Chrysalis: 1972

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The word "chrysalis," in its most general sense, means anything that is in a state of growing, changing, or becoming. We of Ferrum's magazine staff have adopted it as our title because we feel that it carries connotations of beauty and potentiality, and ideas in a state of development.

Chrysalis is published by Ferrum College students, but it will consider articles, poems, stories, drawings and photographs from anyone who wishes Lo submit his work. Manuscripts should be typed and submitted to Chrysalis, Box 15, Ferrum College, Ferrum, Va. 24088

Cover Collage by Sue Martin.

Poetry by Mike Guthrie ...p.2.

Artwork by Margaret Edwards ...p.3.

Poetry by Arthur Davis .. . pp. 4, 27, 22, 24.

Poetry by Carl Martin Hames ... pp. 5, 74, 78, 38.

Fiction by Beth Spilman . . . p. 6.

Poetry by Beth Spilman . . . p.34.

Artwork by Robert Beckwith . . . pp. 7 3, 7 7.

Poetry by Fran Johnson . . . p.75.

Poetry by Arletha Schon Mayo .. . p.7 6.

Artwork by Ann Rivenbark ... pp. 79, 47.

Music by Wallace T.Scherer . . . p.20.

Photography by Richard Gardner ...pp. 23, 36, 39, 57.

Poetry by Joe May ...p. 25.

Photography by Steven Mays .. . p. 26.

Article by Leslie Mason . . . p.28.

Photography by Phil Coleman ...p. 33.

Poetry by Alson Cornell ...p. 37.

Article by Sheila A. Miller ...p.4ďż˝.

A Door Within Three Circles

within three circles :,:,:'-,!ti""" c, and teases my thoughts of tranquility, Floating in mid-air, the door uses my eyes for humor, Effervescent lightning seeps around the edges telling my mind of abundant glories within, Yes, there must be, I can touch and realize the theme, My hand touches the knob through persuasion of these cosmic lights The door swings not, but slides to the right, All my greedy eyes behold the sight within, one of glory it may be, A morbid, unending corridor with thousands of broken mirrors for walls ...

2

Mike Guthrie

'% ½

Masonic Funeral

Someone came in inside my life briefly and she read my written words and asked me why I didn't write pretty lines in pretty rimes in time to pretty tunes and I said merely "It's not nearly that simple" and I went home and cried for her

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Arthur Davis

The black hearse wound Among the island Lots of perpetual care bermuda Grass bringing The young worshipful Master To lie under his Name calling rock.

The driver (assistant officiant) Had quietly turned On the radio to hear Harper Valley eulogized Along with its largesse Of ill repute.

Lot 36! The saving stamp green Tent marks the spot: "Those damn Masons! we'll be Here all day." Matter-of-fact.

Lines of old George Washington Sheepskin aprons Foiled against blue serge Lined the way for them all.

Dionysiac it was: The pubescent Inheritors wind their supportive way With the "Niobe Mother, all tears."

To the big hole where The atonal incantations were hummed And droned by worker bees, sheepskin Machines, over the bottom bound, Cyprus encrusted, supine body, Dead in spite of it all.

Carl Martin Hames

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The Metamorphosis of a Poet It was a cinnamon autumn. The world of Progressive 111 had weathered into an oil painting of frosted golds and spice browns.

A frigid, cloudless blue sky was a vast backdrop for the multitude of stone classroom buildings and dormitories. The air was silent and still, as if waiting for something to happen. And something was going to, although the challenging and exciting effects were to be felt only by one lone soul ...

Jill sat alone astraddle a brick wall at the entrance of Progressive 111, patiently awaiting the arrival of the 4:30 metro. It was the first day of the fall vacation, and she had missed the 4:00 run which had engulfed all of the other students and carried them into the depths of the earth. Within minutes, however, they would be vomited up again into the cement world of Unicity. Jill thought about Unicity and the metro. Someday, she mused, she would like to walk from the city to the country.

A piece of paper protruded from one of the books which were balanced carelessly on the wall. Jill slipped the paper out and scanned with familiar eyes the passage which haďż˝ given birth to such personal excitement. She lifted her thoughts from the page and gazed out into nothingness, reflecting back on the day she had found it ...

"Hey, shut up, you guys, this is a library."

"Don't give me any of your mouth, K.C." "Shhhhhhh."

"A classic, huh? What does ole McAllen consider a classic?"

"Who cares? I hate to read."

"Classics are old books that people still read. Isn't that right, Jill?"

11 1 guess."

"I think Sensuous Woman is a classic."

"Is Valley of the Dolls one?"

"Is what one?" u I guess it's not, then'"

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"City of Scandal has got to be one. My mother has that book."

"Why don't we sit down and make a list?" Jill said.

They all gathered around a circular table amidst walls of books and each claimed a chair. Eric took out some paper and a pen.

"Who has the date?"

"October 22."

Eric scrawled "Octob_er 22, 2053" at the upper right hand corner of the paper ...

Individual lists in hand, the students traipsed about the library in search of classics. The old widow librarian sat behind her desk in an attempt to swallow her ecstasy lest she break out in smiles. It was a rare event when a student entered the library, even under the threat of a grade. The thick orange carpet on the floor absorbed the footsteps of the scavengers, until all that could be heard was a faint "pad" sound. Pad, pad, pad; the students safaried through the jungle of fiction, biography and reference books. A breeze from the opened picture window carried a cold, tangy scent through the air.

Jill was totally indifferent to the task of finding a classic. She had read quite a few of them, but they all seemed the same to her. Reading one was like having an itch, but scratching all around it instead of on it. Her desire for literature, for the magical mixture of reality and imagination, was left unsatisfied. At times she scorned these desires; they were frivolous and completely without definition. At other times she wanted to express all of this, but it was useless for there was no way of explaining. Eric or K.C. could never understand. It was a confusing and frustrating cycle, this having of feelings. Jill was glad that in a few days fall vacation would begin.

