MUSIGCKJSIC«MU610MUSIC*MUSIC music-music* MUSICTHE DEPARTMENT OF MUSIC 3presents: **FRIDAY, June 7 - Collegium Musicum8:00 p.m., Goodspeed Recital HallMary Springfels, director; Timothy Steele, assistantdirector.“Silent Shades and Elysian Fields” -Music of Purcelland Handel.Performed by the UC Collegium Musicum withsoloists:Ellen T. Harris, Marilyn McCoy, Jonathan Miller,Bruce Tammen.Admission is free.UPCOMING IN 1985-86CHAMBER MUSIC SERIES:Duo Geminiani with Anner Bylsma, baroque cello-November 1;Manhattan String Quartet with Cary Lewis, piano-December 6;Shmuel Ashker.asi, violin, and Peter Serkin, piano-February 28;Ridge String Quartet - April 4;Gabrieli String Quartet - April 18.EARLY MUSIC SERIES:Paul O’Dette, lute, and Nigel Rogers, tenor-December 3;Boston Museum Trio and Frans Brueggen, recorder-February 14;Tafelmusik and Marion Vergruggen, recorder-April 8.Tickets and information NOW at Concert Office,Goodspeed 310, 962-8068.AUDITIONS for string players interested in Mozart’s TheMarriage of Figaro, to be performed with singers from the LyricOpera Center for American Artists, July 12-13th, as part of theUniversity's Summer Nights Series Interested players should callthe Department of Music at 962-7628 for an audition appointment.Npnosic-noaic-nosin Rockefeller Memorial ChapelSunday, June 98:30 a.m.Ecumenical Service of Holy Communion11:00 a.m.University Religious ServiceBERNARD O. BROWNDean of the Chapel thisSundayatRockefellerMemorialChapel59th & WoodlawnACEHARDWARE ANDERSONACE HARDWAREREGRETS THE PLACEMENTOF ITS ADVERTISEMENT INTHE JUNE 4 ISSUE OF THECHICAGO PATRIOT. ACEHARDWARE DOES NOTNECESSARILY SUPPORT ORAPPROVE OF THE VIEWS EX¬PRESSED IN THE PATRIOT.HOUSESUNDAY, JUNE 9 7:30 P.M.Tickets $6.00 • Seniors & Students $4.00 •l-House Residents $3.00 • Available at theInternational House Program Office753-2274 or 281-7437LOCAL PREMIERE:Suite for Harp & Woodwind Quintetby Chou Wen-ChungAlso: Ligeti, Reicha Klughardtin the l-House Home Room1414 E. 59th Street2—-The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985MARY THERESE ROYAL I DEATH: THE FiNAL EMBRACE'JIA WOOLF’S MRS. DALLOVVAYMARY THERESE ROY A!. TWO POEMft LABYRINTH Of NIHILISM SBdfluteOfrJttX rwo stories» w « »r« t r* Tn c. *ji 1FOUR REAL! TIES OF A POEMARLA KARINENTO POWER jI OTHER WORDS: AN INTERVIEW jli!v^Hl<iFtNi>RINrfZ'PAHLS0N ICONSfANCE GREENLEAHT14»WQ0(GORAN PRINTZ-PAHLSONMARTHA M. VERTREACORCISING BATS FR^RfCJOHMSOH rwo POEMSBOOKS MtefilEfPRIMiriVffl MOONMARI HA M. VERTRtACEe26JOHN MATTHIAS^ SURVIVORS7?•A:<>*A'A!6;n•H•?.;6•P!;6'.is• •'•is• •6• •*<>•a!6•bi& 75.9•ft!<?•A!o;tt!o;nIpr;a;o•P!• ••p;'6• •Vs®•Q9 •:<>•o&•ci!cr•a*0.• ••6*ft •• ••tf• •*<3-•o■&’C.•o;'0-•O'O'4>;*©•’o:• •©•• •• •9.A* .&Y0• • • ftft ft ft ft• ft ft ft•<y-6ft ft ft fto oO • ©O-’A.©Ycf•0/60-80-'60-0■o'-©'• • • •9.-0.ft ft ft ft.©.\Q*ft ft ft ft Photograph by Lynn Turner .‘AlOvOft ft ft • • ft ft.*A\QY0'.C/Cl’.O!*n\6vb• Vt • f-s• • • * • • #!H\qvobovd!©'.V.V/.QMa\6vb\u.v/.6/(VALIDlqlid/o/b/6L8• • • ft • ft •\oycj.*©• • ft ft ft ft ft/CVAY3• • ft ft • ft <0 0 0-0 0 o o o o o o o o e-o o o o ooooooooooooooKim H France. Constance Greenleat. Billes. 0lanQaacQtar I0K ar Qn Qp~ 0Keeney, Adrienne Kochman. Kare-' c Con-nMt, CfofctstooAer Paarson. K atari 'KT'e,r\A\Jn TtUnadJ»tartlw?M Urtrekofe UProduction: Steven Amsterdam, Gideon o oThe Literary Essay Contest was an enor-r^JS steels attr^tin^ss a© OfQ wi^diversity of subjects, from an anthropolo¬gical paper xm ritual death, .40 a Baptistapology. Th&Jvinrte/, aw reai^ierAJbf the$75 first place prize, is Mary Therese i^ffexyyeat*« noetfiorw>f CLP editor 4edpen tb an^Wtudem wM wob*C liwwr toinvolved. Contributions for the Orienta¬te^ IsQe: Stprie^Qpo^s, a^vorQphafo-graphs, book reviews or suggestions candrpppecUoff ia the. CLILbox-of toeMirook&ffkJ, Rk*n IqI, idaJNofcate Hkll,or mailed to the address listed below. G&X&SXTtt: ”n U0,&Street, Chicago, II. 60637, or call: (312)®The^LP tfouldQke >6 thaft the editorsand staff ofjhe Qc*y City Journal (or tteiryip (dlriria) production, H/HPK* HfcifePark's 100 watt radio station, for technicalThe Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—3MAB 1984-85 BUDGETStudent Activities Fees Collected for 1984-85: $55,895FALL QUARTERTalent-MainTalent-Opener* Production* FacilitiesHospitalityPublicityTotal ExpensesRevenueTotal Subsidy Shockabilly$500.00200.00610.00.00143.03203.15$1656.18.00$1656.18* Office Expenses $1516.97Subsidy 19591.20WINTER QUARTER TheSuburbs PsychedelicFurs SonnyOkosun Db’s$3500.00700.00741.41178.10211.84276.00 $6000.00500.002879.70999.50747.62230.25 $4000.00300.001068.25694.00210.09630.50 $1500.00500.001815 00496.70270.47292.79$5607.15 $11357.07 $6902.84 $4874.961102.00 7679.00 1555.00 471.00$4505.15 $ 3678.07 $5347.84 $4403.96Total Subsidy Fall: $21,108.17Albert Collins/ JonathanKoko Taylor Richman RUN-DMCTalent-Main $3500.00 $1500.00 $5000.00Talent-Opener 750.00 .00 1350.00Production 1440.00 800.00 2795.98Facilities 822.00 149.70 863.00Hospitality 139.96 141.72 231.96Publicity 773.20 429.62 947.10Total Expenses $7425.16 $3021.04 $11188.04Revenue 2832.00 1254.00 7688.00* *Total Subsidy $4593.16 $1767.04 $ 3500.04Offices Expenses $1364.75MAB Survey 862.65Subsidy 9860.24 Total Subsidy Winter: $12 ,087.64SPRING QUARTERTalent-MainTalent-OpenerProductionFacilitiesHospitalityPublicityTotal ExpensesRevenueTotal Subsidy The Fall$1500.00450.001313.25689.50337.36452.60$4742.71870.00$3872.71 WyntonMarsalis$7750.00.001847.30741.25319.89486.70$11145.147121.00$ 4024.14 * CecilTaylor$ .00.00605.00813.00.00414.45$1832.45.00$1832.45 BrianFerneyhough$3250.00.00.00.00.00452.30$3702.30212.00$3490.30 Memorial Day$5000.004000.003450.0099.00569.44400.00$13518.44.00$13518.44Office Expenses $1250.00 (Estimate)Subsidy 26738.04 Total Subsidy Spring: $27,988.04* Production expense includes sound, lights, agents fee, stage, hotel, air fare.* Facilities expense includes Mandel Hall, Ida Noyes, Box Office, Fireguards, Electrician.'Office expense includes postage, phone, supplies, association memberships.‘Includes a $6,000 grant from Kuviasungnerk.‘Cecil Taylor concert presented with the help of the Association for the Advancement of CreativeMusicians.'////y/////////////////////y/////////////y//////////////////y////////////^4_ThA CHiceg© Uterary Review, Friday Jurm 7, 1985BY MARY THERESEROYALWe all have our private fear. We mightnever name it but we Know it is here InVirginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, ClarissaDalloway acknowledges, explores and fi¬nally comes to grips with her fear. LikeClarissa, who is a complicated character,the “awful fear’’ she feels is not simple. Itis a part of her life every moment, a sol¬emn, scared part that she explores in theprivacy of her soul. It is not merely a fearof death. She also fears that life and itspassions will invade and destroy her “pri¬vacy of soul.” Most importantly, it is herinability to understand how death fits intoher life that causes her existential terror.It is through the figure of the old womanwho lives across from Clarissa that we seeher resolving her fear.The first time we are aware of Clarissa’sfear, it is connected with her sense of iso¬lation. “She had a perpetual sense, as shewatched the taxi cabs, of being out, out,far out to sea and alone; she always hadthe feeling that it was very, very danger¬ous to live even one day.” Clarissa is anobserver of life, she does not take part inits passions. She loves life, finds it “abso¬lutely absorbing.” But in her own lifethere is a gap. “There was an emptinessabout the heart of life; an attic room.” Be¬cause she fears life, she chooses her isola¬tion: “And really she preferred to read ofthe retreat from Moscow...So the roomwas an attic; the bed narrow...”Clarissa does not understand death. Shethinks of life and “After that, how unbe¬lievable death was! — that it must end;and no one in the whole world would knowhow she had loved it all.” Yet she has asuspicion that it might “become consolingto believe that death ended absolutely...”After her illness, her preoccupation withdeath is strong because she had been soclose to it. The quote “Fear no more theheat o’ the sun Nor the furious winter’srages” becomes a leitmotif for Clarissa’sstruggle to understand her fear of life anddeath.Life is associated with “the heat o’ thesun.” As she lies thinking about her party,she speaks to life.Since she was lying on the sofa, clois¬ter, exempt, the presence of thisthing which she felt to be so obviousbecame physically existent; withrobes of sound from the street,sunny, with hot breath, whispering,blowing out the blinds.The “thing” is life. It is everything physi¬cal and warm. It is mysterious and evenoppressive. By “blowing out the blinds,”it tries to force her to look, to abandon hercloistered existence. Death is associatedwith winter. After her illness, she liesalone in her attic room, reading of the re¬ treat from Moscow. All the images arecold, sterile, lonely. She is, at the begin¬ning of the novel, a woman unable to copewith either “the heat o’ the sun” or “thefurious winter’s rages.”Clarissa does not want to give up herattic room. It is essential to her dignity.Solitude and retreat are almost her pri¬vate religion. The old woman who livesacross the street from Clarissa is a symbolfor this sacred “privacy of the soul.”And she watched out the window theold lady opposite climbing upstairs.Let her climb upstairs if she wantedto; let her stop; then let her, asClarissa had often seen her, gain herbedroom, part her curtains, and dis¬appear again into the background.Somehow one respected that — thatold woman looking out of the win¬dow, quite unconscious that she wasbeing watched. There was some¬thing solemn in it — but love and re¬ligion would destroy that, whateverit was, the privacy of the soul.The movement of the old woman takes onthe importance of a sacred ritual.Clarissa fears that life itself, with itspassions and loves, its society and reli¬gion, will violate her privacy. She marriesRichard because he allows her “a dig¬nity...a solitude; even between husbandand wife a gulf;...Something, after all, pri¬celess.” Retreat is necessary to her; evenPeter Walsh sees that. Walsh sees inClarissa “an inexpressible dignity; andexquisite cordiality; as if she wished thewhole world well, and must now, being onthe very verge and rim of things, take herleave.” She must take her leave to pre¬serve her mystery, which is sacred toClarissa. “And the supreme mystery...wassimply this: here was one room; there an¬other. Did religion solve that or love?”The connections between Clarissa Dal¬loway and the old woman are set up verycarefully. Woolf uses strinkingly similarphrases to describe the movement of bothgoing up to their solitary beds in their soli¬tary rooms. Clarissa sees the old woman“gain her bedroom, part her curtains, anddisappear...” Clarissa herself “parted hercurtains, she looked...Like a nun with¬drawing, or a child exploring a tower,(Clarissa)...went upstairs, paused at thewindow...” Another connection betweenthe two is the sound of Big Ben.Big Ben struck the half hour.How extraordinary it was,strange yes, touching, to see the oldlady (they had been neighbors everso many years) move away from thewindow, as if she were attached tothat sound, that string. Gigantic as itwas, it had someting to do with her.Down, down into the midst of ordi¬nary things the finger fell makingthe moment solemn. She was forced,so Clarissa imagined, by that sound,to move, to go — but where? Clarissa is always aware of the finger ofTime forcing her to move on. The oldwoman’s movement is symbolic of the finalmovement Time forces us into — dying.Clarissa does not know where the oldwoman moves. That remains a mysteryjust as Death is a mystery. It happensevery day, every moment, to someone inthe midst of ordinary things.Clarissa has a gift for making ordinarythings extraordinary. That is her life Par¬ties were generally commonplace thing* inCsarissa’s circle. But she has a differentview of her parties. She says she givesthem for lire.But suppose Peter said to her “Yes,yes, but your parties — what's thesense of your parties?” all she couldsay was (and nobody could be ex¬pected to undertand): They’re an of¬fering...But to go deeper, beneath whatpeople said (and these judgments,how superficial, how fragmentarythey are!)...Here are So-and-so inSouth Kensington: some one up inBayswater; and somebody else, sayin Mayfair. And she felt continouslya sense of their existence; and shefelt what a waste; and she felt whata pity; and she felt if only they couldbe brought together; so she did it.Clarissa’s life is a series of connectionsthat transcend her physical body. Theparty represents these connections. At theparty, she forgets what she looks like; sheis concerned only with making the connec¬tions between people happen. She feels,even at the start of the novel, that “itspread ever so far, her life, herself.” Herparty is the culmination of this extensionof her life. She animates the party, shecreates it.At her party, Clarissa has the revelationthat allows her to see how death fits intoher life. Her awareness of Septimus’ sui¬cide is the link, the connection that tran¬scends death. She sees death suddenly as“an attempt to communicate.” And this at¬tempt is successful; she understands Sep¬timus’ death. She still feels that there is anemptiness in life, but it is death that fillsthis emptiness. In life there is “the impos¬sibility of reaching the centre, which, mys¬tically, evaded them; closeness drewapart; rapture faded, one was alone.There was an embrace in deatn.”In the midst of the party, - Clarissa re¬treats into an empty room. She walks tothe window, thinking of Septimus, andlooks out at the sky.It held, foolish as the idea was,something of her own in it, thiscountry sky, this sky above West¬minister. She parted the curtains;she looked. Oh, but how surprising!— in the room opposite the old ladystared straight at her! She wasgoing to bed...She was going to bedin the room opposite. It was fascin¬ ating to watch her, moving about,that old lady, crossing the room,coming to the window. Could she seeher? It was fascinating, with peoplestill laughing and shouting in thedrawing-room, to watch that oldwoman, quite quietly, going tobed.. There! the old lady had put outher light! the whole house was darknow with this going on, she repeat¬ed, and the words came to her, Fearno more the heat o’ the sun.in this revelation, Clarissa Dallowayorings together her awareness of life anddeath in one illuminating moment. Sheknows that there is something of herself inthe sky. She knows this at the beginning ofthe novel, when she says she is “part, shewas positive, of the trees at home; of thehouse there...part of people she had nevermet...” But she realizes at the party thatdeath does not end this; she will continueeven when her body is gone. She is sur¬prised by the old lady staring at her be¬cause in that glance, she has made contactwith her own death!She is fascinated by the mystery ofdeath. She sees the old lady going to bed,quietly, with dignity, while the party goeson. It is fascinating to her to think that lifewill go on, with all its beauty and noise,even after she dies. Her isolation is nolonger frightening because her connec¬tions will not have been in vain. They willcontinue after death. She can take comfortin death because it is a sacred ritual whichwill preserve forever her dignity, hertreasure, her privacy of the soul. The roomopposite represents the soul, the oldwoman, her death, and the whole house,her body.Because Clarissa sees this image ofdeath, life is revealed to her in all its rich¬ness.But what an extraordinarynight!...She felt glad that he hadthrown it away...He made her feelthe beauty; made her feel the fun.But she must go back. She must as¬semble. She must find Sally andPeter. And she came in from the lit¬tle room.She has made the connection with herdeath, the old lady, and beyond death,with Septimus. She can be lightheartednow. She can enjoy life, not fear it. She cannow go back and continue to make connec¬tions in her life. She leaves the emptyroom knowing that ultimately she will beable to retreat there and “quite quietly”go to bed.Mary Therese Royal is a professionalsinger and a student of the Divinity Schoolat the University of Chicago. She teachespiano and voice, and writes in her sparetime. This summer she plans to meditateand write an opera. She travels out of thecountry at least once a year; this Christ¬mas she will be in Israel on a singing tour.Her poems have appeared frequently inthe Chicago Literary ReviewT:/: "'IWm ■-s, , * ? --!' ' --- -*r - «■ -WMWM: Iff®Noise, wind, cars, runners, citylife. t take smaller streets,stay close to the front doors,and when I must cross, choose the middle.Of what? 1 dream neighborly scenes, butturn into a spilt off desire,a character in my dream, sipping sediment,washing my hair over and over,locking my keys where I can’t find them.Imaginary children, friends, lengthenthe time, waiting for the reward.Lately I wonder, how will it come,what do we know about ourselves.What we say is not real, butalso not funny. We remembersome things change, are nostalgic forbad habits, old lovers, unhappiness, feeling sorryto resist with strength what is weak.■—Mary Therese Royal DON’T LOOK BACKOn the train tonight no one was friendly.All day I felt my stockings were odd,my feet hurt just below the toes,there was an old wind hurling rachmaninov like dead leaves.This autumn invades me,I’m going through a hormonal change,trying to transfer fervor like moneyfrom one account into another.I pass by an alley—ItalyThe bus catapults by a curved park—OxfordA fountain appears where there should be a fountain—ParisWe are all scarred.I write by impulse, to save mefrom letters 1 might regret.I am still in the end of my dreams:playing the glossy piano on the hill of rubble,l have escaped headless leaders, grass that crawlswinding itself around your ankles as you run,mites of stairs curling down and down,out on the street at last, a blastof radioactivity, lethal, directly on me,it is sure, more sure than the grey people who wander past.and even though there js no reasonfor the incredible, beautiful sunset, pink as my skin.no reason to play, t will play that found piano, play and playthe most beautiful music eve^ heard by no one.all the no ones that don't know me, or talk to me.don’t hear my voice. —Mary Therese RoyalThe Chicago Literary Review. Friday June 7, 1985—5,v oifT/v i ».1 t • » ’» *LABYRINTHS OF NIHILISMOut of the miscellany of post-modernistAmerican literature, an ontoldgy of lan¬guage is beginning to emerge which hasmuch in common with post-structuralist lit¬erary theory. The works of William S. Bur¬roughs and Jorge Luis Borges in particu¬lar, reflect a philosophy of language whichis virtually identical to that of Michel Fou¬cault. To each man, human existence is agreat drama, or more appropriately, aLanguage structures are the scriptdramatis personae. We are the actorsaudience. Language structures are|pis of essentially meaningless sym¬bols which mitigate and supplant reality.WherP Spliced in with our actual percep¬tions they lend an illusion of unity to ourchaotic existence, an illusion which is so in¬tricately integrated in our perception ofreality that it very often cannot be distin¬guished as such and profoundly influencesour actions. As tong as a given director im¬poses his script upon his actors, as long asa culture forces its constituents to re-enactthe same roles, perceived reality will re¬semble a film loop ftecurring patterns ofwords engender recurring patterns ofevents. Furthermore, Borges, Burroughsand Foucault feel that all acts of communi¬cation presuppose pre-existent languagestructures. This means that any utteranceor any script can only be a recombinationof previous utterances and scripts. Bur¬roughs even goes so far as to suggest thatlanguage is an alien entity which speaksthrough us as though we were ventrilo¬quist's dummies. We hear its voice andfancy that it comes from the depths of ourbeing. At the depths of our being, howev¬er, according to Foucault, there is only avoid: a jumble of unidentified fibres andstuffings posing as a substantial unity. Itis to this illusion of unity, this fallacy ofidentity, that each of these writers ad¬dresses his critique. Each man, however,although he recognizes essentially thesame problem, poses an entirely differentsolution. Burroughs’ method involves ran¬dom composition. By scrambling the script,he feels he can escape the control of thedirectors. Burroughs is primarily con¬cerned with control, conspiracies, andtheir evasion. Foucault’s method is Derri-dean deconstruction. By deconstructingscripts Foucault claims to shatter their illu¬sory unity. Finally, Borges proposes no so¬lution at all.In his novel The Ticket that Exploded,Burroughs abstracts perceived reality asthe sound and image tracks of a film.There are two types of sound and image.First, we have actual visual and audioinput from the environment. Noises ourbodies make and ordinary visual percep¬tions are of this order. Second we have il¬lusory, word-induced sounds and images.The word-induced sound is sub-vocalspeech. “Sub-vocal speech is spliced inwith your body sounds...Your soundtrackconsists of your body sounds and sub-vocalspeech.’’ Burroughs contends that “mod¬ ern man has lost the option of silence." Nomatter how we resist, there is alwayssomething within us that forces us totalk.Word-induced images work through as¬sociation. “Word invokes image, does itnot?" The word “red," due to condition¬ing, causes us to see a certain color. Fur¬thermore, our bodies are capable, saysBurroughs, qf “total recording." That is,we have been conditioned to associatesmell and tactile as well as image sensa¬tions vy4|h certain words. The images in¬voked |fy these associations constitute il¬lusory Trames which are spliced in with ouractual perceptions.jp his Tlon, Ugbar, Orbis Tertius, Borgesseems to agree with Burroughs. “The lan¬guage and the derivations of (the lan¬guage of Tlon) all presuppose idealism." Ifwe consider the “transcriptions from theapologists of idealism” that Borges col¬lected in A New Refutation of Time, cer¬tain affinities with Burroughs' film meta¬phor become apparent. For Hume, everyman is “a bundle or collection of differentperceptions, which succeed each other withan inconceivable rapidity,” though Humeis not an idealist, Borges has made anerror in his terminology. For Berkeley,man is “a thinking active principle thatperceives... a succession of ideas." ToHume, man is the film; to Berkeley, man isthe theater. The point of intersection offilm and theater is the screen, and this iswhat we shall focus upon. To each citizenof Tlon then, each moment is an “autono¬mous, minutely detailed" image flashingby with an “inconceivable rapidity.” Ge¬ometry in Tlon only concerns itself withtwo dimensions; it is primarily “visual andtactile." Nouns do not exist in Tlon. Theyare formed implicitly by an “accumulationof adjectives.” This allows the existenceof an image without implying a referent orthird dimension, an image whose only gov¬erning principle is not its relationship to areferent but the coherence between itsown words and ideas. For Berkeley andthe people of Tfon. of course, God isalways the ultimate referent, the perfect,reasonable being, from the point of viewof Borges, however, wnP is an atheistskeptic, and therefore a nihilist, Berkeleyand the people of tfipn are solipsists.Borges seems here, to be exploring the im¬plications of a two-dimensional world ofconcepts — a world contained within amovie screen.An idealist sees a doctored image of re¬ality, an image overlaid with an illusionof order, a template of language struc¬ture. The primary function of languagestructures is to supplant reality. Meta¬physical language structures constitutesystems of word-induced-image frameswhich are spliced in with actual percep¬tions. The word, and word-image of Tlon,for instance, was spliced in with the actualsound and image track of the world. Thefirst two splices were “Princess Faucigny Lucinge’s compass, inscribed with one ofthe alphabets of Tlon" and the heavy, con¬ical divinity image that the narrator foundin Brazil. “Such (were) the first intrusion(s)into the world of re¬ality. The third and major splice, of course,was the discovery and publication of “theforty volumes of the Encyclopedia ofTlon." “The international press infinitelyproclaimed the ‘find.’ Manuals, litholo¬gies, summaries, literary versions, atHpo-rized reeditions and pirated editions ofthe Greatest Work of Man flooded andstill flood the earth. Almost immediately,reality yielded on more than one account.The truth is that it longed to yield." Peo¬ple longed to delude themselves. Whenfaced with the horror of a disorderly andmeaningless universe they attempted tosupplant it with an alternate universe ofwords — “the minute and vast evidence ofan orderly planet."In Burroughs' terminology, the Encyclo¬pedia of Tlon is a screenplay which sup¬plies roles for its actors and an environ¬ment which allows the roles to be actedout. The result, in The Ticket That Explod¬ed, is the “reality film" — that hybrid offact and fiction which we have come to callreality. “People will go to any lengths toget into the film to cover themselves withany old film scrap ... junky ... narcoticsagent ... thief ... informer ... anything toavoid the hopeless dead-end horror ofbeing just who and where you are: dyinganimals on a doomed planet." Here again,words supplant reality.In The Ticket That Exploded, Burroughsposes the question, “If I had a talking pic¬ture of you would I need you?” His answeris clearly no. The essence of an actor’simage is the script he reads. In The TicketThat Exploded there is a murderer named“Terrence ‘Genial’ Weld" who exists onlyas his script. His murders are all apparentsuicides. “Genial’s" only existence is con¬tained in tape-recordings of his voicefound at the scenes of his crimes. This is anextreme example of word supplanting re¬ality and even image. This, according toBurroughs, is the primary function ofwords. In The Third mind, he reasons thatwords become necessary when the re¬ferent is not there (otherwise we couldpoint).Similarly, Foucault in Language to Infin¬ity contends that the primary function oflanguage is to distance us from our lessthan perfect existence. For Foucault,words are mediators which defer the real¬ization of the conditions of our existence.In Language To Infinity, Foucault cites TheOdyssey as an example. “The Gods senddisasters to mortals,” says Foucault, “sothat they can tell of them, but men speakof them so that misfortunes will never befully realized, so that their fulfillment willbe averted in the distance of words."Words then, instead of being positive ele¬ments, are merely spaces and detours. Allwriting and speaking is, in a sense, filibus¬ter^.In that words supply the order which islacking in our world (a script with roles forall of us), they deny the inherent disorderof that wtl&L Hume, Berkeley, and thepeople of Tlon impose a false order upontheir worlds idealism. Such denials, ac¬cording to Borges, are “apparent desper¬ations and secret consolations. Our des¬tiny ... is not frightful by being unreal; it isfrightful by being irreversible and ironclad." The “reality Him" is an attempt toescape from our destinies. The Encyclope¬dia of Tlon, dialectical materialism, anti¬semitism and Nazism, in short, “any symmetry with a semblance of order," is ascript to a “reality film." ife,A “reality film" is composed of splicedframes of fact and fiction, vf||d-imageframes do more than just distort our per¬ception of actual reality frames. Thqy in¬fluence our actions which, in turn, influencereality. In Tlon, “centuries and centd^.?sof idealism have not failed to influence hfi*ality. In the most ancient regions of Tlofethe duplication of lost objects is not intro-*quent. Two persons look for a pencil: thefirst finds it and says nothing; the secondfinds a second pencil, no less real, butcloser to his expectations. These secon¬dary objects are called hronir and ae,though awkward in form, somewhatlonger." This is a metaphorical version ofa self-fulfilling prophecy. A less meta¬phorical example of this in Tlon, Upbar,Orbis Tertius' is the German theologian(Johannes Valentius Andrea) who, “in theearly seventeenth century, described theimaginary community of rosae Crucis — acommunity that others founded later, inimitation of what he had prefigured."Here we have words literally transform¬ing the world in their own image. In TheTicket That Exploded, Terrence “Genial"Weld seems to have a literal as well as ametaphorical significance. “Anyone with atape recorder controlling the sound-trackcan influence and create events." Bur¬roughs suggests, in his Electronic Revolu¬tion, making a tape of riot sound effects(police whistles, screams, gun shots, etc.) « plavmg it at a peaceful demonstra-"Recorded police whistles will drawdUs. Recorded gunshots and their gunsa|S|out. MY GOD THEY'RE KILLING US! AgUjdsman said later: -| heard the shotsar||§3aw my buddy go down, his face cov-er^kin blood (turned ou he d been hit by afrom a slingshot) and I thought, wellInnbSrder for the “reality film to be a suc¬cession of autonomous images, that is, inorder for these images to succeed one an¬other*, the dimension of time must be pres¬ent. Jflme is the strand of celluloid thatbinds these images together in a se¬quence, thus lending the reality film its co¬herence. Language, the sound-track of thereality ^ftlm, also depends on time for itserence. Sentences are read and com-ie word at a time. In Borges’II language is of a successive na-ies not lend itself to a reasoningrnal, the intemporal.” He usess to preface the section of Ation of Time in which he claimshat is suggested in the title,lates here what Burroughsa “time travel” experience,g in Barracas one evening,[rned to the “still mysterioushis childhood): an area (hePwoturefof ththeseNew Rto effeBorgeswould cWhile waBorges reenvirons (has) posesaed often in words but seldom inreality." Irt Burroghs’ terminology, en¬vironmental factors had activated a com¬plex combination of associations whichhappened to coincide with those made in aprevious experience. In a life with “anabundance Of repetitions" (his, for in¬stance), there are bound to arise identicalmoments (two identical frames in the reali¬ty films). If w© are to take the argumentsof idealism seriously, Borges resons, wehave no reason to suppose that two identi¬cal moments are not, in fact, the same. Thiswould destroy the notion of perceived re¬ality as a succession of moments perma¬nently fixed along a single strand of timecelluloid. Borges obviously does not takethe arguments of idealism seriously. Tohim idealism is a labyrinth like any other.He does, however, seem earnest in his as¬sertion that identical moments are thesame. In his moment of deja vu he “su¬spected that (he) was the posessor of a re¬ticent or absent sense of the inconceivableword, eternity." Borges merely used ide¬alism as a means to “define that imagina¬tion." What he seeths to be getting at isthat perceived reality is something of afilm-loop, linked together by its sound¬track. As long as life tape-loop of timekeeps moving over the playback head ofthe present, each word of the soundtrackis an echo of an infinite number of past andfuture moments. “Ji&t as the chariotwheel in rolling rolls only at one point ofthe tire, and in resting'rests at only one; inexactly the same way the life of a livingbeing lasts only for the period of onethought." As soon as each thought passesthe tangent of the present, it simultan¬eously becomes part of our past and ourfuture. This phenomena- is strictly due tothe linkage of words in loops. The repeti¬tion of words causes history to repeat it¬self. According to Burroughs, today’snewspaper headlines are echos of futureand past headlines.This is clearly reflected In each writer’sconviction that the universe has alreadybeen written. The word that Burroughsuses is “pre-recorded." For him, the uni¬verse is made up of a collection of pre-re¬cordings. All acts of composition are mere¬ly echoes of previous compositions.Burroughs cites Eliot’s The Waste Land asmerely a collection of literary echos.“Poets have no words of their very own.Writers don’t own their words. Since whendo words belong to anybody? ‘Your veryown words’ indeed! And who are you?Borges’ analog to this is the Library ofbabel. “The Library includes all verbalstructures, all variations permitted by therwe.ity-five orthographical symbols, butuot a single example of absolute non¬sense.”Foucault, like Borges and Burroughs,sees himself limited within a sphere of^predetermined language strictures,act of communication presupposes a■existent language structure. At-Ipts to transgress the structural limitsnf >%|guage invariably result in p|rmuta-Pre"existent forms of expression.FoucatnL however, also recog nij|| thatlanguage structures must arise frdjh actsof commtjfiRiication. This makes the qiiestionof origin somewhat undecidable. If everyevent and language structure is dithen the histbty of 'anguage andevents become^-an infinitely differed matrix of echoes, a Library ofThe Library of Babel contains all poscreenplays to all pilkble reality filreality film poses itsef&as a falsewhen it claims to be, as Fgycault puts iself-enclosed expression bf ils own glthat is, when it is taken oflfpif the sheand used to subordinate all qf the oscripts. In doing so, we suppre^felhe chic, infinitely complex heritagetions which led to its cornpositiotions which invariably leadthe text. “In every work,” suggestscault, “language is superimposed upo^ft—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985haoshsndi©lf in a secret vertically.” Every realityflint, although it poses as a substantialunity, is really an ‘‘assemblage of faults,fissures and heterogenous layers.”In his essay Language to Infinity, Fou¬cault makes some relevant observationsabout Borges’ story The Secret Miracle.The main character, Hladik, is a con¬demned writer whom God granted, at themoment of his execution, another year tocomplete the drama he had begun. On thethreshold of death he composes a playwhich binds its characters in endlesslylooping cycles of word and image. “Head¬ed toward death,” suggests Foucault,‘‘language turns back upon itself; it en¬counters something like a mirror; and tostop this death which would stop it, it po-sesses but a single power; that of givingbirth to its own image in a play of mirrorsthat has no limits.” Language, when itreaches its structural limit — death —begins to “speak of itself.”This recursive property of language issymbolized in The Library of Babel by themirror in the hallway between each hex¬agonal gallery which “faithfully dupli¬cates all appearances.” A writer can beseen as a mirror, holding himself up tobooks in the Library of Babel. HerbertAshe, “who suffered from unreality ... inthe illusory depths of mirrors,” was in facta mirror himself who did his part in re¬flecting The First Encyclopedia of Tlon. Thepeople of Tlon, in being “organs andmasks of the divinity,” are actually reflec¬tions of the divinity (echoes of dogma).Borges even goes so far as to say in A NewRefutation of Time that “the vociferous ca¬tastrophes of a general order — fires,wars, epidemics — are one single pain, il¬lusorily multiplied in many mirrors.”For Foucault, 'the writer is a virtualspace, the site of an empty, synthesis ofalien forms. Like his texts, he is the “frag¬ile inheritor” of the genealogical hodge¬podge of his ancestors. He has no identityor essence other than the motley assem¬blage of genes in his cells or ifee randompermutations of word structures that flowthrough him. “Nothing in man -* not evenhis body — is sufficiently stable to serveas the basis for self-recognition or for un¬derstanding other men.” The ideimbes weassume in the “reality film” aro.merelymasks to hide the incomprehensiblwithin us.In The Ticket That Exploded Burreiterates Borges’ mirror metaphoadds another dimension to it — theBurroughs asks, “Do you see life decliri§|)nthe mirror? ... Remember the picture of jlb-patitis is prerecorded two weeks beforethe opening scene when virus negativf||have developed in the mirror and you no¬tice your eyes are a little yellower thadPusual — So the image past molds your fu-«ture imposing repetition as the past accu¬mulates and all actions are pre-recorded... I was dead. I took your identity. Onlythe ugliness remains.” In The Third MindBurroughs states that a virus is an “uglypicture looking for a mirror.” We are mir¬rors; “The word is now a virus. The fluvirus may once have been a healthy lungcell. It is now a parasitic organism that in¬vades and damages the lungs. The wordmay once have been a healthy neural cell.It is now a parasitic organism that invadesand damages the central nervous sys¬tem.” The life cycle of the virus is as cir¬cular as the looping “reality film.” Eachtime the virus finds a host, it enters, dupli¬cates itself, and then moves on to another.Each time a word sequence finds a mindthat will echo or reflect it, it is duplicatedand spreads offspring to other hosts. Likethe virus, the word, outside of the mind (onthe shelves of the Library of Babel) existonly as a potential to infect. The DNA ofthe virus, the molecule which enters thenucleus of the host and redirects it to man¬ufacture more viral DNA, corresponds tothe sentence. The nucleotides arranged se¬quentially along the DNA molecule corre¬spond to words. Chemical bonds hold DNAmolecules together. Time holds sentencestogether. The Library then, is a collction ofviruses, reality films, soundtracks or sen¬tences waiting for a man to come alongand start them echoing.One might ask now, taking into accountthe "infinite” variety of the Library inourselves, why history does not appear asan indecipherable jumble of tape loops.According to Foucault, this is due to thesurreptitious reinterpretation of historyby the powerful. Old masks, meaninglessin and of themselves, are imparted withnew meanings at the whim of new direc¬tors.The directors in The Ticket That Explod¬ed are the “Nova Mob,” a group of mani¬pulators headed by Mr. Bradley Mr. Mar¬tin alias "The Ugly Spirit,” proprietor ofthe “Reality Studios.” “Martin’s realityfilm worked for a long time. Used to bemost everybody had a part in the film ...”but not anymore. The “reality film" is nowobsolete, empty and irrelevant. Martinhad been “dipping into the till" while heshould have been writing new parts. “Toconceal the bankruptcy of the reality stu¬dio it is essential that no one should be in aposition to set up another reality set. Thereality film has become an instrument and weapon of monopoly. The full weight ofthe film is directed against anyone whocalls the film in question with particularattention to writers and artists. Work forthe reality studio or else. Or else you willfind out how it feels to be outside the film.I mean literally without film left to getyourself from here to the corner ... Everyobject raw and hideous sharp edges thattear the uncovered flesh.” The Nova Mob“gives us an offer we don’t refuse” — ei¬ther make do in our assigned roles or beostracised from society. “The offer of an¬other image-identity,” warns Burroughs,“is always on virus terms.” If we accept arole in Mr. Bradley Mr Martin’s realityfilm, we accept his word-virus whichcreates his image in us.In The Third Mind Burroughs explains,“Mr. Bradley Mr. Martin, in my mytho¬logy, is a god ... created to keep a tiredold show on the road.” Like “Terrence‘Genial’ Weld” in The Ticket That Explod¬ed, Mr. Bradley Mr. Martin exists as a dis¬embodied voice speaking through news¬papers and subvocal speech. He is a god inthe Durkheimian sense. Just as a memberof a religious cult feels the will of his peersacting upon him and mistakes it for thewill of a god, we feel the will of a decadentsociety and Mr. Bradley Mr. Martin mate¬rializes. In Burroughs’ mythology, Mr.Bradley Mr. Martin keeps the old realityfilm looping, preserving the status quo.There is an enormous disparity now be¬tween the content of the reality film andthe reality it attempts to mask. This is thesituation where the word-virus does themost insidious damage. It hollows a voidwhere the seif once was, leaving a walk¬ing shell, an exoskeleton of image. “Imean what kind of show is it after every¬thing has been sucked out? You want to sitfor all eternity watching the yellow movieof hepatitis...? We *know every line andthey never change..’ Jhe repetition of animage, says Burroughs, robs it of emotion¬al impact. Lack of ’’•motion's oxygen”causes emotional suffocation. Mr. BradleyMr. Martin is a vampire,5god that at¬tempts to recreate the wOnd in his ownimage. He drives his life substance fromthe people he controls through (he wordshe uses to control them.Borges’ closest analogue to Mf^^BradleyMr. Martin is Ezra Buckley the “asceticmillionaire,” who catalyzed the comple¬tion of The First Encyclopedia of^fen.Buckley owned slaves and prostitutes. ;§*ewas a parasite. He agreed to leave thethors of Tlon all of his accumulated wealtfon one condition: “The work will makepact with the impostor Jesus Christ.". Buck¬ley clearly aspired to godhood. He wantedto "conceive a world” in his ownimage.Buckley did not realize whatrfte was deal¬ing with. The real god was Ofe "society ofcollaborators” who presumably poisonedlim four years after he made his will. Thissociety of collaborators” corresponds toroughs’ “Nova Snob.” They are anmymous body tfl self-serving “controljets” who unleashed the enormous andmt Encyclopedia of Tlon upon theJust as the Nazi epidemic sweptlh Europe in the early forties, thespidemic threatened to conquer theIn The Library of Babel Borges;s young men who “prostrate them-cefore books and kiss their pages|barous manner, but they do nottp decipher a single letter. Epi->eretical conflicts, peregrinationsthrTloworlmenselveknowdemies,whichditry, hav vitably degenerate into ban-ecimated the population."Gods aroughs, piof this, as'God’s masThe deathabsence, thsignified, anof words. Incault suggestand Metaphysition of spiritstructure. Onceour language, ndeath and sexon of this limit,the sacred, is nowlanguage. Like a mbeach ball, we standof language. As weany side, the wails givmatter which directiotions don’t effect a chf course, for Borges and Bur-y metaphorical. The meaningucault seems to say, is thats finally fallen. God is dead,od is the revelation of hisbsence of a transcendentalnsequently, the emptiness'ace to Transgression, Fou-at with the death of Godthere came a desublima-into sexual languagestood at the limit ofre is only a void —lusory transgressi-itime boundary of)1 occupation ofstanding within avithin^the structruettempt eHepproachvay before us, NoIfe take, ourin scenery.language merely repeaIt is “sterilized by the stition of what has alreaithe simple naming of thatlimit of what we can sasoul no longer stand behinAlthough Borges, Burroicault are cell-mates in aguage, each man has a diftoward freedom and theescape. To Borges, “Tlon isitself to infinity,t inverted repe-been said andich lies at theGod and theeech.s and Fou-on of lan-nt attitudesibility ofiy a laby-s#ei)rinth, but it is a labyrinth afcvised bymen." “Any symmetry with aikmblanceof order — dialectical materiaMm, anti¬semitism, Nazism..." is a labyflbt. Per¬ceived reality is a labyrinth of faq^nd fic¬tion; word and reality. The fa£ thatBorges is a writer and a creator at falseorders puts him in a paradoxical petition Photograph of Jorge Luis Borges by Willis Barnstone.with the world of men. Borges is like agunsmith in a world plagued by war. He isa virologist in a world plagued by disease.“The methodical task of writing,” saysBorges, “distracts me from the presentstate of men.” Borges recognizes the rav¬ages of war and disease, but fe?j« incap-changing or even of cdmfTig the course of history. Like sine|thors of Tlon, Borges sees himself as anlitesimal part in a great plurality ofranppmly interacting forces. Borges is a li-brattan in the great Library of Babel.Burroughs and Foucault, on the otherhand, are quite different. Each proposes amethod'Of dismantling the word virus. In“The LibNp^y of Babel,” Borges mentioned“a blasphemous sect (that) suggested thatthe searcheh$jL|or order) should cease andthat all men shbyld juggle letters and sym¬bols until they constructed, by an improba¬ble gift of chandSlyhese canonical books.The authorities reality studio) wereobliged to issue ^|vere orders.” Bur¬roughs is just sucmiif blasphemer. Bur¬roughs contends thaf Ipe only way toescape from the reality^ ^film is throughrandom composition. Sinae’ control poten¬tial is determined by the sequential ar¬rangement of words in a whence, ran¬domly rearranging the word^qbanges ordestroys this potential. The cyctleaj scriptsof history preclude spontaneity. Ourminds are chained by associatiorLyines,wrapping us in a cocoon of time. ®|Uingassociation lines liberates us from otpes-sional thinking, letting “words spin off*their own; echoing out ... into an expaiing ripple of meanings." Most importanlly, cutting up word-lines cuts up the sound¬track of the “reality film," allowing us tochoose new roles to play, and history totake a new course. This correspondsroughly to what Foucault calls the parodicuse of the historical sense. For Foucault,the historial sense is the realization of“our existence among countless lostevents, without a landmark or point ofreference.” Foucault suggests wearingthese meaningless and essentially emptymasks in a parodic manner, a mannerwhich involves a skeptical, non-serious ap¬proach to interpretation. Since we cannot.escape the senseless masquerade of ex»£*ve can only hope, through, the ex¬pansion of our Knowledge, to achieve anenlightened enjoyrhem of it. We must not,through our ignorance, fall victim to theseriousness which comes with belief. Wemust not be afraid to add our own voice tothe choir of bellowing idiots that com¬prises twentieth century academia. Wemust “modulate the endless, murmuringnoise" of recursive language.What Burroughs suggests to do first is tofree associate into a tape-recorder; cutthe tape up, resplicing it randomly, andplay it back. What you have is your ownword virus deactivated, scrambled, andthrown back to you. What you have is as“irrelevant as honesty." “The only thingnot prerecorded In a prerecorded universeis the prerecording itself which is to say any recording that contains a random fac¬tor.” Instead of echoing the viral, repeti¬tive reality film soundtrack, we echo newpermutations of it. Instead of followingthe same tired old script, we pull a newone off the shelves. Burroughs sees thetape recorder as “an externalized sectionof our nervous system." Through it we cantransform our world. Instead of precipi¬tating another “Kent State” with KentSfiMe tapes, we could cut in noises fromfootban games, church congregations, andbarnyard animals to create a totally new,unique event.Burroughs applies this concept to writ¬ing by taking jafcges out of another au¬thor's work, cuttf^Jl, them up, and random¬ly juxtaposing thtfen. His novel NovaExpress is largely comprised of cut-ups ofJoyce, Shakespeare, Rimbaud andKerouac. Cut-ups merely make conscious aprocess which goes on iff both word and re¬ality. In word, we are always echoingphrases, sentences and f ideas we haveread and rearranging therh to fit the taskat hand. In reality, the world is a constant¬ly changing jumble of visual juxtaposi¬tions. A photograph, for instance, is a cut¬up of objects which happened to be in frontof the camera. The conscious introductionof chance lifts the grey veil of Control Ma¬chine words. “Once that veil is removedyou will see clearer and> sharper thanthose who are behind the veil." Hence, cut¬ups lead to a heightened outward aware¬ness. In Burroughs’ word||. “What I wantto do is to learn to see more of what’s outthere to look outside, to Jpiieve as far aspossible, a complete awareness of sur¬roundings.” Burroughs Peeks to deacti-|te the reality film soundtrack, weed itsimages from his perception, andeSQMpe from its labyrinthis much like what Foucault terms“effetStwe history” in Nietzsche, Genealo¬gy, arvd history, effective history involvesa shortening of vision which allows us tosee the oftaotic foreground in ail wordsand events; Better known as deconstruc¬tion or Gpneitfbgy, it is what Foucault usesin plaqe&f Burroughs scissors to effect thedissociation on|he self and the text; its{•cognition and displacement as an emptysynthesis, in iibert&hg a profusion of lostevents and derivations. Genealogy andDeconstruction “is nffijMae erecting of foun¬dations: on the contra*!* it disturbs whatwas previously consid$!ed immobile; itfragments what was unified; itshows the heterogeneity of what was ima¬gined consistent with itself, wenealogy re¬veals accident in all purpose*, k involvesan insatiable will to knowledge^*will notto be deceived, which seeks to\anihilateall belief and eventually itself, ^knowl¬edge," says Foucault, “is not made un¬derstanding, it is made for cutting ”BY JOHN BOWINThe Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1M5—7RILEY FLECHBUR’S LETTERSBYLENNETTE SADEKClara is dying. Two years ago she hadbought a long white nightgown with ruf¬fles at the neck and wrists. It hung in thecloset until she became ill, and then she in¬sisted on wearing it. But now the ruffles atthe neck and wrists hurt her and I dressher in Daddy’s old pajamas.I will be the last one left. Mother andDaddy and our two older brothers, Clydeand Filbin, are gone. I have a long stretchahead of me alone. Clara and I are not old.We are forty-one. Twins. We look justalike, except for this last month whenClara took a turn for the worse and I hadto cut her hair off.Clara and I have been close all our lives.It was like there was no one else in theworld, no one beyond the welcome mat.Especially after there were just the two ofus. We never married. The family westarted from was of greater importancethan any we might make. I had to upholdClara in that belief when Riley FlechburBYLENNETTE SADEKIt is spring and the pipes sweat and dripover the wooden sheds and rusty hingesonto the cellar floor. A film of dust andcobwebs cover the cellar windows likegauze curtains. A red haired boy squats inthe gangway and peeks through the cupsof his hands into the cellar window. Hemoves his head and hands up and down.He waddles in squatting position to thenext window.On the cement windowsill upstairswhere the long windows are shining clean,Mrs. Morga taps at the thick tailed squir¬rel in the tree behind the green fence. Mrs.Morga taps with a peanut and calls out“Joe,” to the squirrel. He snaps his tailand watches with one dark eye from theside of his head. He holds his paws to¬gether like praying hands. He sprints tothe windowsill. Tiny nails touch Mrs.Morga's fingers as Joe takes the peanut.In the cellar, Crystal Morga leans overher mother’s trunk. Her sister Simonestands beside her. Crystal takes twofaded photos framed in grey cardboardfrom the trunk. She gets up and stands be¬fore a dresser. Her reflection is broken bysilver and black peels beneath the surfaceof the mirror. She hoids the photos beforeher and whispers to the mirror, “This is mygrandmother and grandfather.”Simone grabs at a photo and says, “Letme see.”“Shh,” Crystal says. “They’re not reallyGrandma and Grandpa. They’re just pic¬tures.”“Then why did you say they were?” Si¬mone whispers.“I told you. I have to make a report tothe class. We have to bring pictures andtell something about our grandparents.”Crystal looks back to the mirror. “Theycame from Aracadia, Wisconsin.”“Where’s that?’ Simone says.“In Daddy’s Road Atlas. Now be quiet.You’re going to get us into trouble ifMama catches us.”“They owned a farm, with chickens anda cow who jumped the fence and tore herudder, and so they came here to live,”Crystal says.“How do you know all that stuff?” Si¬mone says.“I saw it on television,” Crystal says.“Grandfather bought a hardware storeand they became prosperous,” she tellsthe mirror.“Won’t you get into trouble for tellinglies?” Simone says.“How will anybody ever know ”Crystal and Simone tiptoe up the backstairs. Crystal hides the photos in herschool book.The afternoon sun makes long shadowsof the Morga family against the wall,Branches of the tree behind the greenfence trace over their hands passing abowl. Mrs. Morga begins another story.Her tongue licks the grease from her lips,her eyes focus on the tree outside.