November 9,1963
The Great Cuilded Star
I cannot reach it; it will not come to me!
The great guilded star was Hung against the sky
And its puissent glory obliterated tne might ot all darkness
Inere was lignt, a testimony ot strength
Up and up, still higuer, making mock of the nelpless fixity of branches
Tweaking tne brancnes—swaymg, rhythmic
hold me, help me
Alone 1 shall tall
The great guilded star had no struggle against vectural suction
For it was accompanied by the omnivorous, tne inexorable, invisible
But darkness also is masterful
Down and down, still deeper, fell the great guilded star
It received no sympathy trom an unfeeling sky
Nor the vendictive tree-crests
But the quiet, quiescent leaves of the universe wept
Wept when the great guilded star was brutally brushed by the
earth
The leaves shared the same semi-cycle
As did I —l grabbled betore this universe, and grasped this hemisphere
too
It was mine
Distant dread and distinct destiny
All are incongruous allies against the great unseen foe.
A synthetic, serrated nightmare—hosted by the cosmos
Behind the rim of the earth the star convulsed in desperation, frus
tration.
The rim was a massive, meaningless arc of futile symmetry
From whose corner a wnisper or gold trom tne gunued star was echoed
by a goidpiece
A little gompiece which rolled under a large grooven groundpiece.
It tell down and nestled in darkness under a merry-go-round
Tnere it would rest torever, unnoticed, uncared ror,
Wnile over its inert lorm would run tne great form-wheel of life
A regenerate skip and trolic to a relegated tune
And wooden horses would gallop in eternal dumb glee
I loved the great guilded star
And so I sougnt its child
I will fetch you; I will save you
I crawled beneath the great wheel
And touched the golden hope
Here I am. See, I could find you
I stretched my arm till the sinews begged for mercy
Just a little farther . . . almost And then . . .
Tilted sideways my head just fit under the big wheel
My ear scraped the ground
I tried to crawl back
Hurry, hurry! Go back, crawl out!
Escape—that is in retreat
A long nail bit through my matted hair
It dug into the back of my head
And i was not free
I could not retreat to escape
1 was bayonetted by a rusty nail
Crucified by splinters
Impaled under the giant lazy-susan.
And the music began a jaded tune.
Little bug, I didn't mean to step on you
Little bug? Forgive me
Please forgive me
The wind wedged under the welding wheel
A dead leaf was blown
against the nape of my neck
Forgive me mother, forgive me father.
Churning, churning
Help me!
My head hurts
Help me!
Mother don't cry
Nebulous images, forgotten lands
Molted shell of life's livery
What does my mother look like?
I can't remember any more
Who loves me?
I remember you. You don't love me.
Children gigled
Mothers laughed
And scolded
And gossiped
The ground complained and the great wheel rumbled
Thoughts and body grated
gound on gound under wheel
dashed to ashes
crushed to dust
Blood frozen to liquid freon,
body numb
Mind a retina of upside-down images
Eyes evaporated
Agony's frieze
Poor little Icarus
Crucifixus pro nobis; Passus est sepultus est
Holy infant so gentle and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly . . .
SocietySufefeCemeat
THE GUILFORDI AN
Help me, please
Don't cry mother.
The music stopped
The big men came and lifted the emense sundial
They dragged me from its base
I couldn't stand
Or swallow
Or cry
Or thank—l meant to say thank you and
I love you
In my hand was the prize
Whose face is this
Who are you
why are you here
about me
do you love me
No, you don't love me
My hair trikled into my face
You'll be all right, kid
go home
sit down
feel better soon
But I will never be well again
Never, never.
I am like the ball of earth
We are both made of rubber
I am young. If you hit me I will bounce back
I kissed the prize
And hurled it with my hopes and dreams and love
And then its master, the great guilded star sailed up and up
Still higher, making mock of the helpless fixity of branches
Tweaking the branches—swaying, rnythmic
And the black sky became blue
PAULA MICHAELOV
Futility
I feel my days are numbered from this hour;
For eacn brief moment flees this wrmkled shell
With haste undue; though caught beneath the flower
Of death, I lie awaiting still the bell
To mark my soul's returning to its source.
