
Phoenix: Fall 1969
21
America so aptly puts it. Good thingll
were there for them if they had only
recognized them.
The truly beautiful scenery and top
photography shines through to point
up even more the great irony of
America the "Beautiful Country
"versus America the" Ugly People."
In a commune in the southwestern
desert, the two cyclers meet some
people trying to exist in what is
advertised as the "traditional American way." But instead of remaining
there, they continue ahead in their
search for the big-time. Sadly maybe
that this had been their place.
Perhaps the best acting came from
Jack Nicholson, as George, a tied-tothe-old-man's-image drunk who might
have made to someday to fmd peace
of mind. But good ole U.S.A. type fear
destroys him before he could break
away. In his explanation to Billy about
freedom, he gives perhaps the ultimate
reason for the bigotry that exists in
our society.
"Easy Rider" contains all of the
elements necessary for a successful
current-day "surface" mm: sex, violence, drugs, freaks, booze and rednecks. Yet, each element comes
together for those who are intimate
enough to realize that this is life, this .
is reality, and this is a part of America
today.
It is quite easy to understand why
"Easy Rider" is a Cannes Film Festival
winner. Dennis Hopper, the director of
the film, does an excellent job by
bringing all the basic elements together
and in harmony with each other. He
appears to be experiencing the story
while he is acting it out, and his
directing of Fonda and the rest of the
cast is also done with extreme talent.
"Easy Rider" truly earned the
Cannes' award,-and the fine work done
by Nicholson, Hopper, and Fonda on
the film is to be greatly appreciated.
MORE FILMS
MORE
THEATER
MORE ALBUMS
22
Phoenix: Fall 1969
'Fantasticks'
by Judy Eastman
Clay Coury. The Narrator, EI Gallo, is
Michael G. Rysell.
The Fantastics is one of the few
plays to be released for production
outside of the professional theatre
while still being played there.
On a side street in New York, a play
called The Fantastics has been packing
the house for almost a decade.
The Fantasticks, currently in pro-
duction at Carousel Theatre, is a
hilarious musical comedy with a
moral. Two romantic, poetry-creating
young people are in love with each
other, but are separated by two fathers
and a wall.
The story is about Luisa, who turned
into a rose, instead of a dependable
vegetable (according to her father),
and Matt, who learned to dissect
violets in college when he should have
been learning to dig cesspools (according to his father). Other important
characters in the play are Bellamy and
Hucklebee, the fathers, and the Narrator, El Gallo, who was once a bandit
but gave it up because of saddle sores.
Much of the excitement of the play
can be found in the many understatements in the conversations of the
characters, especially the lovers. This is
one play in which the hero is a loser.
This play, which has been described
as fresh, highly imaginative, entirely
new, and completely charming, was
written by Tom Jones and Harvey &
Schmid t while both were undergraduates at a college in Dallas.
Originally, it was a successful skit
which was. made into a full length
musical comedy.
The Fantasticks was first presented
"off-Broadway" on May 3, 1960, at
the Sullivan Street Playhouse in New
York, where it is still running. "Try to
Remember" is a popular hit song from
this play, as are "Soon It's Gonna
Rain" and "Much More".
In the Carousel Theatre production,
Fred Fields is director; Anne-Dale
Guinn, choreography; and James Brimer, musical director. Ambrose
Holford ,is the vocal consultant.
Luisa is played by Becky Ownes,
and Matt by John M. Keenan. The
fathers are George R. Roberts and
'Abbey Road'
by William FrohliCh!
It has been almost a full year since
the Beatles released their twin album,
The Beatles, which drew record sales
in the United States. Abbey Road
(Apple records, London,)their latest
release, has been reaching for the top
of sales-charts in America after only a
month and a half in the country. Sales
soared with the recent rumor of Paul
McCartney's death. This was hotly
denied by McCartney to a reporter in
Glasgow with the words, "If I was
dead I'd be the last to know."
The recording as a whole is a return
to simplicity. As in The Beatles, there
is no use of the London Symphony
Orchestra for background substance.
Abbey Road contains their current
single "Come Together" by Lennon
and McCartney. The song is a change
of pace and is probably the happiest
tune since "Honkie Tonk Women" by
the Rolling Stones. "You never give
me Your Money" in conjunction with
"Carry that Weight" create a complete
song, although they appear in different
places on the album. Both songs (by
Lennon and McCartney) promote
concepts of freedom, but in the end
one still has to "Carry that Weight."
