{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_sha256": "8a0b07d5d30c08167bae6a80db954708dc8eddacb3d684043ac5c321d17b2473", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaay/issues/1922/07_01/bmtnaay_1922-07_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaay/issues/1922/07_01/bmtnaay_1922-07_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "n. p.", "page_fin": "n. p.", "image_debut": 2, "image_fin": 2, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "NOTES", "titre_sommaire": "NOTES", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 449, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1600, "texte": "NOTES\nSlater Brown: The mayor of Imst, Austrian Tyrol, elected on a\nSecession ticket.\nKenneth Burke: The mayor of Weehawken, New Jersey, elected\non a Secession issue — an investigation of Amer-\nican literary criticism.\nMalcolm Cowley: The mayor of Montpellier, France, an honor\naccorded for the first time to a foreigner. Pledged\nto the Secession plank — Back to the Elizabethans!\nE. E. Cummings: Candidate for the mayoralty of Paris, the present\nliterary capital of America. Indorses Secession\ncampaign against Louis Untermeyer, an anthologist\nbest known for the omission of William Carlos\nWilliams and Marianne Moore from his Modern\nAmerican Poetry.\nMatthew Josephson: Rival candidate for the mayoralty of Paris. Author\nof many Secession campaign documents. Recently\nwounded in a duel with Will Bray at the Pare\nMonceau. The duel arose, it is rumored, from a\nquarrel concerning a certain lady editor and poetess\nof Cass Street, Chicago.\nThe cover design is by Ludwig Kassak, a Hungarian communist and\nrefugee in Vienna. He is the editor of MA, a publication in correspon-\ndence with those of the advance guard in France, Russia, Germany and\nAmerica."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1", "page_fin": "5", "image_debut": 3, "image_fin": 7, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "FOUR POEMS", "titre_sommaire": "FOUR POEMS", "signature_source": "E. E. CUMMINGS ; W. J. TURNER ; MALCOLM COWLEY", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 592, "texte": "FOUR POEMS\n\nI.\non the Madam's best april the\ntwenty nellie\nanyway and\nit's flutters everything-\nqueer; does smells he smiles is\nlike Out of doors he's a with\neyes and making- twice the a week\nyou kind of, know (kind well of\nA sort of the way he smile but\nand her a I mean me a\nIrish, cook but well oh don't\nyou makes burst want to dear somehow\nquickyes when (now, dark dear oh)\nthe iceman\nhow, luminously\noh how listens and, expands\nmy somewhereallbverme heart my\nthe halfgloom coolish\nof The what are\nparks for wig-gle yes has\nare leap, which, anyway\ngive rapid lapfulls of\nidiotic big hands"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "2", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 308, "texte": "II.\n(and i imagine\nnever mind Joe agreably cheerfully remarked when\nsurrounded by fat stupid animals\nthe jewess shreiked\nthe messiah tumbled successfully into the world\nthe animals continued eating-. And i imagine she, and\nheard them slobber and\nin the darkness)\nstood sharp angels with faces like Jim Europe"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "3", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 448, "texte": "III.\nlife hurl my ..\nyes, crumbles hand (ful released conarefetti) ev eryflitter,\ninga. where\nmillions of aflickf)litter ing brightmillion ofS hurl;\nedindodg: ing\nwhom are Eyes shy-dodge is bright cruMbshandful, quick-\nhurl edinwho\nIs flittercrumbs, fluttercrimbs are floatfallin, g; ailwhere:\na: crimbflitteringish is arefloatsis ingfallall! mil, shy\nmilbrightlions\nmy (hurl flicker handful\nin) dodging are shybrigHteyes is crumbs (all!) it, ey hs"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "4", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 850, "texte": "IV.\nworkingman with hand so hairy-sturdy\nyou may turn O turn that airy hurdysturdygurdy\nbut when will turn backward O backward Time in your\nno thy flight\nand make me a child, a pretty dribbling- child, a little child.\nIn thy your ear:\nen amerique on ne boit que de Jingyale.\nthings are going rather kaka\nover there, over there.\nyet we scarcely fare much better — —\nwhat's become of (if you please)\nall the glory that or which was Greece\nall the grandja\nthat was dada?\nmake me a child, stout hurdysturdygurdyman\nwaiter, make me a child. So this is Paris.\ni will sit in the corner and drink thinks and think drinks,\nin memory of the Grand and Old days:\nof Amy Sandburg\nof Algernon Carl Swinburned.\nWaiter a drink waiter two or three drinks\nwhat's become of Maeterlink\nnow that April's here?\n(ask the man who owns one\nask Dad, He knows).\n\nE. E. CUMMINGS"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "5", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1268, "texte": "It is strange that a little mud\nShould echo with sounds, syllables, and letters;\nShould rise up and call a mountain Popocatapetl,\nAnd a green-leafed wood Oleander.\nPlay it for me again; the theme repeated\nslips insensibly from major into minor;\neach chord, each tone drumming- separately\nagainst taut nerves.\nI have heard melodies\nthat stilled the hammer of the heart against\nthe boxed ribs, that played like caressing hands\nalong the spine, but theirs is a facile beauty\nwhich you despise, whose long prehensile fingers\ngrope for expression painfully along the keys.\nAnd there are melodies which assault the body,\nentering in at the mouth and the nose and the little\npores beneath the armpits, and having taken\npossession of me utterly, burst through\nthe parchment armor of skin.\n0 beauty\ntoo great for this my body, infected\nwith the venerealities of sense!\nO all-sufficient loveliness:\n1 cling\nvainly to the marble of your flanks\nvainly against the thighs of beauty, knowing\nbefore the ecstasy that my clenched fingers\nwill loose their perilous grip, that I shall fall\nawkwardly to adjust myself about\nmy skeleton.\nBut play the theme once more\nonce more ... in the pool of sense, the ripples widen\nuselessly lap the shores and die away.