p H 0 E N 1 X March 6, 1964 Literary Supplement to The Orange & White
Vol. 59, No. 39
Instructions For Contributing To The Phoenix •
Type all manuscripts on one side of the paper only, preferably on yellow copy paper.
Double-space all manuscripts.
Keep paragraphs to an average of 75 words if possible. Short para graphs look better in columns.
Mail contributions to The Phoenix, Box 8690, University Station, Knoxville, Tenn., 37916.
Mark in the lower left-hand corner of the mailing envelope the department (fiction, non-fiction, poetry, etc.) to which the con tribution is directed.
If you wish your manuscript returned, include a stamped, self-ad dressed envelope (large enough).
Note: If you have an idea for an article, you are invited to write us a letter asking if we would be interested in an article on the subject you have in mind.
For the spring issue of The Phoenix, all manuscripts should be in our hands by April 30.
Please include, on a separate sheet, some biographical data about yourself and the telephone number at which you can be reached.
About the Art in This Issue The illustration on the front cover is the work of Xavier Ironside, a junior in Liberal Arts. The cartoons appearing on pages 18, 20, and 28 are the work of Professor W. F. Loy of the Fine Arts Department.
Advisors Business: PROF. FRANK B. THORNBURG Editorial: GEORGE T. WRIGHT
The Phoenix Cover design by Xavier Ironside
Columns and News 14 14 18
Editor’s Comment Area Events English Department Announces Contest
18 20 24 26 27 16
Happy Ending, by James F. Davidson Minor Phrase, by Ronald Stottlemyer Portrait of a Lady, by Curtis L. Harris After Paper Grading, by George T. Wright My Nurse, by Stephen S. N. Liu Translation of “Es ragt ins Meer der Runenstein,” by Bruce Parrish
Kate Becomes a Chemist; Or the Two Faces of Henry, by Lynna Thomas
The History of Carousel, by Cyn L. Ricketson
T H E
On Holmes and Humor: A Breakfast-table Discussion, by Linda Wilbanks Hawthorne’s Use of Portraits in The House of the Seven Gables, by Bruce Parrish.
Transcendentalism in the Modern World, by Sharon Matti
0 E N
EDITOR Patricia Sutherland
SECTION EDITORS Fiction Jo Ann Marinelli Curtis L. Harris Poetry Bernie Leggett Art Melinda Kirk
STAFF Business Manager ________________ ______________ Dorothy Conger Advertising Assistant ______________ _________________ Tom Dickens Circulation ________________________ ______________ Alice Waggoner Publicity Carolyn Austin Managing Editor ,Tudv Fagg Makp-iip Cynthia Ricketson Copy Reader_______________________ ___________________ Pam Saylor Typist____________ _______________ _____ ____________ Diane Knies The Phoenix is published quarterly by students at the University of Tennessee as a literary supplement to the Orange & White. Separate copies are sold for fifteen cents. CONTRIBUTIONS or any correspondence intended for The Phoenix should be addressed to the appropriate staff member or to the editor at Box 8690, Univer sity Station, Knoxville, Tennessee, 37916. The inside front cover gives complete instructions for preparing manuscripts for submission to The Phoenix.
March 6,1964 Literary Supplement to The Orange
Vol. 59, No. 39
Editor's Comment Once again we present you with what we call the “new” Phoenix; however, this time it is more “fact” than it is “statement.” Not ignoring the tradition of our forebears but at the same time, not allowing ourselves to stagnate in old ways, our ultimate aim is to progress in the quality of material presented in this literary magazine. With somewhat the same idea in mind, almost five years ago two faculty members and several Tennessee students began plans for a campus literary magazine. In May of 1959, Dr. Robert Daniels of the English Department and Prof. Frank Thornburg of the School of Journalism sub mitted the students’ proposals to the Publications Council, which subsequently approved and passed them. The maga zine was to be published each quarter as a supplement to The Orange and White, receiving financial aid from the Council until it should prove self-supporting. The now familiar name. The Phoenix, was suggested by Dr. Daniels after the legendary Arabian bird, a long-stand ing literary symbol. The Phoenix is a self-regenerating phe nomenon since each succeeding bird grows from the ashes of its predecessor. In October, 1959, six months after the planning began, the first issue of The Phoenix appeared with the following editorial: We dedicate the first issue of The Phoenix to you, the students and faculty of the University of Tennessee. Rising from the flames of challenge. The Phoenix offers you an opportunity to participate directly in the literary experience as contributors and readers. Thus we hope to encourage the creation and appreciation of literature and the arts at the University . . . We are neither Beatniks nor Traditionalists. We will consider all material which is submitted to us and we will publish only that which is of high quality and good taste. There have been times in which The Phoenix has fal len from these concepts, but never for long. Those who know of The Phoenix have complained but rarely con tributed, while those who have asked, “What is it?” have for the most part received no answer. In the end, who is to blame? The Phoenix as it stands can claim no distinction except that of being a financial drain on the income of other campus publications.
eatef Gatlinburg’s 2001-seat Hunter Hills Theater, the scene in the last few years of “Chucky Jack,” will be used in the summer for a series of outdoor Summer Music Festival opera and comedy productions to be sponsored by the School of Music, Union College, in Barbourville, Kentucky. Plans call for faculty members of the Methodist college to conduct classes under the 120*-foot wide stage of the out door amphitheater while simultaneously offering the stu dents practical dramatic experience in such productions as “Oklahoma,” “Tosca,” and “The Student Prince.” The academic study and internship training will be held from June 29 to August 28. Broadway and Metropolitan Opera Company stars will probably have the lead roles in the nightly performances, scheduled for June 20 through September 7. Top music students from throughout the nation will form the nucleus of the productions, with the students fill ing the orchestra and minor roles in all productions. Contracts for the use of the theater have been signed by Union College officials and R. L. Maples of Gatlinburg. Maples is owner of the theater. Dr. Donald Maxwell is director of the Fe.stival and the Union College School of Music. Tentatively scheduled are “Oklahoma,” a Rodgers-Hammerstein musical, for two nights weekly; a musical comedy, “The Student Prince,” to be presented by students two nights a tveek; and on Sundays, special religious programs with such performers as Mahalia Jackson and George Bev erly Shea, one of the Billy Graham singers. The outdoor theater was not being used last year, but a series of name performers made appearances there in 1962. Hunter Hills was built several years ago for the presenta tion of the Kermit Hunter play, “Chucky Jack,” depicting the life of John Sevier, the first governor of Tennessee. On the UT campus. Carousel’s Children’s Theater will present an adaptation of “Winnie the Pooh,” directed by Sherburn Barber, March 9 through 13. No regular Carousel or UT Theater productions are scheduled for March. How ever, the fourth Carousel play, “Anniversary Waltz,” a comedy, began February 26 and runs through tonight. An other Children’s Theater production, “Alice in Wonderland,” is scheduled for April 6 through 10. Guy Keeton will direct the play.