Approaching the information counter, Jill folded her hands on the smooth surface.

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Excuse me."

The old widow librarian looked over from her desk.

"Could you tell me if there is a study room somewhere in the library?"

The librarian cleared her throat and opened her mouth. After a short hesitation, the sound came out.

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"Yes, but I believe it's locked."

"Oh," said Jill. "Could you unlock it?"

"I could," the old woman drawled.

Jill tapped her pen on the counter-top.

"Well, would you please?"

The widow pulled at her nose and sniffed.

"Nobody's been in there in years. Why do you want to go?"

Jill dropped the pen.

"Because I want to do some studying."

Suspicious eyes were rqised to meet Jill's own.

1 ''You won t be long?"

"No, no.''

The desk drawer opened and a cluster of keys on a string were drawn from within. They were placed on the desk. Chink. The old widow librarian stood, gathered the handful of keys and walked around the counter.

"Follow me." ...

The study room smelled of fresh paint and was as new as the day the library had been built. It tot!>k the lights several minutes to blink into awareness, and the room there revealed was large and cold; neat with rows of white plastic chairs and tables about the walls and in the center. Several other doors across the room broke the monotony in the white walls.

"Thank you," Jill's voice cut the white silence.

"I'll leave the keys with you so you can lock up when you leave."

Jill was handed the mass, and the librarian sent a brief, longing look about the study room before she exited. Jill shut the door after her.

The room was cold and silent and new. Even the chair on which Jill sat was cold, and the table on which she placed her books was ice. She opened a book and tried to read. It was her Russian textbook, so she slammed it shut. She didn't feel like reading Russian.

Jill looked across the floor at one of the doors in the white wall, and wondered to where it led. She rose and walked toward it.

The world behind the glass window in the door was dark and strange.

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She paused and gazed. She could see her reflection in the glass as of that in a deep, timeless pool. Something from within called silently to her, and she tried the doorknob. It was cold and tightly in position. The keys were retrieved from the table, and each was inserted into the keyhole. At last one slid easily in and the knob turned with a click. With a slight push on the door, the dark world opened unto Jill ...

The tiny room at the top of the narrow staircase was as new as the study room, but was as dark as the study room was white.

Jill had opened the blinds of the small window in the corner, sending a pale streak of sunlight across the floor, rising and falling among the boxes and trunks stationed there.

Jill sat upon a metal trunk and curiously pried open the lid of a cardboard carton. She felt as if she were robbing someone's house, and that she should hurry lest she be discovered. But the secrecy in which this little room had dwelt for such a long time interested her. Why should these rooms be locked and ignored? Jill laughed and was nervous.

Pop. A staple flew from the lid of the carton. The room was dark except for the dim sunlight from the window. Was she Pandora? She suddenly felt very strange and excited sitting there.

What if these boxes held exotic secrets of the past, present, and future? Pop. The last staple was gone, and the top was raised, slowly.

Hazy light crept into the box and oozed over the contents it contained. Jill looked and was disgusted with herself.

Nothing but books; books and more books. There were no exotic secrets.

She reached out to touch them; they were old and rough. Not at all like the books in the picture windowed room downstairs. She lifted one from the top of the stack, and it felt unusually heavy. She had never seen a hard-backed book before. It smelled of must and age, and the pages were yellowed and some were cracked. She shut it and read the faint title imprinted there. Jane Eyre. She put it on the floor beside her and pulled out an armful! of others.Oliver Twist, Gone With the Wind, Little Big Man, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Wuthering Heights, Christy. The names were all new and curious. Jill put them down beside her, and took out another. It was small and the title was illegible. She flipped through it and

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noticed that several pages had fallen or had been torn out. It seemed to be a book of poems and articles. Poems! Her trembling finger followed under the passage as she read:

"Dawn tip-toed through the trees, and summoned the breeze to awaken the sleeping town.

She touched each slumbering home, The church steeple and dome, leaving golden fingerprints to be found ... " A poem! A poem of rhyme, rhythm, and joy! She re-read it.Yes! There was something here. Something more than the dull hate, riot, and war poetry she was accustomed to, with blank, colorless words and empty meaning. Jill let her eyes drop to the bottom of the page to see who had written it. Daniel Anderson, 1926. He must have been a man who loved life! He felt that way, and wanted to tell the world. Oh! He knew how to tell the world!

Jill wanted more. She eagerly found another page at random and indulged in a poem of winter; a young heroine lost amidst a raging blizzard and her young lover in a frantic effort to find her. Felippa Gordon, 1892.

"Felippa, you knew, too!"

She flipped the page and rapidly ran her eyes over an article: "A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feeling through words.

This may sound easy. It isn't.

A lot of people think or believe or know they feel - but that's thinking or believing or knowing: not feeling. And poetry is feeling - not knowing or believing or thinking ..."

Wait! Slow down ... what is this? Jill read it again, fighting in her anxiousness to absorb every word. "A poet is somebody who feels ... " Someone who feels. Not like the touching kind, but the feeling kind.

"My feelings ... " thought Jill. "... the discomfort and uncertainty I've known all these years. Could these not be wrong?

Oh, God! Could I not be alone?"

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Jill was suddenly unashamed of her enthusiasm, and it poured _ over the passage time and time again. And the more she read 1t, the more she knew she was right.

"Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel."

This was true. What had she learned in school?To think and believe and know. Eric and K.C. could think and believe and know. But had they ever felt an awe at the rising sun, or fascination in wondering how many stars there were in the U11iverse?

No. She didn't know it, she felt it; she sensed it. They lived for fall, winter, spring, and summer vacations. Not because the leaves changed, or the snow fell, or the flowers blossomed, or the harvest was at its peak, but because they could raise hell. .

The dim light from the small window in the corner was fading.