“We came out and everything was burn¬ing,” Mrs. Morga says, “the whole villagewas on fire. We walked a long time. Whenthe fires quieted, the smoke made it darklike night, but we could see hands, lying inthe rubble, the bodies buried beneath.”She chews, staring at the tree, and doesn’tfinish her story.Mr. Morga watches his plate as he eats.He has no stories to tell.Simone moves her legs beneath the rang the bell selling vacuum cleaners andbrushes. He was an ex-sailor and keptcoming to the door. Clara broke down oneevening after I had come from work. Sheshowed me the very small diamond Rileyhad given her as an engagement ring.Clara never worked. She had continuedin school studying archeology. WhenDaddy got sick she took care of him. Thenshe took care of Mother. And then she wasalways bothering herself about Filbin, ouroldest brother, visting him at the hospitala’nd running errands for him.I told Clara to give me the engagementring. When Thursday morning came andRiley was to return, I stayed home fromwork and sent Clara to our room. Rileycame without his vacuum cleaner and with¬out his black case of brushes. I had wantedto tell him he was a scoundrel for trying totake advantage of my sister who knewnothing of the world. But he had thoughtthat I was Clara and I thought perhaps itwas better to let him think that. I handedhim the small diamond back in silence. Hepleaded and I remained silent.table as if she were walking. She looks atthe ceiling and places a piece of blackbread over her face. It covers her eyesand nose. “What does prosperous mean?”she asks.“Hut bread down to speak,” Mr. Morgasays.Simone has crumbs on her face. “Whatdoes prosperous mean?” she asks.“It means to make money to buy house,”Mr. Morga says.After supper, Mrs. Morga stitches abirch tree on heavy cloth tacked to awooden frame. She hunches over the birchtree that sways in a wind. She stitches andwhispers. Crystal memorizes dates fromher school book and listens to hermother.“When I left the orphanage,” Mrs. Riley began to write to Clara. I’m sureshe answered for he has continued towrite. His letters proved useful, for I tookone of Daddy’s letters he sent to Motherbefore they married and placed it on thedresser tray next to Riley’s letter. Daddywrote with a fountain pen. His handwrit¬ing was long and flowing. Riley had writ¬ten in pencil. His handwriting was shortand box shaped. He had misspelled theword sincerely. His name at the bottom ofthe letter was smudged. Clara cried as shelooked at the two letters.Clara gasps now in bed. She calls myname, “Agnes, Agnes.” I get up and walkover to her. Her bloated face is still, hereyes closed. The room is dark, even thoughthe sun shines outside. But Clara complainsthat the sunlight hurts her.At first I missed her company and wouldwake her from the spell of sedatives. Butit is no use. She says the pain is greaterwhen awake than when sleeping.I spend most of my time in this darkenedroom with Clara. There isn’t a lot for me todo without her. I gave up my job a monthMorga says, “I stopped in the road at thebottom of the hill, to look back. The nunshad locked the iron gate. I couldn’t see thetree anymore. The tree I used to climb tothrow notes to my brother on the otherside of the wall. After the tree blossomed,the blossoms were left until they turnedbrown and slippery,” Mrs. Morga patsthe stitches of red bark floating in waterbeneath the birch tree. She looks up atCrystal. “You should be in bed,” shesays.Rain has opened the tree behind thegreen fence. Mrs. Morga doesn’t see hersquirrel and leaves him a brussel sprouton the windowsill. The smell of the treeand of the cellar is in the brussel sproutsand oxtails.“I’ve finished the birch tree,” Mrs.Tricia Degan, ink on paper.THE REPORT ago. I’m not interested in this big house.Housekeeping had always been Clara’sjob.There is a trunk at the bottom of our bedthat Clara liked to rummage through. Shewould sit here, on the floor, readingDaddy’s old letters again. She has keptRiley Flechbur’s letters but she never readthem while I was present.Clara would bring the old photos fromthe trunk. Photos of Mother and Daddyand Clyde and Filbin. She talked aboutthem and said things she rememberedthey had said. Filbin had a bad temperand was hospitalized for it on three occa¬sions and Clara seemed to dwell on thatand I would have to take Filbin’s photofrom her hand. The photo of Filbin with hiscrooked bow tie. I miss Clara rummagingin the trunk. She brought Mother andDaddy and Clyde and Filbin back to life forme.“People, and things, do not wholly ceasein their being just because they are absentfrom our eyes,” Clara would often say asshe closed the trunk. I tried to dissuadeher from this thinking for I worried of herstraying too far from reality, as Filbin haddone.. It is the morning now and I’ve had to callDr. Segna and take Clara to the hospital.Dr. Segna tells me it is just a matter oftime. He touches my shoulder and tells methat I have been an angel of mercy in mycare of Clara. He is a very old man andshuffles down the hall into the hurry ofnurses and the faint ‘dmg ding’ overheadas of a muffled bell. I think of the largeempty house. The empty bedroom. Andthe absence of Clara who had always pro¬vided me with a purpose. For just a mo¬ment, no longer than it takes for thepretty young nurse to go down the halland turn into a room, I think of Clara as anarcheologist, of her life different fromwhat it had been.I will go home and sleep again in the bigbed that Clara and I had shared all ourlives until the last month of her life whenmy sleeping movements caused her pain. Ithink of the trunk, the oval frames thathold pictures of the dead for me withoutClara, sitting on the floor, making theirlives somehow continuous, somehow yetalive. I don’t know how much time haspassed when Dr. Segna comes to tell me itis over.At home, I bring in the mail and toss itonto the table. I see the corner of a letter,“Mr. Riley Flechbur". I tear it open. Thesmall square penciled letters are difficultto read.“Dearest Clara,Might I come to visit. I havebought me a little grocery store witha hardware supply in the back of ithere in Stumpy Point and I got to bepassing through there the 12 of nextmonth on business and I would sure¬ly love to take you to dinner.Sincerely yours,Riley.”i don’t know how long I sat holding theletter, but the penciled words hadsmudged beneath my thumb and it hadgrown dark and I turned on the lights. Iwent to Clara’s desk and took her station¬ery and pen. I wrote back to Riley.“D^ar Riley,I do so look forward to seeing youon the twelfth of next month. Youshall be of great comfort to me as, Iregret to inform you, my sisterAgnes has passed away.Sincerely,Clara”I spent the long night with the only liv¬ing thing left in the trunk, Riley Flechbur’sletters.Morga says. “We’ll hang it on the wall. Itwill be yours Crystal, when I’m gone. Iwant to have things for you my mothercouldn’t have for me.”“What will be mine Mama? Simoneasks.“I’m beginning the horse chestnut treetonight. That will be yours,” Mrs. Morgasays.In the morning, Crystal stands beforethe class to give her report. She scrapesthe dry cardboard frames together behindher back. The smell of the trunk comesfrom the frames. Sun gleams through thetatters in the green shades hanging on thelong school windows. The cardboard ismoist where her fingers press. The card¬board begins to crumble where shescrapes the photos together.“Grandfather spoke a secret languagein the small town of Schopflock.” Crystalbegins with her mother’s whisperings ofthe night before.8—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985The Univeisityot Chicago Department of Music PresentsSILENTSHADES'7T Ik T T\ MUSIC OF/I IX! | f TURCELLS^ X IX JL«^ HANDELELYS IANFIELDSPerformed by The University of Chicago Collegium MusicuniMary Spnngtds,director Timothy Steele,assistant directorwith soloists Fllen Harris, Marilyn McCoy,Johnathan Miller & Bruce TammenFRIDAY’ 7 JUNE 198 5 AT 8 PMGOODSPFED RECITAL HALLTree <!\r open to the public *■ SUPPLEMENTARY STUDENTINSURANCESUMMER 1985OFF-QUARTER COVERAGEJune 14th is the deadline for enrollment?Off-quarter coverage is available to degree students whoare registered and participate in the University Plan thequarter prior to the off-quarter and who expect to beregistered and participate the quarter following off-quarter. Off-quarter coverage is available to degreestudents for one quarter of non-registration in a 12-monthperiod. Coverage is also available for one quarterimmediately following receipt of a degree. Application foroff-quarter coverage must be made in the Registrar’sOffice and the fee must be paid upon applying.The first shoe acceptedby the American FodiatricMedical Association.ACCEPTEDThe APMA represents over 90% of America’s practicingpodiatrists. And for the first time they have awarded theirofficial Seal of Acceptance to a shoe line. The Rockportshoe line. Rockport shoes are specially designed todeliver unmatched lightweight comfort and support. Andit’s this long standing dedication to foot care and comfortthat’s made Rockport the first shoe company the APMAcould be comfortable with.RockportINNOVATIONS IN COMFORT *ns notcmuL1534 E. 55th St.HYDE PARK SHOPPING CTR • 667-9471Store Hours: Mon.-Fri. 9-6:30, Sat. 9-6:00 ELIZABETH MERTZ& RICHARD PARMENTIER (EDS.)Semiotic MediationJOHH C. JACOBSThe Fables of Odo of CheritonSEMINARY COOP BOOKSTORE5757 S. UNIVERSITY 752-4381EAST PARKTOWERSCharming, vintage building inEast Hyde Park now has alimited selection of lake andpark view apartments. Situatednear the l.C., we offer studios,one and two bedroom unitswith heat included in rent. Askabout our student and facultydiscount.324-6100 APARTMENTSFOR RENTGRAFF &CHECK1617 E. 55th St.1 ’A, 2’4, studios, and1 bedroom apartmentsin a quiet, well-maintained building.immediate OccupancyBU8-5566 JifIlfISThe Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7RILEY FLECHBUR’S LETTERSrang the Ke!i selling vacuum cleaners and Riley began to write to Clara. I’m surebiusbes He was an ex-sailor and kept $he answered for he has continued toconing to the door. Clara broke down one write. His letters proved useful, for I tookevening after I had come from work. She one of Daddy’s letters he sent io Mothershowed me the very small diamond Riley before they married and placed it on thehad given her as an engagement ring. dresser tray next to Riley’s letter. DaddyClara never worked. She had continued wrote with a fountain pen. His handwrit-in school studying archeology. When jng was long and flowing. Riley had writ-Daddy got sick she took care of him. Then ten in pencil. His handwriting was shortshe took care of Mother. And then she was and box shaped. He had misspelled thealways bothering herself about Filbin, our word sincerely. Hi° name at the bottom c‘oldest brother, visting him at the hospital the latter was smudged. Clara cried as sneand running errands for ,!m. looked at the two lexers.I told Clara to give me the engagement Clara nasps now in bed. She calls myring. When Thursday morning came and name, “Agnes, Agnes. I get up end wa'kRiiey was to rsmrn I stayed home from ever to her. He; hloated face is still, herwork and sent OHra to our room. Riley eyes closed. The room is dark, even thoughcame witnout his vacuum cleaner find with- the sun oni.ies outside. Bu* Clara c mplainsjut His black case of brushes. I had wanted tnat the sunlight hurts her.to tell him he was a scoundrel for trying to At first I missed her company and wouldtake advantage of my sister who knew wake her from the spell of sedatives. Butnothing of the world. But he had thougnt it is no use. She says the pain is greaterthat I was Clara ana I thought perhaps it when awake than when sleeping,was better to let hir. think that. I handed | spend roost of my time in this darkenedhim the small diamond back in silence. He 100m with Clara. There isn’t a lot for me topleaded and I remained silent. do without her. I gave up my job a monthTricia Degan, ink on paper.THE REPORTBYLENNETTE SADEKClara is dying. Two years ago she hadbought a long white nightgown with ruf-fies at the neck and wrists. It huno in thrcloset until she became ill, and then she in¬sisted on wearing it. But now the ruffles atthe neck and wrists hurt her and I dressher in Daddy’s old pajamas.I will be the last one left. Mother andDaddy and our two older brothers, Clydeand Filbin, are gone. I have a long stretchahead of me alone. Clara and I are not old.We are forty-one. Twins. We look justalike, except for this last month whenClara took a turn for the worse and I hadto cut her hair off.Clara and I have been close all our lives.It was like there was no one else in theworld, no one beyond the welcome mat.Especially after there were just the two ofos. We never married. The family westarted from was of greater importancethan any we might make. I had to upholdClara in that belief when Riley FlechburBYLENNETTE SADEKIt is spring and the pipes sweat and dripover the wooden sheds and rusty hingesonto the cellar floor. A film of dust andcobwebs cover the cellar windows likegauze curtains. A red haired boy squats inthe gangway and peeks through the cupsof his hands into the cellar window. Hemoves his head and hands up and down.He waddles in squatting position to thenext window.On the cement windowsill upstairswhere the long windows are shining clean,Mrs. Morga taps at the thick tailed squir¬rel in the tree behind the green fence. Mrs.Morga taps with a peanut and calls out“Joe,” to the squirrel. He snaps his tailand watches with one dark eye from theside of his head. He holds his paws to¬gether like praying hands. He sprints tothe windowsill. Tiny nails touch Mrs.Morga’s fingers as Joe takes the peanut.In the cellar, Crystal Morga leans overher mother’s trunk. Her sister Simonestands beside her. Crystal takes twofaded photos framed in grey cardboardfrom the trunk. She gets up and stands be¬fore a dresser. Her reflection is broken bysilver and black peels beneath the surfaceof the mirror. She holds the photos beforeher and whispers to the mirror, “This is mygrandmother and grandfather.”Simone grabs at a photo and says, “Letme see.”“Shh,” Crystal says. “They’re not reallyGrandma and Grandpa. They’re just pic¬tures.”“Then why did you say they were?” Si¬mone whispers.“I told you. I have to make a report tothe class. We have to bring pictures andtell something about our grandparents.”Crystal looks back to the mirror. “Theycame from Aracadia. Wisconsin.”“Where’s that?’ Simone says.“In Daddy’s Road Atlas. Now be quiet.You’re going to get us into trouble ifMama catches us.”“They owned a farm, with chickens anda cow who jumped the fence and tore herudder, and so they came here to live,”Crystal says.“How do you know all that stuff?” Si¬mone says.“I saw it on television,” Crystal says.“Grandfather bought a hardware storeand they became prosperous,” she tellsthe mirror.“Won’t you get into trouble for tellinglies?" Simone says.“How will anybody ever know ”Crystal and Simone tiptoe up the backstairs. Crystal hides the photos in herschool book.The afternoon sun makes long shadowsof the Morga family against the wail,Branches of the tree behind the greenfence trace over their hands parsing abowl. Mrs. Morga begins another story.Her tongue licks the grease from her lips,her eyes focus on the tree outside.“We came out and everything was burn¬ing,” Mrs. Morga says, “the whole villagewas on fire We walked a long time. Whenthe fires quieted, the smoke made it darklike night, but we could see hands, lying inthe rubble, the bodies buried beneath.”She chews, staring at the tree, and doesn’tfinish her story.Mr. Morga watches his plate as he eats.He has no stories to tell.Simone moves her legs beneath the table as if sh? 3 walking. She looks atthe ceiling and places a piece of blackbread over i.er face. It covers her eyesand nose. “What does prosperous mean?”she asks.“Hut bread down to speak,” Mr. Morgasays.Simone has crumbs on her face. “Whatdoes prosperous mear?” she asks.“It means to make money to buy house,”Mr. Morga says.After supper, Mrs. Morga stitches abirch tree on heavy cloth tacked to awooden frame. She hunches over the birchtree that sways in a wind. She stitches andwhispers. Crystal memorizes dates fromher school book and listens to hermother.“When I left the orphanage," Mrs. Morga says, “I stopped in the road at thebottom of the hill, to look back. The nunshad locked the iron gate. I couldn’t see thetree anymore. The tree I used to climb tothrow notes to my brother on the otherside of the wall. After the tree blossomed,the blossoms were le’t until they turnedbrown and slippery,” Mrs. Morga patsthe stitches of red bark floating in waterbeneath the birch tree. She looks up atCrystal. “You should be in bed,” shesays.Rain has opened the tree behind thegreen fence. Mrs. Morga doesn’t see hersquirrel and leaves him a brussel sprouton the windowsill. The smell of the treeand of the cellar is in the brussel sproutsand oxtails.“I’ve finished the birch tree," Mrs. ago. I’m not interested in this big house.Housekeeping had always been Clara’sjob.There is a trunk at the bottom of our bedthat Clara liked to rummage through. Shewould sit here, on the floor, readingDaddy’s old letters again. She has keptRiley Flechbur’s letters but she never readthem while I was present.Clara would bring the old photos fromthe trunk. Photos of Mother and Daddyand Clyde and Filbin. She talked aboutthem and said things she rememberedthey had said. Filbin had e bad temperand was hospitalized for it cr, threo occa¬sions and Clara seemed to dwell on thatand I would have to take Filbin’s photofrom her hand. The photo of Filbin with hiscrooked bow tie. I miss Clara rummagingin the trunk. She brought Mother andDaddy and Clyde and Filbin back to life forme.“People, and things, do not wholly ceasein their being just because they are absentfrom our eyes,” Clara would often say asshe closed the hunk. I tried to dissuaoeher from this thinking for I worried of herstraying too far from reality, as Filbin haddone. It is the morning now and I’ve had to callDr Segna and take Clara to the hospital.Dr. Segna tells me it is just a matter oftime. Ht= touches my shoulder and teds methat I have been an angel of mercy in mycare of Clara. He is a ve>y old man andshuffles down the hall into the hurry ofnurses and the faint ‘ding ding’ overheadas of a muffled bell. I think of the largeempty house. The empty bedroom. Andthe absence of Clara who had always pro¬vided me with a purpose. For just a mo¬ment, no longer than it takes for thepretty young nurse to go down the halland turn into a room, I think of Clara as anarcheologist, of her life different fromwhat it had been.I will go home and sleep again in the bigbed that Clara and I had shared all ourlives until the last month of her life whenmy sleeping movements caused her pain. Ithink of the trunk, the oval frames thathold pictures of the dead for me withoutClara, sitting on the floor, making theirlives somehow continuous, somehow yetalive. I don’t know how much time haspassed when Dr. Segna comes to tell me itis over.At home, I bring in the mail and toss itonto the table. I see the corner of a letter,“Mr. Riley Flechbur”. I tear it open. Thesmall square penciled letters are difficultto read.“Dearest Clara,Might I come to visit ! havebought me a little grocery store witha hardware supply in the back of ithere in Stumpy Point and ! got to bepassing through there the 12 of nextmonth on busings anu I would sure¬ly love to take you to dinner.Sincerely yours,P.iley.”i don’t know how long I sat holding theletter, b”t the penciled words hadsmudged beneath my thumb and it hadgrown dark and I turned on the lights. Iwent to Clara’s desk and took her station¬ery a d pen. i wrote back to Riley.“D^ar Riley,I do so look forw 3rd to seeing youon the twelfth of next month. Youshall be of great comfort to me as, Iregret to inform you, my sisterAgnes has passed away.Sincerely,Clara”I spent the long night with the only liv¬ing thing left in the trunk, Riley Flechbur’sletters.Morga says. “We’ll hang it on the wall. Itwill be yours Crystal, when I’m gone. Iwant to have things for you my mothercouldn’t have for me.”“What will be mine Mama? Simoneasks.“I’m beginning the horse chestnut treetonight. That will be yours,” Mrs. Morgasays.In the morning, Crystal stands beforethe class to give her report. She scrapesthe dry cardboard frames together behindher back. The smell of the trunk comesfrom the frames. Sun gleams through thetatters in the green shades hanging on thelong school windows. The cardboard ismoist where her fingers press. The card¬board begins to crumble where shescrapes the photos together.“Grandfather spoke a secret languagein the small town of Schopflock." Crystalbegins with her mother’s whisperings ofthe night before.8—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985The Univasityot Chicago Department of Music PresentsSI LEN TSHADES7T "X T MU51c ofZ1 IXI I 1 rURCELL SJ VI ^11 JL^ HANDELELYS IANFIELDSPerformed by The University of Chicago Collegium MusicumMaty Springtels, director Timothy Steele,assistant directorwith soloists Ellen Harris, Marilyn McCoy,Johnathan Miller & Bruce TammenFRIDAY’ 7 JUNE 19S5 ATS PMGOODSPEEP RECITAL HAILTree (Sr open tc the public + SUPPLEMENTARY STUDENTINSURANCE' 'SSUMMER 1985/ Z', ''/f" ’ % ' ’ ' /'s'./ '' "" 'S’, ' ''/ x /, i./T ' , 9's*/ C: .,/ V. ./ , A.'A^OBE-QUARTER COVERAGEllillSiiilP'l~ mmm. June 14th is the deadline for enrollment!Wmmmip emm /: r"103..V- D y * /, T: \\h;/ 'i §" &Off-quarter coverage is available to degree students whoare registered and participate in the University Plan thequarter prior to the off-quarter and who expect to beregistered and participate the quarter following off-quarter. Off-quarter coverage is available to degreestudents for one quarter of non-registration in a 12-monthperiod. Coverage is also available for one quarterimmediately following receipt of a degree. Application foroff-quarter coverage must be made in the Registrar’sOffice and the fee must be paid upon applying.The first shoe acceptedby the American FodiatricMedical Association.ACCEPTEDThe APMA represents over 90% of America’s practicingpodiatrists. And for the first time they have awarded theirofficial Seal of Acceptance to a shoe line. The Rockportshoe line. Rockport shoes are specially designed todeliver unmatched lightweight comfort and support. Andit’s this long standing dedication to foot care and comfortthat’s made Rockport the first shoe company the APMAcould be comfortable with.RockportINNOVATIONS IN COMFORT *THE SHOE C0EW1534 E. 55th St.HYDE PARK SHOPPING CTR • 667-9471Store Houre: Mon.-Frt. 9-6:30, Sat. 9-6:00 EUZABETH MERTZ& RICHARD MRMENIIER (EDS.)Semiotic MediationJOHN C. JACOBSThe Fables of Ode of CberitonSEMINARY COOP B00KST0BE5757S. UNIVERSITY 752-4301w^r'e^w^pw wis vw euMp v w qp w wEAST PARKTOWERSCharming, vintage building inEast Hyde Park now has alimited selection of lake andpark view apartments. Situatednear the I.C., we offer studios,one and two bedroom unitswith heat included in rent. Askabout our student and facultydiscount.324-6100 APARTMENTS 2jfHI!IV!FOR RENTGRAFF &CHECK i16171.55th St.lVt, 2*4, studios, andT bedroom aparlmentsin a quiet, well-maintained building.Immediate Otcupancy $JkBU8-5566The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—9Our outstanding loansto Mexico and Braziltotal $0.Our outstanding loansto Hyde Park-Kenwoodand the greaterSouth Sidetotal over $32,000,000.Hyde Park Bank's loan portfoliodefinitely lacks the "international”character of the big downtown banks.Our depositors like it that way. Theirmoney is reinvested where they cankeep a close eye on it —right in theirown backyard. Small business loans,mortgages, home improvement loans,car loans and educational loans are justa few of the ways we keep our cus¬tomers money at home. But our "local”loan portfolio and our commitment toHyde Park-Kenwood are just (wo goodreasons to open a checking accountat Hyde Park Bank. Consider...Accessibility Hyde Park Bank is aMoney Network bank. 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ILbObIS1112) 7S2-4hflO10—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985FOUR REALITIES OFA POEMI a.id II Meeting the Mountains: read andspoken aloudIII Analysis: rhythmIV Gary Snyder: meaning and formI and II F ead this silently, then a'oud severaltimes:Meeting the MountainsHe crawls to the edge of the loamingcreekHe backs up the slab ledgeHe puts a finger in the waterHe turns to a trapped poolPuts both hands in the waterPuts one foot in the poolDrops pebbles in the poolHe slaps the water surface with bothhandsHe cries out, rises up and standsFacing toward the torrent and the moun¬tainRaises up both hands and shouts threetimes!