\n\nW. J. TURNER\nMALCOLM COWLEY"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "1", "page_fin": "1", "image_debut": 3, "image_fin": 3, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.3.1", "titre_corps": "I.", "titre_sommaire": "I.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 12, "fin_caractere_exclue": 592, "texte": "I.\non the Madam's best april the\ntwenty nellie\nanyway and\nit's flutters everything-\nqueer; does smells he smiles is\nlike Out of doors he's a with\neyes and making- twice the a week\nyou kind of, know (kind well of\nA sort of the way he smile but\nand her a I mean me a\nIrish, cook but well oh don't\nyou makes burst want to dear somehow\nquickyes when (now, dark dear oh)\nthe iceman\nhow, luminously\noh how listens and, expands\nmy somewhereallbverme heart my\nthe halfgloom coolish\nof The what are\nparks for wig-gle yes has\nare leap, which, anyway\ngive rapid lapfulls of\nidiotic big hands"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "2", "page_fin": "2", "image_debut": 4, "image_fin": 4, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.3.2", "titre_corps": "II.", "titre_sommaire": "II.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "2", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 308, "texte": "II.\n(and i imagine\nnever mind Joe agreably cheerfully remarked when\nsurrounded by fat stupid animals\nthe jewess shreiked\nthe messiah tumbled successfully into the world\nthe animals continued eating-. And i imagine she, and\nheard them slobber and\nin the darkness)\nstood sharp angels with faces like Jim Europe"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "3", "page_fin": "3", "image_debut": 5, "image_fin": 5, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.3.3", "titre_corps": "III.", "titre_sommaire": "III.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "3", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 448, "texte": "III.\nlife hurl my ..\nyes, crumbles hand (ful released conarefetti) ev eryflitter,\ninga. where\nmillions of aflickf)litter ing brightmillion ofS hurl;\nedindodg: ing\nwhom are Eyes shy-dodge is bright cruMbshandful, quick-\nhurl edinwho\nIs flittercrumbs, fluttercrimbs are floatfallin, g; ailwhere:\na: crimbflitteringish is arefloatsis ingfallall! mil, shy\nmilbrightlions\nmy (hurl flicker handful\nin) dodging are shybrigHteyes is crumbs (all!) it, ey hs"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "4", "page_fin": "5", "image_debut": 6, "image_fin": 7, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.3.4", "titre_corps": "IV.", "titre_sommaire": "IV.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "4", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 834, "texte": "IV.\nworkingman with hand so hairy-sturdy\nyou may turn O turn that airy hurdysturdygurdy\nbut when will turn backward O backward Time in your\nno thy flight\nand make me a child, a pretty dribbling- child, a little child.\nIn thy your ear:\nen amerique on ne boit que de Jingyale.\nthings are going rather kaka\nover there, over there.\nyet we scarcely fare much better — —\nwhat's become of (if you please)\nall the glory that or which was Greece\nall the grandja\nthat was dada?\nmake me a child, stout hurdysturdygurdyman\nwaiter, make me a child. So this is Paris.\ni will sit in the corner and drink thinks and think drinks,\nin memory of the Grand and Old days:\nof Amy Sandburg\nof Algernon Carl Swinburned.\nWaiter a drink waiter two or three drinks\nwhat's become of Maeterlink\nnow that April's here?\n(ask the man who owns one\nask Dad, He knows)."}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "5", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1239, "texte": "It is strange that a little mud\nShould echo with sounds, syllables, and letters;\nShould rise up and call a mountain Popocatapetl,\nAnd a green-leafed wood Oleander.\nPlay it for me again; the theme repeated\nslips insensibly from major into minor;\neach chord, each tone drumming- separately\nagainst taut nerves.\nI have heard melodies\nthat stilled the hammer of the heart against\nthe boxed ribs, that played like caressing hands\nalong the spine, but theirs is a facile beauty\nwhich you despise, whose long prehensile fingers\ngrope for expression painfully along the keys.\nAnd there are melodies which assault the body,\nentering in at the mouth and the nose and the little\npores beneath the armpits, and having taken\npossession of me utterly, burst through\nthe parchment armor of skin.\n0 beauty\ntoo great for this my body, infected\nwith the venerealities of sense!\nO all-sufficient loveliness:\n1 cling\nvainly to the marble of your flanks\nvainly against the thighs of beauty, knowing\nbefore the ecstasy that my clenched fingers\nwill loose their perilous grip, that I shall fall\nawkwardly to adjust myself about\nmy skeleton.\nBut play the theme once more\nonce more ... in the pool of sense, the ripples widen\nuselessly lap the shores and die away."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "6", "page_fin": "6", "image_debut": 8, "image_fin": 8, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "POEM", "titre_sommaire": "POEM", "signature_source": "MALCOLM COWLEY", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "6", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 770, "texte": "POEM\nMALCOLM COWLEY\nOne morning during Carnaval they found two swans in the\nPublic Garden, their long necks twisted, two swans lying\nsplendidly dead under a magnolia\nnot yet in blossom and nobody ever knew why they were\nkilled, whether it was a drunkard, whether an old man\ntired of women's bodies and wishing thus to destroy\na more impeccable beauty, or was he young (over\nthem bends\na domino, black with white moons for buttons, while the\nsky like a domino bends more vastly over).\nIt was a crime of passion; if I have read\nof other passionate crimes in curtained alcoves, knife\nor poison, they were less splendid than these two dead\nswans, O less magnificent than the formal pool, empty with-\nout them, this empty pool which stares\nfixedly into a fixed and empty sky."