The room grew chilly and a fierce wind wailed by. But )ii ! was _ insensitive to anything but E. E. Cummings and the defm1t1on of a poet, and though the sun set and the stars wandered past in the sky, time was unreal, and sleep stood by at a fair distance and watched ...

The metro was late. Jill jumped down from the wall and walked through the weeds to the road. From there she had a clear view of the stone library, towering over all in Progressive 111. It was funny how a building so unwelcoming could become as a home in a few days.She remembered her classmates ...

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What, again?"

"This is the third day in a row you've gone to the library.

What's wrong?"

_

,,

"Not meeting anyone we don't know about, are you Jill? laughed Eric.

Jill wanted to say, "Yes, Catherine Ernshaw, Jack Crabb, Stephen Dedalus, Neil MacNeill." But she said, "No." "So why go? Come with us to play tennis."

"I can't."

"Why not? Tell us."

She wanted to, but was afraid. She had begun to realize that her new love of literature was also a source of pain. That day in the library, she wrote: "The first bud of love is not without thorn."

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And it was then that she recalled: "If ... you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed."

Then began the whirlwind of revelations and dreams. Did she dare take the step?"What would her parents and friends say? What could she base all of this on? One line of poetry and high hopes and deep feelings? At times she felt certain, and at times not so sure. She would have to decide, or she felt it would kill her ...

Climbing back onto the wall, Jill looked at her handwritten copy of the page once more. She then turned it over and looked at the one line of poetry. Why was she in such mental agony? Under the line she wrote: "The first bud of love is not without thorn.

Pain is not absent when passion is born ..."

She thought for a moment: "... hopes, anticipation; Failures, self-frustration.

Sharp yearnings that remind Of fulfillments yet to find.

Restraining, dismaying; Laughing, and praying That this which is thus loved by one who is new May open its arms and someday love, too."

Her pencil slipped from her hand. This was it! She had expressed her feelings on paper. Perhaps not very well, but it was there as honestly as she could have written. She made her decision then and there, and it was the only one she felt she could have made.

She wondered what it would be like to walk from the country to Unicity.So she picked up her paper and pencil and began. And her life began ...

Beth Spilman

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Laura's Cat Poem The cat split wildly about The old pink house Peering the corners round Knocking over the LadY.• 's Pots in search of a Little peace and quiet Where did she go? asked the girl wringing her hands Still dripping with paint And running them aimlessly Along the chimaise.

Lucy's with child, the Little girl uttered with a Sense of procreative satisfaction.

The Pot Lady sighed a thrusting Sigh and thought that Old Black Lucy might Become a brown study.

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Carl Martin Hames

On First Looking Into Capote's Stories or Life in a Vertical World Christmas trees are cellophane and snow is only chips, And those ferns are really sea-floor plants And the cabin a sunken ship.

The world is crumpled and shattered somehow.

Things sure ain't what they seem.

It's all drowned and distorted, reflected, inverted, deceptive and frozen, lifeless and mute, freakish, transfigured, vaporish and glazed, cruel and vicious, rippling, garish, destructive, crippling, falsifying, cracked, shapeless, narcissistic, horrifying, malevolent, inscrutable, "receding downward under a surface of water," ... and usually painted green.

Fran Johnson

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The Russian Steppes I run through meadows, on foot, in high grasses, being persuaded.

I run searching for a place, safe, hidden, not there.

He chases me, on horseback, in high grasses.

I only want to escape, to be owned, to be loved.

I fear him, for he is rejection, pain, and life.

I want life, without risk, without pain.

He is life, and he gives no guarantees.

I run faster, ¡while wanting to believe, doubting, running faster this time from myself.

He nearly caught me.

Arletha Schon Mayo

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Once A Year Week fhis massive oeuvre of the city, _eaden in the eyes of them Nho inhabit it, :;ives me enough oom-pah-pah fo go another year. )on't spit me on to stardust; 'ain't timorous about serendipity.

8

Carl Martin Hames

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Jill McChasney (Miaaionary Martyr)

Wallace T. Scherer

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, Take a step back wards to gather the steps you lost when things went wrong it's less than a new start start back onward again and you save the together the sun smiles again in all the dark corners and drives out the pain and you find all the good times that drifted away for a while, wrapped in the beauty of her smile on a summer's day You live all the cobwebs cleared tuck the sadness away out of your mind And you know it's so fragile please handle with care and you do and laughing can't be bought or sold when it floats around free on the breeze that blows gentle holding your souls together go and make one as you grow in the same direction and you touch - really touch and the world stops and takes time to smile back at you Arthur Davis

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SUNRISE ON 15th STREET 1969 or 70 (1 forget which) Spin ebb flow and reeling wheeling stealing down and inward toward the source of all that's Real All in the mind as you watch Stop cry softly to the Dawn Wasted unforgiveably on your window - Rising - stop the thought flow The questions of a million years unanswered go away All that matters is alive as you watch not knowing what more lies within your power It's not here anymore Arthur Davis

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The Girl Before Womanhood

May the young lady

In the nearness of night and the rain runs rampant over the dying light, it hurts I.wonder why, It is written that the Earth must suffer itself to die and be raised to life Again it happened once to Joshua; Someone asked me why and I said I don't know compulsion, bleeds you dry I guess it's useless to put up a fight I'm getting Right very very tired

On

There's still a need to clench a loving fist in loving hate

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Arthur Davis

Considering the possibility of womanhood First consider the shape of the world, The inconsistencies of love and sex_, The need of fornication but the irrelevance of play May her mind touch the work brought on by children And the unchangeable lazy potency of her mate Let her have undying care for what is Plus an insight into what will or won't be.

May she live ahead of the present But not so far ahead as to lose her place.

May her mind search freely with purposes.

After all, it is the lioness, not the lion, Who is the cubs' overall provider.

Joe May

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When the Surreal is Real: A Look at Kafka's Metamorphosis and Beckett's Endgame When speaking of something as being real, one must first ask himself exactly what he means by the word. Who is to judge that the realism he accepts obeys the same laws that denote realism for others?