—Gary SnyderIII Analysis: rhythmBeginning with Webster’s definition ofrhythm as “an order recurrent alternationof strong and weak elements in the flow ofsound and silence in speech,” it quickly be¬comes clear that the complexity of rhythmmake it difficult to encompass. Addressingpoetic rhythm, Harvey Gross points out inhis introduction to The Structure of Versethat there is no “comprehensive theory onthe genesis, nature, or function ofrhythm.” Theorists seem reluctant to evendefine what rhythm consists of, partly be¬cause of the little understood “interior”effects of language, sound and meaningfor which Gross borrows the term “audito¬ry imagination” from T.S. Eliot. This anal¬ysis will address three of the rhythmswhich partially comprise the whole rhythmof the phonetic sounds; and the metricalrhythm. The tensions and coalescing ofthese components are orchestrated bySnyder into a rhythm which gives thepoem its life and draws the reader/lis¬tener into it.Meeting the Mountains is a descriptivepoem. Its setting is simple: a man by acreek and a pool on a mountain. Thepoem’s narrative is comprised of the de¬scription of this man’s action; there is nocontemplation or intellectual observation.The description is succinct: none of the ac¬tions are elaborated upon and very fewadverbs or adjectives are used.The action of the man advances instages: each line contains a successive ac¬tion, except the ninth line which containsthree actions and the last line which con¬tains two actions. In the first seven linesthe man’s actions become less energetic.He begins with crawling in line 1, then hisactions diminish in size and energy until inthe seventh line he is only dropping peb¬bles. Line 8 becomes more active with him“slapping” and line 'a ft ither acceleratesboth in the energy end amount of action.Line 10 is more calm — “Facing” — andthen in line 11 the action picks up oncemore, ending the poem in three shouts. Thechanging amount and energy of the man’saction gives the narrative texture.The action is all done by one person, re¬ferred to as “He” in lines 1-4, 8 and 9. Theother lines (5-7, 10 and 11) have no pro¬noun or noun attached to them, only theimplied continuation of the narrative.Dropping the subject noun makes the ac¬tion more direct — addressing it to thereader/listener. The effect of this is todraw them into the poem. This works withthe changing amount and energy of the ac¬tion to create a narrative rhythm.The obvious poetic device that Snyderuses in Meeting the Mountains is ana¬phora, a Greek word for carrying up orback, Lines 1-4, 8 and 9 all begin with“He”, and lines 5 and 6 begin with "Puts”;these visual/sound repetitions serve to ac¬centuate those lines which begin withother words: lines 7, 10 and 11. It alsobreaks the one stanza poem into sections:lines 1-4; lines 5, 6, (7); lines 8-9; and lines10-11.Snyder uses parallel line structure: averb at the beginning and a noun at theend of each line. This serves to emphasizethe lines that do not fit into the pattern¬line 9 which has three verbs (one of whichends the line) and line 11, which has twoverbs and ends in one of the few adverbsin the poem.There are also heavy uses of simplephrase and word repetition. Besides theabove mentioned “He” and “Puts”, thewords “water” and “pool” are repeated.The phrases “in the” and “both hands”are also repeated. These words andphrases are used in a complex interlockingpattern, particularly in lines 3-8. BY KARLA KARINEN3 He puts in the water4 He pool5 Puts both hands in the water6 Puts in the pool7 in the pool8 He — water bothhandsThe shift in the position of “puts” makesthe dropping of the anaphora “He” morefluid. The repetition of “in the water” ac¬cents the shortening of the line lengthfrom line 3 to line 5, makes these linesseem more connected and creates a spiral¬ing sound repetition effect. The use of"pool” in line 4 and the lines 6 and 7 hassimilar effects. “In the" serves as a transi¬tory sound/phrase for “water” to “pool”,thus connecting them. The consecutive rep¬etition of the phrase “in the pool” at theends of lines 6 and 7 serves as a transitionfrom the first word “Puts” to “Drops”,and also serves to accent the difference ofthe rest of those two lines. Line eight isthen brought in with the reoccurrence ofthe anaphora “He”, and the phrase “bothhands” and “water”. Note also, that line5, at the center of the poem is made up en¬tirely of repeated sounds.The repetition of “water” is also inter¬esting on the level of reference. In line 3“water" refers to the creek, while in line 4it refers to the pool. Line 8 also refers tothe pool, but it is the water surface, notjust the water. Thus, in a sense, there arethree waters. The phrases “rises up” inline 9 and “Raises up” in line 11 have asimilar reference split. The subject in line 9is the man, in line 11 it is his hands. Snyderis using the same phrase for ‘parts’ and‘the whole’ in these cases, implying thatthey are connected and, perhaps, inter¬changeable.Sound repetition is not limited to wordswhich are the same, alliteration also pro¬liferates. Each line has a specific repeatingsound or sounds. Of particular interestare lines 5, 6, and 7. One of the line 5 alli¬terations is the phoneme “t” in “Puts”and “water”. The line 6 alliterations arethe phoneme “t” in “Puts” and “water”and the phoneme “p” in “Puts” and“pool”. Then, the line 7 alliteration is thephoneme “p” in “Drops”, “pebbles”, and“pool”. Thus the sound travels from ‘t’ to‘t’ and ‘p’ to ‘p’ — interwoven phoentics.Although no other lines have such an obvi¬ous phonetic connection, Synder uses alli¬teration throughout the poem for such pur¬poses. There is also one cross-line rhyme:“edge”/“ledge”, and one end rhyme:“stands”/“hands”.Snyder uses line structures, word andphrase repetition, alliteration, and rhymeto emphasize, deemphasize, connect andcontrast different )arts of the poem. Theoverall sound rhythm which this creates isone of cohesion and interconnections.The metrics in Meeting the Mountainsare a study in sprung rhythm. Althoughlines have regular internal stress patternsat times, no two lines are identical. Linelengths vary, and it is difficult to scansome lines for feet or stress patterns atall. This variation in metrics creates abackdrop for the poetic devices and narra¬tive of the poem.Lines 1 and 2 are relatively regular met¬rically, they at least have a discernablepattern. Line 1 is mirror-symmetrical: aniamb, which is two short syllables fol¬lowed by a long; and two anapests, whichare metrical units of a short syllable fol¬lowed by a long; an iamb. At ten syllablesit is a somewhat long line. Line 2 is sym¬metrical; an unstressed syllable followedby a spondee, or two stressed syllables;then repeated. This line is a bit shorter(eight syllables) which speeds the pcem upa bit. While the metrical pattern here israther structured in these two lines, thepoetic devices are not as heavy as in muchof the rest of the poem.Lines 3-7 become progressively shorter,which speeds the pace of the poem. The in¬ternal stress patterns do not even ap¬proach regularity. They are, in fact, re¬ markable in their amount of variation. Ofparticular interest are lines 5 and 6. Line 5(seven syllables) and line 6 (six syllables)have identical stress patterns except forthe omission in line 6 of the finai un¬stressed syllable. This leaves thereader/listener expecting more. This cata-lexis, or omission of the last syllable, ismade more striking by ihe fact that noother two lines are so similar to eachother. While the metrics of this whole sec¬tion (lines 3-7) are speeding the poem up,the narrative action is Slowing down,creating tension between the form andmeaning of the lines. Also, -while the met¬rics are wildly changing and coming apart,the poetic devices are working to makethis section tightly interwoven. Thiscreates a tension between the sounds andmetrics of these lines.After the increasing speed and irregu¬larity of lines 3-7, line 8 seems long (tensyllables) and regular. It is iambic, exceptthe last foot “both hands”. While the met¬rics slow down, the narrative action picksup. Line 9 is slightly shorter and not veryregular. The most notable metric featurein this line is the caesura after “cries out”.This is set off by the comma after it —Synder’s first use of punctuation. In line 9the metrics pick up, as does the narrative;the metrics are odd, as is the line struc¬ture. Line 10 is longer again (ten syllables)and the stress pattern is almost dactylic, along syllable followed by two short ones.The line slows down metrically, as doesthe narrative. In lines 9 and 10 then, the•• 4k •poetic devices, the metrical rhythm andthe narrative rhythm work together. Theyemphasize the jarring rhythm of line 9 andthe slower, calmer rhythm of line 10.Snyder’s orchestration of these rhythmelements culminates in the last line ofMeeting the Mountains The first hah ofthe line — “Raises up both hands” — isheavily accented, but not very allitera¬tive. The action is large, but the stressesmake it difficult to say quickly. Most inter¬esting is the last part of the line: “shoutsthree times!” The phonetics of this phraseare interesting. The alliteration of the ‘t’and ‘s’ phonemes, along with the closelyrelated ‘thr’ and ‘sh’ might seem exces¬sive for only three words, but the series ofvowels ‘ou’, ‘ee\ and ‘i’ seem to balancethis cohesion. The vowel series is phonet¬ically interesting in that, while the tonguegoes back, forward, back, the lips are gra¬dually opened more. To add to these pho¬netic tensions, the action here finds itspeak: this is the man’s ‘meeting the moun¬tains’ as promised in the title. Further, allthree words are stressed, and the lineends with an exclamation point. While thethree stresses slows the phrase down, itbecomes a metrical onomatopoeia — thereader is actually shouting three times.The ebb and flow of these rhymthic ele¬ments in Meeting the Mountains createsbalances and tensions that draw thereader into the poem. Although this analy¬sis doss not try to cover all of these in¬teractions, most of the ways in which theyintertwine were mentioned. The rhythm ofa poem consists of more than theserhythms and ultimately of the interactionof the "auditory imagination”; this typeof analysis is only the first step to under¬standing rhythm. While the phoneticsounds bring this poem together, the met¬ric rhythm tears it apart, as the narrativeflows forward.IV Gary Snyder: form and meaningIn an interview with Ekber Faas, and onewith Reginald Gibbons, Gary Snyderspoke about his own philosophies and po¬etry. His studies as an anthropologist, inlinguistics, in Chinese and Japanese areuseful to keep in mind as is his training asa Zen Buddhist priest. There is always adanger, in attempting to apply a person’sthoughts out of context, of misinterpret¬ing them. This section will attempt toappiy Snyder’s theoretical thinking toMeeting the Mountains....we all swing back and forth, Iguess, between that sense of need¬ing to do the job with language it¬ Aself, and occasionally thinking thatthe job can be done with emotionsand ideas. Whitman is a great temp¬tation, like it’s the rhetorical temp¬tation of just expressing yourself inbig terms as against the work ofdoing it structurally. Convincingpeople with ideas is one system, theother is to change the structuralbasis. The structural basis is muchless rewarding and much more timeconsuming, although if it works, itdoes the job.Meeting the Mountains is, perhaps, an at¬tempt at convincing by form. As noted inthe analysis, the poem is fairly ‘objective’and simple as thoughts go. It is the rhythmwhich hits the reader, involves him/her inthis poem. Although it was not discussedbefore, I would also like to mention therole of the breath of the reader. Becausethe first punctuation is not until line 9, thepoem should be read straight throughuntil that point. This leaves more readersslightly breathless — they are being in¬volved on a physical level in the poem. Allof this is achieved by the form of thepoem, its structure. Snyder has morethoughts on form:...And if you want to talk about emp¬tiness, the universe is not empty, theuniverse is full. Any conception ofthe universe is still a conception thatinvolves the nature of form....In Euddhist terms, the body isform, the mind has the potentialityof formlessness, and speech or lan¬guage mediates between the two. Itseems very accurate. But the mind isusually caught up in form because itis generally playing with linguistictricks or replaying impressions ithas taken in.Further applying these thoughts on form,one begins to wonder what the ‘point’ ofMeeting the Mountains is. In Buddhistthought, all beings are interconnected —this not only to living beings, but at itsmost extreme, to everything in the uni¬verse. The connections mentioned in theanalysis of the different meanings ofwater, and the man’s hand and oody be¬come relevant here. The parts and thewhole are connected; the sounds of thepoem are connected; the reader is connect¬ed by his breath with the poem. Meetingthe Mountains has a fairly simple ‘objec¬tive’ meaning which is brought to life bythe form of the poem.Poetry has many realities — the poet'sintentions, the reader/listener’s i»‘Aerpre-tation and a formal analysis are only afew. Here I will leave the reader with an¬other thought of Gary Snyder's on poet¬ry:I stop a poem when I feel it has beenwell enough begun that the readercan carry it from there. That the restof it is for his mind.• |#•Woodcut by Michael Corr, from Turtte Isand.The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—11with the general will. But the birth ot a col¬lective voice in the abstract cannot sup-press the interests arising from ..baser fj*.sheets. "Of themselves, the people alwaysdesire what is good; but do not always dis¬cern .t The gene.al will is a ways right,but the judgement which guides it is notalways enlightened...” Hence Rousseauconcludes that all are In need of guidance,or the great legislatorThe taw Is more man expressed of thegeneral will, as Rousseau expMc% dmfines It. Implicitly, me law must also shapethe general will since the people are wontto err. Rousseau ascribes near-divine at¬tributes to the lawgiver to accomplish sucha task, it is tempting to dismiss the law¬giver’s role as an idealization like thegeneral wilt. Unfortunately, more; practi¬cal litmus tests for the existence Of thegeneral wilt do not exist.If we assume me lawgiver to have beenme archtypical Moses of antiquity, mereal operation of the general will becomesmore troubling On one hand, the peoplecar .ot be trusted to follow the pirnera}will. At best, a censor can guide publicopinion towards the general will which heperceives better than the censored. Atworst, the intransigent or unedocablemust be "forced to be free.” At the same1 il 1 ill mm ill HI Ifby Kevin Rovensvirtue be- the spring of a. popular1gov**£t*fh times of peace, mespring of t .at government during arevolution »s *fh*« 3cm’>*.>ed wimterror: virtue, wnkm terror< is destructive,: terror #hhoUi arfaphvirtue is impotent Tenor is only ju*. plice prompt, severe, and <nfi«*.bie;it is then an emanation of virtue.—Maxkntllien RobespierreRevolutionaries and royalists alikewatched with moral revulsion 17,000heads roll in the squares of France But ifRobespierre stands on moral trial, his de¬fense cannot rest on his own testimony.The architect of the Terror, an expositer, alaw-giver, and a roptical leader, Robe¬spierre was not a phiisopher. The virtueRobsplerre uses Id defend terror is thevirtue of the society of Rousseau, !If Robespierre had condemned his ene¬mies with the voice of dte general will,Rousseau might have approved me firstexecutions. ‘‘When me prince has said tohim: ‘It is expedient to the state that youdie.' he ought to die since his life is nolonger merely a gift of nature, but a condi¬tional gift of the state.” After 17,000deaths to preserve the State, Rousseaumight have doubted the existence of thegeneral wilt. But If Robsplerre misappliedthe principles of the Social Contract, memoral burden of the Terror lies less on hisunfaithfulness than on the, principles them¬selves. The difficulties of ascertaining thegeneral wHI in society leads readily to theimpotence of virtue without terror,Rousseau writes of the general will inthe simplest sense as me distiiiation ofseparate interests. Government cannotoperate outside the realm of interestscommon to ail members of society. But in1794 France, Girondins, Jacobins, ultra¬leftists and royalists fought bitterly overissues from price controls to religion to theconduct of war. Indeed in any pluralisticsociety the general will appears impossi¬ble to find.Pluralism, however, is not what Rous¬seau envisions Man has a higher naturewith the potential for collective expres¬sion, distinct from the baser expressionsof self-interest. It is the communal expres¬sion of man’s moral being which Is proper¬ly called me general will. Hence Rousseaucan assert that the general will can nevererr. Furthermore, the general will, onceascertained ts not subject to ‘‘constructivecriticism” or compromise, but instead is aninviolate expression of morality. Opposi¬tion becomes an act of immorality in the in¬dividual, treason when acted upon in soci¬ety. The purity of the general will makesits identification critical in Rousseau’s soci¬ety; there is no room for the marketplaceof ideas.The very act of original association,what Rousseau calls the social contract,imparts to man his moral character. Theresulting moi common speaks in theory that Robespierre performed the rotes oftaw-giver and guide wim almost inhumanability. Rousseau wrote of the legislator,‘‘...a superior intelligence would be neces¬sary who could see all me passions of menwithout experiencing any of them...stor¬ing up for himself with the progress oftime a far-off glory in the future, couldlabor in one age and enjoy in another.”While noted for his personal asceticism,Robespierre could nonetheless stir themoral passions of Parisians to his cause.His visions of a cosmic moral victory ex¬ceeded even the later imperialist ambi¬tions of fkmaparte, but Robspierrehis ideas.” Finally, the principles of politi¬cal and economic justice he offered in theDraft Declaration of the Rights of Mao andof the Citizen was more faithful to Rous¬seau’s society than any offered by his con¬temporaries.Perhaps it was as a political leader thatRousseau’s prescrip-Robspierre defiedtime, the political leader is permitted toimply from ‘‘universal silence” of the freesovereign the agreement of the people tothe general will. 1 he tension between thefreedom the sovereign; must have to dis¬sent and me necessity jto guide dr force afreedom perceived ty less than the wholesovereign ,* not resolved explicitly, in thesocief ' of Rousseau, majority votes do notnecessarily signal the general will; it Ispossible in theory that just one man in 25mBtioh knows th© general will! * / !Itobaaeau implies two possible resold*hons. One is to believe that only some pep-vWm. enable a,|uat society by virtue12—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985TUESDAY IS MEN’S DAYALL MEN’S CUTS ARE 810°°CALL FOR AN APPOINTMENT TODAY!hair performers1621 E. 55th St.Chicago, IL 60615241-7778Now you can tan without the sun...at your nearby Wolff SystemTanning Center.•Tan without painful sunburns.•Tan in spite of the weather.•Keep your tan all year long.For a great tan year-round, insist on a Wolff Systemand get a fast, dark, natural tan.• COMPLETE*single visiondesigner glasses$3375Offer expires 6/14/85Contacts & SpecsUnlimitedGLASSES AT OURGOLD COAST LOCATION ONLY!1051 N. Rush SI. • 642-EYES(At State/Cedar/Rush, above Solomon Cooper Drugs) CONTACTLENSESOUR REGULAR PRICE30 day extendedwear lenses „<$3375SO KIM VIE AM) BAl SC H AM)I.OMB ONLY. PROFESSION \l KEKADDITION \E RKQl IKED.Offer expires 6/ 14 /85Contact LensesUnlimitedEVANSTON11724 Sherman Ave.864-4441 NEW TOWN2566 N. Clark St.880-5400 GOLD COAST1051 N. Rush St.(At State/Cedar/Rusk,above Solomon Cooper Drugs)642-EYES aThe Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—1314—TheChicagoLiteraryReview,FridayJune7,1985 tingheadlandsandfeycoveringtheparts thatdon’tfitwithmyiihand,Itrytoproduce increasinglypureoonflfgurations,isthatofno use?Infactfknowit4sInhere{indicateshis breast)whereallthStheoremsaretobe found,notonlythel&iutionbftheequation buttheequationltsel|;OnceImayhavebe¬ lievedtfeetIwouldbepbletofindaformbe¬ neathlicentiousness,thiscriminalin- differeh^i^i^trrlaws*ii:; fContempomrySwedishPoetry >$SPoetry^i&heBoweringPress,It*1980emigrantship INOTHERW ANINTERVIE'TwoProsePoemsInwhatwayisthestoneaworld?Notinthe samewayasdandelionsarecanarieswhichli doflyorwavesareknivesscraping acrossthebeach.Thestoneisaworld:noteOnsunnydaystheseaisdividedintodif- thewolf-likespiderstalkinglambs,thesmallferentlycolouredareas,partlyaccordingto tiredflieswhichleavethdedgeofseaweedthenatureofthebottom,partlyaccordingto atclosingtimeandlistlesslydrifthome-thedirectionofthewind.Buttodaytheseais wards,inswarms.Cananyoneendurethatgrey,asgreyastheSkyandwithoutanyvisi- much?Thestoneinyourhandisonething,in-bleboundarybetweenairandwater,be- credibleandgrotesauewithlargeholesandtweentheblufshmilkandtheporridge.No itsridiculousappendixofdryseaweed;itsharpboundaries:eventheshorelineisugly leavesthehandandfliesinitspartialellipse,andruggedtoday.Itaqnoy3me.Bykeeping likeacomet,outanddowntowardsthewait-constantlyonthemoye,constantlychanging ingsplash,withitstailwavingaswearilyasmyvantagepointsandbyalternatelyclosing thelastwethandkerchiefetthesternofanandopeningmyeyes,byusingpiersandjut- IDS: WITHGORANPRINTZ-PAHLSON■\The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—15continued from page 15Homeric world, that’s not the question. Thequestion is more whether he Knows classi¬cal Greek, whether he's done his ho¬mework, and whether he can put it over ina readable version.CLR: When you look at a finished transla¬tion of a contemporary poet, is there anyway of saying, “That’s my poem.” Couldyou describe the emotions that you feel be¬tween yourself as translator, and the poetyou are translating?GP. There is a very strong feeling in somecases. I’ve translated a poem by RobertHass called Meditation at Lagunitas whichI think is one of the best poems written byan American poet in the 1970s, ana I thinkmy translation is very good, (laughs). It’svery difficult to talk about oneself in theseterms, but one is aware that some transla¬tions are much better than others, thatsomething is happening in the language. Icould mention another American poet I’vebeen translating for many years, JohnAshbery. I feel that although my own poet¬ry and ideas are probably very differentfrom John Ashbery’s, I’ve been able, tosome extent, to recreate the tensions in hislanguage in Swedish, which often involvestaking a lot of liberties with the actualtext.CLR: Among these contemporary poets, isit possible that some poets’ syntax lendsitself better to the Swedish language thanothers? I’m thinking of Lowell, whose syn¬tax is very accessible in English and nolonger considered original. Does Ashbery,for instance, present more challengingproblems, or are they weighed evenly?GP: It’s quite straightforward in a way,because ! think there are special problemsabout Lowell and poets who use tradition¬al form—even if it’s broken up in a veryuntraditional way—and the sort of freefloating form of John Ashbery’s work. Thequestion is more to find the right tone-tone of voice— the right diction. Lowell ismore difficult, I think, because of the un-traditional way he’s taken liberties withitis metrics.CLR: Would I be right in saying thatLowell is, nevertheless, dealing with cer¬tain linguistic assumptions? Of coursethere are linguistic assumptions in all po¬etry, but there are different kinds of lin¬guistic assumptions. Could you elaborateon the differences between Lowell andAshbery along these lines?GP: Well, I would rather say traditionalassumptions rather than linguistic assump¬tions. As you remarked, linguistic assump¬tions are always there, and although theyseem to tackle them directly, very fewpoets actually do. Francis Ponge is an ex¬ceptional French poet whom I admire verymuch, but there are entirely different as¬sumptions behind the whole structure oflanguage that he presents. I could use adifferent example, such as the whole tra¬dition of using very simple linguistic struc¬tures, as in William Carlos Williams, orRobert Creeley, which is a line of develop¬ment in American poetry that I have greatadmiration for, but which I haven't reallyfelt close to myself, as it involves a compli¬cated, more contortuous attitude towardslanguage. But it’s quite clear that poetryusing simple linguistic structures is mucheasier to translate, to put into a differentlanguage. I’ve been also involved in trans¬lating from Swedish into English and thereis, for instance, the poet Tomas Tran-stromer who has achieved quite greatfame in recent years. I haven’t translatedvery much of him, but although he’s lin¬guistically very complicated, or complex,as complex as any of the other poets wehave mentioned, his poetry comes overquite easily because of the strong relianceon his sensuous impressions, the strongimages of his poetry.CLR: Do you sometimes feel that you areintroducing a new sensibility to the Swed¬ish reader who has not read these poemsin English? Or to the English reader whoPhotograph by Goran Printz-Pahlson by Inge-mar Leckius has not read these poems in Swedish?GP: Yes, one always hopes that it’s thecase. There wouldn’t be much point intranslating poetry if one didn’t believethat It would be something new; making itnew is in some ways a hallmark of modern¬ist poetry. One shouldn’t be too presump¬tuous here and try to think that one can ac¬complish too much. But I’m pretty sure thatAmerican poetry in the '70s and the '80shas been very much changed and, perhaps,improved by the influence of translationsfrom—well from Spanish-American poetryin particular—but also Eastern Europeanpoetry. And we have the example of poetsand writers being more or less assimilatedin the American context, like JosephBrodsky being the most striking examplein recent years, who is so strongly Russianin his outlook, but still manages to trans¬late a lot of his own Russian poetry into En¬glish and even write some poetry in En¬glish in the first place, like his beautifulElegy to Robert Lowell.CLR: You’ve mentioned to me that youtranslate your own poetry written inSwedish into English and vice-versa, andyou've said it’s sometimes hard to knowwhich process starts first, in which lan¬guage you first wrote a poem. Could youcomment on this?GP: I have been playing around withthese ideas, with this activity for quite awhile. It’s very difficult to make a gener¬alized statement about it. I mean I’m notas keen as Joseph Brodsky to translate myown poetry as it has been written, per¬haps a long time ago in a different culturalcontext and for a different kind of readingpublic. But sometimes I’ve written dif¬ferent versions of my poems in both lan¬guages, starting with one version and thendoing the other one quite soon after; inconjunction with the original inspiration,as it were. But it’s very difficult to trans¬late one’s own work and there it helps tohave a collaborator. I have been translat¬ing some of my early poetry together withthe American poet John Mathias, and thathas been, I think, a very successful colla¬boration. But at this stage you regard thispoetry almost as written by somebodyelse. Although the question of interpreta¬tion is interestingly here. One of the prob¬lems, I think, in translating one’s own po¬etry, is that there’s not enough of achallenge in reaching an interpretation ofthe original intentions. After a greatnumber of years you are, perhaps, as con¬fused about your original intentions asany other reader.CLR: Do you sometimes find yourself inthe odd position of criticizing yourself astranslator of your own poetry?GP: That could happen, yes. The critical in¬tention is there, and I think it's very oftenquite considerable. Ezra Pound, who wasone of the great poet-critics of our time in¬sisted that translation was not only a criti¬cal activity but a very necessary, and in asense the most necessary part of the wholecritical act, as in his translations from theChinese and Provencal. In presenting tra¬ditions from the past or from differentparts of the world, he intended to changethe whole course of poetry in English. And Ithink he was successful.CLR: You mention semantic lightning be¬tween the poem as process and the poemas artifact and this semantic lightningseems to be a striking characteristic ofyour own poetry. Could you discuss thisquestion of poem as process and poem asartifact in relation to your methods as atranslator of poetry?GP: Weil, H certainly relates to the wholematter of poetry. I