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "7", "page_fin": "17", "image_debut": 9, "image_fin": 19, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "THE BOOK OF YUL", "titre_sommaire": "THE BOOK OF YUL", "signature_source": "KENNETH BURKE", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "7", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1862, "texte": "THE BOOK OF YUL\n\nPart One\nWhile waiting-, two men carried on a conversation\nthat flapped and fluttered like an old newspaper. And\na third was silent. Finally, the conversation gained in\nintensity, culminating- in some disagreeable figure or\nimage. Whereat, the third man rose and left the room.\nWith us following, for it is he who conceived of Yul\nand the eleventh city. Thus:\nThree men in a room, towards night. Two of them\nsat in the cold, sprawled somewhat, and with their\novercoats on. The third was huddled in a Morris-chair,\nknees up to his chin, looking down over his toes at\nthe vague carpet. „Do you think she will come?\" one\nof the other two asked. He swallowed, and noticed\nthat his throat was getting sore. For a while they\nshifted slightly, in silence. (As the room grew darker,\nno one had moved to light the lamps.) The sounds\noutside came in dampened by the snow.\n„We should have started a fire when we first got\nhere\", the first man said, yawning. „If we're going\nto wait around here we might as well be comfortable.\"\n„Too late now, she'll be along any minute.\"\nThe man hunched up in the Morris-chair sniffled\nthree or four times, and then blew his nose. „Ah, what\na bitter world!\" one of the others laughed. „Look, the\npoor devil had to move.\" ... A heavy clock, in\nanother room somewhere, or upstairs, or in the hall,\nsunk seven strokes into the room. Outside an auto-\nmobile stalled. They heard the scraping of the self-\nstarter several times before the motor began working\nagain. Then the car jerked ahead; then stalled. After\na few minutes, however, the motor thumped with a\nsolid regularity, and the car passed on down the street.\nOut of the high windows the snow could be seen\nfalling diagonally across a street lamp.\n„This waiting outside the gates of Heaven is cold\nbusiness.\"\n„Why in the name of God do you call it the gates\nof Heaven?\""}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "8", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2167, "texte": "*\nSomebody could be heard walking-. Thump, thump,\nTHUMP louder . . . then THUMP, THUMP, thump\nfainter. „Probably the people in the next house.\"\nListening intently, they could even catch a grumble\nof voices. Off up there, on the other side of the wall\nsomewhere, people were no doubt sitting- around talk-\ning, before a big fire, in a room full of light, eating,\nor maybe drinking something strong. Like those con-\nceptions of perfect luxury which are inserted in the\nupper right-hand corner, the rest of the picture being\ndevoted to a boy in rags, starving to death in a\nsnowy alley.\nA wind caught in the chimney in such a way as\nto disturb the burnt rubbish in the grate. The smell\nof rotten apples blew out into the room. Two girls\npassed outside, laughing, and hurrying with short,\nsharp steps. The man who had swallowed a little while\nago brought up some saliva and swallowed again, to\ntest his throat; the glands were distinctly swollen. He\nshot his cigarette into the dead grate; after a few\nmoments, however, he lighted another. He said, „Damn\nthis place for a tomb.\" A pause; then he continued,\n„When I stay very long in a place like this I always\nthink, what if I were trapped in? ... when I was a\nboy, I saw a crow early one spring standing bolt\nupright in a tree. I went closer, and he didn't fly.\nThen I saw that his foot had been caught in a fox\ntrap. He flew to this tree, where the chain got caught\nin one of the branches. So he had been there during\nthe winter, exposed to the cold and without food;\nand when he died the trap weighted him so that he\nstood up as chestily as the healthiest crow you ever\nsaw. . . . When I wait in a place like this, I can't help\nthinking of dying that way. Can't you imagine us all\nsitting here in this darkness, dead, you holding a pipe,\nand me like this, and him over there in the corner\nall hunched up!\" At this point, the man in the Morris-\nchair got up, left the room, and could be heard imme-\ndiately afterwards going down the stone stairs on to\nthe street.\nThe snow was falling now in thick wet gobs. Before\nhe had gone fifty feet it was clinging to the fuzz on\nhis woolen coat. Big banks of cleanliness had been"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "9", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2203, "texte": "stacked up. The lights of the store windows lay\ndistinctly across the pavements. In that arc-light, in the\ncarbon, in one molecule of the carbon, maybe, there\nwas a little world, with planets and stars, and an in-\nfinite sky, and things living on some of the planets,\nand things living on those things. Someday some big\nhand would want our universe for an arc-light, and\ncrunch, away it would go. „In one little corner beyond\nthe stars, a world glowing up there all by itself, not\ncrowded in the way ours is . . .\" God, what a night!\nHe listened unconsciously to the different scrapings of\nthe shovels.\nHe started to turn into the subway, but did not do\nso, since an elation was on him. Instead, he went into\nthe park, and stamped about in the heavy snow, even\nwalked across one of the ponds, in fact. A gust of\nwind hit him strong enough for him to rise up against\nit, and yell into the teeth of it. Then he swung his\narms, and charged an embankment. When he reached\nthe top, he looked about him, a half mile across the\npark to the lights of the apartments along the edge.\nThe wind dropped away; he was almost hot after his\nexertion. He opened his coat and laughed a stage laugh.