And yet I feel those hours left behind
Are unformed moments tempered in their course
By trust; and as a seer fast growing blind
I clutch each fragmentary hope and waste
The very bright of day in lusting for
Unceasing light and one unhurried taste
Of lasting truth; and thirst while wanting more.
For life is time unwritten on the page.
Parched skin and limpid eyes are more than age.
—WILLIAM P. STEIN (10/19/63)
Once . . .
between the beginning and the end
in that hiatus of time
a race of fantasies . . .
was
and they believed
in good guys, in bad guys, in apple-pie (but only with cheese —
else it would be a "kiss without a squeeze") and in motherhood,
and in the-girl-next-door (who liked to bake)
but mostly
in the system
and the wind rustled through the birches
and the messiah came
and they could not find their reading glasses
and they lived—or something
and they died
—but not in vain
for there were oceans of
Ego (and superego, and id)
and there was
ME
—myself
ALEXANDER BOULTON
The Search
Life is from within
And the tree from the ground begins
The tree we see
Cuts into the soul of me
And people are from without
And today is today today
And tomorrow is tomorrow somehow
So look at the tree and watch
The wheels turn round by the clock
And go slower than the clay before the morning of today
And in the evening sputter to the ground
And the tree
And the fish on the beach are dead
And man has often died
For life only comes from within
And the fish in the sun smell bad
So we turn and leave them be
And walk small into the second after the minuet
Of now
RUSTY CRUMP
Ich bin der Nacht begegnet
Wandernd in heimlichen Orten
Unter den Ecken und Haken
Von dem Tage bin ich
Der Nacht begegnet.
Es zieht zuriick
Dnd in die immer besitzende Erde,
Das es verschling,
Geht es zuriick.
— WILLIAM P. STEIN
(Übersetzung von englisch
von Donald M. Smitn )
Prologue
There is a time of day
When even Dawn's dark sister
Holds her breath.
The pines throw long furrows
On the unplowed field;
And each unspoken sound
Lingers along the leafy ground.
There is a moment
When the ear
Is keenly tuned
To nothingness . . .
When each instant sighs
And outlives its time
With anxious eyes.
— WILLIAM P. STEIN
(10/3/63)
A Rusty Sword
I feel the crease beneath my chin
And my light is growing dim.
A thousand hours have passed,
Melt, and now, at last,
The thinning moments
Are more precious
For what they lack.
The laughing and the young faces
Laugh from their places;
I am ushered into
Another room . . .
Out of sight, out of sound.
A rusty sword
Left sticking in the ground;
A seer unheeded, unheard—
The echo from an ancient word. . .
I have lost to the moments.
I have lost, and the fire
Flickers and is consumed:
For waining life is the still of doom.
Like echoes in an empty room.
— WILLIAM P. STEIN
(10/3/63)
Crow Call
Crow call,
Caw the dead summer.
Mourn the skeletal season
Of stiff, brittle grav.
Derelict bird.
Cry a dirge
For wind-bleached masts
Dragging down the bloody sun
In black ropes and torn sails.
Fly swift in smoke
And dance on the fire-drv
Mones of Yesterdav.
ROBERTA DAVIES
hot
searing—
you pursue me.
Sol's face has lost
its grin.
you loved us once,
our emerald sphere.
now shrinking trees
grow thin.
my life
a stalk
deep-rooted
in earth that's cracked
and dry.
your yellow eye
swells up with blood.
oh God! why must I die?
SUELLEN MALONEY
Someone buried grandma
And someone cried a lot
But there was then no need to be
troubled
By all this anxiety and confusion
Grandma stayed whole through
all the long winter
It was not until the trees sprouted
leaves
That grandma reallv began to fall
apart
RUSTY CRUMP
Page Three