certainly can’t discussit at any great length in this particular in¬stance, but we have in our time seen re¬newed interest in the poem as process, asthe presentation of the poem, perhaps at apoetry reading, where the poem exists foras long as It is being read. And many mod¬ern or post-modern poets have exploitedthis situation in sometimes very subtleways The other idea of the poem as athing made, as an artifact, existing on thepage rather than in the spoken word, alsooriginates in the modernist tradition, per¬haps the ultimate being Maiiarme wherethe very organization on the printed pageis the most important aspect of the poem.Clearly for translation these two interre¬lated aspects are important, and many ofthe translations of our time, or the besttranslations of poetry, have often beenpresented in that public reading context.Some poets insist on including a lot oftranslations, or even reading classicalpoems in the English tradition, when read¬ing their own poetry. This makes the poet¬ry reading into something other than sim¬ply a recitation of recently-written workby the poet. It gives some kind of indepen¬dence to the activity.CLR: As you say, there is a renewed inter¬est m the poem as process. Do you everfeel that, as a translator, you might bethinking ahead in a way that the poet didnot when he wrote the poem?GP: Weil, we were talking about the poemas process from a different aspect before..Now I think you’re thinking of the actualprocess of composition; one has to assumea temporal sequence in the composition of the poem, but of course we don’t reallyalways know—in most cases we don’tknow—what sequence this was. Modernpoetry on the whole has tended to avoidthe planning of the poem in a predictableor logical way, rather it tries to do the op¬posite. I think it was the filmmaker JeanLuc Godard who said that a film must havea beginning, a middle, and an end, but notnecessarily in that order. This can be saidabout a poem as well; perhaps even moreso about a poem. After all, it was a quitetraditionalist critic, Horace, who said thatthe great thing about Homer’s poetry wasthat it didn’t go back to the very begin¬ning, but started in medias res, in the mid¬dle of the thing. There is in both Great Bri¬tain and in America a very strongtendency to claim that poetry ought to goback to a more ordered sequence, and thatthe rhapsodic sequence of writing that hasbeen customary in the modernism shouldbe changed into something more logicaland sequential. I don’t agree with that, be¬cause I think that the immediacy of poetryreally necessitates a less ordered se¬quence. We don’t have to call it indeter¬minism, which I think is a misleading termwhen applied to poetry. But certainly thefeeling that poetry should be in some waysunpredictable and surprising is not a re¬cent invention of the modernists, but goesback very far, perhaps throughout the his¬tory of poetry.CLR; But as translator you know the endof the poem, or do you suspend that knowl¬edge during the process of translation torecover that surprise?GP: I don’t think that one has to imitate ormimic the process of original composition, idon’t feel that the translator is hamperedby knowing the ending of the poem. Any¬body who has read a poem once—and ofcourse this is the great strength of poetry,that it can be read more than once, thenagain if you don’t read an advertisementmore than once perhaps you shouldn’tread It at all—but poetry can be read overand over again and it becomes richer. Butof course the immediacy of the first read¬ing can never be repeated. In many casesthat can be a drawback, or result in an an¬nihilation from the poem. I think some re¬cent poetry of the ludic variety—as it’scalled in Great Britain nowadays— themain effort required of the reader is tosotve a riddle included in the poem. Thatkind of poetry is not really wet! served bysecond or third reading. But when it comesto poetry which has a different kind ofemotional texture, I think that every sub¬sequent reading will, in fact, deepen andenhance the experience. This is what thetranslator should aim at, and it isn’t ham¬pered by knowing in what direction theprocess of the poem is going.CLR: You have mentioned the phrase se¬mantic lighting before, what does thatphrase mean to you?GP: Well it was uttered in another inter¬view, in Swedish, and has a slightly dif¬ferent set of connotations in that context. Ithink when one is working with poetry—and again the example and instance ofAshbery’s poetry comes to mind—one isworking with frames of references in a se¬mantic field, as it were. And the ease withwhich poetry can change its semantic fieldis much easier than you can change thefield of context or angle in theatre or in afilm. A film is a much more realistic medf-um. Poetry is perhaps the least mimetic ofall verbal medium, and that is what makesit possible to change frames of referenceso easily. If you presuppose that thereshould be a kind of discursive or logicalstructure—a blueprint that poetry has tofollow—I think you actually deprive poet¬ry of one of its most important forces, theshaping of its own language.CLR: Does your being a critical theorist en¬hance the facility and intention of yourwork as a writer?GP: I certainly hope that there is some¬thing coming out of that relationship whichcan be read on the level of conflict in somecases, but which I hope is a creative con¬flict. In my poetry I use quite a lot of criti¬cal and theoretical concepts—not just liter¬ary theory, which I think is overrated—butin a wider sense, a general theory of com¬munication between human beings. That, isa very important subject for the poet, andI think that all good poets have to face ft insome way. It doesn’t mean that you haveto strengthen your poems with terms fromliterary theory, it’s more a question of try¬ing to understand a situation of communi¬cation between human beings. To some ex¬tent that is implied in the poet’s situation,which in an exemplary instance includesthe re ationship between the poet and hisreader.CLR: I think that you’re describing theenormous commitment in poetry, in dis¬cussing the importance of communication.How would you describe your attitude ofcommitment in translating poetry?GP: Commitment is a term which has beenmisused a great deal. I don’t want to use itin the sense that it is often used, as somekind of necessary ingredient in poetry andthat inept or indifferent poetry could beelevated to a higher level iust throughsome kind of act of commitment. It’s not a mechanical element that can be applied topoetry, or translation for that matter.Ideological commitment*in poetry is some¬times a help to the translator and some¬times an obstacle. You can translate thepoetry of Ezra Pound, for instance, in hismost rabid Fascist and Populist phase, andcan you give your whole commitment tothat translation? I think it’s very possibleto do the translation even if one abhorsthe ideas behind it, and very much feelsthat Ezra Pound was completely mistaken.Still the middle Cantos are induuitablycommitted to some very abhorent idea,though the book as a whole retains itsstrength. How can we explain this? This isnot only a question for the translator, It’salso a question for the critic.CLR: What about the rigor of honesty en¬tailed in writing poetry, compared to therigor of honesty as translator. Do they endup seeming equally demanding?GP: That’s a tricky question. I don’t knowif one can talk about honesty in transla¬tion. One can talk about being faithful, butas the old French adage has it, with trans¬lations as with wives, the most faithful arenot necessarily the most beautiful. Clearlyyou have to be faithful to the original inyour translation in some minor sense,while at the same time leaving yourselffree to make choices in the actual transla¬tion. But there are so many degrees oftranslation. Robert Lowell again comes tomind. It’s a good example of a very freerendering of poetry which is, as it were,Loweilized. You can always recognize it asa Lowell poem, even if it’s written by Bau¬delaire or Villon or whoever. That’s onemode of translation. Another mode oftranslation is the attempt to render theoriginal exactly.CLR Would you care to comment on whomyou feel maKes the better translator?GP: I thinh they’re both necessary, so youcan’t make that distinction. I think we haveexcellent examples of both kinds in thetradition of translations into English, fromDryden onwards. Dryden, in his preface tohis translations, was the first one to makethis very important distinction betweenimitations on one hand, and what he calledmetaprastic translation—which is sort ofword-for-word. Sometimes the poetry ofthese word-faithful renderings comes overin a very powerful way. I’ve just beenreading Seamus Heaney’s translation ofthe old Irish poem Legend About MadSweeney. The character is also used in hismost recent book, and I’m a little disap¬pointed because I think it is making it tooEnglish, too British, in a way. Some of theword-faithful translators become morepowerful at translating texts which areancient because they give out that primi¬tive feel. Heaney’s translation seems toopolished in many ways.CLR: Would you characterize yourself inthese terms?GP: I’ve done both, (laughs) I’ve translat¬ed some classical poetry into Swedish,among others the first Satires of Persiusand in that case I chose to make it a com¬pletely contemporary version of the firstprogrammatic satire on Pertheus, trans¬lating not merely the words, but everyname and circumstance into the contem¬porary literary Swedish scene.CLR; Are your translations that you didwith John Mathias of contemporary Swed¬ish poetry characterized by one mode orthe other, or a combination of both?GP: There we come back to the question ofcritical choice or selection, it was great funto do this, because in many cases thesewere my exact contemporaries. I had somemisgivings at the outset about the enter¬prise, but i think contemporary poetry hasto be translated in a different way thanolder poetry. On the other hand, you don’thave to worry too much about the setting,or impressing the international or multina¬tional world—the settings are very muchthe same. Many of the poets l translatedwere not only contemporaries but oldfriends, so l felt that I had an intimate in¬sight into what had moved them to writethat particular kind of poem. But when youpresent a body of work, from a particularperiod in the culture, language, and litera¬ture of a country, you have to be awarelhat it should represent at least more thanyour own personal choice.CLR: What do you think is the function cfpoetry in today's society, and what do yoithink it should elucidate?GP: Well, this is the $64,000 question,isn’t it? The function of poetry in this pres¬ent world doesn’t seem to have much of avoice through the din of present-day politi¬cal and cultural upheavals. I think it’s aquestion of faith, a question of hope. Wealways hope that communication betweenhuman beings, communication in language,can be in some ways elucidating throughpoetry. Whether it can bring much directsuccor to the people of today or presentsuffering is very doubtful. But we canalways hope that in some specific in¬stances this can happen. 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Call or stop and see ourmodels today., dubDel qpPrado Daily 11-5, Weekends 11-6Baird & WarnerHyde Park Bldv. at 53rd Street285-18551S—TH® Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985NIGHT OUTShe nurses the baby in the ladies’ roomthe pink distended breast falling blue-veinedinto the baby’s red and gaping mouthstretched into a whine. The city lightsseem strangely still tonightfading into a cloud bank whichrises like the earth bern set againsttheir small frame house. The el evadesa thin Black boy throwing pebblesat its silver sides, roars abovethe hopeless smoke-filled airof stale wine and underarmsin near northside bars.The city rests, lets slip the day, reclinesagainst the jealous breast of nightwhile envious of the stones their flight,their haste, their hapless crash againstcold steel, she repairs herselfrepaints her smile, returnsto the corner table with its checkered clothand her adoring husbandwatching the clock,fumbling for his keys.—Martha M. VertreaceSECOND HOUSEFROM THE CORNERLaughing at Eve’s wormy applewe plundered blue-black mulberriesfrom the backyard treenear the forbidden grapevine,day after day, our lips and shirtsbearing the tell-tale stain of wild cherries.Yo i and I were both Zorro that yearbiack capes unfurling in the Hallowe’en nightlike twin jolly rogers.The spell was cast and broken—I found the altar stone, its partitioned saintlong since fled. Fled, too, were boarded windows,planks in Hurricane Hazel’s eye,and smelts cooked to wait out the stormwe only half-belived would come.We buried our capes in the steamer trunkwhere they turned green.—Martha M. Vertreace Photograph by Phil PollardSLEEPWALKINGIn hawthorn, robins flit with unaccustomed gracetheir drunken eyes perusing the winter sky.Even now the waitress balancesan armload of green salads and the coffee potsauntering with a vacant smile toward our tableWith no warning given, none is taken—cobblestones reach upto twist the ankles of the unsuspectingambling between brick housescoasting on thin ice.With a wide-angled lensI search around corners, behind treesdown periscope to the silted floorof a groggy midspring riverfor some trace of certainty—a broken march,spilled tobacco, a yellowed Meerschaum—but the focus only blurs beyond my own myopia.Just a little cinnamon andI could drink this coffee; things would interlocklike a child's jigsaw, whose huge wooden piecesfleck tempera and splinters.Remember when the world was flat,floating in aether, fueled with phlogiston?We walked through Lascaux unencumbered,no perpetual calendar or periodic table;we counted on our fingers.But caged canaries diedin methane, spectre-pale.while continents lumbered west and southin tactonic reverie.Where the St Charles trolley endsI counted date-palms,flocked trees balanced againstthe great gulf wind.—Martha M. VertreaceThe Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—19' ■*• •» JEXORCISING BATSFROM THE BELFRYUlysses, A Critical and Synoptic EditionJames JoyceGarland Publishing, 19843 volumes, 1919 pages, $200.00by David SullivanIt took James Joyce ten years to com¬pose Ulysses, a book as much about theprocess of life as the process of literature,and it took another ten years for HansWalter Gabier to recover the finishedproduct from the myriad of printers, type¬setters, and edition errors, and give usthis superbly researched and elegantlypresented critical edition. Though its priceis high, perhaps a paperback edition withonly the corrected version will be pub¬lished and everyone will be able to readthe definitive Ulysses. This large editionincludes the earlier versions on the facingpage with each change marked and dated,and I again had the odd feeling whenreading the book that Joyce; whose workis about cycles, processes, the evolution oflanguage, and the evolution of each per¬son, must have felt so intimately connect¬ed with his work that the signing of a li¬brary slip in Dublin would eventually findits way in.Or, in another example, he timed a pieceof paper dropped into one of Dublin'srivers so that he knew it should appearthree episodes later at the mouth of thatriver. He must have felt the breath ofsomeone, years later, retracing his steps.But Joyce’s obsessive accuracy andplayful joy in connecting his characterslives to the physical world would meannothing if he didn’t also reveal the humanfrailities and foibles beneath our masks. Ifwe turn to the interior monologues, andspecifically the image of the vampire bat,whose importance is emphasized by noless than three changes that Joyce madeafter the first printed edition came out,we find the symbol is weaved through thevarious episodes in a pattern that helps usunderstand Leopold Bloom; the sonless,cuckolded sensualist, and Stephen Deda-lus; the fatherless, aching artist, as peopleinvolved in the process of self-discovery.If the emandations stregthen a specificsymbols importance, we know that Joycewas not just telling us what he knew, butwhat he found out; and that the process ofcreation was his process of self-discov¬ery.Joyce employs interior monologuesthroughout Ulysses as a device to make usfeel we are reading his character’sthoughts. But just as Robert Browning’sdramatic monologues were written to bequestioned, so too the interior monologuesin Ulysses must be read as projecting poss¬ibly self-deceptive images. These self-de¬ceptive images are communicated to thecareful reader through specific symbolswhich are either created by the characterhimself, or applied to him by the narratorwithin the context of the interior mono¬logue. One such symbol is the vampireimage that Stephen Dedalus creates in theProteus episode to stand for all those wholive off others. The related image of a batappears in Leopold Bloom’s Nausicaa epi¬sode, and expresses his attempt to avoidquestioning his displaced sexuality. Final¬ly the two images of vampire and batcome together and are exorcised, or atleast recognized, in the Circe episode. Bytracing the development of these two clo¬sely related symbols we can better under¬stand the fundamental problem of iden¬tity that plague the two centralprotagonists, and in turn, see how Joyceperceives this problem as one of the basicdifficulties from which all artistic cre¬ations are born.The symbol of the vampire is created byStephen near the end of the Proteus epi¬sode, and completes a long train ofthought about those who live off others.His thoughts trace both a philosophical de¬bate on the inconsistency of the world andthe individual, and a chronological historyof what Stephen perceives as the majorhinderances to artistic and personal de¬velopment in his life. He sees two mid¬wives carrying what he imagines to be astillborn “down to our mighty mother”and thinks of his own birth when he was“lugged squealing into life.” The image ofthe sea as a great mother comes from theopening scene of the novel, and Stephen’smind focuses briefly on his immediate fam¬ily. The first ghoulish image appears when he imagines his mother as “a ghostwomanwith ashes on her breath”. But histhoughts move quickly to more generalphilosophical ideas and the question of vi¬siting his nearby relatives. He imaginesthe scene at uncle Richie’s house where heis offered a “rasher fried with a herring”which they do not have. Similarly we learnthat Stephen has lied about having twouncles who are a judge and a general be¬cause he is embarrassed by his real fami¬ly. Stephen’s first revolt in establishing'himself as an individual must be fromhome, because “beauty is not there.” >The second major hinderance is thechurch, which Stephen almost joined St anearly age. But he can only think of howthey are living through avoidance of thereal world. He remembers being “on topof Howth tram alone crying to the rain:naked woman!” and the priest within himasks “What about that, eh?” to which hereplies “What about what? What elsewere they invented for?” His thoughts ofthe church end with a bitter mocking of theway their reverence to Christ fs anotherform of living through others. He says,“when one reads these strange pages ofone long gone one feels that one is withone who once...” The active verb is leftdangling in Stephen's thoughts as he dis¬misses the church as just another suppres¬sion of the living, interactive individual.The last major hinderance to individuali¬ty is the subservience to the state whichStephen recognizes fully only while he is inParis. He parodies the dulling effect ofunquestioned nationalism by havingKevin Egan, an exiled Irish patriot, rolling“gunpowder cigarettes through fingerssmeared with printer’s ink.” (p44, 35) Heis left living off a country which has for¬gotten him, though “not he them”. Theidea of living off others becomes more ex¬plicitly illustrated when he describes theFrench custom of bathing each other inpublic b^ths. He imagines their vicariouspleasure, “green eyes I see you, fang Ifeel,” which echoes the description of Eganas drinking ‘green fairy’s fang.” This de¬ stanza of Douglas Hyde’s translation ofMy Grief on the Sea. Stephen’s only addi¬tion is to make the poem more dramaticand more closely related to his thoughts ofpeople living off others by including thevampire. But why is the poem’s sourcenever acknowledged? and why is theprinted poem hidden from the reader untilmuch later in the book?The poem’s unacknowledged source ex¬tends the intellectual games Stephen hasbeen playing throughout the episode. Eachtime an emotionally difficult section of hislife surfaces he turns away from any trueunderstanding of its meaning to him. Theimage of his dead mother and all theguilty feelings it raises within him areavoided by his retreat back into the worldof abstract pondering, "where is poorArius to try conclusions?”; the churchwhich prompted him to “read the fadingprophesies of Joachim Abbas” is brutallyparodied; and nationalism is seen as agame of “lost leaders.” In the same waythat he has buried from our view the im¬portance of family, religion, and govern¬ment, so too he has hidden the literary in¬fluences from which his art is constructed.To fit his image of himself as an indepen¬dent artist he hides all his sources from us,and in turn, from himself. Stephen hasmentally rejected all outside influences inthis highly intellectual episode, but he hasnot yet dealt with the emotional attach¬ment he still has to them.The way the poem is only revealed to usduring the Aeolus episode minics the reve¬lation about Stepehn’s teeth at the end ofProteus. The oversensitiveness to othersteeth becomes understandable when hesays “my teeth are very bad. Why Iwonder?...or does it mean something?”This type of revealing after the initial in¬formation has already been stated leadsus to reexamine what came before. Joycehas Stephen utter thoughts about his ownbad teeth to alert us to the fact that wecannot take Stepehn’s interior mono¬logues as being perfectly open and honest.There is no omniscent narrator who isgoing to explain the self-deceptivenessthat his characters display, so thereforewe must unearth them ourselves.There are a few places where Stephendoes acknowledge his hypocrisy, such aswhen he questions if his own bad teeth"mean something”. But the most impor¬tant image of consciousness of self-decep¬scription has two purposes;the theme of living off othershadows the imagery of Stephthrough the word “fang”. The dof queen Victoria as an “old haglow teeth" reinforces the image o’teeth as a symbol of vicarious living.Stephen rejects these three chronolOcal categories of hinderances to his devel^opment as affronts to his individuality. Hemust be free from living off others and allfalse organizations if he is to be an artist.The culmination of Stephen’s mental rejec¬tion is in the creation of his poem. Signifi¬cantly he writes it on a piece of paper tornfrom Mr. Deasy’s letter about foot andmouth disease because he forgot to stealslips of paper from the library counter.This foreshadows the fact that when hewrites the poem which we do not see untilthe Aeolus episode —On swift sails flamingFrom storm and southHe comes, pale vampire,Mouth to my mouth.Stephen is actually stealing from the sixth■ tion occurs earlier in the episode when Ste¬phen thinks to himself “you bowed toyourself in the mirror, stepping forwardto applause earnestly.” He makes fun ofJiis own posturing because he realizes he iseating an image for the public and notg true to his separatist, artistic self,jll lives off others' adoration and can¬ape his need for it. His connectionblood-sucking vampire of hisinforced if we remember thatjokes on the turret of Mar-Stephen cannot see him-Thus we can see thatff others; and thoughBucktelloself inStephen,ve separated him-t yet dealt withthe worldintellectually* he mayself as an artiPI'his emotional ataround him.Stephen’s image of th#iternal, highly dramatic crei-the appearance of the bat inliteral, and naturalistic. Thesebols have been connected throughouthistory of literature, but in this novel theway they work together is not revealeduntil the Circe episode. At present it isenough to say that the reflect the dif¬ ferences between Stephen Dedalus, therebellious self-styled artist, and LeopoldBloom, the complacent displaced father.Thematically, however, they are closelylinked by the childish dreamer, Gerty Mac-Dowell.The schmaltzy description which charac¬terized the first half of the Nausicaa epi¬sode relaxes briefly after “a bat flewforth from the ivied belfry through thedusk, hither, tither, with a tiny lost cry.”The reference to having bats in onesbelfry is an essential link between GertyMacDowell and Stephen Dedalus. The Ox¬ford Dictionary of English Proverbs (1948)lists it as meaning ‘eccentric”; a wordwhich denotes one who does not behaveaccording to the common rules of society.This is exactly what Stephen has been at¬tempting to do, and what Gerty expressesa wish for. In the passage that follows welearn that “Gerty had her dreams that noone knew of. She loved to read poet¬ry...for she felt that she too could write...ifshe could only express herself.” Gerty’sthoughts may be saturated with the ro¬mantic novels which she reads but there issomething creative about them. Like Ste¬phen she has difficulty distinguishing be¬tween her own words and those she hasread. Her thoughts take on an added reso¬nance, however, when we learn (againafter the initial information) that her “oneshortcoming” is that she is lame. With thisknowledge the image of childish perfec¬tion which she has built up throughout theepisode becomes, for us, a painstakinglywell crafted deception. Her last defiantwords before the climax of the episodecould easily be Stephen’s; “come whatmay she would be wild, untrammelled,free.”For Gerty MacDowell the bat is not ex¬plicitly connected with her displaced feel¬ings of inadequacy, but it is for LeopoldBloom. The bat is mixed together with thelong Roman Candle which signifies Bloom’smasturbatory climax when the narratorsays “she leaned back ever so far to seethe fireworks and something queer wasflying through the air, a soft thing to andfro, dark.” The lack of punctuation con¬fuses these two dark shapes in the air, andstresses their parallel symbolism. Butwhereas the rocket is a direct representa¬tion of Bloom’s displaced sexuality thatextinguished with his climax, the bat issomething more. The bat is a device whichJoyce has placed within the text as a sym¬bol of Bloom’s avoidance of his own decep¬tions. It is a literal distraction whichBloom refers to whenever questions abouthis displaced sexuality arise.The description of Gerty informs us thatBloom is artificially living through her in away directly parallel with the lovers inStephen’s poem. Bloom says she “drainedall the manhood out of me, little wretch.She kissed me,” echoing Stephen’s poem.This idea of taking blood is emphasizedfurther when we learn Gerty is menstruat¬ing and Bloom says “Must come back. Mur¬derers do.” This is soon followed bythoughts of other sexual encounters,Molly on Howth hill, Martha’s naughtydarling letter, and playing charades. Butall these conquests, he reminds himself,are old or unfulfilled ones. He is like theRip Van Winkle character in the game whowoke twenty years later to find “allchanged. Forgotten. The young are old. Hisgun rusty from the dew.” In this contextthe gun is a sexual symbol which has rust¬ed from lack of use, just as Bloom himselfis now older and less virile. But the follow¬ing paragraph begins “Ba. What is thatflying about?...bat probably,” and hismind shifts from these speculations on hisdisplaced sexual activities to ideas aboutthe church where it came from and the tem¬perance service that the priest is conduct¬ing within.Another reference to the bat comes im¬mediately after Bloom hears a newsboyshout “Evening Telegraph, stop press edi¬tion! Result of the Gold Cup Race!” Thisrace has become a metaphor for BlazesBoylan’s possible conquest over Bloom,and though Bloom is never aware of its im¬port he again interjects the distractingsymbol “twittering the bat flew here,flew there.” In this instance Bloom isavoiding a much more specific though un¬conscious attack on his virility, the meta¬phorical contest between him and Boylan.His thoughts after mentioning the distract¬ing bat are strangely convoluted. Hethinks of sailors as receiving “penance forsins” and later refers to children’sill’ll murder you. Is it only half in}k>om has trouble diverting histhoughts away from the cuckolding that heknows is occurring at his home into an¬other, clearer stream.20—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7. 