With these things in mind, about two months ago a group of staff members and other interested students con ceived the idea for the addition of two new staffs for the magazine’s business and mechanical areas. From this basic innovation has come increased support and interest in The Phoenix. In two months the enthusiasm about The Phoenix has surpassed that of any time in its short history.
On April 14, Abingdon, Virginia’s Barter Theater will present a fully staged production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” April marks the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth. The Knoxville Symphony will accompany the produc tion with Mendelssohn’s “Incidental Music.” This perform ance will begin at 8:15 in the Civic Auditorium.
Student response has increased to the extent of per sonal deliveries of material. Previously this was an un known phenomenon. Faculty members have contributed. The Publications Council has approved the new staff and is aiding in the securing of permanent office space, and members of the University administration are giving whole hearted support. This is more than we ever expected. In keeping with this new attitude, the staff is trying to present a better magazine, and any help or comments will be more than welcome from students and the faculty.
Henrik Ibsen’s “Hedda Gabler,” the classic dramatic, psychological study of a woman, has been cast by the Mary ville College Playhouse and rehearsals are under way for the March 13 and 14 performances. Ibsen, a Norwegian dramatist writing in the last cen tury, first opened for the theater many of the social prob lems still confronting the contemporary world. “Hedda Gab ler” is the study of the “new women” of Ibsen’s day—women who are intelligent but coldly calculating and selfish. (Continued on Page 29)
THE HISTORY OF CAROUSEL By Cyn Ricketson A simple idea which blossomed in the spring of 1951, an experiment with a T-shaped tent, and lively enthusiasm produced a landmark on the University of Tennessee’s campus at Knoxville. The landmark’s twelve and one-half years of existence has given birth to an institution. It has become one of Knoxville’s major cultural attractions for both the city and the University communities. The landmark is a whimsical, wildly colored little building on the corner of Rose Avenue and Seventeenth Street. The simple idea which blossomed in the spring of 1951 bore Carousel Thea tre as its fruit. And Carousel Theatre is indeed both a landmark and an insti tution. A Need Is Felt For many years previous to the spring of 1951, UT Theatre had been staging three plays a year at the old and homely Bijou Theatre on Gay Street. Knoxville citizens interested in a community theatre, however, had already indicated a desire for a joint University-community theatrical proj ect. Knoxville’s years of theatrical hus tle—back when Staub and Imperial theatres presented some of America’s greatest dramatic performers—had passed, and Knoxvillian’s were appar ently missing their Broadway. The expressed desire for such a proj ect gave impetus to the development of the Carousel concept, and the first real step in the direction of Universitycommunity theatrical cooperation was the joint production in the winter of 1951 of Clare Booth Luce’s The Women at the Bijou Theatre. Dr. Paul L. Soper, Carousel’s execu tive director, has since written that uniting civic talent and promotion with University facilities and staff work convinced the participants in The Women that this type of coordination should be made use of on a permanent basis. Following this first cooperative ef fort, Professor Fred Fields of UT Thea tre and Dr. Soper made plans to org anize a Community-University group to operate an arena type theatre dur
ing the summer of 1951. It was decided that productions would be staged in a tent constructed by volunteer workers and financed by gate receipts. Carousel Opens Shop The tent which was subsequently raised was shaped like a T and was located on the site of the present Car ousel building. The tent, specially de signed for Carousel by Sam Good, a local engineer, had a seating capacity of 300. Five sets of bleachers borrow ed from the athletic department were in four sections inside the tent. In that large tent. Carousel Theatre had its first theatrical season. The season was six weeks’ duration, during which time four plays with a totarl of 25 perform ances were presented. On June 27, 1951, Carousel staged its opening presentation. Moss Hart’s play. Light Up The Sky, under Fields’ di rection. Carousel got off to a good start fi nancially, as is indicated by statements made in the play bills. Each of the four plays of the first season had two added performances because of the great demand for tickets. In the play bill for Light Up The Sky, Carousel expressed gratitude “to more than 150 persons who have given financial sup port as patrons of the Carousel.” (A Carousel patron is a person who pays ten dollars or more for a season ticket.) Carousel no longer appeals for patrons, but some persons continue to send in more money than is necessary for the purchase of a season ticket. Permanent Building Desired According to an article by Dr. Soper on file in the Carousel office, attend ance in the summer of 1951 was so good that the Carousel staff decided to raise funds for a permanent build ing. They at first thought in terms of a barracks-like structure in the price range of between $10,000 and $15,000. Dr. Soper, however, soon be gan to get a pretty good idea of what he wanted, and he began investigating possibilities through corresponding with several firms about laminated wood arches. Later and architect with TVA, Fred
erick Roth contributed a building de sign which suited Dr. Soper’s fancy. Roth’s design called for an octagonal auditorium, eighty-four feet in diame ter and a corridor going around the outer edge of the octagon and a series of circular levels grading downward to the round stage area in the center of the auditorium. From the peak of the roof eight laminated wood arches would reach out like curved spokes on a bicycle wheel to eight posts which would serve to support the structure. The unusual feature of the building design was the walls whose panels were designed so that they could be easily removed to convert the building into an open-air theatre for summer performances. Roth constructed a model of the building he had designed, and it was presented to the UT Board of Trustees in hopes that the Board would auth orize the University to lend Carousel money to put up the building. Happily the Board approved a loan of $35,000 for the construction. The V. L. Nichol son Company said it could build the theatre for $40,000. The problem of raising $5,000 would look like an ob stacle to less daring enterprisers, but within two weeks the needed sum had been raised through community con tributions by a committee headed by Mrs. Elizabeth Rike, Mrs. Barbara Gen try, both of whom were on Carousel’s first advisory board, and Miss Billie Harris, the theatre’s secretary. Construction Begins Construction began in mid-April of 1952, and within six weeks the build ing was ready for occupancy. When the proud tenants took possession, the theatre had its essentials—an auditori um, passages, a properties room which doubled as a dressing room, and rest rooms. While in the tent. Carousel had had to use the restroom facilities of the nearby Sigma Nu house. Walls were not among the essentials in the summer months. The proceeds of the 1952 summer season permitted the beginning of the second stage of construction, complet ed by November. At the completion
of this stage, the office-foyer and the winter wall assembly had been added. The theatre had thus made provision for performances on cold winter nights. In the spring of 1953, the make-up rooms, dressing rooms, and storage rooms were added. Upon completion, the Carousel Thea tre had a seating capacity of 350. The bright and comfortable red and green seats were separated from the corri dor by full-length green drapes. To allow for audience seating and players’ entrances and exits, four aisles went from the corridor and make-up wing to the playing area. The external side of the walls was decorated with a colorful, modernistic mural. Professor Designed Murals The swirling green, red, white, blue, and black masses which form the de sign of the Carousel murals suggest the movement of wooden ponies on an amusement park carousel. The murals were designed by Joseph H. Cox, form erly an associate professor in Fine Arts at UT. Professor Cox explained that in designing the murals he “at tempted to provide designs as contem porary and unique as the theatre it self.” “Traditional forms,” he said, “would have been as out of place on the Car ousel as the Carousel designs would be on Ayres Hall.” The artist explained that in the mur als, he tried to cause the observer to feel gaiety, anticipation, and festivity. He also said that he was attempting to make the octagonal-shaped building appear rounder when seen from a dis tance. The important thing in the murals, he explained, is the mood they evoke. Debts Paid Off The total plant investment for Carousel at this point was $73,000. In the winter of 1956 Carousel Theatre finished paying off its debts, five years before it was necessary to have com pleted repayment of the loan issued by the University. The title to the property on which Carousel Theatre stands is held by the University, and the University keeps Carousel’s budget as a separate self-sustaining account. Carousel is now “essentially selfsupporting.” Its annual operating and maintenance costs amount to some $45,000. These costs, include the sala ries of the directors and technical staff, insurance, building maintenance, play royalties, usual play production costs, publicity expenses, utility charges, and in recent seasons the expenses for po
lice services in the adjoining parking lot. By January of 1964—almost thirteen years after the building opened—the theatre had grossed approximately a half million dollars and had cleared $65,000 in profit, which is deposited in a building fund. Carousel also had in its possession $100,000 in physical plant and permanent equipment. Plays Presented Carousel plays have been varied in scope. They generally are not classical plays as are many of the UT Theatre productions. Guys and Dolls had the longest run in Carousel history. An interesting play in Carousel annals is one that was written and directed by Dr. Soper called Once Upon a Town. It ran for fourteen nights in March and
'Es ragt ins Meer der Runenstein' By HEINRICH HEINE Es ragt ins Meer der Runenstein, da sitz ich mit meinen Traumen. Es pfeift der Wind, die Mowen schrein, die Wellen, die wandern und schaumen. Ich habe geliebt manch schones Kind und manchen guten Gesellen— Wo Sind sie hin? Es pfeift der Wind, es schaumen und wandern die Wellen. TRANSLATION: From the surging sea the Rune-stone juts. Where I sit with my dreams. The wind howls, the seagull shrieks. The breakers wallow and foam. I have loved many beautiful girls And many a good-hearted fellow. Where are they now? The wind howls. The breakers foam and wallow.