Clearly every writer must stipulate his own definition of the concept.

Franz Kafka and Samuel Beckett have done this by taking the human condition and presenting it as they see it, not the way their audiences might imagine it or want it, but how it is in its deepest reality. Let us consider the reality of Kafka's Metamorphosis and Beckett's Endgame.

The appearance of things in Kafka's story is shocking in its gross, very repulsive, and often depressing aspects. The reader finds himself involved with the life of Gregor Samsa, the feature character, who wakes up one morning to discover that, during a night of unpleasant dreams, he has been transfigured¡ from the form of a human being into the form of a roach. The thought of anyone writing about such a metamorphosis is appalling, and disgusted students have been known to ask if the author couldn't have gotten his point across just as. well by changing Gregor into some more appealing creature. Yet the revulsion one feels is essential to the very meaning of the work. Through Gregor's transformation, Kafka has presented man's continuous attempt to escape from one 'cell' into another. This miserable attempt at escape is the picture of modern man's spiritual condition.

Though it is unlikely that many of Kafka's readers will have known anyone who has turned himself into a roach, many will find the conditions of Gregor Samsa's life and his feelings about those �onditions quite disturbingly familiar. Gregor, like many men, lives in a state of harassment. Consider the opening of the story. At the head of his bed is a door through which his mother is calling him.

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At side doors are his father and sister harping to him to get up and go to work. Though Gregor supports his whole family, the gratitude he might expect in his position is absent. As his willingness to give becomes taken for granted, the emptiness, or death of his parents' feeling toward him becomes emphasized. Gregor's desire for transcendence is¡ visible in his search for something outside his window, and is sensed in the nourishment he craves from the music of his sister's violin. This need for transcendence is certainly a human desire, the desire to go beyond the physical world and into a state of spiritual existence. What Franz Kafka is saying, however, is that this insatiable drive toward transcendence, toward freedom, is futile. And this is presented in the futility of Gregor's search out the windows and doors of his home, a search that allows him to see no light or any hope of freedom - only the grey that remains. The light is too far above, dim and unreachable; the search ends only in death.

Gregor's attempt to escape without being able to do so completely is parallel to man's inability to completely "get away from it all."

Though he has successfully achieved the physical aspects of his metamorphosis, Gregor still cannot fend off human emotions. This is exemplified in the very beginning of the story. Though Gregor is now a giant roach and obviously cannot go anywhere outside his house, he frets at length over not being able to catch the train that would get him to work on time.

The futility and uncertainty involved in Gregor's metamorphosis is further revealed when Gregor's mother and sister are removing his furniture from his room. This idea at first appeals to Gregor, since the furniture serves only as obstacles in his new life as a roach. But when Mrs. Samsa expresses the opinion that removing his furnishings might perhaps suggest to Gregor that they have given up hope of his ever coming back to them, Gregor is struck with uncertainty: "Do I want to be a roach {do I want to escape)?".That state of uncertainty which leads to the desire for certainty often makes one act ridiculously absurd. Gregor falls into this abyss of absurdity as he scuttles across the room and clings to the picture of a fashion model on his wall in order that it might be salvaged.

The psychosomatic nature of Gregor's suffering is suggested throughout The Metamorphosis. Once his domineering father drove him back into his room by hurling apples at him, and one of these lodged in his back, where it stayed until it rotted. Later, as he lay quietly

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in his darkened room listening to his mother and sister crying outside, his world began to nag intensely. His emotional hurt was translated into physical pain as he guiltily remembered the hardships his metamorphosis had placed on his family. Such scenes were particularly effective because a reader knows such things happen under very ordinary circumstances: a child does not feel well because she has a test at school, an old lady cannot feed herself because she has arthritis (though her disease is actually simple weariness with life itself).

Physical pain replacing emotional pain is very typical and very real.

Kafka also suggests the bitter and ever-present ironies of human life by setting his story in the early spring. At once spring reminds the reader of such things as rebirth, warm breezes, refreshing rains that wash away all the bad things around, leaving life itself clean and new. Yet the story tells us that this is not the way things are. The idea of spring dupes us into believing that so much is beautiful, yet we often find no more beauty than did Gregor in his room, crowded with objects and filth.

It seems, then, that Gregor Samsa's strange and frightening metamorphosis is not, after all, so unusual.

If there can be a bleaker picture of the human condition than the one Kafka presents, it is shown to us by Samuel Beckett, in his one-act play, Endgame. The time of the play's action is never given, the exact setting (outside the one dreary room we see) is never clearly explained, nor does the play have a traditional plot, since Beckett presents life as having no specific purpose. The human condition, according to the playwright, is best respresented by his main character, Hamm, who, like man, desires to be king - to be the center of all things - yet who is, at the same time, lame, bleeding, and blind. As the play begins, the audience is provided with this gruesome picture of man; one sees Hamm, sitting in a make-shift wheelchair, his dark glasses and stained face covered by a large bloody stauncher.

Yet surely there is no one who cannot see himself in some part of Hamm's varied personality: Hamm the hateful, Hamm the _ embittered man, Hamm who 1s desperately alone, guilty, childish; Hamm the artist, the critic, the ironic spectator of his own demise; Hamm the condescending. Perhaps the most universal of Hamm's personality traits, though, is that aforementioned desire to be king. He yearns to have his subjects gaze at him, beg him, or sit quietly imploring him, yet his throne is an old arm chair on tiny ineffectual wheels and 10

his kingdom consists of his deformed, adopted son, Clov; his old, legless parents Nagg and Nell (whom he stores nearby in two large trash cans); and a stuffed, sexless, three-legged dog. Sterile like him, the inhabitants of King Hamm's dominion are naive, giddy, senile, hilariously funny, and helplessly sad.