1985The last two references to the bat comeat the very end of the episode and followBloom’s attempts to explain to himself theattack on his manhood. He saysdo the other. Did too...let him..!again...No harm to him.” Here he explicitl-ty embraces the distraction and reasonedargument of the cuckolding as “har¬mless”. However, in the next paragraphhis mind returns again to Molly’s adulter¬ous encounter, “she him half past thebed.” The lack of punctuation stresses theagitation Bloom feels, and the paragraphends with the stuttered repitition “swoon-ey lovey showed me her next year indrawers return next in her next hernext.” His confused thoughts of a possibletrip with Molly, or some other type of rec¬onciliation are forever forcast in the fu¬ture and avoid the present. But he issaved again from dealing with these feel¬ings of displaced sexuality and loss ofidentity as a husband by the “bat flew.Here. There. Here.” Joyce emphasizes thesolidity of the natural distraction by theheavy one-word sentences.Since the bat is a symbol of Bloom’savoidance of addressing his inner qualms,it disappears when he attempts to commu¬nicate with G6rty by writing in the sand.This attempt at communication parallelsStephen’s writing of the vampire poem onSandymOunt Strand, but with a differentaim. Bloom’s attempt is a physical actionintended for one person, whereas Ste¬phen's is a mental construction intendedfor all humanity. Bloom writes I AM A...and then decides that the tide will erasethe message and throws “his wooden penaway. The stick fell in the stilted sand,stuck.” The idea of the stick as a sexualsymbol has been established when Bloomsaid he was ‘‘up like a rocket, down like astick.” But there is a second meaningwhich refers back to his reluctance to facehis emotional attachments and displacedsexuality. It is emphasized first within theNausicaa episode when Bloom reprimandshimself, “better not stick here all nightlike a limpet”, and secondly in the Circeepisode when Molly says “Poldy, you area poor old stick in the mud.” Bloom uncon¬sciously finishes his sentence with an in¬dictment of his complacent, displaced feel¬ings. In this episode which clearlyparallels and avoids the activities goingon in his own bed, Bloom reveals the ex¬tent to which ‘he has divided and avoidedhis own inner turmoil.There is, however, one hint during thewriting of the message which indicatesthat Bloom sees through his own projectedself-image. This occurrence, like Stephen’sin the Proteus episode, involves a mirror.Bloom bends over a pool and says, “seemy face there, dark mirror, breathe on it,stirs...0, those transparent!” It is his ownimage that he sees through. Bloom recog¬nizes that his feelings are displaced andfalse, and in that recognition is the hopefor future confrontation and eventual rec¬onciliation of his confused and dividedidentity.The confusing Circe episode in which firstLeopold Bloom and then Stephen Dedalusreunite at least part of their dividedselves, begins with an oblique referenceto the bat of Nausicaa. Lynch underminesStephen’s verbosity and comically over¬blown self image with a simple “Ba!”Though it is a small reference, the word isrepeated throughout the two episodesand links them together. It is also immedi¬ately followed by Stephen’s comic ques¬tion, “who wants two gestures to illus¬trate a loaf and a jug?” As the narrationweaves in and out of hallucinations and re¬ality this central question of division is offundamental importance to our under¬standing of the action, and the develop¬ment of the two characters.Leopold Bloom deals with increasinglydifficult emotional problems throughouthis seven major hallucinations. The contor¬tions, both of body and costume, increasein each hallucination, and so too doBloom’s strength and determination as hesurvives each one. The image of the batwhich symbolized the distractions andavoidances of the Nausicaa episode beginmany of the initial hallucinations, but thesymbol disappears by the end of thechapter.The first image of the bat is hinted at inthe description of Bloom’s dead father Ru¬dolph Virag at the beginning of the firsthallucination. He is described as having“horned spectacles...at the wings of hisnose" and “yellow poison streaks...on thedrawn face.” The significance of this odddescription will become clear later, butthese first interactions between fatherand son illustrate that he does not have avery good command over Bloom. Bloomhides his purchase and talks back freely when his father gives him advice. After afew minor scenes of guilt feelings the firstmajor attack on Bloom’s image is launcheda whore named Bridie Kelly. Bridiesqueak...flaps her bat shawl” andle most recent women whomBloom has propositioned, or used for sex¬ual gratification, appear and confronthim.At the start of the third hallucination theconnection of those accusing Bloom withStephen’s image of vampires becomes ex¬plicit. The narrator says Zee “bites his eargently with little goldstu^cd teeth send¬ing on him a cloying breath of stale gar¬lic.” As well as relating back to Stephen’sfirst gold toothed vampire, Buck Mulligan,the teeth also connect Zoe with the actualvampire bat which has yellow upper inci¬sors. This begins the third hallucinationwhich starts as a wish-fulfillment, andends with Bloom being burned at the stakein a mock witch trial complete with pointedhat.The fourth hallucination is the last onethat includes references to bats and vam¬pires, and it helps us understand why theimage of Virag has played such a largerole in the episode. Now it is grandfatherVirag who is described as having “teethbared yellow,” and he “chutes downthrough the chimneyflue and struts...ongawky pink stilts.” In addition he now“wears a brown macintosh” and has “two them. This confronting of the split betweenhis emotional attachment to Molly and hisvarious sexual displacements, enableshim to imagine in the most grotesqueterms his cuckolding by Boylan. Bloom fi¬nally faces the reality of the adulterousaffair, a realization that he has beenavoiding throughout the novel.Precisely at this point Lynch speaks ofholding “the mirror up to nature,” andboth Stephen and Bloom gaze in the mir¬ror and see the image of William Shake¬speare. His head is crowned by the reflec¬tion of the antlers and he says to Bloom,“thou thoughtest as how thou wastest in¬visible. Gaze...lagogo!” The first part isaddressed towards Bloom and echos histhoughts while he stared into the mirror-like pool. The mocking name of lago refersus back to Stephen’s theory in Scylla andCharybdis where he says Shakespeare’s"unremitting intellect is the hornmad lagoceaselessly willing that the moor in himshall suffer.” The image in the mirror re¬mind the two protagonists of the impor¬tance of uniting the different parts ofondsself, and the fact that this will alwaysremain a lifelong search.This coalescing of Stephen’s divided selfcome in two short hallucinations. The firstbegins when Lynch says the word “pandy-bat”, which immediately reminds Stephenof the Fathers at his school who beat him.The connection between the word bat and him to repent. This is not the intellectualgame that he played during the Proteusepisode or his constructed symbol of avampire, but an unbidden apparition thathe does not feel he in any way can control.Stephen’s defiance, ‘‘Non ser-vium!...Break my spirit all of you if youcan! I’ll bring you all to heel!...Nothing!”now express real emotion. Even the sym¬bol of Sigfried’s sword. Nothing, fromWagner’s Ring Cycle, which stands for in¬dependence, liberation, and defiance, andat first seems to be a crutch, is in fact leftbehind when Stephen flees the room. Theextent to which he now perceives that theproblems of subserviance to family,church, and state are within his control isclear when he taps his brow and tellsBloom, “in here it is I must kill the priestand the king.” Stephen recognizes thatthis will always be the battle he wageswith himself. He sees that through thisbattle he gains strength, and that onlythrough an honest understanding of the in¬fluences on his life can he become a truelyunselfconscious free artist.There is one last reference to the vam¬pire symbol which both unifies Stephenand Bloom, and acknowledges that theywill always be separated. Bloom callsdown to the prostrate form lying in thestreet, “Stephen!” to which he responds“Who? Black panther vampire.” The syn¬tax of this exchange is ambiguous, Ste¬James Joyce in Zurich, 1915. Photograph By Ottocara Weiss.quills projecting over his ears.” Unmista-kenly our picture is of a comical vampirebat. Bloom is even further removed fromthis comical personae since it is his grand¬father, and as the hallucination continueswe realize Bloom is only talking absentlyto the conjured distraction. He does notneed the image to avoid the real world an¬ymore, and the image self-destructs in an*appropriately ghoulish way. The vampirelegend says that you must drive a stakethrough the creature’s heart and cut off itshead to kill it. Virag, after numerous at¬tempts to pierce Bloom’s thoughts calmlyunscrews his head and exits.It is in the very next hallucination thatBloom undergoes the most dramaticchanges, (of sex as well as costume) and iseventually able to dnve out the debilitat¬ing nymph. Once the distraction symbo¬lized by the vampire and bat image disap¬pear Bloom is able to assert his dominantrole. He refers back to the symbol as hedrives out the nymph, saying she is “longin the tooth and superfluous hairs.” Thishallucination reunites Bloom’s severelysplit sense of self and is the first to end po¬sitively.It would be wrong, however, to sayBloom has solved all his problems of dis¬placement, he has merely confronted his image of the vampire is strengthenedby the stage direction “the coffin of thepianola flies open.” Stephen murmursafter this scene, “continue. Lie. Hold me.Caress.” which expresses both his need tobattle against their control over him, andhis human need for comfort.Stephen's second major hallucinationcomes after references to both vampiresand bats, reinforcing the way these twoimages are dovetailed and shared duringthis episode. Stephen describes the french“woman which arrives full of modestythen disrobe and squeal loud to see thevampire man debauch the nun,” to whichLynch responds “Vive le vampire!" This isthe same image of living off others whichStephen has expressed revulsion atthroughout the novel.Soon a dance begins in which Stephenand Zoe, (who has already been associat¬ed with vampires) is wearing “grey gauzewith dark bat sleeves that flutter in theland breeze.” This description is then fol¬lowed by Simon Dedalus’ imagined com¬ment, “think of your mother’s people!” towhich Stephen replies “Dance of death.”This refers to Stephen’s belief that hemust free himself from family ties, andthat his mother is actually dead. But sud¬denly his mother s ghost appears and asks phen could be refering to a dream of Mulli¬gan and Haines in his tower, to the formthat is bending over him, or to himself. Ell-man wrote in Ulysses on the Lifey thatwhenever Joyce had a choice between twothings he chose both; I believe this is thecase here. Stephen's confusion betweenhimself, and Bloom, and leaching “suit¬ors” is intentional. They are living offeach other in a mutually dependent waythat for a time they will both accept. But itis closer to a parallel unity in two dif¬ferent worlds then a legitimate bond.This idea is echoed in the Eumaeus epi¬sode when the narrator describes Stephenand Bloom as “Silent, each contemplatingthe other in both mirrors of the reciprocalflesh of theirhisnothis fellowfaces.” Theyhave found the mirror within which for atleast a brief time they can see themselvesreflected clearer. Neither has come to anyfinal conclusions because the process ofliving is always a struggle, but they haverecognized that much of the struggle isagainst their own self-deceptions.Through the two images I have outlinedJoyce emphasizes that the forging of astrong identity and creativity come fromthose who question both the society theyexist in, and their own deceptions.The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—21SPACEAPARTMENTS AVAILABLEStudios, one, two & 3 bedrms some lake viewsnear 1C, CTA & U of C shuttle, laundryfacilities, parking available, heat & water in¬cluded. 5*/. discounts for students HerbertRealty 684-23339-4:30 Mon. Fri.9-2on Sat.Nice one bedroom Apartment 5849 S.Blackstone 1 September $425 Heat included493-5774.SUMMER SUBLET. Sunny, large, beautifulone bedroom apt. A/C. piano, sun porch. 5minutes from quad. June 21-Sept. 1. $300. 241-6046 JoeRental apt begin fall E Hyde Pk ig 3 bdrm furor unfurn appropriate for visitg fac 493-4387eves.3 BR 2 baths, 2 sun porches, Ig. DR LR KIT 2 bl.fr. lake on UC bus line $750. mo incl. pkg. inrear lot 864-5004 aft. 6 p.m.Room for rent 7/1/85 to 7/1/86. Sublet avail,from 6/15 to 9/15. Only $185/month. Located onthe lake& 50th. Call 684-5063 anytime.Roommate wanted for comfortable 3 bedroomapartment close to campus (54th & Ingleside).Mature grad student preferred. Apartmentfurnished, bedroom unfurnished. Rent$200/month & 1/3 utilities. Available Aug. 1stCall evenings 752-6748.Quiet female to share apartment with same onEast 53rd St near Dorchester. Will have ownbedroom. Rent $155 plus security deposit.Available immediately or June 15. Phone 9559234. Ask for Kim. I also have a cat.ROOMMATE WANTED to share spacious apt.with 2 women. Near campus, private BR,modern kitchen .. bath. Non-smoking femalepreferred. Call Betsy at 955-0315 or 962-8736week days.One person needed for 3-bdrm apt in hi-rise.A/C, lakeview. Nonsmoker preferred.$270/mo. Starts around July 1.643-1329.SUMMER SUBLET: FALL OPTION. Large 1bdrm in elevator bldg near Co-op w/ hugeclosets, dinette & laundry. Sublet from July 1,$390/mo, w/fall option to rent. If you want, I'llleave queen-size bed, table & chairs, dresser &stereo cabinet. Call 643-5590.Female roommate needed for summer subletin great location across from fid hse 947-0036Quiet f. rmmate wanted: one bd rm w/ownbath in 2 bd apt regents park avail Sept 1 324-3917.STUDIO CONDO FOR RENT UNIVERSITYPARK deluxe nr UC Full Amenities w/heat &water $439 Call Lynn 393-1034 leave message.3 bdrms in 4 bdrm townhouse. 5219 S. Kimbark.Furnished living, dining rms. Large kitchen.Cntrl air, washer/dryer. Backyard, front cour¬tyard. $245/month/person. Call 752-3581. SUMME R SUBLET-Huge, sunny 4 bdrm apt at55th & S Hyde Park. Furnished! Modern kit¬chen w/dishwasher, 2 balconies, laundryfacilities. MAKE US AN OFFER! 753-0226, 7530237 (leave message).Condo, in quiet, secure ctyd. bldg, at 5329 S.Dorchester. Conv't to shopping & Univ 2 bdrm2 baths, Iv. rm., dining rm. and kitchen withnew appl., Idry. fac. & storage locker. Avail.July 1. $650/mo. inc. heat 1 year lease. Secy,deposit req. Call 538-4939 morn 8, eve.RESPONSIBLE FEMALE roommate wantedto share 2 bedroom, 2 bath apt. near 1C and busroutes. Modern secure hi-rise with indoor park¬ing available.,Individual rent $380. Call days407-1303, eves, 324-3409.TWO BEDROOM APT 54th 8. Dorchester $750per month heat included. Call 667-7086 eveningor 245-3751 days.ROOMMATE WANTED to share coachhousewith F grad student. Immediately available,female pref call Val 268-3464h or 962-88460.• Summer Sublet Fall Lease: Large 1-bdr apt onKimbarK 8, 56th, $600. Call 643-5802 8-9am 5-10pm available July 1.CONDO FOR RENT Lease begins July 1:Clean Sunny 2 Bedrooms 54th 8. Ingleside New¬ly renovated. Laundry facil. $610 Heat incl 684-7009.Sunny apt with own bedroom dining 8, livingroom, porch, bath. Furnished. June-Sept. Rentnegotiable, woman to share with another 324-5669.3 or 12 mo. lease avail. 3BR 2 BTHS pkg. inrear 2 bl fr. lake, 53rd. and Cornell, on UC busline. $690. incl. heat 864-5004 eves.Gracious, spacious, partially furnished apart¬ment in prime campus location. Suitable foruniversity couple without children or pets 962-1470.ROOMMATE WANTED Clean sunny 3-bdrmcondo 56th 8. Kimbark. Summer/schoolyear/both. Female preferred. Rent negotiable.Call 493-8645.2 bdrm walkup 54th 8, Greenwood $450/mo. 684-0275.2 BR apt for rent in quiet Co-Op building. Oneblock from Law School. 752-0688.1 BR condo for rent. Excellent location nearCo-op elevator furnished. $450 day 876-8021 eve955-1427.1 BR apt: cozy, clean, good loc near HP Coop.Sublet Sept for $300 (or 8/22-9/30 for $400). Op¬tion to lease from Oct. 1. 493-8794 anytime.Fur Rm Kit8iLr util in no-smo Gar opt 363-3458.Fur Rm Kitch priv nonsmok Also Gar 955-7083.3rd. fl. apt. 3500 sq. ft. 4 bedrooms, 3 baths.Beaut, moldings, etc. Newly dec. $1100 mo. 667-7397 nites. PEOPLE WANTEDPeople needed to participate in studies onmemory, perception, and language process¬ing. Learn something about how you carry outthese processes and earn some money at thesame time! Call the Committee on Cognitionand Communication, afternoons at 962-8859.Returning Student Needs Math Tutor now thrusummer, rates negotiable call 363-6171Grad, student to coordinate the Jewish StudiesWorkshop. Administrative skill and active in¬volvement in Jewish Studies Required. About 7hours a week. Leave a message with Mr.Levenson, 962-8245 or 962-8223.Childcare: help needed for June, July Augustup to 20 hrs/week. Student with experiencepreferred. Call 962-1731 am, 947-9157 pm.SUBJECTS ARE NEEDED in a questionairetype experiment in the Grad. Sch. of Business.Grad and Undergrad. $5 an hour wkdays10a.m. to 5pm. Rosenwald 007. The experimenttakes 1 hr.RECRUITERS/SALES REPRESENTATIVESConcerned about runaway military spending?More nuclear weapons Don't increase nationalsecurity. Business trade Association now hir¬ing full 8. part-time recruiters to call onowners, pres., other professionals. CallBUSINESS EXECUTIVES FOR NATIONALSECURITY 667-6215 Free 1 week training ifhired by June 12.Make your summer a Musical event! Pianoand Singing lessons offered in Hyde Park. Ex¬perienced teacher has a few openings. CallMary T. Royal, 975-8248. Leave message.CONSULTING firm on IIT campus needs part-time secretary. Word processing or computerskills useful. Call 842-6388.Hyde Park resident wishes to find woman stu¬dent who will exchange services for room andboard. Family lives within three blocks ofcampus on UofC bus line student will receiveboard and private room and bath in exchangefor assistance in care of semi-invalid wife onweek ends and some evenings. Considerableflexibility may be arranged in schedule. If in¬terested phone Meeker 288-2990*.BABYSITTER for two 3-Yr-Old Girls 2:15-5:30pm, summer Call 493-6818 or 752-7147eves.SERVICESJUDITH TYPES-and has a memory. Phone955-4417.PASSPORT PHOTOS WHILE-U-WAIT ModelCamera 1342 E. 55th St. 493-6700WEDDINGS and other celebrationsphotographed. Call Leslie at 536-1626.LARRY'S MOVING & DELIVERY. To pick upa piece of furniture on the other side of the city,to move boxes or a small household, callanytime. Lowest rates in city. 743-1353. University TYPING Service, fulltime profes¬sional EDITING and WORDPROCESSINGdeluxe by former English prof, hourly fee. 363-0522.Exp typing: Student 8< pro papers. Call 684-6882.Moving? Van w/ driver. $5/hr. $5 min. Call 684-4194. Ask for Gideon.WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHYThe Better Image 643-6262.TRIO CON BRIO: music for weddings, recep¬tions, etc. Classical and light popular. Call 643-5007 for details.FAST FRIENDLY TYPING-resumes, papers,all materials. Call 924-4449.Moving and hauling discount prices to staff 8.students from 12/hour free cartons del'd n/chousehold moves many other services 493-9122.FOR SALENova runs excellent new parts $499. 288-529577 BUICK LeSabre exc. cond. no rust. 947-8532evenings. $1700 or best offer.Turkish and Persian Khelims. Handwoven,wool, natural dyes. Call 947-8532 eve. $125 to$200.1978 VW Rabbit very good mech. cond. $1500,or best offer. Marty 363-2791Lg 2 BR CONDO quiet choice loc. (54th 8.Ridgewood) Frml DR w/hrdwd fl, wtow crpt,eat-in kit w/dw, balcony, many closets & addlstor in bsmt. upper 50's. Call 288-7567 Ivmessage.Large 1-bdrm apartment (850 sq ft) at 56th &Kimbark. Full southern exp. Formal dr. hdwdfirs. Big closets. See to believe. 947-8337.Apple II Plus, Terminal Only, best offer, Daysand Evenings667-0457.Upright vacuum cleaner $25. Not-so-hot colorTV $10. Wall mirror $5. 241-6438 eves/wkends.Furniture for sale: bed $10, couch, $50 easychair $10, wooden coffee table $10, metal desk$20, wooden desk chair $15, sturdy 6-levelbookshelf $20 end table $2. Call 288-5732 even¬ings, ask for David.OLD FLOSSMOOR-EASY COMMUTE TOUNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO-Discover thecharm in this historical 2-story stucco home seton a spacious, wooded lot in heart ofFlossmoor. Four bedrooms, 3 baths, 1st floorden and much more! $159,500. Call PhyllisO'Connor, 957-0600. Santefort Cowing,Realtors.1970 Cadillac runs well, some rust, must sell$350. Call 975-8248. Leave message.i *£ The Chicago Maroon has interesting, discount advertising *£^ packages available for the summer. We are planning special¥ ‘‘theme” issues designed to promote Hyde Park businesses and£ their services. The publication and deadline schedule is as¥ follows: **¥¥£* Deadline¥¥ Wednesday, June 26,1985£ Wednesday, July 10,1985,¥ Wednesday, July 17,1985,* Wednesday, July 24,1985,£ Wednesday, July 31,1985,¥ Wednesday, August 7,1985¥¥¥¥¥ ¥¥¥¥¥Publication Date «Friday, June 28,1985 £Friday, July 12,1985 £Friday, July 19,1985 ¥Friday, July 26,1985 £Friday, August 2,1985 ¥Friday, August 9,1985 £¥¥¥¥¥* For additional information please call Lisa Cypra or Brad Smith .£ at 962-9555. £***********************************************$22 The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985-TT-Many men massed atBut the king listened,T ''the PoatstiCd ttTtOnce l made a song aJAnd the horde of menIt’s a shame you dkJn1Th/^rhenonesumm^3r echoing from the palffes one morningmy hero's tv..-yft.men of roastefI poundeo on tl•edand sangaln another worl, of magic, and of the edge of the known world,ill dead drunk across the table,sts and games with the grey eyed women,sd, the queen to choose among.1 Know you came to hear me sing about the night theWhen hero slaughtered hero in the rushkt ha Jz>- ZBlood speckling the white clay walls wine dark.I can’t. I’d stepped outside when the music doppecAlone in the dark grove, I heard no sound bui distaiAnd the sound of water, mine, against me palace w<And then I heard their screams, the men and womeiWhat would you have done?I staggered home in the dawn rain still half drunk,Forgetting one by one the names of my dead friends, goat stink, irningot joats.~3fograph by Marcy Bail' fM INDY 500Here there are still true Americanswho will let you use their bathroomand then skin you alivefor parking on trimmed lawns.Here there are signs reading, Jesussaves you from Hell, and, Wheeling West Virginiawants to see your tits.What has brought me here, tosleep through the races with therest of wide America?Gears wind down for a tire change.Pistons explode.my pen drools in my pocket.Somewhere along the track, our livestake a turn.uncle, who had never seen the seaexcept for the rolling corn of OhioPas wrenched away to grease the engines thatKeep the big ships going. Hewheeled into a tattoo parlor drunk as a sailor,fell snoring like backfire.Maybe somewhere under my skinis the vein-colored smudge of that tattoo—an American eagle that defended his nippleswhile he dreamed Miss Libertywas showing him her tits.rs/s/jI was born hegave me a baseball with my name on it.J never learned to play ball,w to write this damn poem instead.now I’d give my left nut for ak into the bleachers,attoo on my knuckles, a namea girl I left behind, in a city like this,ndianapolis.—Mark JohnsonI have an unclewho got up from the john /.and really did spill histhree days after the operation.My aunt wrapped him in a towel.Lucky she was there, he^a^^y^to keep the pieces from fallingToday he takes us to the airshow.The sky-divers are drifting downward.We beg the tiny dots to open.Last year, he said, Thunderbirds followed the lead planeinto the Arizona ground. is incessant.Suppose we lock arm and leg,brake the air with our doubled surface;suppose then planeswrite a chalky hearton the adamant blue.