\nThen he chanted, „Sic erat in principio, et nunc, et\nsemper, et in caecula saeculorum, amen. And the wind,\nappearing before me, spook, speek, spike, spuck, SPAKE,\n,Behold the eleventh citee'. And I, answering unto the\nwind, spook, speek, spike, spuck, SPAY-ACHE, ,Verily,\nverily, do I behold the eleventh citee, for there are\nten others buried beneath it. Gloria!\"\nAnd then continuing to sing-song the Sic erat,\nhis mind wandered off to elaborate the eleventh city.\n„It is in the bottom of the sea\", he thought, „and\nlived in by extremely cultivated fishes\". But I happen\nto know that it is not at the bottom of the sea; or\nthat it is not even near the sea. But it stands, bulky\nand dead, in the middle of a plain, silhouetted against\nthe sky, and cold.\nIt is granite. Even the beds on which the people\nsleep are granite slabs, built in square holes carved\nout of the walls. For people live in this eleventh city:\nquiet, grey-eyed people, who slip about the stone streets,\nand in and out of the oblong holes which serve as"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "10", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1932, "texte": "doors. But the under cities are filled with corpses,\nlying in rows, perfectly preserved, and without smell.\nThe streets are long straight lines, and other long\nstraight lines drawn perpendicular to these; the same\nis consistently true of the architecture.\nAnd there was a traveler in this city, by the name\nof Yul. Looking ahead at the end of the widest street,\nhe saw a break in the two walls of granite, and went\ntowards it. It was a stairway, he found. Broad stairs,\nthe width of a palace in his own country, led down\nto a platform, then down to a platform, and so on\ndown and down to platforms. All this was lit with a\nuniform incandescence. While at the base of the stairs\nthere stood two granite lamp posts, of no great size,\nbut which he could distinguish as clearly as though\nthey were immediately in front of him.\nBut Yul did not descend these stairs.\nPart Two\nYul found the system of transit which had been\nevolved here of great ingenuity. It was composed of\nsixteen parallel tracks, or rather, endless platforms,\nwhich moved continually. These platforms were provided\nwith benches, pavements, places to eat, and the like.\nNow, as Yul stepped toward the south, he noticed\nthat each platform moved slightly faster than the one\nto the north of it; and although the change from plat-\nform to platform was hardly more abrupt than the\ndifference between the pace of of a baby just learning\nto walk and the ordinary walking-speed of a grown-up,\nby the time Yul had reached the fifteenth platform to\nthe south he was speeding enormously. The sixteenth\nplatform, however, was entirely different from the fifteen\npreceding. To begin with, he found that it could not\nbe boarded at any point, as with the other platforms.\nIn front of him there moved a stone wall; occasionally,\nbehind this waH he heard a roar, as of something which\napproached and retreated. And Yul, noticing that a\ngroup of grey-gowned figures had stopped near him"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "11", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2152, "texte": "on the fifteenth platform and seemed to be waiting,\nwaited as well.\nWithin a short time he saw a tower approaching\non the sixteenth platform. It advanced evenly, floated\ntowards them, growing gradually above them as it\ncame. When it was only a short ways off, he also\nnoticed that there was a break in the stone wall at\nthis point, and that some of the figures farther down\nthe platform were already entering there, indue time\nit reached him, and he stepped under the square stone\narch on to the sixteenth platform. Everything was\nquite different here. Instead of the stone benches,\npavements, kiosks, there was nothing but this lonely\ntower and a straight steel track that blurred away to\nthe east and west. Like the others, he entered the\ntower, and found it a sort of rest room or waiting\nroom.\nFinally, above the grinding of the platforms, a\nfar-off whirr was heard. The grey-clad figures left the\ntower, Yul thinking it best to follow. A line of cars\nshot up to the tower and stopped. Yul followed his\ncompanions into one of the cars, and they sped along\nthe sixteenth platform. Yul sank into a stupor from this\naccumulation of speeds, partaking of nothing but a\nbitter, burning liquid which was brought to him at\nintervals. After another two days, Yul tired of the cars,\nand descended at one of the towers. Then he crossed\nthe fifteen other platforms to the north, and found,\nwhen he stepped off the last of them, that he had\nreturned almost to the starting point*.\nHe came to the wide street again, and entered one\nof the oblong cuts in the stone which served as doorways.\nInside, there were winding stairs, lit with the same\nunvarying incandescence that he had noticed on the\nstairs leading down to the buried cities. Yul wound\nslowly upwards, his steps slapping back at him in a\nconfusion of echoes. The stairs curved into a room;\na large, square room, empty except for a tablet on one\n\n* He had circled only once about the city in all this time, and\nthat in spite of the enormous velocity with which he had been\ntraveling; which facts, it is hoped, will tend to show the vastness\nof the eleventh city, and of the ten cities buried beneath it."}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "12", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2192, "texte": "of the walls and a bench placed before this tablet.\nYul, who could not read the tablet, noticed the firm-\nness of the characters, and passed on into the next\nroom. This room, too, was large and square and empty.\nBut there was a window hewn out in one wall, oblong\nlike the doors in the street, except that it was lying\non one of the longer sides. From this window Yul\ncould see across the plain to the even, cold horizon.\nIt was in still another room, the third, that Yul voided.\nYul then came down from this place into the street,\nand walked along until he came to a larger granite\nentrance than was usual. He entered, finding himself\nbeneath a balcony. He walked farther and saw a floor\nof white marble, dipping in a slow curve toward a\nstage or altar in the distance. Yul fell upon his knees\nand wept, this quiet curve was so soothing to him.