—By Bruce Parrish
April of 1957, establishing a record at that time. The play is about a city manager who went into office and did such a thorough job he was fired. Dr. Soper explains that he started the play with the idea that it applied to Knoxville, and he confesses, “There is a councilman in the play who resem bles Cas Walker—notably in his bad diction.” In addition to regular plays—or rather plays Which are typical for Carousel — special productions are sometimes staged. One such special production was a “reading perform ance” of T. S. Eliot’s The Cocktail Party, presented in March of 1956. The Children’s Theatre is another project under the auspices of Carousel. The Children’s Theatre gives three plays a year with the cooperation of the city and county schools. For each play, fifteen matinee performances are given in a one-week period. Approxi mately 6,000 area youngsters attend the plays, but a much larger number would like to come. From 1955 until 1962, Carousel and the West Knoxville Kiwanis Club co sponsored a statewide playwriting con test, and during those eight years Carousel annually produced the top three entries with judges from UT in the audience to select first-, second-, and third-place winners. The proceeds from the contest productions went to ward a scholarship fund for students in theatre at the University of Tenn essee. Another annual Carousel play writing contest might be started in the next few years. Art Exhibited The walls of Carousel Theatre were designed so that paintings could be exhibited on them. At Carousel’s first winter performance (November 1952), twelve paintings by Grady Kimsey, one of the first two students to have en rolled in UT’s Fine Arts Department, were exhibited.
Carousel playbills have not changed very much since the first season. The usual playbill has a picture of a carou sel in the upper left-hand corner of the front cover, the design being the work of Bob Cothran. However, oc casionally there is a striking variation such as last summer’s playbill for Bye, Bye, Birdie. This one had a solid red background with the title printed in white in modernistic lettering. When the murals for the outer walls had just been completed, the playbill used the mural theme on the cover. The most noteworthy change in the playbills has been in their increasing use of descriptive detail concerning the plays being produced and in introduc ing the cast. The first time a Carousel playbill introduced a cast at all was in February of 1953. Some Become Professionals For both Carousel Theatre and UT Theatre productions, the actors come from the Knoxville community as well as from the University. Although no students are required to work in Carousel productions, some course credit can be obtained by the students who direct or act in the theatre. Some of the past participants have gone on to professional acting. Collin Wilcox, whose father was a professor in the College of Business at UT, participated in Carousel while she was a student at the University. Miss Wilcox has since played in Broadway shows and on television network plays. She play ed in the London production of Tenn essee Williams’ Pride and Prejudice, and she had a leading role in a Chica go production of Arthur Miller’s A View from a Bridge. On television Miss Wilcox has had roles in “The Defenders.” Another former Carousel actor, John Cullum of Knoxville, has since his college days played Laertes in the On tario production of Hamlet, which starred Richard Burton as the Danish prince. In New York, Cullum played Sir Mordred in Camelot. Last year he had a minor role in the movie All the Way Home, filmed in Knoxville. And, like Miss Wilcox, Cullum has played in “The Defenders.” Different from UT Theatre Students frequently ask what the difference is between Carousel Theatre and UT Theatre. There are four basic differences: (1) UT Theatre is subsi dized by the University, and Carousel is “essentially self-supporting.” (2) UT Theatre usually presents plays of more literary distinction which do not have as much popular appeal as Carousel
plays. (3) UT Theatre’s staff is com prised entirely of University person nel. (4) UT Theatre is purely a Uni versity enterprise, while Carousel is a University-community project. The Carousel building is used for produc tions of both Carousel Theatre and UT Theatre. The fact that Carousel is a theatre-in-the-round has given it distinct ad vantages and disadvantages. On the minus side, the sets are limited be cause they must be quite low. There is also the problem of lighting. When the playing area is lighted, the audi ence is somewhat in the spotlight which tends to inhibit the spectators from letting go with emotions. Also, because the audience surrounds the action, the players must move around much more than is necessary on a proscenium stage. Dr. Soper says, how ever, that only about one in ten of the plays Carousel would like to do has to be rejected because of limitations im posed by the characteristics of the theatre. The major advantage of the theatrein-the-round is the intimacy that ex ists between the players and the audi ence. The proximity of the seats to the action gives a Carousel audience considerable advantage as far as seeing and hearing are concerned. Every seat is practically a ringside seat.