As in The Metamorphosis, the need for certainty is present here. Hamm insists that his wheelchair be placed in the center of the room - not too far to the right or too far to the left but, as he says, "BANG IN THE CENTER!" As the audience naturally laughs at the character's insistence for certainty over such a trivial matter, they direct this laughter at themselves, because all men demand such trivial certainties when greater, more important certainties are so obviously absent in life. Th.is same theme is apparent again in an exchange between Nagg and Nell. Offering his wife a piece of stale bread, Nagg asks, "Do you want a bit?" Her immediate reply is an emphatic "No," followed, after a brief pause, by the question, "Of what?" Her first reply is decisive, but it is off balanced by her inquiry as to what she is being so certain about. She realizes she doesn't even understand the question.

Man's desire for the end, his yearning to get away, coupled with his fear of the "end" and the "away" are all presented realistically through the characters of Endgame. Though they all say they are going to leave their miserable home, they never do. This typifies man's paralysis of the will, his inability to accomplish his wishes, achieve his desired goals, or to even know what he really wants. Where, if one were to leave, would he end up - is there anywhere else? We recognize our own fears when Hamm says, "Out there is the other hell." The resolution of these problems is never presented in the play; perhaps it is never presented in life.

But Beckett presents another aspect of life - its emptiness.

Hamm recognizes this emptiness in his trip around the world (as he calls it), a ride in his chair which takes him to his limit - the walls of his room. As he fondles the bricks of the wall, he expressess what he knows lurks within: "Hollow. All that's hollow." This emptiness is made more poignant by the fact that his room at times becomes filled with a clutter of objects - objects that signify nothing, that by their very physical presence point up the absence of meaning.

Again the audience is forced to recognize the possibility of meaninglessness in its own life.

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"All the world's a stage," Shakespeare said, and the metaphor is suggested throughout Endgame. Life takes its place on the stage and the tale of life is one told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. It has been previously stated that Beckett's play has no plot, and it seems only reasonable that it should not. In life we exist, often searching for something to do; when we become bored, we, like these poor players, curse one another, scream, practice the art of banal conversation, perhaps force a laugh, or threaten to leave. So life exists in reality as it does on the stage set of Endgame, without plot, without purpose: absurd.

What happens when meaning seems about to appear, when one thinks he has found a purpose or reason for being? Once Hamm begins to wonder and ask aloud, "Could it be that we are beginning to mean something?" This attempt to escape absurdity is undercut by Clov,, who interrupts by crying out in horror and disgust, "I have a flea!" And here again the spectator is left with an uneasy, yet familiar, feeling that he too has been going through this same sort of undercutting in life, and that in the end, even if he were to have achieved a "plot" for his life, this would be undercut by death.

Leslie Mason

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A Day Possessed "We possess this day; it is a tool in our hands.

We must shape it to our use for the good of the world," Decided Paul.

Marie smiled her enthusiasm, and felt a Queen to conquer all evil as she sat upon her throne of patched plastic cushion.

"Forget tomorrow, live for today.

Consider the lilies." Marie and Paul raced down the steps, Poor but Rich, "Crazy fools!" cried the landlady from the stinking dark at the top of the staircase.

Paul and Marie, singing in the slum sang themselves hoarse but they still sang.

They became ill but they still sang.

They became very sick but smiled so others could learn their Song.

And they died (but they knew Life) and they were buried Without a second thought other than the epitaph Tossed away and trampled on the road by an aristocrat's wife, "They possessed a day and it was wasted.

Fools!"

Beth Spilman

Young but Old, Paul and Marie stood on the corner and watched the children play their game Of punchcard aloofness and self-sufficiency; Of temporary B.A.'s: elusive paper butterflies; Of fun and lights and color and pink tooth picked olives; and hidden fears and inner cryings For someone Anyone.

"Who are these fools?" muttered an old cripple.

(Marie and Paul greeted and shook hands with all on the sidewalk and all escaped with profound expressions.)

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Elegy to an Old Mountain Man

I have seen you, Flashing by my window at sixty miles an hour You just look down, almost humbly with your gristled beard And your dirty tweed hat pulled over your eyes Stumbling on an old hickory cane you can only watch as my tail lights grow smaller like the fixed gaze of some retreating demon Maybe you remember, when this highway, like some huge black and yellow snake, wasn't here on your green mountains your Father would probably have cried And the people; turning by in their shiny machines, hurling beer cans and coke bottles at you, I don't blame the disgust in your eyes And next time I come by Look up, it will be me Looking down Alson Cornell

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37

Whenever Summer Was

The boy was always petulant Picking his tiny wounds and Drawing bathroom signs For the summer school, Chasing the poodle-clipped Lady about her genial errands.

I saw her once kiss him----­ His helpless supine state was Irresistible. He shot his hand As if to grab her to him, Even hold her there.

"Oedipal, undoubtedly," They said; B.ut I knew that he was too young To feel the sting of love's delay.

Memory's thing----­ But that hand----uld , Swings back my rational self To know that for one brief moment, Whenever summer was, that tender Pea vine lips brought Life to Love.

Carl Martin Hames

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THE JESUS REVOLUTION: AN OLD-AGE REVIVAL IN A MODERN WORLD

!Q

The Jesus Revolution, a religious revival beginning in 1967, has the same characteristics as previous religious revivals in the United States. Furthermore, many of the movement's mannerisms even date back to the first century church. Activities and beliefs can be likened to upsurges of religious fervors in centuries past. In fact, no single century has passed without the occurrence of a major revival.

