Photography Commons^™

Death, Patrick J. Mahoney Iii

Manuscripts

He had tried to surrender. From behind a section of battered wall, he waved the Nambu with a piece of dirty white rag tied to the barrel, and I waited. Waited, with my Thompson leveled at that piece of white rag. We had long since learned of the treachery of the infamous Seventh Regiment of Imperial Marines, the pride of the Emperor, the giants of Nippon. They were giants too, in comparison to the usual run of Nips. These Banzai boys were all crowding six feet and over. Big fellas, and treacherous as a coiled cobra.

Requiem, Alan Markum

Manuscripts

All shall go down

All shall go under

All shall forget...

The Most Exciting Hour Of My Life, James Richman

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The most exciting hour of my life? I think it was the time I traded places on an airplane with a Chinese mule. Other incidents have been more dangerous; other escapes have been closer: but not one has been more exciting.

The Dramatic Function Of The Gravediggers' Scene In Hamlet, Q. L. West

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It is unfortunate that one of the scenes most often cut from contemporary productions of "Hamlet" is the first scene of Act V, the gravediggers' scene. The scene is, after all, static; it is merely a lyrical passage which seems, at first, to delay the movement of the drama, and, at all events, to add nothing to it. The producer wants swift, forward-moving action, and, certainly, he finds little enough of what he wants in the almost perverse, but always fundamental, deliberateness of this play. Consequently, one of the first scenes to be eliminated is almost invariably this one, despite …

Paricutin, Marie Hammontree

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The liveliest and youngest of the world's volcanoes, Paricutin is now a mecca for visitors from every continent. For years the farm of Dionisio Pulido, two miles outside of the village of Paricutin, had been a favorite picnic spot for neighboring Mexicans because the ground was so warm and dry and hospitable. On February 20, 1943, while plowing in his cornfield, Senor Pulido heard a noise from under the soil. Louder it came and then with an earth shaking roar began pouring rocks and cinders. into the air. The next day there was a cone-shaped pile twenty-five feet high. Within …

The Shepheard's Calendar, Allyn Wood

Manuscripts

In the first eclogue and the last, Colin Clout addresses Pan, complaining about his life. These are the only two eclogues in monologue; they are different in scope but with many comparable passages; and they are the only two in the particularly sustained musical rhyme scheme of iambic pentameter sixains ryhmed ababcc." But in January, Colin is immature, in December he has grown old. In the two complaints, Spenser subtly communicates the vast difference in Colin's experience-he is comprehensive, as in "February" he only plays. Through images of his relationship with nature, first so superficial and comradely and demonstrative, deepening …

Freedom: A Symposium, William Harper, Earl Murphy, David E. Barnhart, Fred Mcnanny

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Note: The idea of freedom has been a vital motivation for speculation, deliberation, and action throughout all time. In Its wake lie both assurance and confusion. Its backward glance falls upon olive branches some still wet with blood, for freedom ranges from divine heights' to satanic depths in man's definition and application. What and how we think of freedom is important to these times, the beginnings of our future. The four essays in this collection are attempts to reach a definition of freedom. We hope they may lead to individual considerations of this problem.

-Editor

Cormorant, Margaret Lanahan

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From out the sea

Fled up the sandy coast,

Bleak desert stretch,

Half a land and half a sea alike,

Spreading gritty flecks

Built into rock, slab crag,

And summit peak of stone.

Here perched silently

The cormorant...

Poems, George Fullen

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Derelict and Hours Before Darkness by, George Fullen.

Poems, Tom Wagle

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Double Identity and What an Accomplishment by, Tom Wagle.

Autumn Twilight, Anne Mcdonnell

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On my lips the sad bitter taste

Of moist autumn air...

Eagle Released, F. King

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There was something of the eagle in him,

Something that spoke flailing wings against the sun...

Departure And Return, F. King

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Wrapt in an invisible blanket of snow

She walked in silence through the small town.

And though for most it was the month of June,

And though for most it was a summer's day, The lady strolled through gentle avenues of snow...

Free Soul, Anne Mcdonnell

Manuscripts

It was a very warm, soft spring afternoon. In the newly green park Miss Harvey felt quite pleased with herself. She had been really daring at the store today. Her replies to the sallies of her companions had smacked of the woman of the world spirit that she so admired and of which she felt herself mistress. She tossed her thin shoulder in a poorly executed gesture of bold daring.

Merry-Go-Round, Richard J.O. Green

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The merry-go-round and the ferris-wheel spun in opposite directions, making him dizzy. A carnival tune piped from some hidden calliope, and the interwoven chants of concession barkers merged into a constant buzz of incoherency. The noise, the swirl of unorganized movement, and the gaudy splashes of raw color irritated him, and made him angry with himself for being irritated. The atmosphere was infected with a spirit of gayety, and it annoyed him that he was immune.