\nLooking above him, he saw that here, too, there were\ncurves; the walls reaching up thin arms of broken\narches; a ceiling behind shadows, and vaulted; and\nthick wooden beams that worked among one another\nlike a mass of human bodies. The church was nearly\ndark, while the altar glowed with a soft phosphores-\ncence.\nAs he wept, Yul felt something which was like a\npurring of the floor, while an uncertain but penetrative\nodor filtered about him. The marble was warm, so that\nhe lay flat on his back and sent his eyes into the\nshadows of the beams. » -\nThe odor increased, until Yul felt a restlessness\ncome over him. He arose, and began putting aside his\nclothes, until finally he stood naked in the middle of\nthe vast, empty church. Then, listening with great inten-\nsity, he thought he could distinguish footsteps. They\nwere far away, but hurrying. They would increase,\nthen nearly fall away completely, so that Yul began to\ndespair. But finally they became firmer; they were ad-\nvancing; they were upon him . . , and down to one\nside of the altar he saw a form coming toward him.\nWhile it was still far off, Yul could already distin-\nguish two eyes, which were like moist planets shined\non by the sun. That is, they seemed to lie on the\nface, with an aggressive clearness, while they did not\nburn but had rather that quiet, steel-blue light of a"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "13", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2189, "texte": "planet. Of a moist planet, that is . . . not of some\ndry planets which are like a copper-red spark. Yul\nwatched the eyes, as they came nearer to him, like\nmagnets.\nAnd as the form stood before him, Yul saw that\nit was the form of a woman; and at once he loved\nher clamorously. But she picked up the clothes which\nhe had thrown off and held them out to him, so that\nYul put them all back upon his body. When he had\ndressed, he stood in front of her, and looked into her\neyes. They were big- and deep, like lakes, for he could\nsee down into the rich black pupils as though they\nreally were made of water. She took him by the hand\nand led him toward the altar, until Yul threw back his\nhead and sang. But his notes began lingering and\ngrumbling to one another among the beams, so that\nhe quit singing. . . . He was led to the edge of the\naltar. Then she let go his hand, and jumped. Looking\nwhere she had jumped, Yul saw that she had leapt\nacross a pit in the centre of the altar. He looked down\ninto this pit; it was dark, but so far below that it\nmade him shudder he could see the incandescence of\nthe lowest of the buried cities. Then he jumped and\nfollowed his companion on the other side of the altar.\nFor a time they labored along together, down steps\ninto cold damp places; around sudden bends into\nrooms which were warm and brilliant; through some\nnarrow passage with a rough, pebbly bottom; then\nacross a little stone bridge under which a spring flowed\nout of the rock and back into it. But of a sudden\nshe stopped and opened her arms to him. Yul closed\nagainst her, looking into the roads and caverns of her\neyes. She stepped away, tore back her garments with\none fling of her hand . . . and Yul crumpled on the\nground under the impact of his disgust. For shining\nout upon the hairs of the mons Veneris, there was a\nthird eye, which beheld him steadily and without blinking.\n. . . When Yul awoke, the woman had gone. He\nbegan working his way slowly back through the laby-\nrinth of rooms and passages. At last he came upon\nthe pit, and jumped across it. He saw as he went out\n•of the church that immediately in front of it was the\nbroad stairway which led down into the other cities."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "14", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1605, "texte": "He looked along the narrowing- avenue of stairs, and\nat the end of them he could make out something which\nmoved. But a peculiar sickness was on him; he longed\nfor his own country, and dropping where he stood, he\nfell asleep on the first of the granite stairs.\nPart Three\nLater Yul returned to the stone church . . . and\nthe assembled multitude, lifting its thin voices, chanted\nin unison the Litany of Error:\nWe shall go into the tenth city\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd take the hands of our fathers\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd kiss the nail holes in their palms\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd in the palms of our mothers\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd touch the old shells of their skin\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd rejoice that now they are alive oh unfolding of the\nrevelation oh ecstasy of blossoming into a world of\neternity oh astonishment of opening their petals in the\nwarm garden of our Maker glory glory unto the woes of our\nfathers and our fathers before them and whatever may befall\nus in our own day\nThe multitude, and the priest . . . they had alternated,\nthe priest alone, standing in the glow of the altar,\ncarrying the „Glory glory unto our woes.\" But when\nthe lob-end of the prayer was reached, the priest and\nthe kneeling multitude rose up, while heavy music was\nsuddenly sprayed into the church. After the singing\nwas ended, the music wound on for a few bars in\nreminiscence . . . then it suddenly regained its vigor,\nand while the multitude knelt again with bowed heads\nit repeated the entire form of the litany, growing at*\nthe last into a tangle of chromatics, with agitated notes"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "15", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2216, "texte": "crawling1 in among one another, and accumulating fugues,\nwhile the whole jumbled mass grew more voluminous\nand climbed slowly up the scale. Out of it all there\nburst one neat, soft chord, high in the treble. This\nchord hung, while the rest of the music dropped away,\nuntil finally it existed ail by itself. Then it, too, gradu-\nally weakened. But for a long time after it was gone\nentirely the multitude remained kneeling.