Many consider the Jesus Revolution as strangely unique, over-emotional, superficial, and faddish. Yet remarks concerning the movement by prominent theologians negate this supposition. Ronald Knox who, in the article "Enthusiasm," set out to expose the heresies of religious enthusiasts, concluded by praising their spirit.1 A leading Roman Catholic theologian said recently that "America is on the verge of the greatest religious revival in its history _2 In an article in Time Magazine can be found the comment, "Some say we are on the threshold of the greatest spiritual revival the United States has ever experienced."3 John Bisagna, well-known clergyman in Houston, Texas ' says,"My concern is that the staid, traditional churches will reject these kids and miss the most genuine revival of our lifetime." 4 Spiritual revivals are a longstanding American tradition. Few people are ignorant of the Great Awakening in the 1740's led by George Whitefield and Jonathan Edwards. Frontier camp meetings existed at the beginning of the 19th century. Then, of course, there was the great revival of the 1850's. No one can deny the impact of the Pentecostal explosion on early 20th century America. These, as well as many other minor spiritual rebirths, have indeed influenced our present zest for a religious experience. This influence is not restrictive but, rather, ecumenical in nature, affecting the Protestants, Roman C atholics, and jewish alike. It has cut across nearly all social _ d1v1ding lines; Jesus rev1val1sts express the movement's philosophy in this way: "We are all brothers in Christ"5 and "Everyman is a priest :o his fellow man."6 Ashamed and outraged by the racial �re1ud1ces of many of their elders, the Jesus people eagerly engage in interracial evangelistic witness. The effectiveness of past revivals has also stemmed from their appeal to the majority. In his book, The Great A wakening in Virginia, Wesley Gewehr writes:

Looking into the causes of this great popular religious movement [The Baptist revival of the late 18th century] we note, first of all, the fact that the Baptists presented the great evangelical movement in the way which appealed most strongly to the masses. They [ wandering preachers] stood in sharp contrast to the clergy of the Establishment, and their sermons were the burning appeal of enthusiasts.

Their gospel, based on the principle of direct, personal communication with God, stirred to the core masses who had hitherto been unreached by the Establishment."7 In his book Evangelism in a Changing World, A. Moody declares: Billy Sunday is the almost perfect illustration of adapting your language to your crowd and talking so as to be understood by all.B The Jesus Revolution is reaching masses of young people of our time. Reverend Billy Graham points out that "Even hundreds of ministers are joining the Jesus Revolution."9 Preachers are coming to the realization that their sermons are not reaching the spiritually-hungry young people of their congregations. James MacDonald, in his summation of Jesus Freaks, admits that many "point a firm finger of condemnation at phony Christianity which they see in most churches."1 0 Pastors are seeing the need to turn to the "personal religion" America has lost.

It has been recorded that in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Reverend Dr. James Boice used an old-fashioned type of preaching and theology to inject new vigor in his fading Presbyterian Church.11 Also, traditional methods, imaginatively used, have resulted in crowded masses at New Orleans St. Francis de Sales Roman Catholic Church. I 2 This leads us to another feature of the Jesus phenomenon which is true of previous revivals - a desire to return to the Holy Scriptures. In their desire for spiritual truth, the Jesus People read the Bible with insatiable hunger. The Reverend Billy Graham states that a significant characteristic of the movement is its Biblical foundation. 13 For stronger emphasis he discloses that one former Black Panther, now a member of the movement, has already memorized most of the New Testament.14 Mandatory Bible readings are customary in many Jesus �o'!lm unes Reporters for Time Magazine have found that a Jesus : _ Freak s life 1s built upon the book of Acts and his theme is

41

spi dtuality.1 s Questions are answered with scriptural quotations. _ The1r ;11 essage 1s that the Bible is true and miracles happen. They act _ _ as if divine intervention guides their every movement and can be counted on to solve every problem. 1 6 Time Magazine states that in the movement there exists a total belief in the awesome supernatural Jesus Chri� t. 17 Reverend Billy Graham comments, "For thousands it is a genuine experience with God."1 8 Life Magazine says: These new Christians see the Bible as the irrefutably accurate word of God, solving all their problems from the cosm 1c to the trivial.1 9 "Old" Christians likewise acknowledged that their source of power was spiritual. John Wesley's power lay in the reality of an experience with God.20 Devereux Jarratt, who carried the Great Awakening to the American Anglican Church, emphasized the necessity of spiritual regeneration through faith in God.21 John Williams, a leading Separatist Baptist, recorded hearing Jarratt preach in 1771 and described his manner as warm and zealous.22 Williams' description has been used by many to describe the Jesus People. They are notably bold in their commitment and firm in their convictions. Carl F. H. Henry, a supposedly conservative evangelical theologian says "the movement possesses first century boldness."23 This see�s to verify the fact that the movement is a renewal of age-old enthusiasm. Witnessing for them 1s now common and spontaneous in an atmosphere of hope and _ lo�e. They welcome the title of Street Christian or Evangelical Hippy.

Now, it is important to realize that glossolalia has a significant place in the Jesus Revival as it did in past spiritual movements. Glossolalia refers to the spiritual gift of speaking in !ongues, a gift first bestowed upon the apostles at Pentecost. It 1s often described as a form of pr�yer that is usually a babbling _ no�-language. Here 1s an explanation of glossolalia during the Baptist revival of the late 18th century:

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In the Separate Baptist revival we note the presence of various phenomen �, both motor and sensory, such as the muscular contortions known as the "jerks" excessive trembling, falling, rolling on the ground crying' and barking like dogs.24

The strong Pentecostal emphasis of the Jesus Revolution is explained in Ramparts Magazine as a "rolling on the floor, raising of arms heavenward, and shouting."25 Jesus Freaks are afire with Pentecostal passion for sharing their visions with others.

Communal life, briefly mentioned previously, is also a distinction of the Jesus Revolution which should be discussed in light of its origin in the first century and its repetition years later. In Time Magazine the authors of the article "Street Christians" believe that "the ideal of the shared life draws much of its inspiration from the Bible."26 Many Jesus Freaks are "living in common like the early Christians."27 The Utopian religious communities of the 19th century also practiced communalism.2 8 In over six hundred communes across the United States, men and women are freely sharing their earthly goods.