Accidents Will Happen The intimacy of the audience and actors has resulted in several interest ing incidents. Frequently persons in the audience have used ash trays that belonged to the set. On one occasion there was a specific reference in a play’s dialogue to the number of cig arette butts in the ash tray on the table. But one look at the ash tray revealed an obvious discrepancy be tween the statement and the actuality. In a play called Happy Time, Dr. Soper was playing a part in which he was supposed to go to a table and pick up a pair of roller skates. He had to retrieve the skates from a little girl in the audience who had been charmed by the toys that were so temptingly close. On another occasion a professor placed his coat and hat on a book case in the set where they remained for the duration of the performance. Frequently latecomers have appeared on one of the landings being used as a part of the set—to the embarrassment of the straggler and the players. The adaptability of theatre-in-theround was illustrated in last month’s production by UT Theatre of Henry IV, Part I. In that play, the audience did not surround the acting area com pletely, as is customary. The effect (Continued on Page 28)
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Happy Ending Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn, Grew stout as he assailed the seasons; He glowed aloud to have been born With copious reasons. Miniver loved the days of old When people had much neater battles; He counted death by hundredfold, But not the rattles. Miniver cursed the commonplace With relish, when he heard or read it; Unless it had a simple grace. And he had said it. Miniver loved the Medici With some remains of youthful passion; He lived with them incessantly. Domestic-fashion. Miniver scorned the gold he sought. But gleaned him still sufficient ration. In fact, he seldom had a thought Without foundation. One minor cross was addlepates With whom his name was some times hyphened. Miniver argued with the fates And drew his stipend.
—By James F. Davidson
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English Department Announces Contest The English Department has an nounced its annual creative writing awards contest with awards in three categories—poetry, fiction, and literary criticism. The Bain-Swiggett Award of $50 will be given for the best poem. The best short story will take the Robert Arn old Burke Award of $40, and the $40 Eleanor Richards Burke Award will go to the author of the winning literary criticism. Last year’s winners were short story: Fred Offutt’s “The Piano”; poetry: Frank Steele’s “While Coming Spring Shoots Fireworks”; literary criticism; Jimmy Clemmer’s “Emily, Eliot, and Existentialism.” Deadline for the contest is March 28. Entries must be in Ayres Hall 127 by noon. General terms of the awards are: Any student regularly enrolled in the University of Tennesse during any quarter of the 1963-64 school year is eligible to enter the contest. Any student may enter no more than one short story, one piece of literary criticism, and three poems. All manuscripts must be typed, on one side of the paper; no manuscript will be returned.
Each entry in each contest should be identified by a pseudonym, and each contestant should submit also, in a sealed envelope, a note identifying the owner of the pseudonym. The English Department will appoint at least three judges for each contest. No piece may be submitted that is not original or that has been published or accepted for publication elsewhere, including The Phoenix. All three winning pieces will be published in the spring issue of The Phoenix. Specific requirements for poetry are: English translations of poems in oth er languages and modernizations of Old or Middle English poems will be eligible. All poetry “must conform to the standards of traditional English verse.” According to the donors of the award, free verse does not fulfill this condi tion. The suggested maximum length for any poem is 200 lines. It is suggested that any short story submitted be between 2,000 and 5,000 words long. Requirements for literary criticism are: The maximum length suggested is 3,000 words.
On Holmes and Humor: A Breakfast-table Discussion By Linda Wilbanks As the other residents of the board ing house filed into the ample dining room, I waited in the entrance until they took their usual places. I had taken residence in the home only the day before and did not want to begin my first breakfast by claiming one’s established seat. I lingered only a moment, then approached the table and took the vacant chair across from a pleasant looking elderly gentleman. —Good morning—I spoke and found the company friendly enough to re spond to my greeting. (I have found in any gathering of people of different stations of life a wide diversity of types. As my land lady introduced me to faces around the table, I glanced from the elderly gen tleman, to a young scholarly looking man, to a youth, to a girl with blond ringlets, to another man of seemingly less station, to my familiar landlady. The group remained silent and con tinued to eat for about ten minutes— which seemed an eternity because of their curious stares. At length the young scholarly looking man spoke.) —What is your profession. Miss—? What brings you to our neighborhood? —I am continuing my studies at the university here. I was told by a recent boarder of the vacancy in this home. (Upon this remark, the group be came attentive and interested. The elderly gentleman spoke next.) —So you had the pleasure of ac quaintance with Dr. Holmes. —I’m afraid I know him only through my studies at the university—I an swered.—He is a gentleman of intelli gence and dignity. (The others nodded in agreement and seemed anxious to discuss my pre decessor before the table. The young
man who had revealed himself to be a Divinity student spoke first.) —Indeed he was a man of great intelligence as you say. But his knowl edge surpasses mere medical and schol arly facts for he was informed about many areas of life. His experience in many fields was diverse. From your chair he commanded an interesting discussion, that is, in an autocratic manner. Dr. Holmes was a fluid con versationalist while at the table and could discuss travel, poetry, philoso phy, and many areas of learning. How ever, he could be at times worldly and somewhat an agnostic and many of his remarks on min— —He wasn’t a bad fellow, now— interrupted the other young man, call ed John. Oh, he could be a snob at times about proper family and their portraits. Didn’t think much of a selfmade man. He was indeed an aristo crat himself. —He was a very nice man and was always agreeable about helping me with my French lessons—said Benja min Franklin, the landlady’s young son. —He seemed to understand poetry and the finer things in life—spoke the landlady’s daughter as she directed her glance to John. —A very well-mannered and kind man was Dr. Holmes—spoke the land lady herself.—He always paid promptly and appreciated things folks would do for him. Yes, mainly he was kind. Some folks don’t have that kind of appreciation, for services you do for them. (As she spoke these lines, she di rected her words at John in some dis dain. I noticed what appeared to be a romantic relationship between him
and her daughter.)' —He must have been a remarkable boarder and wonderful person from what you say about him. I have great respect for kindness and it does one good to see a person remembered for this quality. (These remarks were well received by the other boarders, and I felt my self admitted to their breakfast socie ty. I noticed that the elderly gentle man had not spoken of my predecessor. He began to speak.) —It is true that he was a man of the accomplishments and qualities which you have attributed to him. He was also a man who cherished memories of the past as myself. But I think his greatest virtue by all means was his cleverness of mind and humorous abil ity to relate with great wit. (Upon this remark, the conversation ended for the morning, as it was necessary for the group to go about their daily business. The next morning at breakfast the elderly gentleman continued his dis cussion.) —As I was saying, he presided over the table with a naturalness of wit. “With breakfast-table clarity” he would shift from one topic of discussion to another. His humor varied from pleas antly sentimental remarks of the “homespun” philosopher to the irony and satire of one attacking the institu-
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tions of society. One had the feeling when hearing these witticisms that he had known or thought them before. —Being of sentimental nature my self, I favor that brand of humor which recalls with familiar wit the bygone days. Dr. Holmes once let me read his poem about a woman I had known, his aunt. Entitled “My Aunt,” the poem tells of the “sad, ungathered rose” of his family whose waist “is ampler than her life, for life is but a span” and who refused glasses though “through a double convex lens./She just makes out to spell.” He also wrote of his grandfather in a poem called “One-hoss Shay” which he used to rep resent old, dry Calvinism that like the shay “went to pieces all at once” after one hundred years. I guess times and needs change as we pass on. His poem “The Last Leaf” reminds one with kindly humor of the old timers like myself who are “the last leaf upon a tree”; this man is laughed at for wear ing “the old three-cornered hat” and breeches which look so odd to this gen eration. —I also enjoyed his humorous poetry that he read to us, especially the poem “Contentment” which relates with iron ical wit how life has made men forget the meaning of simple things. He wishes merely a “hut of plain stone”— fashionable brown stone; cares not much for gold—provided he is sup plied with stocks, mortgage, and “a little more” that he should spend, and desires only a share of luxuries. I en joyed also his “Latterday Warnings” which describes a perfect world that never is to come. It tells us to “Then order your ascention robe” when “leg islators keep the law,” “preachers tell us all they think,/And party leaders all they mean,” and when “lawyers give what they would take.” (The elderly gentleman had become very excited while relating the poetry. He looked around at the others who were holding back their amusement, grew red, and turned the discussion over to another. The Divinity student began.) —He revealed with humorous truths lessons on qualities and character. With With intelligence and wit he spoke these lessons. On frugality, he said: “Put not your trust in money, but put your money in trust.” On honesty, he spoke: “Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.” On quality of language, he wrote that slang expressions “are the blank checks of intellectual bankruptcy . . . there are no funds in the treasury upon which (Continued on Page 22)