\nNow the ceremony seemed to drop more into the\nbusiness of worship. At times the multitude would rise,\nkneel at times, while there were even times when it\nbecame prostrate on the white marble floor. Up from\nout of the altar, a long sermon was delivered by one\nof the priests. It was a well wrought sermon, by which\nis meant that it showed the effects of a mind which\nhad devoted several nights to working out the arabes-\nques of its idea. „That which is created creates in turn\nthat by which it was created\". The voice from the\nglowing altar suffered its little elations, its momentary\ndiscoveries, its occasional felicities between the idea\nand the expression thereof . . . the words spread out\nover the quiet multitude, certain sounds lodging among\nthe beams of the ceiling, others shooting straight to\nthe ear, others floating up sluggishly ... so that it all\nbecame slightly confused and mellowed ... in spite\nof the hard, little stones of the priest's inexorable logic\n. . . and the voice rose and fell, went slower in places\nfor the purpose of emphasis, hurried across parenthetical\nexplanations, paused before launching on new devel-\nopments of the idea, halted and retracted a statement\nto a degree, dropped into a steady trot of exposition\n. . , the multitude, far from being disturbed that the\nwords of it all did not reach them with clarity, rested\ncomfortably on the dips and fluxes of the priest's\nvoice.\nThe sermon was followed by a prayer ... in trailing\nsentences of unequal length . . . some short . . . some\nstretching out to the length of two breaths . . . and at\nthe end the multitude joined with the priest in praying . . .\nthe frail single line of words from the altar, then the\nconfused growl of the multitude. After the prayer, the\nchurch lay lifeless for a few moments."}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "16", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1458, "texte": "Then a flash of light shot across it. The priest climbed\nin leaps upon the altar, until he stood looking down\nupon the multitude. A chord was struck, and the priest,\ntaking his pitch immediately as the chord vanished,\nchanted:\nLET THE NINE CHOSEN BE BROUGHT INTO\nTHE HOLY ARENA\nAnd off somewhere, lost in the caverns of the church\nwhich led away to the right behind the altar, the chant\nwas repeated in a little thread of voice:\nLet the Nine Chosen be brought into the holy\narena*\nThen even fainter, away tho the left behind the\naltar:\nHoly . . . Holy . . . Holy . . .\nLET THE NINE CHOSEN BE BOUND UPON\nTHE BEAMS OF THEIR CROSSES\nLet the Nine Chosen be bound upon the beams\nof their crosses.\nCrosses . . . crosses . . . crosses of holiness . . .\nLET THE NAILS BE DRIVEN INTO THE HANDS\nAND THE FEET OF THEM AND THEIR SIDES\nTRANSFIXED WITH SPEAR HEADS UNTIL BLOOD\nMIXES WITH THE SWEAT OF THE EXECU-\nTIONERS AND REJOICE THAT NOW THE ARE\nALIVE OH UNFOLDING OF THE REVELATION\nOH ECSTASY OF BLOSSOMING INTO A WORLD\nOF ETERNITY OH ASTONISHMENT OF OPEN-\nING THEIR PETALS IN THE WARM GARDEN\nOF OUR MAKER GLORY GLORY UNTO THE\nWOES OF OUR FATHERS AND OUR FATHERS\nBEFORE THEM ... AND LO! BEHOLD THEM\nENTER:\nThe voice stopped; the priest's arms were stretched\nout in imitation of the agony of the cross; music broke\nout, while at the same time a shrieking rose to the\nright of the altar; silk streamers began dropping and\nwisting, played upon by lights of all colors. The"}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "17", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1294, "texte": "college of priests hurried up before the altar, howling\n„Glory, glory!\" leaning forward and bearing the crosses\nof the Nine Crucified like banners. They stopped short\nbefore the pit; the music dropped away; the streamers\nsubsided into a lazy billow; the lights became one\npenetrating reddish purple, which lay in all corners of\nthe church like a sunset. The bodies -of the Nine\nCrucified could be seen moving in silence on their\ncrosses. . . . The priest, from the summit of the altar,\ngave a signal with his hand, and the crosses with their\nburdens were dropped into the pit. For a time they\ncould be heard, scraping now and' then against the\nsides, or colliding with one another. Finally, as they\nreached the bottom of the lowest city, faint thumps\ncame up out of the pit.\nThe multitude huddled together, closer about the\naltar. It seemed to be listening. The thumps became\nheavier; they recurred at set intervals, like a slow\ntreading of feet. Outside the church, beheld by no\none in all this city, the march of the armless giants . . .\nadvancing down the broad stairway which was the width\nof a palace in Yul's own country . . . little ripples\npassing along their ranks and being lost in the\ndistance . . . armless giants, which rise up boldly out\nof their legs, like towers.\n\nKENNETH BURKE"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "18", "page_fin": "19", "image_debut": 20, "image_fin": 21, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "MR. AA THE ANTIPHILOSOPHER", "titre_sommaire": "MR. AA THE ANTIPHILOSOPHER", "signature_source": "TRISTAN TZARA", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "18", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2144, "texte": "MR. AA THE ANTIPHILOSOPHER\n\nThe room was full of furniture drawn from very\ndifferent periods. One afternoon as i went out, i was\nastonished at being- made to wait at the door 2or 3\nminutes. Mr. Aa was sitting- on a chest. She begged\nme, laughing, not to be disturbed. The chest was full\nof objects of great value. She said that she had not\nheard me knock. The coroner entered. Zounds! i cried,\nyou are weeping, you are moved to the point of tears and\nyou do not breathe a word to me of your troubles. The\npersons who attended the coroner guarded the doors. The\nthought of this also aroused me. The coroner was a\nyoung man. It was clear to me that some generous\nand ardent sentiment functioned upon his face like a\nsmouldering fire, though whether it were of love or\ncompassion i could not say. The coroner tapped the\nobjects in the chest and tested their stability. I sat\ndown at the table with a right gallant air, but by the\nlight of the candle betwixt him and me i perceived a\ncertain sadness in the countenance and in the eyes of\nmy dear friend the coroner. He bent and looked down\nvery often but said nothing. He marked out the place with\nsilent powder and thus circumvented the danger. The\ncoroner gave orders. These orders seemed as lugubrious\nto me as the perverse brilliance of this festive gaiety.