"Ho! Darling" is a romance with the
early sixties, and "Maxwell's Silver
Hammer" reveal the writing team's
extreme versatility "I Want You" lines
up with the Butterfield Blues Band,
and "Come Together" is getting
together with Lennon and McCartney's personal flavor.
The most beautiful song on the
album is attributed to George
Harrison. "Here Comes the Sun"
combines an acoustical guitar with
such techniques as clapping and
iyncopation to create the rock ballad.
It .s tands alone better than any other
cut on the album.
Richard (Ringo) Starkey, who infrequently writes songs himself, claims
"Octopm~'s Garden." It is very much
like "Yellow Submarine" in that it
hints at the proverbial "utopian" life.
Abbey Road contains sixteen songs
which are bound to develop a trend
toward simplicity and meaningfulness
in contemporary rock music.
'California Bloodlines'
and
'Signals Through Glass'
by Larry Dearing
California
Bloodlines
(Capitol
ST203), John Stewart's frrst album as
a soloist, I would not use as a text.
There is much more emphasis on
sound and a little less on lyrics. The
poetry ranges from the sensitivity of
"Missouri Birds" (the conflict of
wandering and settling down) to the
triviality of "She Believes in Me ,"
which can be losely interpreted as
"tongue-in-cheek" humor. The lyrics
are still far above the established norm
of nonsense. The sound ranges from
and soft country-rock in "Shackles
and Chains" and "Omaha Rainbow"
to neo-folk in "The Pirates of Stone
County Road," a reflection of imaginative childhood games, slightly
marred by a too-folksy voice of the
boy's mother. "Razorback Woman" is
a good lyric song about the hardiness
of a modern pioneer family, but it is
damaged by over-orchestration. From
the brief liner notes: "It's all in
Nashville roots and California Bloodlines. Oh, Mother Country, I do love
you." This album is not as good as
"Signals Through the Glass, "but it
certainly is different.
Stewart is one of the few songwriter poets who can give his songs
good tunes and sing them well. He
narrowly missed Top 40 success with
"Armstrong," a comment on reactions, pro and con, to the moonwalk. It was misinterpreted by many
emptyminded program managers as an
anti-moonshot song and was banned
on many radio stations. If Capitol
stands by him, John Stewart may soon
be heard from.
Although Signals Through the Glass
(Capitol ST-2975) by John Stewart
and Buffy Ford is classified as folk, all
the songs are originals by Stewart, a
first-rate poetic writer-singer. The
accompaniment by John Andrew
Tartaglia is subtle and highly professional, emphasizing the lyrics
instead of obscuring them. Stewart's
voice is honest, strong, deep, and on
key. Buffy adds a delicate,. wistful
harmony and, in "Nebraska Widow," a
powerful solo.
The album is a musical portrait of
America. "Signals to Ludi" tells of a
young girl who is sensitive to the death
of anyone or anything-a man, a
woodpecker, even a black widow.
"Cody" is a vintage man of the Old
West, "the forgotten son of some old
yesterday." "Muckee Truckee River"
is a pollution protest- against pollution of all kinds. The last song on
the album is an expression of a fear
shared by most American men between the ages of 18 and 26. This
record is my favorite; if I were
teaching modern American poetry, I
would use it as a text.
DESERT THE SHIP
TWINKLES
While flurries of leaves flew,
Some thought of iced snow
Tingling the skin of unwamed faces,
But some had mirages
Of underwater Meccas-still
Others worked, hesitantly raking
The others' dreams into baskets.
K.C. Spengeman
desert the ship
when it sails for
hostile waters-it cant
hurt
to leave
when you figure
how much
more
can be gained
by waiting
to catch
the next
ship
that comes your
way.
THE ALCHEMIST
Well, hell, I'll write poetry:
Unrequited love is good for poets.
So I've written and written
And submitted and submitted
And haven't sold a damn thing.
Fat lot of good it did me to lose you.
Anne Roney
Susanna Cantor
Phoenix: Fall 1969
23
An American Parody
Phoenix : Fall 1969
24