—Mark Johnson— » f The Chicaoo Literary Review, Friday June 7,1985-23BOOKS IN BRIEFMatisseNicholas WatkinsOxford University Press, 1985240 pages, $39.95Among the numerous monographs writtenon Matisse, Watkins’ study offers yet anotherapproach to the artist’s life and work.Watkins uses a chronological format to ex¬amine Matisse’s work from the early years ofhis career as an art student, through hisprewar associations with the Fauves andCubists, up to his later work in paper cut-outsand his building design for Vence Chapel.Set in a historical-social contest, Watkinsanalyzes Matisse’s artwork in terms of suchprevailing artistic concerns as abstractionand mimesis, and the reinterpretation ofspatial relationships in modern painting andsculpture. Matisse’s personal concern withline and color became translated into an artwhich was both abstracted and decorative,yet never completely non-representational.The focus of Watkins’ book lies in thedevelopment of Matisse’s use of color in avar ety of " edia- painting, sculpture papercut-out.i, and book illustrations—and it;,treatment in an art that Matisse believedshould based on reality. As the authorstates, “Matisse himself saw his main con¬tribution to lie in the creation of spacethrough color.”Watkins also argues that Matisse’s ex¬cellence as a painter has not been fullyrecognized. This has in part been due to theinaccessiblity of his early works which are inRussia, and the surprising neglect ofMatisse’s work in his native France duringhis iifetime (1869-1954).Matisse is an introductory level text, writ¬ten for the reader who is interested in acquir¬ing a broad sense of the nature and scope ofthe artist’s work. A perfect book for the cof-feetable, Watkins provides a superbly il¬lustrated study in addition to an extensivebibliography, yet the text itself, in com¬parison, lacks thoroughness. Watkins’authoritative language and use of specializedterms is a little too advanced for the averagereader, yet too basic for the art historian. Atbest, Watkins' study serves as a well-illustrated and well-bibliographed survey—agood sourcebook for those wishing to do fur¬ther research. —A.K.The Golden Age of British Photography 1839-1900Edited and Introduced by Mark Haworth-BoothAperture, 1984192 pages, $40.00In “Roger Fenton and the Making of aPhotographic Establishment,” one of the fiveessays included in The Golden Age of BritishPhotography 1839-1900, Valerie Lloyddescribes the origins and aftermath of Fen¬ton’s most famous project: his photographsof the Crimean War. In 1854, with the govern¬ment’s conduct of the war under increasingattack, Fenton was “commissioned by promi¬nent fine arts dealers at the behest of thegovernment, with he blessing of Royalty,” todocument the campaign. As Lloyd points out,“A sense of responsibility to his patrons andan eagerness to reassure an anxious publicmay have influenced what he chose not tophotograph.” Indeed Fenton chose to recordno corpses. The result of his pioneering ef¬fort in war photography were published in1855 under the patronage of Napoleon III,Queen Victoria, and Prince Albert. Widelyviewed and reviewed, Fenton’s photographswon over at least one journal: describingFenton’s portrait of Lord Raglan, commanderof the British troops in the Crimea and thesubject of criticism at home, The Leadercommented that “There is no spectacle moreaffecting than the countenance of LordRaglan... It not only reconciles us to the man,but to our own estimation; teaching us thatafter all there was no mistake in the respectpaid to the character of Raglan.”Like Lloyd’s, the other essays in this lushcompendium of reproductions,photographers’ biographies, and brief in¬troductions to nineteenth-century themes allsucceed to some degree in explaining the in¬tricate social and ideological contexts inwhich nineteenth-century photographs weremade and distributed. Carolyn Bloore, for in¬stance, details Fox Talbot’s efforts to enforcehis calotype patents; Mike Weaver con¬founds the generally accepted notion of JuliaMargaret Cameron as a naive eccentric bytracing her intellectual friendships,documenting her religious concerns, and forthe first time taking seriously her allegoricalphotographs as the work of a deliberate“Christian Pictorialist”; Ian Jeffrey’s lengthyessay on P. H. Emerson is the best in thebook, disentangling the contradictory pro¬nouncements and impulses of a vehementpamphleteer and gentle photographer;William Buchanan, finally, writes on theGlaswegian pictorialist James Craig Annanand his busy dealings with Alfred Steiglitzand Secessionists on both sides of the Atlan¬tic. In their historical approach to thesephotographers, however, each of the essaysundercuts the premise of The Golden Age ofBritish Photography. The idea of a GoldenAge is itself problematic, and its a historicalassumptions have been effectively exposedin Mary Warner Marien’s lengthy essay onThe Golden Age of British Photography in theFebruary 1985 issue of Afterimage. In his In¬troduction, Mark Hawcrth-Booth writes that“Photography enjoytd a golden age in theperiod prior to 1914 because the art attractedmany individuals who wished to discoverwhat kind of art photography might be, intimes before its role had been defined or itspowers tested... In photography, as in otherfields, the primitives, who had little guidanceexcept their promptings of what might be•realized, remain among the purest andbest.”The suggestion that Fenton, Cameron,Emerson, J. C. Annan, or even Talbot workedas naive primitives with only vague “oromp-tings” to guide them—that any photograph is“pure” of influence convention, or history—is as much a fiction as the idea of a GoldenAge, any Golden Age. Britain, as n so muchelse, did lose much of its influence in thephotographic world after l90u, but for the rearexplanation of that transition we will have towait for another book. The explanat'on willsurely not be that photographers hadbecome more implicated than the Victoriansin the historical contingencies of their time.—A.T.SolsticeJoyce Carol OatesDutton, 1985$15.95Joyce Carol Oates continues to ply hercraft with a self-assured deftness. Solstice,her most recent novel, sweeps the readeralong with rapid fire description anddialogue. Chapters are short enough not totest the attention span of ever the most ir¬resolute reader. Even the rare moments ofstructural and motivational murkiness neversink into plodding. Oates’ narrative ability isalways evident, pressing the reader tobelieve that each event and each aspect ofher characters’ lives are integral to the story.Yet although Solstice is often absorbingand pleasantly playful, in the end it is notbelievable. The novel focuses on a relation¬ship between two women which is totally im¬probable. The themes which emerge—obsession, self-absorption, fear of aging, at¬titudes toward death, dependence—arethemselves interesting, yAt they all rest on arelationship which Cate.r is never able tojustify.Monica Jensen, her beauty fading attwenty-nine, teaches English at a preparatoryschool iri rural Pennsylvania. She has recent¬ly left a sterile New York marriage, and sheoverworks herself in an attempt to stem herloneliness and alienation. When she meetsSheila Trask, forty-two, mercurial artist andlocal pariah, the two are drawn together withinexplicable forcefulness and inevitability.Sheila fits an obsessive artist stereotype.She is intense, given to wide mood swings.She is hypercritical of herself and others.She is self-absorbed. She indulges her tastefor the exotic. What draws her to a twenty-nine year old ex-prom queen given to elegiac reminiscences of her day as a “golden girl”?We are never told.Oates seems to have recognized that thedisparity between the two women poses aproblem for the novel. She does not try todevelop the friendship. It grows without con¬tact between the characters, “in secret,without their conscious knowledge orguidance.” The attraction of the unusual andtalented Sheila to Monica’s “too-good, tooblond nature” is not justified because it can¬not be. This is a repeated source of irritationthroughout the novel.Even more irritating is Oates’ less thanhalf-hearted effort to provide a sense ofdepth in the relationship. The most flagrantexample is her inept manipulation of an ob¬vious but potentially interesting metaphor:human relationship, and the human mil d, asa labyrinth. Sheila is working on a series ofpaintings called Ariadne’s Thread. The pain¬tings deal with “the idea or memory of alabyrinth.” Yet the vague sense of mysteryaroused by such mythological references,and by speaking of “the labyrinth as a stateof mind,” create expectations that are nevrmet. Perhaps Oates feels that her metaphc.captures Monica’s encounter with stress andillness. Monica does eventually lose her wayin an increasingly intricate neb of dissipatedthought. However the links betweenAriadne’s thread and Monica’s delusions arenever developed. The reader is left onlyOates’ effort to exploit his susceptibility to akind of metaphysical pathos his willingnessto treat vague suggestions of mystery asliterary depth.Oates’ choice of title is a similar manipula¬tion, yet it is rendered less exasperating byat least serving a real purpose within thenovel. Oates characterizes the approachingsolstice by “the malaise of relentlesslydarkening days and relentlessly lengtheningnights” which “must yield to light, towarmth, to the new year, to life.” Obvious.None-the-less, since Monica’s slow mentaldisintegration focuses the novel’s denoue¬ment, it is the title alone which can leave thereader with a well founded final sense ofhope.Despite such manipulations and structuralweaknesses, the story is usually quite involv¬ing. Even the melodramatic early friendshipwith its inexplicable impulses and suddenpanics, some out of character “pub crawl¬ing” by two otherwise intelligent women, andthe use of emotionally inflated language toheighten the novel’s melodramatic denoue¬ment are partially rescued by Oates’ nar¬rative gift. The rest of the novel is quick,pleasureable reading. Oates adroitly involvesthe reader in Monica's experiences andperceptions of the world, in her doubts andreflections. Oates has an obvious talent forinvolving her reader into the psychology ofher characters. If she turns in the future tocharacters of more complexity and depth, wemay be rewarded with some very interestingwriting. —A.I.My Mother’s BodyMarge PiercyAlfred A. Knopf, 1985143 Pages, $7.95Marge Piercy's new book is titled afterthe last and best of a series of elevenpoems about and to her mother, and con¬cerning, in particular, her mother’s recentdeath. The title poem, My Mother's Body,incorporates most of the themes of the24—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985" • ~r.l t ytSOO I , * t i : H ; f I preceding series; her mother’s body afterdeath and the rituals involved, the effectof time and labor on bodies, and the poet’sown body as a ‘reproduction’ of hermother’s and continuation of that life.These are strong, emotional poems.Marge Piercy is not interested in appear¬ing cool and detached when she writes ofher mother's life, there is a steady cur¬rent of anger, both at, and for her mother,and aimed at the oppression she saw inher mother’s existence. It is at this pointthat I began to hear a touch of cant;Piercy’s mother is too often turned into afeminist symbol, an example of all op¬pressed women, and she is depersonalizedby it, as in Putting the good thingsaway:Daily she puts on schmatehsfit only to wash the caror the windows, ragsthat had never been prettyeven when .new. somev moresucn dresses are told oniyto women without money to wasteon themselves, on pleasure,to women who hate their bodies,to women whose lives close on themSuch dresses come bleached by tears...Her father also becomes a cliched op¬pressor in Does the light fail us, or do wefail the light?but when I open my mouthits the wrong year and the worldbristles with women who make shortbard statements like men and don’tapologize enough, who don’t crywhen he yells or makes a fist.The emotions and experiences in thesepoems are genuine and honest, but theyare trivialized by this conscious applica¬tion of feminism. With too much repetition,words and ideas lose their meaning andimpact. Poems such as Breaking out, whichdescribes a childhood experience of gain¬ing power, are far more effective becausefeminism is present simply as a pervasivefact of life, a way of living, ard the expe¬rience is not translated in*o the partyline.This strain of didacticism continued tosurface now and again throughout thebook. She also commits the sin of reiterat¬ing or summarizing her point at the end of.a poem. The syndrome perhaps reaches itsoeak in Deferral, with lines like:You’ll do it, what you really want.You’ll start counting, you’llfeel everything direct as rainan your skin in mild May twilight....when you finally get the divorce,after the children finish college,when you’re promoted as you deserve,when you’re a complete success at last,after you retire to Florida,when you die and go to heaven.You’ll have considerable practiceat being dead by then.Ironically enough, it is the presence ofthe very attitude that is the subject of thatpoem,—that enthusiasm for the moment—,that is the appealing aspect of MargePiercy’s poems. This ‘hands-on’ philosophyis in evidence in her choice of subjects,images, and metaphors. Many of theseare physical, and often associated withbodies. She celebrates the pleasures, andsometimes the pains, of flesh. One beauti¬ful example is the poem Down.Dome let us raise our tent of sin.Let me wrap you in the night of my hairso our legs climb each other like peavines.The light comes from behind th» eyes,red, soft, thick as blood, ancient as sleep.We build each other with our hands.That is where flesh is translucent aswater.That is where flesh shines with its ownlight.That is where flesh ripples as you walkthrough it like fog and it closes aroundyou.That is where boundaries fail and winkout.Flesh dreams down to rock and up tofire.Other favorite subject and sources arefood, plants and, as anyone who has everread Piercy's poetry knows, her ubiqui¬tous cats. Some of the finest poems in thiscollection are about little things; every¬day domesticities.She is finally attuned to sensory andsenusal experience, her poems communi¬cate how things feel, taste, and look upclose. Marge Piercy does not live in anivory tower. She does not hold herself dis¬tant from the world, but sometimes herrhetoric distances her world from us.- K RDorothea Lang*: Photographs of a UfatlmaAperture, 1982182 pages, $25.00The Aperture Monograph, DorotheaLange: Photographs of a Lifetime, hasbeen out a year now. This Lange retro¬spective follows her career from her earli¬est days as a portrait photographer to herdeath in 1965. In the ' 'many of Langes’ beftphotos back to haunt us; #Langes' phoios are frequently charac¬terized as haunting. lti§||Pattributed to toe subj^|famous for—the oowntrodden sharecrop¬pers, drought refugees, and the starvingmigrant mothers of the 1930s. However,the best Lange photos are eerie becausethe- allow you to see past the destitutesurroundings and into ♦he soul r er sub¬jects. ;n Ditched, Sifted a/,- Stranded,U39 or example it i; not thy batteredprocess It bringsdepression eraa quality oftenmatter she is Why use the French phrase “gratte ciel”when the English “skyscraper” serves thepurpose as well and saves the reader unvers¬ed in French a trip to the nearest tutor? In thenext poem, A Curfew, she usesprojecting spikes chopped with barbed wire.In this case, there fa ho English equivalentWhich is as precise, concise, arrd evocative,and hie erudite intrusion has a purpose.' /Sometimes obscure words fit well hi thecontext „of the poem. The poem Written inWater describes what it’s like “to wake Inwinter to this arctic glare—th^ Snow Queen’sfrore boudoir.” Changing the obscure word"frore’! to “frozen” would lose something inconnotation and consistency of diction.Ciampitt can be very exact and creative inher imagery as in Pde at Sch elm“Spruces tu'e‘ed abe v' 'he ledge io.-..n inthe downdraft of their» ecurious sta:. w ->,'s awarhV./' Wf’o, ah nervq'a :uned to airvcms,dapper in a yellow domhv;, a noose of dark quasi-theo»etic queries leave the non-sci-entific reader without an understandingof evolutionary biology while seeming pa-| tronizingly inadequate to anyone with theWdmMgraphs in this book, their quality is quiteuneven. The color plates are well done, al¬though there are only six. The black andwhite photographs, however, do not dojustice to their material The resolutionandjlfpcus are poor, and most look asthough they were color photographs re¬done in black and white. In fact, one colorplate of a horned lizard serves not only asa black and white photograph later in thebook, but also as the back c JntffJSs; Photograph by Dorothea Lange^ ’V; ' <2* ««• I- m W# throal, ^a s^.tpcoi, " „ th . M ,esper. s,g„,.„re_a wiry wh«K», a blurred Mg, bte rlamags that thay do•,wn hat *** ■ :m : * 91,95 ««• no».". r reader anon, « ,h» lack at hwais so movingLan^e, at her beLater,trip to tfc* fide poa*j?Wbaf the >t, w*» * rtogtyu&gt&A f, succeeds in combining a oenvera...voyeur. She would float towarua iter sup- mth complexityof language, *jj *'&ject blending into the background until she tin;,-i# imagine what,/ When the bloccould capture a part of fhat person that noone is supposed to see Lange explains hertechnique like this, “You know, so oftenit’s just sticking around and being there,remaining there, not just swooping in andswooping out in a cloud of dust; sittingdown on the ground with people.”Photographs of a Lifetime captures thegenius of Lange, Lange's poignant com¬ments as well as Robert Coles' essay aug¬ment the visual images and give thereader greater insight into Mrs. Lange.Photographs of a Lifetime also chroniclesthe erosion of an artist; After the depres¬sion Lange would never achieve the depthof feeling that pervades^ her F.S.A. work.(With perhaps, the exception of her Crin-imal Justice Essay of 1955-57—some ofwhich appears in this volume). Lange failsin her later work to capture her subject’sinner apprehensions, fears and hopes. Forexample. Woman from Berryessa Valley,California, Memorial Day, 1965 seemspainfully contrived. The woman is static,posed. There is no intimacy between thesubject and the photographer.Lange writes aboutEgypt. “I am confronted with doubts as tcwhat I can grasp and record on this jour¬ney.” Dorothea Lange: Photographs of aLifetime gives the reader an insight intothe source of Lange’s genius. Robert Coles’essay and Lange’s comments help explorethe roots of these insights. Lange’s nega¬tives are sometimes grainy, overexposed,or are out of focus, but the large formalreproductions are excellent. In a photolike Mother and Child on the Road, 1939,the suspicion in the children’s faces andthe exhaustion of their mother, whoseglasses reflect Dorothea’s own form, re¬veal not only the complexity of seeing, butof being seen. As Dorothea Lange says,“It’s a hard thing to be lost.”What the Light Was Likeby Amy CiampittAlfred A. Knopf, 1985 ' t „110 pages, $8.95In the novel Nineteen Might Four, GeorgeOrwell's Syme, a philologist working on thelatest edition of the Newspeak Dictionary,revels in the destruction of words. “Do youknow that Newspeak is the only language inthe world whose vocabulary gets smallerevery year?” he asks. If Orwell’s fear thatthought-control involves Word-control, wherethe shrinking of vocabulary is justified, thenwe have nothing to be afraid of as long aspoets like Amy Ciampitt are being published.Reading her poetry requires having a dic¬tionary nearby at all times. Vladimir Nabokovlisted possessing a dictionary as one of theindispensible requirements of being a goodreader. John Ashbery has said that he likesthe idea of the reader going from his poem toa dictionary, and certainly one function ofpoetry is to introduce us to new words, thequestion is: how much is too much? Whendoes the dictionary thumbing become atedious process that interferes with the flowof the poem? One can look up all theunknown words on the first reading and thensavor the flow and rhythm of the poem on thesecond or third reading, or one can ignoreunfamiliar words and pursue the meaninglater. Sometimes, though, it’s good to getboth at once.Amy Ciampitt uses many obscure words *nher poetry to make her descriptions moreprecise and full of interlco.;ing sounds, butthe extreme attempts at precision make thepoems less immediate and access lo. Forme, this tendency reached its most extremeform in the phrase “mulleins hunker to a hir¬sute rosette" from the poem Urn Burial andthe Butterfly Migration. Looking up fourwords out of six in the dictionary brought myreading of the poem to a halt.Ciampitt also has a penchant for foreignphrases. In From a Clinic Waiting Room shesays “I write from the denser enclave of thestricken, eight stories up, a prarie gratteceil.” The excessive use of foreign phraseswas one of George Orwell’s Bete Noiros. it tH'DD-iroared,overflowing its cerebral sluiceway, and theiridescence; of his last perception, charring,gave way to unreversed, irrevocabledark,/the light out there was like, that’salways shifting—from a. nimbus goneberserk/to a single gorget, a cathedral trainof blinking, or the fogbound shroud/that canturn anywhere into a nowhere.” In this poemshe emphasizes what Hopkins called the in¬scape or structure of language withoutobscuring meaning. She revels in the preser¬vation of words while maintaining a propor¬tionate relation to experience and feeling.More often than not, the trips to the dic¬tionary in reading the poetry of Amy Ciampittare worth the effort. She makes obscurewords work well and what she loses in im¬mediacy and clarity she gains in richmusicality and connotations. —K.F.Sonoran Desert SpringJohn AlcockUniversity of Chicago Press, 1985194 pages, $19.95To people from wet temperate zones,the desert conjours images of spaghettiWestern sets in the barren aandlots of Uni¬versal Studios. The Sonoran Desert isbrought out of this illusion by John Al¬cock’s Sonoran Desert Spring. His narra¬tive takes us from February to June onUsary Pass, which is on the edge of TontoNational Forest near Phoenix, Arizona.Besides giving a beautiful description ofthe flora and fauna, Alcock provides scien¬tific information on the meterological andgeological basis of the Sonoran Desert.Skillfully blending general descriptionand minute detail, Alcock’s flowing prosedraws the reader Into a different life.Alcock’s evocative descriptions interestthe reader In the inhabitants of the Son¬oran Desert:Plumb flower buds, green withwhite and tan stripes, have beengrowing at the tips of hedgehog(cacti) arms. Some have now burstopen, revealing rich red-purpleflowers...A patch of hedgehog cactiIn flower looks something like ababy porcupine carrying a cluster ofred tulips on its back.Not only does Alcock have an afinity withthe desert, but an understanding of thehuman naturalists who visit:An encounter with a diamond back(rattlesnake) is wonderfully stimu¬lating to the Imagination. For therest of such a day, if not on subse¬quent days as well, brown fallenlimbs of palo verdes, colls qf driedmosses lying along the edge of arock, even elongate stones aretransformed one and all into hiddensnakes.Alcock powerfully depicts the contradic¬tory character of the Sonoran Desert. It isa fragile world where life can rest on thecaprice of one winter storm, and yet it isalso where a highly adapted plant will en¬dure 200 years.A!cock is a.) evolutionary bicicr*-*v specializes in insect behavior. The e< i-' he gives to insects is not oui -fplace to the desert where tneir uumuerand variety are relatively great. Informalexplanations of scientific methodologyused in studying insects are scatteredthrough the test. These, along with most ofhis behavioral descriptions successfullystraddle technicality and narrative. Attimes, however, his discussions of the evo¬lution of insect mating systems becomes ir¬ritating. While describing the territoriali¬ty of the great purple hairstreak, Alcocksays: “Why is it that only males are foundin palo verdes, and what are they waitingfor? Although human males will have notrouble providing an intuitive answer tothe second part of the question...” These iI Mgm ftas always b§§n, and still is, adqertain- Stigma involved, fa separating the“fine arts photographer” and the “docu¬mentary photographer/* The Fifties foi-iows a more documentary and journalisticmold, but it la hard to exclude the fea-r^fpd photographer* when dealing withartistic expression end talent. Unlikemany recent publications which featureone specific artL* The Fifties is enhancedby the variety of perspective the 1? p'-~-t6fr*~her -ept , ** jm. Vy ti. •, __ ■—ir— - * 'ons a-sr-'u expiqreTon of the - timeWl^ou oemg pei ait . .o*t* Aicock *?•> The U- ..holograph - im.: ,ded .n theScribe* t man enemy p* ih£<&book are Cornell Cap* Bruce Davidson, El-Son-" ,r Desert. Men with off-road veN- iiou Er/,itt. and Erm at Haas twe havrcie: ana shotguns who .©yard the desert books pub .shed of their own ro- . Emr;as their sandbox disrupt Sonoran Desert Hartmann, Coda ManosS,-<ing much as they disrupt the desert it- Wayne Miller, log,? Mo**'" Dtse, and the irreparz- Eve Amok, Sod:’ 8uri;:.fJtmp Many of these_ . were pubi,shed in LIFElMarine $gw other J welbknown newspa¬pers -and became of Magnum'snotofir&M^,being the most linient, weii-firtSMSU, creative coops-- .fiveBeTn tie success of this publica¬tion, Magnum will oonsidar ■ dure publicstions' depictipc a decade at a time I. tor■ one would like tc see them lined up my hferar, shelf. Ti : collection reminds me ofanother book of photography dealingwith America around the same time. Rob-reader angry at the lack or hum*,” man, and eager to return to the „„in at tone beau tv of the Uonormi r>r. -«»(0Pure DaughtersDebra BruceUniversity of Arkansas Press, 198357 pagesNative Language, one tide appearing Inthis collection of poetry, might have quitenaturally been the title of toe book Itself.Debra Bruce speaks directly to commonmodern experience and emotion (or lack ofemotion). However, she at times trips onher person-to-person plain speech andfalls into trivialities. One example whichworks due to toe existence of at least twointerpretations is the first stanza of Na¬tive Language”:At sixteen I knewwhat a tongue was for,better than hands or hipsto get whateverI wanted. My own fatherand mother in love with itwould fall back and let me go.I could funnel itinto any man’s ear and leave himdazed and lonely.Unfortunately, many of these verses failto gain any magnitude of insight, they re¬main plain, as in / Haven’t Been Abie toGet Anything Done Since / Met You:tn August we came in and spreadout this gold and orange quiltof cats that your Grandmotherstitchedfor you...To the author’s credit, the poem excerpt¬ed above includes beautiful well-writtenlines which gently, unobtrusively makethemselves felt by the reader, and toepoem In its entirety should not be com¬pletely overlooked. However, the oc¬curence of overly-simple lines drags outtoe poem and slows Its momentum to acrawl. mrThese “slices of fife,” which Debra Bruceis so apt at sketch for us, should be incor¬porated into greater works which pull thereader Into the poems, closer to the minia¬ture world being created and displayed. Afew poems In Pure Oaughter do just this,many do not. Overall, howevef, it is re¬freshing to find a contemporary poet whois unafraid of directing fine literary tal¬ents to everyday emotions. The challengenow facing her is how to talk of the com¬mon without talking in the common. _k.S.The FiftiesIntroduction by John ChancellorPublished by Pantheon Books. 