TRANSCENDENTALISM IN THE MODERN WORLD By Sharon Matti Transcendentalism is the call to con viction and courage in an apathyclouded world where conformity is king. The essence of intensive faith, it is the incentive to immediate action. Above all, it is the feeling that a man may meet God face to face and that thereafter the acts of his every day must reflect that proud awakening. The transcendentalist is a man who senses his innate worth in a world of things and acts accordingly. Come direct from the heart of God, he is ruled by what he is—not what society attempts to make of him. He is indeed the man who has broken free from the chains of circumstance to remake the world in which he is, but is not of. He is a man apart, a man who has transcended the mere physical process of living to partake of the fullness of Life itself. He has faced the power behind all being and knows that its currents run through him also. He is a dynamo moved by the wind, a mill propelled by the water, a wheel turned by the power of God. Knowing with out fear the force that is, he utilizes it to charge his life with meaning, to fill his soul with power. The earth is charged with the glory of God; and his life transforms that wasting, un used force to concrete, incorruptible existence and action. Modern man is quite another crea ture. It has been said of him that he does not act but is instead acted out by forces beyond his control. He does not harness power but is instead a vector in a field of forces, going the way of strongest tension and least re sistance. More than anything else, modern man is become a pawn—ex pendable and without will or inner direction—who because of the rules of the game can only go one way. The black and whiteness of moral respons ibility is obscurred in the terrible gray of going along with the tide. Even when he is aware: of the poles of right and wrong, the attraction to truth is obliviated; and the course of compro mise seems the most comfortable route. And why this sad state of affairs? Man has been told of his meaningless ness for so long that he has come to be almost embarrassed at what he is. Science, psychology, and zoology have pooled their efforts in this area; man.
“proud man,” has defined his worth away. Evolution has traced our entrance into the scheme of things from acci dental inception—a mere fluke of dustdance in the sunbeams—to our ape ancestry and sees no pattern in the creation, no progression in our coming to be—no working out of Will, only the blind fumblings of accident and change. At best, man is an organism with a manipulative thumb, an animal adept at destroying and bragging about it, a hairless ape capable of making plans. Strong is the will and individuality indeed of a man who can look at such a conception and not say, “so what?” Perhaps it is from the apathy so en gendered that our insensitivity to the worth of individual life has come. Pur poseless pawns in the purblind power of an impersonal universe, why should we not destroy ourselves in a massive blast of doom-dealing destruction? Gone is the great bright wonder of the days when the world seemed formed for man, whom Reason render ed master over all. Then it seems that every part was a piece of a precious whole, and the end of the whole was man’s pleasure. The only sure thing in our modern world is that nothing, nowhere, is cer tain. The only law is the law of change. All is suspect, except suspicion. All is to be examined, except the idea of examination. Nothing is to be tak en on faith, except the fact that faith is not feasible. There is nothing we can point to and declare perfect. Love is a synonym for sex. Friendship reeks with homosex uality, while mother love is tainted with incest. Ideals are deemed dreams. Religious feeling is certainly unsophis ticated and quite probably neurotic; and God, once the essence of that which we adore, has become the com posite of that which we have feared. We have become a world of hollow men-—a shadowy procession of ids and egos, connected with a dollar’s worth of chemicals. As T. S. Eliot has said, “. . . this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper,” as all the once proud and God-loving i>eople come to the numb conclusion that it didn’t really matter after all.
And so it is that -We live, “. . . meas uring out our livfis with coffee spoons.” A manipulator of things, man has be come a thing himself, and a thing not really worth having. It is from this sad sense of worthless ness—man’s nature as a mere thing among things—that conformity has taken its power. The soul of man has rotted away; and in the corruption, the stench of conformity spreads its miasma over all the earth. When in dividual man is without any real value —a mere bauble of being bobbing on a sea of nothingness—why should he feel any inner direction, any sense of intuitive wisdom? He is nothing; how could he possible know anything? Without the sense of wisdom from within, men turn to the masses for their truth. Whatever is by the mul titudes most nearly accepted must be most nearly true—not eternally true but plausible for the moment anyway, accepted, at least expedient. Surely Transcendentalism’s place in the modern world is clear. It is need ed as no philosophy has ever been needed in man’s long, stumbling his tory. Creatures who have defined all truth as a matter of mere belief, we desperately need a truth to believe in. The tenets of Transcendentalism offer such an answer, such a truth as will revamp our lives, reclothe our souls with dignity, reshape our world with meaning—such a word as will pull down the dusty mausoleum of conform ity and compromise and rebuild the temple of man, his worth, and his courage, a brightening spire unto the brilliant sky. The answer is the affirmation of the worth of man. It is the belief that man is a soul clothed in the dignity of God, a vessel of the inner light, a participant in the truth that transcends time and tongue and reaches inward to grasp the nature of things. There is power in his pocket, the essence of life within reach of his hand; for under standing what he is, he can compre hend the totality of all. Man may seek after Something More, and he who seeks shall find. Indeed, truths may be found in books. The distilled essence of the wisdom of the ages is a worthy study for such a man, but still he yearns for truth too large to be printed on a page. So, he turns to read God outright. Turning from his scholar’s world of musty, dusty candle-shine, he moves into a place half bright with moonlight or deep-drenched in sunbeams in which the Truth may be more clearly seen. Nature and the inner life are the real
habitats of truth, and it is here that man must turn to come uncluttered to the unobstructed essence of things as they are. The dry wine or knowledge quenches no thirst; he must tap the keg of truth, drink long and deep of understanding. And he must come alone, for it is only in the lonely mind tW a solitary man that real understand ing, actual awareness, can come to be. Aware and alive, his next step must be to act on the understanding he has come to see as truth. In every moment, in every mannerism, he must live what he knows. Full of the glory of what he feels, he must manifest it in an outer life coherent with the inner life. Never compromising, never failing to be what he believes, he must transcend the crowds and stand alone—if need be— to keep faith with himself. Henrik Ibsen has succintly said, “The strongest man in the world is he who stands most alone.” He is strong be cause he has no real need of society to grant him peace or relieve his pain. He does not subconsciously and can not conscientiously conform to society; for he fears not its condemnation nor hopes for its praise, knowing both to be mere mouthings in the mirror with out real content. He lives the right because he personally feels the right to be the right; and God helping him, he can do no other. In his heart, the man thus formed is free. Breaking the boundaries of his own mortality, he transcends form and formality and rises above the need for regulations and outer controls. Such a man cannot be measured against the masses—he stands a world apart, immeasureable and infinite. We cannot measure him against society or its reg ulations, nor against other men, nor the mores of the moment or the mean ingless cliches of the multitudes; but only against what he himself is. No thing is equal to him but himself, the active God within his heart, the inner light within his soul, the sense of truth to which he must be true. A prime example of what little Transcendentalism is to be found in our world today is the courageous ef forts of the integrationists. Holding forth the banner of brotherhood, they reaffirm that the worth of man lies not in the color of his skin but the contour of his soul. They proclaim the truth that all men are spirits chipped from the same sunbeam, direct from the loving heart of God, and as such deserve the freedom in society that is the freedom of their souls. Armed only with their convictions, they wage a