Music has a vital part in the Jesus communes just as it did in previous revivals. St. Francis of Assisi of the first century, one of the great early evangelists, was called the "troubador of God" and his "Army for Jesus" spread their message by song.29 The Salvation Army will long be remembered for their street corner choruses. In 1966, John Lennon casually remarked that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus Christ; now the Beatles are shattered and George Harrison is singing "My Sweet Lord." Members of the movement, such as Johnny Cash, Eric Clapton, Paul Stookey of Peter, Paul and Mary, and Jeremy Spencer of Fleetwood Mac are expanding the revival with their ministry in song. The rock opera, "Jesus Christ Superstar" is even more popular now than when it was released in 1970.

As is true of other religious revivals, printed material is playing a major role in the Jesus Movement. Gewehr in The Great Awakening in Virginia stresses the fact that "The press became a factor of even increasing importance in the spread of the revival [ Baptist revival] ."30There are presently over fifty religious newspapers in circulation across the country. In Hollywood, the hippies publish underground religious newspapers that are psychedelic in mood yet evangelistic in thrust.31 The last significant feature of the Movement, characteristic of past revivals, is the urgent need for world evangelism motivated by the conviction that the second coming of Christ is close at hand.

The conviction of early Christians was that Doomsday is around the corner.3 2 During the late 18th century, a common Christian philosophy was as follows: "Many of the old Christians at that time believed that the knowledge of God would, in that revival, cover the face of the earth and that there would not be left in that part of the world, one soul who should remain unconverted."3 3 Says founder Bill Bright of

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the Campus Crusade for Christ "Our target date for saturating the _ _ United States w1!h the gospel of Jesus Christ is 1976 and the world by 1980. Of course 1f the Lord wants to work a bit slower, that's O.K."34 Reverend Billy Graham sees a renewed emphasis on the second coming of Jesus Christ in the Jesus Movement.3 5 According to Time Magazine the Jesus people believe the second coming is literally at hand.3 6 The "signs of the times" are their proof for such a belief. For instance smog and pollution are prophesied in Isaiah. The taking of Old Jersualem by the Jews and the admission of ten nations into the Common Market are _ also, according to the Jesus People, significant evidences of the commg of the end of time. Implications in regard to the renewal _ of apocalyptic Pentecostal spirit is, Ii kewise, considered significant. _ The Reverend Billy Graham sums it up this way:

Theologians may call the movement the greatest revival in history, but other revivals have been bestowed with the same statement of significance. Who is to say that there will not be an even greater revival in years to come? Each revival, however, does leave its mark on society, and the Jesus Revolution will be no exception. Some people will forget but many more will remember.

Sheila A. Miller

Notes 1 "The New Rebel Cry: Jesus is Coming!", Time Magozinei 21

June 1971, p. 62.

Peter spoke of Joel's prophecy of the outpouring of the spirit before "the great day of the Lord" as having been fulfilled at Pentecost. This prophecy has a double fulfillment. The first came at Pentecost; the second will occur just before "the great day of the Lord".

The Holy Spirit began his outpouring at Pentecost and continues his outpouring in spiritual renewals from time to time throughout history. But there will be a "grand finale" just before the Lord returns.3 7

2Billy Graham, Christianity Today, 5 Nov.1971, p. 4.

3 "The New Rebel Cry: Jesus is Coming!", Time Magazine, 21 June 1971, p. 62.

41bid., p. 59.

51bid., p. 62.

6"The New Ministry: Bringing God Back to Life", Time Magazine, 26 Dec. 1970, p. 40. . . . ..a.. l Wesley M. ¡GeWehr, The Great Awakenmg m V,rg1n1 1740-1790 (Gloucester, Mass. Peter Smith, 1965), p.134.

8Ambrose Moody Bailey, D.D., Evangelism in a Changing World (New York, N.Y.: Round Table Press 1936), p. 121, YBiJly Graham, Christianity Today, 5 Nov. 1971, p. 5.

10John A. MacDonald, House of Acts (Carol Stream, Ill.: Creation House, 1970}, p. 60.

11 "The New Ministry: Bringing God Back to Life", Time Ma qzine, 26 Dec, 1970, p. 40. f :.!Ibid.

13Billy Graham, Christianity Today 5 Nov. 1971, p. 5.

1

141bid.

In summary, the Jesus Revolution is nothing new. The activities and beliefs of its members all stem from other outbreaks of religious fervor. A reporter from Time Magazine affirms this thesis with the following statements:

15"Street Christians: Jesus as the Ultimate Trip/' Time Magazine, 96: 3 Aug. 1970, p. 31.

16"The New Rebel Cry: Jesus is Coming!", Time Magazine, 21 June 1971, p. 58.

171bid.

18si1Jy Graham, Christianity Today, 5 Nov. 1971, p. 4.

191bid., p. 5.

20Ambrose Moody Bailey, D.D., Evangelism in a Changing World (New York, N.Y.: Round Table Press 1936}, p. 13.

21Wesley M. Gewehr, The Great Awakening in Virginia: 1740-)790 (Gloucester, Mass. Peter Smith, 1965), p.139.

221bid.

4

They [members of the Jesus Revolution] are the latest incarnation of that old Christian phenomena: footloose, passionate bearers of the Word, preaching the kingdom of heaven among the dispossessed of the earth. Their credentials are ancient for they claim to be emulating Christ and his Disciples.3 8

23"Street Christians: Jesus as the Ultimate Trip," Time Magazine,

96: 3 Aug. 1970, p. 32.

24Wesley M. Gewehr, The Great Awakening in Virginia: 1740-1790 (Gloucester, Mass. Peter Smith, 1965), p. 11 O. 25James Nolan "Jesus Now: Hogwash and Holywater", Ra 1 Aug. 1971, p. 22. qi,f. arts, "Street Christians: Jesus as the Ultimate Trip," Time Magazine,

96: 3 Aug. 1970, p. 32.