1985100 pages, $14.95The Fifties was an exciting—ano confus¬ing—time to grow up and become of air*..The book. The FIFTIES, covers, throufiiphotography, not nnly r,residents, promi¬nent persons, and Hcllyvood stars, outalso poverty 3oa unrest, ihe six-page in-troductio' by John Chancellor, covers the<v lior events and social aspects of the Fif¬ties. w)!h brevity. There may not havrbeen many loud riots, but there weremany quiet ones. It was a time of material¬ism, hope and questioning. It also was thebeginning of the civil right movement.The photographers included in The Fif¬ties were all members of the prestigiousagency, Magnum, which to this day iswidely known and well respected as thephotography cooperative, and the bookwas edited and compiled by Magnum. ert c-ank's The Americas c-bnshed r,Apen.'-s. Both cooks doc-.the r-r .* essnes . -nd hope of the age, buthow photographers.: through the wideningacceptance of their unique med-umlable tq^trap itl|P%„ J||ff§j^|§Summer, were—M.BNew and SelectedmorthemJohn MatthiasSwallow Press, 1984222 pages, $12 95Qualities tendTo PerfectionWe may assist.John Matthias writes for the sixth sec¬tion of Six for Michael Anania; and it is thepoet's delight in the interplay betweenthe external physical word, and what hispoems would make of it, that keeps us atthese poems, attempting to crack their ab¬struse language. Frequently modern poetsfeel they must use plain speech that thecommon person can understand, andthough Matthias does often speak withabsolute directness, he also employs thewhole range of human expression —slang, foreign languages, letters, owner-manual diction, highbrowed intellectualjargon, and Old English.Matthias is an arranger of the things hefinds in the world; his choices deliniate hisart. He distrusts final answers, preferingto circle a given subject, or situate it in anhistorical context. Bui it would not beenough if he didn’t posses a passionatehonesty, and an irreverent, inclusive eye.In Epiiogue from a New Home he writes:Yesterday I walked to see the black,malignant huts that held the bombsAfter the war. nobody tore them C0ArSoma* <are full Of hay. Mechanics counted,standing - lS|There, toe number §f planes that re¬turned. I don’t : : ; : ^k understand the work men did in thefields, or do.I don’t know the names of the crops. Idon't ' cm,know the uses of gearsA church has grown on every hill like iiyl/ tree. * ** jjf.These hist or teal details and Matthias’ in¬ability to unders and and name the thing -?around him form ‘he nexus around wh.cf.the work rotates The mother of a gooofrienu has asked him to write a poemabout her dGid husband and has even fedhim aii the details of their life, but he canonly write about absences. The lonn ele-a: poem honors him by honoring thewo ’.an who described him, Matthias hastexen up “that ancient charge: to readwhatever evidence in lives or res ap¬pears a,.J thus/Return the eartn.” Like inthe poem Survivors which is reprinted onthe back cover, he spirals in towards anadmission of his own complicity with theworld and the friends he is describing, bytravelling through the historical and phys¬ical parameters that surround him.John Matthais does not shun complexi¬ties, nor does he court them for their ownsake, he sees poetry as a bridge betweenthe diverse elements of modern life where“Prospero whispers in one ear/ And Leninin the other.” —D.S.The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—25: ■spring tra^^Her yDanube| recalls tlgran" mother woulOliver >rfi'utib the 8iier /am*'wjihfcn «9quraflfcfk®/ £3MajpPoii-ssinq.®ma* blue rive^,^•n ypjr need another kingdomJw usie through the mad castle door.S<a»body sistumbles atacross the <and we knohe’s there.anyway, tvThe policeAnd we kiagainthe grass ohe is our losarrvsMjJWwith-■nhe warm•wimmers tohew teituriesamonc^!I glossim'intjjkbcfm,Jack and Rackehave died: “Jack aimeir long necks down/ 7comebyoung again.” The"imaBd^y^^Lfar pastuGiant? lipping lazily/,^pfrom the everbearingOliver usms the moon inp-i-.ci;'l° of organizationShe r.or.cems n^sr% with|be moon ha„ on wateusingRiveraqina-o ex- territor [aroundhorse:■nd/ believe meT to the happi-Dcdy, is willing to near”ressfes her mystic senseof thecreated forms and of their ul-os# in two poems toward thevoMme. May ±>egins with her1 wim bees who seek “spiritu-a synbol employed previously,le bees is arf example to her:PRIMITIVEMOONAmerican PrimitiveAtlantic — Little, Brown, 198388 pages, $6.95Twelve MoonsLittle, Brown, 197979 pages, $4.95The River Styx, Ohio, and other poemsHarcourt Brace Jovanovich, 197255 pagesMary Oth/erby "!•: « ■ fci. VertrpaseeWithpoemsnature studdeed, heracute,worldpoemsshe celehrdom seenyet withoutthe wilder, darkerto the unexpected.It is this wilder sideimagination, making herstricted and parochial thansimilar ma?eriai. In her volumeStyx. Ohio and Other Poems,tion is the force that drivesplore he world; its power pc-sin the natural worldIndian P oes beg.ns wit . ;>?. wild flower common in the >astscription leads to a considerationnation as a sense of wonder, anto surprise:*rThe longer I love the more I senseWilderness approaching; I used to walkMiles to find wild things: now they findme.Blossom under the very windows whereI am busy being grown up and tame.I think it is more than chance, I thinkIt is a new kind of vision I have,That a child, who must put wild thingsIn a mile by itself, could not bear.I wake, wrapped in the town, knowingThe edges were only in my mind, all'sone.The oneness which she feels, the bodyof any woman come to term, caughtas mortality drives triumphantlytowardimmortality, the shaken boneslikecages of fire.The fish is paradoxically given birth inthe very waters in which sheborn, yet dying in thesemany of Oliver’s poems,the source of life andimagination, butphysical body.Sharks portraysuous explorers of Water remains for Oliver a mysticalsource of life and death. Ultimately, waterimages the self, which both experienceslife and fears death, as in Cold Poem:Maybe what cold is, is the timewe measure the love we have always had,secretly,for our own bones, the hard knife-edgedlovefor the warm river of the I, beyond allelse; maybeis what it means, the beautyblue shark crusing toward the turnse:>ls.ihe poet tells the readermeaningfully exist in thewhich is full ofis through “faiththe egret’sthing.”Thisearlyswimmersalways forgot-the rapaciousrocksisnotscalding• thatstrength aginative powers,'asi.'~‘ on thewh'ch herpee .ri,inaaoa toItne ted*oar Moons further explores the nat-d as that which sustains heron and which possesses aperhaps threatening, counte-ith the startling clarity of Johnary Oliver uses very forceful im-described the need for fantasy,compares the numbing, meanin¬gless conversation of her neighbors withthe compelling surge of the surf:ageryOliverWe ceasetalking, the Sunday gossipabout the lives of neighbors;the flameless, vaguephilosophies mournfulas our own hearts, violentas last night’s movie, drabas middle age We listento the booming under the wharf,the smashing of the water'sgray fistsamong the pilings its desireto eat us „p, to carry us—so mournful, so wasteful-far out into the blue cauldronof the sea’s immense appetiteagain.The poet implies that, for the deepeningof her creative powers and the experi¬ences they bring her, she is willing to riskeven physical death. The Fish traces thetorturous movements of a fish which hascome to spawn in her birth waters, thendie. The poet describes the fish—and, byextension, herself—as driven by urgeswhich neither can understand nor control,until finallyshe arcsin the long gown of her body, she leapsinto the walls of water,she falls through like the tornsilvery half-drowned death, itshows in Twoand Racket, two petdied: “Jack and Racket/ Bendnecks down/ And, drinking, be-again.” The poet then, canfar pasture two dappled/as they fallits phases as thefor this volume,with the effect whichon water and on livinggs. Some of these poems directly com¬ber imaginative power to water. InBuck Moon—From the Field Guide to In¬sects. Oliver describes her surroundings asJhe place “Where you feel, i power that isnot you but flows/ into you like a river.’In the volume Twelve Moons, MaryOliver emphasizes renascence, the unity oflife and death, exploring her own death¬lessness as pa;t of the natural order. Abea. ina pies becomes sustenance for her¬self: when she dies, she, too, will sustainlife. In Entering the Kingdom, she cautionsthe reader that she is “No dreamer/ Noeater of leaves;” but she does dreamabout her life’s purpose;The dream of my lifeIs to lie down by a slow riverAnd stare at the light in the trees—To learn something by being nothingA little while but the richLens of attention.For Ma»v Oliver, creation is a teacherwhich helps her formulate questions, but^hich does not always respond as shemight describes the over¬whelming beauty and the immense silenceof a snowfall in the fields, “calling us backto why. how./ whence such beauty andf the meaning.” But the questions re-m the eirJof theancTtrtH^that hale assailedremain-X® a sin{answerwalking out nowinto the silence andunder the tries,and through tps fields,feels like one^B ■Early in this^volume, andtensity than in other poems,an uglier, less roicized view of deatl. Even in The Kitten,calling the stillborn^^K&iyith one largeey- rr ■ poet can findiSfeninijjpI took it out into the tid’dand opened the earthand put it backsaying, it was real.saying, life is infinitely inventive,saying, what other amazementslie in the dark seed of the earth...Ghosts tell of those victims of early pio¬neer cruelty, the Native American and theprairie animals, linked with a mysticalbond in their common experience. ForOliver, both the earth and the Sioux expe¬rience deathlessness: “In the book ofearth it is written: nothing can die."The power which “Vultureover death is “to eat it/to make of it the mirdtlg^Yet of all the birds, many culjj^^^^ppisethem:Locked intothe blaze of our own bodieswe watch themwheeling and drifting, wehonor them and weloathe them.however wise the doctinehowever magnificient the cycles,however ultimately sweetthe huddle of death to fuelthose powerful wings. lifeof merereenactme“there is noness yourPoses).Oliverunity of alltimateend of thisidentificational honey,” aThe life of the “spiritu-previously.to her:May, and among the rrwfces of leafing,blossoms storm out of the darkness-windflowers and moccasin flowers. Thebeesdive into them and I too, to gathertheir spiritual honey. Mute and rneek, yettheirsis the deepest certainity that this exis¬tence too—this sense of well-being, the flourishingof the physical body—rides .near the hub of the miracle that every¬thingis a part of. is as goodas a poem or a prayer, can also makeluminous any dark place on earth.Almost an envoi, In Blackwater Woodssummarizes the development of her phi¬losophy:Every yeareverythingJhave ever learnedin my lifetimeleads back to th^the firesand the black river QMftgsther side How shall I walk in the world,But looking for light and wisdom,Believing in what I see,And more—what turnsOn the wheel of what cannot be definedIn the leaves, in th darkness?But the poem Sleeping in the Forest, herfirst in t^tfMto^ion, reads like a credo.Here motifs which inter¬changingthe river bed nothingme and the white fire of themy thoughts, and they floatedas moths among the branchesof the perfect trees. All nightheard the i.ingdoms breathingme. the insects, and the birds,do their work in the darkness. Allrose and fell, as ;f in water, grap-with a luminous doom. By morningI had vanished nt least a dozen timesinto sumethr-j better.Oliver’s must ;-'>r>t volume, AmericanPrimitive, for wu.c' >h.; won the PulitzerPrize in 1984, jntinues thematically insame dire... m as her previous work,poems cen urate the American fron-the wilde-n^ss of John Chapman and. The p c t sees in this setting theand expression of her philo-August begins t!ie volume, speaking ofthe unity among edl of creation. The poetenjoys the beauty of a summer day in thewoods, concludingall day *r'y bodyaccepts what it ’ 1. In the darkcreeks tht* rim by !here isthis thick paw of my life dartingamongthe black bells, ■? leaves; there isthis happy tongueIn Clapp's Pore this sense of onenessbecomes a mystical experience in whichthe boundaries between herself and ev¬erything else fades jviy:How sometimes everyth ngcloses up. a painted for landscapes andmomentsflowing toge he' uut ' the sense of dis¬tance—say, betweer. ,li.,or pond and me—vanishes, edges .ida togetherlike the feathers or a wir g, everythingtouches everything.Even as she imagine: vely creates the nat¬ural world she recognizes her distancefrom it. It is in n su.ng this distance thatthe poems find one ce of motion, andbegin to work. Ano- the metaphors ex¬pand out from mtre des ription an almostelegiac quality takes over.The strength o* Vary Oliver’s AmericanPrimitive is that r ie qood poems confrontid the fearful:t curiosity we^ 19e-eyeduniJu^^cgslivers illurrin-"•lined union of theher view ofintroducgraphsserved: “Thelike the oce.dark anhighe ifrdit stuttersof the mgt 1KnowTf somethinge was hitched to the'st star.”poetry seeks to reconcile bothnts of life and death, the “destruc-ive” and the “star,” with no diminish-ment to either aspect. In a letter toStiegler, O’Keefe described an experienceof watching the moon rise: “’’vs been upon the roof watching the moon come up—the sky very dark—the moon large andlopsided—and very soft*a strange whitelight creeping across the faraway to thedark sky—the cliffs all black—it wasweird and strangely beautiful.Oliver linked the “wierd” and the“strangely beautiful” as O'Keefe hasdone in so many of her paintings. MaryOliver is an American poet whose worksare anything but “primitive.” A Blessingcontinues this same theme: m ■■b pleasant siory.Ie personifies V e * tones at *ne straiger’s feet, as ht snea,.i. around then yarhe stirs up the nanimafe objects and iifects them with life. But we learn th;these crossed patha os passion have thetprice:ie loops like the woodbineup'^H|H^ branchesof ne^^B^ns, and two towns awaya man wH^^no longer bear his lifetakes it, al(^^^.the thick woods.no one trampUfcr window—jr.She digs past the loam of perception inthe sometimes frightening underpinninjof our existence. Mary Oliver has the gof unearthing uncommon revelations frothe common earth; she does not sing, srwhispers.26—The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985ACommodore 64, Disk Drive, Modem, MX «uPrinter + interface, 60 disks of software ineluded, FREE. $750/besf 955-8455 (Miles).IBM Correcting Selectric II typewriter usedphone 962-8547 or 684-3005.APARTMENT SALE. Couch Stereo ChairsLamps Sofabed Formica tables Armchair w ot¬toman Mattress Color TV Guinea pig cageStereo Bench Bike El. Typewriter Appliances.5801 Dorchester apt 6A.phone 962-8547 or 684 3005.CAR FOR SALE good brakes & engine. $495.643-2848WANTEDI need 2 Graduation Tickets for RockefellerChapel Please Call Jennifer 856-0028.I need 1 ticket for June 15 graduation inRockefeller. Will pay caii eves. 667-0548.LOST & FOUNDFound: Racket-call Mark at 753-3444 to ID.PERSONALSHEY - ya big LUNCH! We made it! Now whowill help me watch all my kids?? See you onthe 15th. Love and Kisses-Katy-Lye.ADOPTION WANTEDLoving couple in mid 30's will provide love fineeducation, suburban home for Caucasian in¬fant, our resume available confidential ex¬penses paid call friend Jan collect at 312-352-0312.COMING OUT GROUPTo discuss the problems (and possibilities) ofbeing gay and coming out. 8pm Tuesdays at5615 South Woodlawn.KIDS EARN MONEY!2nd thru 6th graders—Earn money the easyway. Be in a fun study especially for kids. CallMs. Heller 9-5 962-1548.THEMEDICI DELIVERSDaily from 4 pm call 667-7394.ACHTUNG! GERMAN!TAKE APRIL WILSON'S five week GERMANCOURSE and high pass the summer readingexam! Readings include Kafka, Nietzsche,Freud, etc. Two sections: M-F, 10:30-120 & 68PM, beginning June 24. Cost: $200, For moreinformation and to register, call: 667-3038.HILLELWORK STUDYHillel has several Work Study openings for Fall'85. Please contact Barbara if interested, 7521127.COOK NEEDEDHillel needs a cook for lunch approx 30 studentsMon, Thur Fri. Graduate work study okay.Contact Barbara Gilbert 752-1127 at Hillel.CONDO FOR SALE2 bedrooms, 2 bath, large bright living room,corner apartment. Securityguard and otheramenities. Must relocate. Call 684-0178 or 2220002.CALL HOTLINE7PM to 7AM, 7 days a week. Talk. Information.Referral. Crisis Intervention. We're there foryou. 753-1777UNIV PARK FOR RENTDeluxe Studio top floor Full Amenities w/heat$439. Lynn 393-1034 Iv message if not in.BABYSITTINGResponsible person to sit for a 4 month old infant. Some days and evenings. 947 0323.DR. MORTON R. MASLOVOPTOMETRIST•EYE EXAMINATIONS•FASHION EYEWEAR(one year warranty on eyeglassframes and glass lenses)SPECIALIZING IN• ALL TYPES OFCONTACT LENSES•CONTACT SUPPLIESTNIHYDIPARK* HOPPING CCNTIR13101. 55th363-0100 ORGAN RECITALSFree each Tues 12:30 pm: Thomas Wikmanplays the magnificent new baroque organ atChicago Theological Seminary, 5757 S. Univer¬sity Ave.SHOW & SELLThe KAYPRO 2000 is here! IBM compatible,lap sized computer, disk drive 256K, more Seeit at Pomerleau Comoutir in Harper Courtbetween 2 & 7 PM Motv-fr\«,-.d '0-2 on Sat.pg,v..‘-:rleau commuting systems5211 S. HaiW 667-2075FRENCH COURSESthrough ACTS at Lutheran School of Theology.BEGINNING READING: *."*> !0am-12pm,rm 309; Jun 17-Jul 24; Fl. E : ADVANCEDREADING: M/W 12-lpm, rm 309; Jul 8-24;FEE: $50. For info and reg, call ChristianeKelley, at 956-1251, or LSTC 667 3500.GERMAN COURSESthrough ACTS at Lutheran School of Theology.BEGINNING READING INTENSIVE: M-F 911am, rm 308; Jun 17-Jul 26; FEE: $230. AD¬VANCED READING: T/Th 8-10pm, rm 203;Jure 18-Jul 25 FEE: $120. For further info andreg, call Gerlinde F. Miller, 363-1384, or LSTC667-3500. CONVERSATION: M/W 7-9pm, rm203; Jun 17-Jul 24; FEE: $120. Call FriedrichSchuler at 667-1451, or LSTC 667-3500.LATIN COURSESthrough ACTS at Lutheran School of Theology.BEGINNING LATIN: W/F 7-9pm, rm 205; Jun19-Jul 26; FEE: $120. THOMISTIC/SCHOLASTIC: M/W 7-9pm, rm 206; Jun 17-Aug 21; FEE: $205. For further info and reg,call Kathy Krug at 643-5436 or LSTC 667-3500.SPECIAL NEEDS in LATIN: Organizationalmeeting Wed., Jun 19, 6:30pm, rm 205. Call K.Krug 643-5436.SPANISH COURSESthrough ACTS at Lutheran School of Theology.BEGINNING READING: Mon 6:30-8:30pm,rm 30 V; Jun 17-Jul 22; FEE: $75. INTERMEDIATE READING: Wed 6:30 8:30pm,rm 301; Jun 19-Jul 24; FEE: $75. For furtherinfo and reg, call Sonia Csaszar at 493-7251 orLSTC 667-3500.SUBLETWANTED2 or more bedrm apt or house June 19-Sept 1Professional couple with 1 child and 1 dog. Callmat y 856-6336 days or 565-7296 after 5CO-OP APARTMENTFOR SALE54th & Dorchester. 3 bdrms, 2 baths. Patio,spacious yard, mod. kit., Indry. rm., rec. rm.,off-street parking. Equity $32,600. mo. assessment $372. 657-3207.SHAPIRO PAINTINGSSTUDENTS WITH SHAPIRO PAINTINGSMUST RETURN THEM TODAY! IN ROOM210 IDA NOYES. .50' PER DAY LATE FEE!MORTON-MURPHYMORTON-MURPHY APPLICATIONS FOREXTRA-CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES DUETODAY IN 210 IDA NOYES.MASSAGEGerman body-therapeut is giving sessions inneo-reichian massage at your home Deeprelaxation, relief of stress symptoms and ten¬sions. For information and appt. call Manfred324-9378SUBLET58 & Kenwood - Summer Sublet $125. CallLaura 241-5240 APT. RENTALSOUTH SHORE AREA6745 SO. CHAN DON AVE.Renov. 2 story 2 family building 2600 sq ft liv¬ing space 3 bedrooms 2 bath Formal living anddining room & office carpeting wall to wallHardwood floors appliance AC & dishwasherincluded Free heaf laundry rm walkone block 1 block ** 3 block '• Ja:ksonPark Golf jui ?eoutw ■ Oar aers -»':d patioyard a B^e fur *i *ertalnm«nt ciose toChicago Univ«rsify all fsr 07' per month caii684 8729 7 pm.POSITION AVAILABLE:RELIGIOUS SCHOOLDIRECTORMet;-ooo!''an, Classical Reform synagogueseeks administrator for small, h*ghly-motivoted student body. Duties include cur¬riculum and Drogram development, supervi¬sion and professional development of faculty,other generel adminis*rative tasks.Applicants st. juid have at least the followingprerequisites:1. Three to five (3-5) years experience teachingin a religious school setting, OR2. Teaching experience in a secular school witha degree in Religious Education of Jewishstudies.Send resumes with references fo:Religious School CommitteeChicago Sinai Congregation5350 South Shore DriveChicago, IL 60615SUMMER SUBLETCHEAP!Very spacious 1 bedroom apt in Hyde Parknear the lake shopping etc. Well furnishedavail in fall/$500/summer (6/15 to 7/30) Cali667-2402.ATTN PROFSStudent finished 3rd yr econ will work for freelOhrs per week if interesting call 947-9887 Lisabus or econ preferred summer. FREE PUPPIES!Born 4/30/85. Sire Belg Shpdg, gd wtchdgMother Lab/Shep, exc w/kids. Beautiful colored & affectionate. Great companions. Call962 8045 or 386 6034.FEELING DOWN & BLUE?If so, yv. may qualify nar?«clf?ate in 6 studyto eva'vi •* drug preference. Earn $'50 foryour p<*.rric'.pation in this 4 week study. Involve1. co!y commonly prescribed druns. If youare between 21 and 35 years old and ii, goodhealth, call 962-3560 between 9 a.m. and iy noonfor further information.FEELING TENSE,ANXIOUS?If so, you may qualify to receive treatment foryov,. anxiety at the University of ChicagoMedical Center. Treatment will be free ofcharge in rslurn for participation in a threeweek study to evaluate medication preference.Participants will also receive $60. Involves only commonly prescribed drugs. If you are between 21 & 55 years old and in good health, call962-3560 for further information.LANGUAGE COURSESAre offered to all graduate stuaents throughthe Ass'n of Chicago Theological Schools atLutheran School of Theology in FRENCH,LATIN GERMAN and SPANISH. Teacherswith degrees, experience, native speakers. Forfurther info or to register, call Debroah Anderson, at 667-3500 or 363-6148, or the teacher—seespecific ads below.HYDE PARK MOVERSMoving and hauling discount prices to staff &students from 12/hour free cartons del'd n/chousehold moves many other services 493 9122ATTN: HILLELMEMBERSIf you are going to be here this SummerPLEASE Let us know so we can include you inplanning some new exciting events for Summer.CALLIGRAPHERHILLEL NEEDS WORK STUDY PERSONFOR FALL 85 TO DESIGN POSTERS.PLEASE CALL 752-1127.PIANO LESSONSwith EDWARD MONDELLO, piano teachermusic dept. 1960-82 752-4485.EARN (300 (400 per week!!!iom America s largest cruise Ime operating on the MississippiRiver and East Coast Need hard working renabie individualsPositions available (or stewardesses deckhands and galley he»!eat opportunities to earn money anyiime during the year— IMMEDIATE OPENINGS -Enjoy traveling and seeing the country while living on board shit— SHORT TERM EMPLOYMENT AVAILABLE —:a« Now"203-345-4507AMERICANRUISE LINES INC HYDE PARK’SNEWEST ADDRESSOFDISTINCTIONCORNELL PLACE5346 South CornellYou must see our tastefullyrenovated high-rise in hastHyde Park. This classicbuilding has the traditionalelegance of a distinguishedHyde Park residence, yet theclean, refreshed interior of anew building. Each spaciousapartment features amplecloset room, modern ap¬pliances, wall to wallcarpeting, ceramic tile, in¬dividually controlled heat andbeautiful views overlooking thelovely surroundings of the HydePark Community or the Lake.We offer studios and onebedroom units with varyingfloor plans starting at $325.Parking available. Ask aboutour student and facultydisount.667-8776PomerleauCOMPUTING SYSTEMSMECHANIZETHE TEDIUMIn writing, filing,research,business applicationsCOMPUTERS - PRINTERSSOFTWARE-SUPPLIESAffordable, appropriate, withsupport to get you started,support to keep you going.from yourauthorized KAYPRO dealerIn Harper Court5211 S. HARPER AVE. • CHICAGO. IL60615667-2075TOOLS FOR YOUR MIND ... mNOTICE:* The Chicago Maroon regrets the lack of oversight inpermitting a classified ad regarding James Geolv to runin its May 31.1985 issue. Mr. Geoly did not place thead. and the Chicago Maroon neither sponsored the adnor endorses its content.‘ The Chicago Maroon also notes that the classified ad“Tricky Dick.” which also ran in the May 31 issue, wasnot sponsored by the Maroon, nor does the Maroon en¬dorse its content.The Chicago Maroon apologizes for any embarass-ment or injury these ads may have caused.The Chicago Literary Review, Friday June 7, 1985—27SURVIVORS1/ .Ij^^Hor y^^^without their breasts\ Or wombs, with ancient eyes,7\ Arthritic h&ftds, and memories like| Gorgeousjjflriips they launch^r Despairingly to bring back allTheir dead, and which, as if constructedBy scyme clumsy sonneteer, betray themIpsj&mly and-sink without a trace. ljUjofm •$-w* IteIy nothinf ^pfyplfay i's'jjBbabfy {„y ,AII \f ue; Jmf rrfejfcbosV {.. YdarsVre'blank. I be\ieve•rYou when you say you knewfme then, that we were friends.yet I don't remember you‘IfWfall, or aLWthosa^oth^r sWho had’i^rrt^<f'Oii|ffi|one. Yo if-hearts oWmpti'te-P of beifl«®fef,v <’>.,ve known a woman keep hMjajinside a bed of botched ambiti?Ihere her man lay down & took'ive yeans to die... ^And thfowgh I drove one January night - ftThrough freezing ra-in into Ohio— *And though I hurried,Seeking the words of the dying—All ( found was a turning circle of women,All I heard was the lamentation of survivors.-r:John MatthiasThe fittest don't survivett-!,s the survivors.”From Northern Summer Swallow Press, 1984. For. review see Books in Brief.imkv-1 sir A' ■Gang Bropklyn New York 19t>9 Bruce Davidson See The Fifties Books in Review_