non-violent war against the slimy hatreds of stifling souls because they must—because they believe. The beauty of their stand is lost to the apathetic eyes of a world which considers all causes slightly ridiculous, all martyrs slightly mad. Sneering, men deem them dewy-eyed dreamers, radical idealists, down right madmen. Blind in their cynicism, lost in their relativism, they crucify the crusaders acting on the very principles of Christ, and know not what they do. Truly, we live in a world of Pharisees and fools, who crusify Christ daily—and put a dollar in the collection plate on Sun day morning. This persecution does not dissuade the undaunted believers, for they have seen the light and know they must live it until they die. This is the true essence of Transcendental ism—to believe in man and to act among men from that belief. But Transcendentalism must go be yond the hearts of the few if it is to mould the world. It will not do so by universal decree but by individual recognition and reawakening—the per sonal reform that is the only real ren ovation. This is the philosophy which will drown out all our muskrats and
By Melinda Kirk
raise our souls to higher ground. This is the philosophy of self reliance, old as Plato, bright and new as the dawn of day offer tomorrow, that must in spire modern man if he is to regain the good life and become once more a child of God in a world where God is king.
Holmes... (Continued from Page 20) they are drawn.” Also concerning puns in language, he spoke that “people that make puns are like wanton boys that put coppers on the railroad track. They amuse themselves and other children, but their little trick may upset a freight train of conversation for the sake of battered witticism.” —He spoke advice pertinent to other areas of life as well. On conversation, he said that “talking with dull friends affords great relief” and comfort when compared to discussion with men of spirited, jerky minds “whose thoughts don’t run in sequence but their zigzags rack you to death.” On insanity and mental institutions he opinionated; Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked. A weak mind does not accumulate force enough to hurt itself ... I confess that I think better of them than of many who hold the same notions and keep their wits and appear to enjoy life well outside of the asyl ums. Yes, Dr. Homes had a good bit of excellent advice for man’s living which he spoke in enjoyable witty fashion. (The Divinity student finished his sentences. Immediately the landlady’s young son, named Benjamin Franklin, spoke.) —I enjoyed his company and good nature as well. One time I was in his room with my French when he had other work to do. He spoke again what he had said before at the table; “. . . how hard it is for some people to get out of a room after their visit is really over . . . one would think they had been built in your parlour . . . waiting to be launched.” He said that he had made an inclined plane to rid himself of these visitors and chuckled—so I took his advice and left! —He was a spry, witty fellow— spoke the young man John.—Didn’t care for those who were not “well born,” but was a good chap most of the time. Often he spoke real good things. Like his idea that “Good Amer(Continued on Page 28)
Nathaniel Hawthorne’s fiction re peatedly returns to the theme of the artist, his place in society, and his magical gift of capturing intangible qualities in his work. Furthermore, the products of the artist’s genius often function on a symbolic level to lend depth and complexity to the author’s tales and novels. In The House of the Seven Gables, portraits are employed not only as a major plot device, but also as a means of characterization and symbolic reinforcement of theme. The dominating portrait of old Col onel Pyncheon conceals until the end the secret that has obsessed successsive generations of his acquisitive posterity and thus actuated, through the original motive of human greed, Maule’s curse. On a symbolic level the picture repre sents, beyond the fatal curse, the weight of the past and its evil, op pressive effect on the present and the future. Its influence bears out Holgrave’s tirade against the unreason ableness of living in dead men’s houses, being directed by dead men’s wills, or being judged by dead men’s judicial precedents. Our first glimpse of the portrait re veals this aspect; It was considered, moreover, an ugly ominous circumstance, that Colonel Pyncheon’s picture—in obedience, it was said, to a provis ion of his will—remained affixed to the wall of the room in which he died. Those stern, immitagable features seemed to symbolize an evil influence, and so darkly to mingle the shadow of their pres ence with the sunshine of the pass ing hour, that no good thoughts or purposes could ever spring up and blossom there. (255i) Further description of the canvas reveals a familiar Hawthorne theme, the notion that a portrait may, by some indefinable skill of the painter or power inherent in the artistic pro cess, often capture traits of character which lie hidden from casual human observation. The feeling of obscurity and time lessness in the painting is strongly rem iniscent of “Edward Randolph’s Por trait” in the Province House Legends. In this earlier and less subtle sketch the portrait’s features were said to have taken on the horrible effects of a people’s curse on its original, the tyrannical colonial governor and witch hunter, Edward Randolph. Having ac quired a traditional and almost heredi tary right to its place on the wall, it was neverthless retained and its sinis
Hawthorne's Use of Portraits In The House of the Seven Gables By Bruce Parrish ter aspect concealed by a black velvet shroud. Still the hideously guilt-rav aged visage was rumored to have ap peared occasionally to remonstrate with successors in office who were similarly inclined to evil, repressive measures. Since the features had gradually dark ened into complete oblivion, however, the useless curtain survived only as tattered remnants above the frame. Now, with the help of Governor Hutch inson’s patriotic young niece, who has studied in Italy the techniques for restoring paintings, the portrait em erges before him in searing clarity as he is about to sign the order authoriz ing British troops to garrison Fort Wil liam as a precaution against the col onists’ insurgent attitudes. Despite the warning of this ghastly apparition, the evil deed is done and the guilty gov ernor is haunted to his deathbed by the memory of the portrait’s accusing stare. The dusky canvas in Governor Hut chinson’s office relives familiarly in this account, from The House of the Seven Gables, of Colonel Pyncheon’s likeness: In one sense, this picture had al most faded into the canvas, and hidden itself behind the duskiness of age; in another, she (Hepzibah) could not but fancy that it had been growing more prominent, and strikingly expressive, ever since her earliest familiarity with it as a child. For, while the physical outline and substance were dark ening away from the beholder’s eye, the bold, hard, and, at the same time, indirect character of the man seemed to be brought out in a kind of spiritual relief. Such an effect may occasionally be ob served in pictures of antique date. They acquire a look which an artist . . . would never dream of present ing to a patron as his own charac teristic expression, but which, nev ertheless, we at once recognize as reflecting the unlovely truth of a human soul. In such cases, the painter’s deep conception of his subject’s inward traits has wrought itself into the essence of the pic ture, and is seen after the super ficial coloring has been rubbed off by time. (277-8)
Given this description and a memory of the influence of the portrait in the earlier tale, we are prepared for the profound physical effects this one may have upon beholders at significant moments of the story. The importance of this preparatory description for characterization in the novel is soon apparent, when Phoebe mistakes the daguerrotypist’s minia ture of Judge Jeffrey Pyncheon for a retouched version of the Colonel’s por trait. Holgrave comments that the unamiable features of his portraits are explained by the nature of the orig inals. “Heaven’s broad and simple sunshine,” he explains, “actually brings out the secret character with a truth that no painter would ever venture upon, even could he detect it.” (298) Thus the two media of portraiture— one through sunshine, the other through the darkening of age—achieve the same profound effect of character revelation. Later, when Clifford first returns to the House of the Seven Gables, he is violently repelled by the portrait, and hints that its traditionary evil genius has particular poignancy for himself. He even desires Hepzibah to cover it so that it shall not stare him in the face.2 A few pages later we are intro duced to the Judge, whom Phoebe remembers with reference both to Holgrave’s picture and to Colonel Pynch eon’s portrait, where “both the ex pression, and, to a singular degree, the features of the modern Judge were shown as by a kind of prophesy.” (314) In fact, “the fantasy would not quit her, that the original Puritan, of whom she had heard so many sombre traditions,—the progenitor of the whole race of New England Pyncheons, the founder of the House of the Seven Gables, and who had died so strangely in it,—had now stept into the shop.” (315) Holgrave also, in a later conver sation with Phoebe about the evil in fluence of the past, repeats the identi fication of “the daguerrotype and its resemblance to the old portrait.” (354) The identification becomes even more positive on Judge Pyncheon’s visit to pry loose Cousin Clifford’s supposed secret, for as his voice rose in angry alarm, “the very frown of the old Puritan darkened through the room.”