27Phil Tracy "The Jesus Freaks: Savagery and Salvation on Sunset Strip", Commonweal, 93: 30 Oct. 1970, p. 123.

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28"T he New Ministry: Bringing God Back to Life", Time MaIJ.�zine, 26 Dec. 19701 p. 40.

Ambrose Moody Bailey, D.D.1 Evangelism in a Changing World (N York, N.Y.: Round Table Press 1936), p. 7. §)J Wesley M. Geweher, The Great Awakening in Virginia: 1740-1790 (Gloucester, Mass. Peter Smith, 1965L p.165.

3 1car/ F. H. Henry, "Evangelical Pathbreaking", Christianity To§'�, 14. 8 May 1970 1 p. 34.

"Street Christians: Jesus as the Ultimate Trip/' Time Magazine, 96:? Aug.19.70, p. 31.

3 Wesley M. Gewehr, The Great Awakening in Virginia: 17j�· 1790 (Gloucester, Mass. Peter Smith, 1965 ), p. 168.

"The New Rebel Cry: Jesus is C oming!'\ Time Magazine, 21 Ju e 1971, p. 56.

1 �Billy Graham, Christianity Today, 5 Nov. 1971, p. 5.

3 "The New Rebel Cry: Jesus is Com ing!'\ Time Magazine' 21 June1971,p.60.

37Bi1Jy Graham, Christianity Today, 5 Nov. 1971, p. 5.

38"Street Christians: Jesus as the Ultimate Trip," Time Magazine' 96: 3 Aug. 1970, p. 32.

A Selected Bibliography

Bailey 1 Ambrose Moody. Evangelism in a Changing World. New York 1 N.Y. Round Table Press, 1936.

Gewehr, Wesley M. The Great Awakening in Virginia: 1740-1790 Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith 1 1965.

Graham, Billy. "The Marks of the Jesus Movement". Christianity Today, 5 Nov. 1971, pp. 4-5.

Henry, Carl F. H. "Evangelical Pathbrcaking" Christianity Today, 14: 8 May 1970 pp. 34-5.

MacDonald, James A. The House of Acts. Carol Stream, Ill.: Creation House, 1970.

"The New Ministry: Bringing God Back to Life," Time Magazine, 26 Dec. 1970, p. 40.

"The New Rebel Cry: Jesus is Coming!" Time Magazine, 21 June 1971, pp. 56·63.

Nolan, John A. "Jesus Now: Hogwash and Holy Water," Ramparts, (Aug. 1971 ), pp. 20-26.

"Street Christians: Jesus as the Ultimate Trip," Time Magazine, 96: 3 Aug.1970, pp. 31-2.

Sweet 1 William Warren. Revivalism in America: Its Origin, Growth, and Decline. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1944.

Tracey, Phil. "The Jesus Freaks Savagery and Salvation on Sunset Strip" Commonweal, 93: 30 Oct. 1970, pp. 122-5.

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CONTRIBUTORS' NOTES

ART WORK Robert Be�kwith is a former Ferrum student majoring in ceramics at V.C.U. Margaret Edwards is a Ferrum freshman from Baton Rouge, Louisiana majoring in art.

Sue Martin (Mrs. Eric) is an occasional student at Ferrum whose interests include drawing and watercolor, handcrafts, organic culinary arts and authentic folk dancing.

Ann Rivenbark is Assistant Professor of Art at Ferrum.

PHOTOGRAPHY Phil Coleman is Director of Public Relations at Ferrum.

Richard Gardner is a Ferrum freshman whose interests include photography and handcrafts. He plans to study photography at V.C.U. this summer, and will be a dorm counselor at Ferrum in the fall.

Steven Mays is Assistant Professor of English at Ferrum. His first one­ man show in photography will open May 21, 1972 at the Town Hall Gallery of Birmingham University School in Birmingham, Alabama.

MUSIC Beth Sheets is a graduate of Ferrum and Lynchburg Colleges. She is engaged in a graduate program leading to the degree of Master of Arts in College Teaching.

Wallace Scherer is an ex-navy man and is a sophomore majoring in piano at Ferrum. After completing his undergraduate program at Appalachian State, he plans to be a band director.

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POETRY Alson Cornell is a Ferrum freshman planning to major in wildlife biology or ecology at O.D.U. He writes poetry "primarily for enjoyment."

Arthur Davis is a former Ferrum student majoring in English at Roanoke College.

Mike Guthrie is a sophomore at Ferrum. Next year he plans to attend the University of Tennessee to study pharmacy.

Carl Martin Hames is Dean of Faculty at Birmingham University School where he teaches English and history, and serves as founder/director of the Town Hall Gallery. His poem "The Masonic Funeral" won for him the Hackney Literary Award of the Birmingham Festival of Arts.

Fran Johnson is Assistant Professor of English at Ferrum College.

Joe May is a freshman from Charlottesville, Virginia and writes as a hobby. He is majoring in Liberal Arts.

Arletha Schon Mayo is a Ferrum sophomore from Fort Belvoir Virginia. She plans to major in social work at Madison College.

Beth Spilman is a Ferrum freshman majoring in Education. She hopes to attend Madison College where she will minor in journalism. She is also a member of Ferrum's touring musical group, Life.

PROSE Leslie Mason, a sophomore from Lynchburg, Va., plans to major in English at the College of William and Mary.

Sheila Miller is a freshman who has been living with her family in England for the past few years. She plans to return to England after graduation from Ferrum to enter an academic program focusing on philosophy and religion.

Beth Spilman also writes prose.

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CHRYSALIS STAFF

PATRONS

Brenda Bailey Judy Brown Ben Bryant Robert Evans Rick Gardener Cindy Kerns Marshall Price Charley Ramsey Becky Reynolds Linda Roszak Kathy Whiteside

Mr. Thomas H. Lewis Mrs. Joseph Copley ADVISORS

Fran Johnson Steven Mays Ann Rivenbark

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