\nHe related to me that after having learned that i had\ndeceived him, and that i had gone off with Mr. Aa,\nhe had mounted a horse to pursue me, that he had\narrived at St. Denis a half hour after my departure,\nthat being certain that i would stop at Paris he had\nspent 6 weeks in a vain search for me, and that one\nday he had recognized Mr. Aa at the Comedy, and\nthat he was so bravely dressed that he concluded the\nman owed this fortune to a new haul in scrap iron\nthe returns of which had filled his money-bags with\npalliative warmth. He pulled the cord. Every other day.\nThere i conceived a peaceful and portable manner of\nlife. It is told that the judge was very severe. Unhappy\nknight, thou shalt lose all that thou hast loved in\nthis world. Forgive me that i tell in so few words a\ntale which rends me. A cat forgotten by the express"}, {"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "19", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.21", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 439, "texte": "company leaps out of a porcelain vase and justice is\nsolemnly rendered. Forgive me again that i encompass\nin so few words a tale which pierces my heart. But\nthe pancreatic reservoir of the kidneys and the bowels\nmakes feasible the crossing of the desert in a sail-boat,\nwhich contains bottles of condensed farewells conser-\nvatories distilleries of gastric disgust and open pockets\nstrewn all along way down the Mississippi.\n\nTRISTAN TZARA"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "20", "page_fin": "20", "image_debut": 22, "image_fin": 22, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "PLOTS FOR PENPUSHERS", "titre_sommaire": "PLOTS FOR PENPUSHERS", "signature_source": "SLATER BROWN", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 22, "page_imprimee": "20", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.22", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1503, "texte": "PLOTS FOR PENPUSHERS\nSLATER BROWN\n{1. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by his ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by his passions.\n3. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by his passions.\n4. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by his ideals.\n(1. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by her ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by her passions.\n3. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by her passions.\n4. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by her ideals.\n{1. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by her ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by her passions.\n3. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by her passions.\n4. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by her ideals.\n{1. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by his ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by his passions.\n3. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by his passions.\n4. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by his ideals.\nNote: For novelists or story-tellers only a single item is\nneccessary. For playwrites, however, the late Geo. P.\nBaker of Harvard University advises a swift progression\nby acts from one item to another. Ex. — C 3 to C 2 to\nB 2 with slow curtain. (In case slow curtain is deemed\ninadvisable, A1 may be substituted for B 2.) D1\naccompanied by soft music makes very affecting climax\nfor any arrangement of items."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1922-07-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaay_1922-07_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "21", "page_fin": "21", "image_debut": 23, "image_fin": 23, "pages_selon": "pagination imprimée relevée dans le METS Blue Mountain (ORDERLABEL) ; [n] = page sans folio restituée", "url_article": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "THE 1.", "titre_sommaire": "THE 1.", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 23, "page_imprimee": "21", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.23", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1817, "texte": "THE OBLATE\n1.\n„Les grands marais phosphorescents\nfont de jolis reves et les crocodiles se\nreprennent la valise faite avec leurpeau.\"\nAndre Breton et Ph. Soupault.\n„But no! Hear me, I beg of you — —\"\nIrrevocable. The man was gone in his spleen, and\nthe door slammed behind him, while Hyacinth lingered\nin an arrested posture. What torture to have the door\nclose upon one in the midst of a sentence. It were\nalmost relief to finish the thought without an audition.\nHeavens! The man was like a panther: he darted\ncalumny, abuse, derision at you, held the stump for\nan hour, and when you framed your defense, interrupted\nyou and went off in a petty squall. Well, what of that?\nHyacinth still owed him money. He would have to\ncalm down and come back for it. But his methods, —\nwere they not those of a boxer? To attack constantly\nboth as a means of defence and of finishing the\nopponent.\nHyacinth's brain was an angular but smoothly func-\ntioning affair. Once under steam its glib constructions\nnot only lulled his qualms as to his own failings but\nwere capable of quieting those of others. It was\nobviously in full knowledge of this that his friend had\nadopted such a high-handed method of dealing with him.