Half-Way To Tomorrow, George Coffin

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The sun poured blinding molten brass on the flat water's edge, and the sea, on fire, glared along a harsh broad path from the halfsun on the straight horizon to the ship. From the forecastle rail the prow seemed to carve great billow-crested furrows in the cool jade waters ahead. The always. breaking, turning, falling, churning of the ship-cut sea roared in his ears and filled his head with great cleansing swirls of nothingness. His world was a disc with radius only as far as the black seawater-mark that cut the darkening sky from darker water far ahead. Somewhere, drawn …

Reunion, George Fullen

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Martin stood on the sidewalk outside Grand Central Station and embraced the overpowering size, the magnificence of New York City once again. It had been several years since he had stood, for the first time, on that same Forty-third Street pavement and felt the same awe before the spectacular accomplishments of modern civilization. Despite his great hurry, the man had had to pause, as before to absorb the miracle of America as represented by its greatest city. But this time he was not so much impressed and did not stand so long. He picked up his bag, again, and got …

Dahling, John R. Thomson

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"I never saw it to fail. Every time we go out, you see Addison Carter and have to run over and lick his hand. I just can't understand why you tag after him like Mary's lamb. Listen, Harry, if he were going to throw any business your way, he would have wound up for the pitch by now. Without too much reflective thought, I can rather easily recall that the only gift he has bestowed upon you was the flu at the lake in 1945.

Intrusion And Reaction, Frank Slupesky

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George bent his broad back and leaned against the rail. He surveyed the ocean passing a few yards beneath. Funny how the ship passing through the blue water, churned it into a white foam. Then, how the foam reverted to its original shade-but not abruptly; first it was emerald, then green, then turquoise, then blue again. It occurred to George that he was witnessing a cycle which, though brief, was perhaps beautiful.

L'Apres Midi D'Une..., Allyn Wood

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A picnic was spread on the bank and they surrounded it in positions of spiritual abandon. One, a long and somewhat undulant girl, lay among them gazing into the river that rolled peacefully yet dense with clay after the spring flood. The opposite bank, mysterious as an arabesque, hid in its shadow-work of trees the lives that like theirs, had moved back from afternoon; lives bound to the waterway by probing beak and wading leg, by a diet of fish or of insects Whose larval time is passed in mud and water. Look closely! implied the arabesque: a leaf may …

Lost Cause, Margaret Lanahan

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The afternoon was bright and warm. Sunlight dappled the ground under the mulberry trees in the backyard. The sharp tang of paint coupled with the balm of fresh cut wood hung on the air contrasting with the smell of baking cupcakes which filtered every now and then from the kitchen door of the house where Tubby lived.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 15, Issue 4: Full Text

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No abstract provided.

Poems, Roland Crim, Basil Raymond

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Adrift by, Roland Crim and An Apology for Loving by, Basil Raymond.

The Price Of Victory, Lee Lovell

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It was early in the fourth round; I measured it by the four swallows of whisky taken from the half empty pint of "Old Grandad" nestling against the palm of my left hand. The whisky produced a warm sensation that loosened my tongue, causing me to yell as did the rest of the wild beasts around me. Urged on by the mastery of alcohol, all the savageness of primitive man overshadowed the culture of civilization; and I felt the supremacy of the conqueror ruthlessly beating his victim. Each of his blows became my own; each smack of his fist slamming …

How Green, Russell Foster

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Eons ago when the government was donating an existence to me as payment for a few negligible risks, I lounged about and zig-zagged the Atlantic six or eight times aboard a tired old Liberty ship named in honor of Buffalo Bill Cody. Now Bill may have been a smooth-riding, fast-shooting pioneer-not so his namesake. She couldn't push ten knots burning mattresses; nevertheless, she attracted the elite.

Democracy Of Art, Arnold Wajenberg

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Many people today, both artists and laymen, believe that art is essentially aristocratic. Some artists admit readily that their work is not for the "masses." The "masses," on the other hand, often regard art as something strange and dull, reserved for eccentrics who live in an imaginative half-world of their own. Usually the artists who boast that their work is for the upper two percent will also add that "the common man" is incapable of appreciating "real art." This gives rise to the question of what "real art" is.

"The Listeners"-Misinterpreted, Jim Pappas

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Once upon a time, the editor of a metropolitan daily newspaper sent out three journalists to bring back a story...

I Wonder And The Reason, Diana Harvey

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The whole day is in a minor key and colored gray. I sit on a high cliff with my back against a tree-gazing at the sky and the water-trying to make myself a part of their tranquillity. Up above is the skyspread with a thick layer of gray clouds; it hangs low over the earth. Beneath lies the water-endless rows of small waves, pinched into shape and pushed to shore by the slow wind. The trees, too, are playthings of the wind; it uses their stark, black branches as strings and strums long sad chords upon them. I am calmed …

Soul Incarnate, Roland Crim

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It would come. It would spread its inky blackness before me,

dark as any night.

So I prayed to God to give me light to see it, strength to fight

The unexplainable fear of the unknown...