Newspapers / Daily Tar Heel (Chapel … / July 6, 1978, edition 1 / Page 24
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24 The Tar Heel Thursday, July 6, 1978 Crumbs from the Carnival Patty Grebe Ferris wheel fantasy Wheeling, spinning dizzily t P i P 1 U w Sashaying round the sky Falling into out of short of through Breezy june elation Tinny, peppy tunes Our song, your song, their song Soars charts, clogs hearts Of summer carnivalees Spending penny candy dreams At the top of the thrill machine; Cumulus kisses, frothy whispers Wiggle on the wind Yellow-toothed whiffet Teases, tortures, Cranks it faster For the screams; Down below Along the stalls- Greasy patties spattering Taffy raffle mustard squirts Cotton candy dream melts Under the rinse of jelly bean lights; Midgets smidgets Pay to see Guaranteed Perversity Boa flesh swaths the neck Of spangled-lady shimmying Love is enough Is love enough In a bazaar As bizarre as this; Candy panda apple bear Give fifty cents Win Aunt Gertie's quilt Puppets bobbing Hawkers robbing Bingo buttons flipping on cards 0-66 N-44 Yet another winner . . . On this taffy-slappin' night Falling into out of short of through . . . The almost smile, the almost hello Triggers the birth of a fantasy At the top of the thrill machine Falling through a fantasy At the top of the thrill machine. Copyright June 1978 Patty Killian Grebe "I'm into words," she said. And immediately I envisioned The serifs of an A Dancing about her head. I thought, and thought a moment. But still could not decipher The significance of media Nor the meaning of her comment. Parentheses "How nice," I replied, 'That the alphabet is in good hands. But pardon me, dear madam, While I brush this B aside." I watched her as she phrased, And leaned over as she printed, And whatever she penciled out. Seemed just those parts that time erased. "But what about the writers of the past," I shouted, "When words did not expand just to fill the space allotted. Although they may have tried to fill a void, I somehow kind of doubt it." "No, no, you don't understand," she asserted. "I'm into media, graphic representation. The medium is the message, dear sir. And the words are merely inserted." "What are words meant to be," I retorted, "If not the medium of ideas. And the substance of communication Whose depth you've grossly distorted." "Nonsense. I call words 'gray matter' summarized And the final product the packaging," she replied. "Now admit the value of a picture over words. Whether they're emboldened or italicized." Oh, I see, I thought to say. But then thought better of it As I pondered the media of the past, The words of Shelley and Millay. "Now you're playing with words," she smiled, 'Though you may not want to think so. Just admit that language is a game And a paragraph's a puzzle nicely styled." I sat and dwelled upon the essay, Then stood to expound upon the poem, But when I finally moved to speak. All I could do was cough, and mutter "Hemingway." "I don't understand," I finally protested, "What ever happened to the message. Though I do appreciate the medium, I think the words are being molested." "But language is a thing of beauty," I sniffed, "And not to be taken lightly. Though I do appreciate your artistry It's your mind that sets my soul adrift." She was gone, and I was left in lethargy. Then I realized upon reflection That a conversation doesn't end with a period But with an apostrophe. "Silly, silly man," she laughed. "1 see no value in what one reads. But just in how one reads it. Now that's the writer's craft." "1 never feel comfortable wrangling And always try to avoid it" she sighed. "Though I do admire a well-placed participle. It's your principles that leave me dangling." And an inflection. Robert Jasinkiewicz Creation I stood by a rock On a wide, wide shore And watched the sea Roar out its call Like the fire and ice Of life and death And the air that yearns to be free. Of life and death And the breath of God Blown through the dust That lay like chaff By the feet of God, By the feet of God Lay you and I and we, And out of the dust by the feet of God We came from the edge of the sea. From the edge of the sea Crawled thou and me, And in time came thee; And out we crawled, side by side. By the side of a wind blown sea. And from the sand of the shore And the life of the sea Came the life of you and me. And we grew by the sea, by the wind blown sea Cells split by the power of infinity. An eon, or two or three, Has passed from thou to we to me, And now I stand to stare At a rock bound by an inland sea. And watch the cells of the wind blown sea Smash on the rock near me, By the side of a rock By the side of an endless sea. And you and me are all I see, Are all I see, By this rock, By the side of this rock, By the side of a windless sea. Robert Jasinkiewicz
Daily Tar Heel (Chapel Hill, N.C.)
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July 6, 1978, edition 1
24
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