And as his implacable purpose banish ed the hitherto benign aspect of his countenance, Hepzibah almost adopted the in sane belief that it was her old Puritan ancestor, and not the mod ern Judge, on whom she had just ^ been wreaking the bitterness of . her heart. Never did a man show stronger proof of the lineage at tributed to him than Judge Pyncheon, at this crisis, by his unmis takable resemblance to the picture in the inner room. (383) And as this scene moves to its cli max, a comment by Hepzibah puts us on guard that the “prophecy” of the pictures is about to be fulfilled by a violent reenactment of the curse: “You are but doing over again, in another shape, what your ancestor before you did, and sending down to your posteri ty the curse inherited from him.” (386) This foreshadowing is strengthened as Judge Pyncheon takes the very chair in which the old Colonel had died— beneath the watchful eye of the por trait on the wall. The finding of the smaller daguerrotype by Hepzibah just before Judge Pyncheon’s death and the use of it by Holgrave to break the news of his death to Phoebe on her return, continue the undercurrent
of symbolic influence of portraits on the action. After the fearful Hepzibah and Clif ford flee out into the great world, the image of Judge Pyncheon fading into the darkness of the lowering night is strongly reminiscent of the earlier de scription of the fading portrait: Meanwhile the twilight is gloom ing upward out of the corners of the room. The shadows of the tall furniture grow deeper, and at first become more definite; then, spread ing wider, they lose their distinct ness, of outline in the dark gray tide of oblivion, as it were, that creeps slowly over the various ob jects, and the one human figure sitting in the midst of them. The gloom has not entered from with out; it has brooded here all day, and now, taking its own inevitable time, will possess itself of every thing. The Judge’s face, indeed, rigid, and singularly white, refuses to melt into this universal solvent. Fainter and fainter grows the light. It is as if another double-handful of darkness had been scattered through the air. Now it is no long er gray, but sable . . . Has it yet vanished? No!—yes!—not quite! And there is still the swarthy
whiteness,—we shall venture to marry these ill-agreeing words,— the swarthy whiteness of Judge Pyncheon’s face. The features are all gone: there is only the paleness of them left. And how looks it now? There is no window! There is no face. An infinite, inscrutable blackness has annihilated sight! (409) The phantasmorgoric interlude of the dead spirits as they each in turn grasp the picture frame dramatizes the history of the hereditary curse and (Continued on Page 29)
Portrait of a Lady I have a portrait of her here, A twice premeditated face, A face concealed by portraiture The artist had contrived to trace Before he ever set his eyes Upon her calculated face And hit on canvas his own lies.
—By Curtis L. Harris
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Kate Becomes a Chemist or The Two Faces of Henry By Lynna Thomas Ka--b-o-o-m!! “Oh no,” cried my mom, “Kate’s blown up the garage again!” Rushing out to the garage I noticed white fumes floating out of its door and windows. Kate came staggering out the door with a smile of triumph on her face. “The experiment almost worked, Henry,” she said. “Just a few more changes in my calculations and I’ll have it.” In case you’re wondering, I’m Henry, Kate’s twin, brother. We’re seventeen; I play basketball and Kate is a bug on chemistry. Just recently she has been working on a secret formula which is no secret to me anymore, thanks to my persuasive charm and a half- nel son. This formula was supposed to make us both very good looking. There were two formulas actually, one to make me strong and powerful looking and the other to make her curvy and pretty. Now I know what you’re thinking and I thought it too, but Kate reas sured me that we wouldn’t be poison ed. I still wasn’t too joyful about the whole thing, but she told me that if I didn’t drink it everybody at school would know I was a rat-fink. Rather than have her tell them that, I went along. Weeks passed and Kate’s calculations were right; we planned D-Day for the night of the basketball game with Central. I was really gonna wow the coach with my new build. Friday night came and right before we left to go to the game, I ran out to the garage and gulped a bottle of the gunk. Kate also came out and drank her bottleful. Down in the dressing room I felt a strange sensation spread over my body. I thought it was the formula changing me into a Vic Tanny. I felt something hairy fall on my forehead, and I look ed in the mirror and saw that it was long, blond, silky hair. And my great build had developed, 36-24-36 measure ments. Yep, I’d drunk the wrong one. “Coach,” I wailed, “can you come here a minute?”
