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Quandary

Summer 2011


Quandary Editor Sean Butner

Editrix Thalia Meyer

This is the box in which we would have information about publication, submission guidelines and anything else along those lines that fits our fancy. For now, it will just be filled with Vergil. Iam memini: nunc te, cum primum Aurora rubebit Crastina, sublimen Rutulorum ad moenia mittam.� Dehinc sese ad gentem Iliacam uoluebat, et alto ectore uerba trahens, blando sic ore locutus: “O socii, per dura ac densa pericula uecti,Per tantos bellorum aestus, duplicesque furores Armorum, per totque hiemes, per quicquid acerbum Horrendum, graue, triste, ingens, per quicquid iniquum Infaustum, et crudele foret, conuertite mentem In melius: iam finis adest: hic meta malorum Stabit, et optatam Latia cum gente quietem Iungemus:dabit inde mihi Lauinia coniunx Bello acri defensa, Italo cum sanguine mixtam Troianam transferre aeterna in saecula gentem. Unum oro, socii, Ausonios communiter aequo Ferte animo, et uosmet socero obseruate Latino. Sceptrum idem sublime geret: sententia mentem Haec habet: at bello uos, et praestantibus armis Discite me et pietate sequi: quae gloria nobis Cesserit, in promptu est; sed caelum, et sidera testor, Qui uos tantorum eripui de clade malorum, Idem ego sub maiora potens uos praemia ducam.� Talibus orabat, uariosque in pectore casus Praeteritos uoluens, partamque labore quietem Haud paruo: nimium ardenti exundabat amore In Teucros, grauibus tandem euasisse periclis Exsultans: uelut exiguis cum ex aethere gyrans Incubuit pullis, et magno turbine miluus Insiliens auido ore furit, stragemque minatur; Tum cristata ales perculso pectore mater Consurgit, misero natorum exterrita casu, Rostrum acuit, totisque petit conatibus hostem, Et multa expulsum ui tandem cedere cogit; Dehinc perturbatos crocitans exquirit, et omnes Attonitos cogit, pro caris anxia natis, Et tanto ereptos gaudet superesse periclo. Non secus Anchisa genitus mulcebat amicis Troianos dictis, antiquum corde timorem Flagrantesque agitans curas, et gaudia longis Et tanto ereptos gaudet superesse periclo. Non secus Anchisa genitus mulcebat amicis Troianos dictis, antiquum corde timorem Flagrantesque agitans curas, et gaudia longis Et tanto ereptos gaudet superesse periclo. Non secus Anchisa genitus mulcebat amicis Troianos dictis, antiquum corde timorem Flagrantesque agitans curas


Table of Contents John Crowe Ransom Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

John Crowe Ransom 4

John Crowe Ransom Spectral Lovers

5

6

7

8

4

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

4

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

4

John Crowe Ransom 10

Paul Cèzanne Pyramid of Skulls

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

John Crowe Ransom

Paul Cèzanne Still Life With Skull

4

John Crowe Ransom

W. B. Yeats The Lake Isle of Innisfree

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter John Crowe Ransom

John Keats “I cry your mercy-pitylove! -aye, love!”

4

John Crowe Ransom

Gerard Manley Hopkins Carion Comfort

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

4

John Crowe Ransom 11

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

4


Quandry, 1.1

Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter by John Crowe Ransom There was such speed in her little body, And such lightness in her footfall, It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all. Her wars were bruited in our high window. We looked among orchard trees and beyond Where she took arms against her shadow, Or harried unto the pond The lazy geese, like a snow cloud Dripping their snow on the green grass, Tricking and stopping, sleepy and proud, Who cried in goose, Alas, For the tireless heart within the little Lady with rod that made them rise From their noon apple-dreams and scuttle Goose-fashion under the skies! But now go the bells, and we are ready, In one house we are sternly stopped To say we are vexed at her brown study, Lying so primly propped.


Summer 2011

Spectral Lovers by John Crowe Ransom By night they haunted a thicket of April mist, Out of that black ground suddenly come to birth, Else angels lost in each other and fallen on earth. Lovers they knew they were, but why unclasped, unkissed? Why should two lovers be frozen apart in fear? And yet they were, they were. Over the shredding of an April blossom Scarcely her fingers touched him, quick with care, Yet of evasions even she made a snare. The heart was bold that clanged within her bosom, The moment perfect, the time stopped for them, Still her face turned from him. Strong were the batteries of the April night And the stealthy emanations of the field; Should the walls of her prison undefended yield And open her treasure to the first clamorous knight? “This is the mad moon, and shall I surrender all? If he but ask it I shall.� And gesturing largely to the moon of Easter, Mincing his steps and swishing the jubilant grass, Beheading some field-flowers that had come to pass, He had reduced his tributaries faster Had not considerations pinched his heart Unfitly for his art.


Quandry, 1.1

Carion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee? Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.


Summer 2011

“I cry your mercy-pity-love! -aye, love!” by John Keats I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love! Merciful love that tantalizes not, One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot! O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine! That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine, That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast, Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all, Withhold no atom’s atom or I die Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall, Forget, in the mist of idle misery, Life’s purposes,—the palate of my mind Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!


Quandry, 1.1

The Lake Isle of Innisfree by W. B. Yeats I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core.


Paul CĂŠzanne

Still Life With Skull

Pyramid of Skulls



Quandry Proof