“Oh, Lord, boy! You can’t play in that shape.” I told the coach to go and find Kate and I would explain later. He found my sister where she was hiding under the bleachers until the game was over and we could leave. Apparently she had discovered our mistake. Anyway, coach noticed her manly muscles bulg ing out of her sleeves and decided to make her play in my place. Dressed up in a suit, she looked just like I had pictured myself—tall, dark, and hand some—and here I was looking like Mae West. The game came out all right. Thank God for that. We got caught trying to sneak home after the game, though. Kate’s steady rushed up to me, put his arm around me, called me honey, and said that I was going to stay for the sock hop. Speaking of sock, I al most socked him for acting so crazy until I remembered who I looked like. At the hop, I-I mean Kate was the belle of the ball. I guessed I danced more that night than ever before, and that’s pretty hard considering I danced with boys and I only know how to lead. Nevertheless, I had to think of Kate’s popularity. She wasn’t helping mine any. I could see Judy, my steady, sulking because I wouldn’t talk to her. Kate had to say she had a cold because she would forget and talk in a soprano, for my voice is of course several oc taves lower. The worst part of the evening was Kate’s steady trying to kiss me good night. He reached up to tilt my smooth, silken chin and instead he felt my day-old whiskers. He was very gallant about the whole thing. He just said, “Good gravy are you some kind of freak or something?” “Yeah. I’m the bearded lady!” Pow, I belted him one that he’ll never for get. “Kate, I’ve been kind of worried about you lately,” he said picking himself up off the ground. “I’m sorry about what I said about you being a freak,” and off he sprinted. Way into the night Kate and I work ed on another formula. This one was to change us back into our old selves.
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Around two o’clock I noticed Kate’s hair beginning to get longer and I felt my figure begin to unfill. Continued on Page 29)
After Paper Grading Whose words these are I think I know. They are not by the student, though; He will not see me pausing here To watch his plagiarism grow. My green assistant thinks it queer To come on my sadistic leer When it will take all week to make These freshman papers disappear. She gives her hilly hair a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of deepening thought and dandruff flake. The words are lovely, dark and deep. But not the student’s—these will keep. And I have sins myself to weep. And I have since myself to weep.
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A4y Nurse I was but two years old When a young woman came Sitting by our garden gate, With an empty bowl in her hand. I cried and kept on crying, Till Mother gave me away To that shabby woman By our garden gate. With an empty bowl in her hand. So she sent my eyes to the sky With a kite of butterfly. And weaved me a silvery crown With jasmine blossoms in June; So she made me a good hunter Of grasshoppers in the hay. And hummed me to sleep by the fire With her anything-but-music tune. By and by she married farmer Wang. The wedding party was simple and gay: Firecrackers banged on the floor. Country folks drank and sang. And around the blushing couple Those villagers cracked a dozen Crazy jokes, a lot of baloney. The Wangs lived in the sycamore’s shade. Where a yellow dog awoke, bark ing. Whenever he passed by their door. On our fishing trips down the river; My nurse would come running. Stuffing my pocket with fried melon-seeds.
—Drawing By Sue Holloway
So I had roved my years away with a beggar In those blue-waved hills I knew. Where I was care-free like the stream in spring. And healthy as the summer grass, all green; I would never be happier or wiser. Had I the pleasure to live with a queen.
—By Stephen S. N. Liu 27
the University and Knoxville commun ities. It has shown what can be ac complished through University-com munity cooperation. The Theatre pro vides an opportunity for Knoxvillians and University people to combine tal ents and efforts to produce worthy re sults. The fact that it is a joint project and has been so successfully has helped to make the University truly a part of the city and not merely an isolated little city in the heart of Knoxville.
NOW'cow FORM IT Y
Carousel... (Continued from Page 17) of the modification was something like a more intimate proscenium stage. Planning for the Future In the theatrical future at UT are plans for building a proscenium thea tre. With the many performances and rehearsals scheduled one after anoth er in the Carousel building, there has been overcrowding in both time and space. It is believed that such a build ing, planned as solely a UT project, will provide a means for training stu dents in proscenium productions and will relieve the time and space prob lems. The planners hope that the pro scenium project will be incorporated into a new Fine Arts Center on South Seventeenth Street. In the summer of 1961 Carousel Theatre celebrated its tenth annivers ary by re-staging Light Up The Sky with at least two of its original Carou sel cast taking part. In its almost thirteen years. Carousel Theatre has filled a cultural need in
(Continued from Page 22) icans, when they die, go to Paris.” Also knew a bit about the races. Was a sporting man. Once he said to me: “To brag a little—to show will—to crow gently in luck,—to pay up, to own up, to shut up, if beaten, are the virtues of a sporting man.” He didn’t frown on drink—remember the clever piece he read us about drinking: “the smile, and a glass, and a toast, and a cheer for all the good wine, and we’ve some of it here!” That’s the one the clergymen changed up. And he was pretty wise to know that a “clergy man’s patients are not only fools and cowards, but also liars.” (At these last two statements the
Divinity student flushed and tightened his facial expression. But our pleasant landlady saved the situation.) —He was a kind one and fond of my meals. He was clever too. And he knew the importance of good food— she glanced around the table—he said a man’s phrases were determined by “. . . influences something like these: 1st Relationships, political, religious, social, domestic. 2nd, Oysters; in the form of suppers i^ven to gentlemen with criticism . . .” Wish other folks would be grateful sometimes. (The landlady upon this remark looked from her daughter to young John, who were both off in another world. Finally the girl sighed and spoke.) —He understood poetry and love. He even advised young people to pass up poetry sometimes for “the story about the young man who was in love with the young lady, and in great trouble for something like nine pages, but happily married on the tenth page or there abouts . . .” And he married, didn’t he? (With these words the breakfast table boarders decided the meal had lasted long enough. All rose, includ ing myself, leaving the romantic cou ple to stare at each other. As I left the table I considered my
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predecessor and his endearment to the individuals there. Dr. Homes to them was a man of intelligence, distinction, and humor—the sentimental, the moral, the worldly, and kind. Each boarder respected and remembered him for a different aspect of these qualities. He seemed to have been a pleasant auto crat of the breakfast table conversa tion. As I went toward school, I wondered if my company would ever be cher ished by my fellow boarders.)
Kate... (Continued from Page 25) It’s great being a boy again! Kate’s even satisfied with her old looks. I guess we’ve both taken the old saying to heart about being satisfied with what you’ve got. Every thing is back to normal now and . . . Ka-b-o-o-m “Oh, no! Not again!”
(Continued from Page 24) foreshadows the concluding revelation of the concealed spring and the wall safe behind the portrait.
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Thus finally, in addition to the his torical motif, the picture is symbolic of the curse, which resists all discov ery by those with ignoble motives, but fails before the truth and genuineness embodied in these last survivors of the ancient line. The reconciliation of the families revokes the curse and the effect of the dead man’s will. Thus Hawthorne has artfully used a familiar motif of an artist’s portrait as an im portant element in plot structure, char acterization, and symbolic presentation of theme in one of his most carefully written and technically most satisfy ing novels.
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Notes IPage numbers are affixed to the end of quoted passages throughout the paper, ana refer to The Complete Novels and Selected Tales of Nathaniel Hawthorne, ed. Norman H. Pearson (New York, 1937).
Events... (Continued from Page 14)
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2The same treatment, it will be remem bered, was given to the offending portrait of Randolph.
irluiic On March 17, Saint Patrick’s Day, the Knoxville Symphony will present Ralph Votapek, the young Milwau keean who has been another Van Cliburns. Votapek will play selections from Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven. This concert, to begin at 8:15 in the Civic Auditorium, is the sixth sub scription concert of the series. UT stu dents with special season tickets will be interested in this. University Concerts will bring the Houston Symphony Orchestra to the Civic Auditorium on March 12 through 14.
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