\nHow the man had ranted on! Hyacinth shuddered\nat the thought of what ill-mannered liberties he had\nborne for the past hour. He stood near his high\nwindow and looking out at the valley which lay below\nThe Heights, reflected: women? there are millions of\nthem down there. Strong-arm methods, a little ogling,\na little of the satyr, and they are yours. It is nightfall,\nand everything blends into the crepuscular marmalade\nwhich so delights the feeble-minded. For me the white\nlight of the sun still fries the Earth.\nWalking with an older friend whose company was\nalways far more soothing to him, a few moments later"}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.2", "texte": "DIRECTOR: GORHAM B. MUNSON\nTemporary editorial office : Berlin, Germany\nBusiness office : Peter K. Hurwitz, Treasurer, 1361 - 46 Street, Brooklyn,\nNew York\nAddress all correspondence, editorial and business, to Peter K. Hurwitz,\nTreasurer, 1361 -46 Street, Brooklyn, New York\nPRICE OF THIS NUMBER\n20 cents in America 2 francs 50 in France 1 shilling- in England\nSubscriptions, $ 1.00, 12 francs, or 5 shillings for six numbers\nNUMBER TWO\nJULY\n1922\n\nNOTES\nSlater Brown: The mayor of Imst, Austrian Tyrol, elected on a\nSecession ticket.\nKenneth Burke: The mayor of Weehawken, New Jersey, elected\non a Secession issue — an investigation of Amer-\nican literary criticism.\nMalcolm Cowley: The mayor of Montpellier, France, an honor\naccorded for the first time to a foreigner. Pledged\nto the Secession plank — Back to the Elizabethans!\nE. E. Cummings: Candidate for the mayoralty of Paris, the present\nliterary capital of America. Indorses Secession\ncampaign against Louis Untermeyer, an anthologist\nbest known for the omission of William Carlos\nWilliams and Marianne Moore from his Modern\nAmerican Poetry.\nMatthew Josephson: Rival candidate for the mayoralty of Paris. Author\nof many Secession campaign documents. Recently\nwounded in a duel with Will Bray at the Pare\nMonceau. The duel arose, it is rumored, from a\nquarrel concerning a certain lady editor and poetess\nof Cass Street, Chicago.\nThe cover design is by Ludwig Kassak, a Hungarian communist and\nrefugee in Vienna. He is the editor of MA, a publication in correspon-\ndence with those of the advance guard in France, Russia, Germany and\nAmerica."}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.3", "texte": "FOUR POEMS\n\nI.\non the Madam's best april the\ntwenty nellie\nanyway and\nit's flutters everything-\nqueer; does smells he smiles is\nlike Out of doors he's a with\neyes and making- twice the a week\nyou kind of, know (kind well of\nA sort of the way he smile but\nand her a I mean me a\nIrish, cook but well oh don't\nyou makes burst want to dear somehow\nquickyes when (now, dark dear oh)\nthe iceman\nhow, luminously\noh how listens and, expands\nmy somewhereallbverme heart my\nthe halfgloom coolish\nof The what are\nparks for wig-gle yes has\nare leap, which, anyway\ngive rapid lapfulls of\nidiotic big hands"}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "2", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.4", "texte": "II.\n(and i imagine\nnever mind Joe agreably cheerfully remarked when\nsurrounded by fat stupid animals\nthe jewess shreiked\nthe messiah tumbled successfully into the world\nthe animals continued eating-. And i imagine she, and\nheard them slobber and\nin the darkness)\nstood sharp angels with faces like Jim Europe"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "3", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.5", "texte": "III.\nlife hurl my ..\nyes, crumbles hand (ful released conarefetti) ev eryflitter,\ninga. where\nmillions of aflickf)litter ing brightmillion ofS hurl;\nedindodg: ing\nwhom are Eyes shy-dodge is bright cruMbshandful, quick-\nhurl edinwho\nIs flittercrumbs, fluttercrimbs are floatfallin, g; ailwhere:\na: crimbflitteringish is arefloatsis ingfallall! mil, shy\nmilbrightlions\nmy (hurl flicker handful\nin) dodging are shybrigHteyes is crumbs (all!) it, ey hs"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "4", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.6", "texte": "IV.\nworkingman with hand so hairy-sturdy\nyou may turn O turn that airy hurdysturdygurdy\nbut when will turn backward O backward Time in your\nno thy flight\nand make me a child, a pretty dribbling- child, a little child.\nIn thy your ear:\nen amerique on ne boit que de Jingyale.\nthings are going rather kaka\nover there, over there.\nyet we scarcely fare much better — —\nwhat's become of (if you please)\nall the glory that or which was Greece\nall the grandja\nthat was dada?\nmake me a child, stout hurdysturdygurdyman\nwaiter, make me a child. So this is Paris.\ni will sit in the corner and drink thinks and think drinks,\nin memory of the Grand and Old days:\nof Amy Sandburg\nof Algernon Carl Swinburned.\nWaiter a drink waiter two or three drinks\nwhat's become of Maeterlink\nnow that April's here?\n(ask the man who owns one\nask Dad, He knows).\n\nE. E. CUMMINGS"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "5", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.7", "texte": "It is strange that a little mud\nShould echo with sounds, syllables, and letters;\nShould rise up and call a mountain Popocatapetl,\nAnd a green-leafed wood Oleander.\nPlay it for me again; the theme repeated\nslips insensibly from major into minor;\neach chord, each tone drumming- separately\nagainst taut nerves.\nI have heard melodies\nthat stilled the hammer of the heart against\nthe boxed ribs, that played like caressing hands\nalong the spine, but theirs is a facile beauty\nwhich you despise, whose long prehensile fingers\ngrope for expression painfully along the keys.\nAnd there are melodies which assault the body,\nentering in at the mouth and the nose and the little\npores beneath the armpits, and having taken\npossession of me utterly, burst through\nthe parchment armor of skin.\n0 beauty\ntoo great for this my body, infected\nwith the venerealities of sense!\nO all-sufficient loveliness:\n1 cling\nvainly to the marble of your flanks\nvainly against the thighs of beauty, knowing\nbefore the ecstasy that my clenched fingers\nwill loose their perilous grip, that I shall fall\nawkwardly to adjust myself about\nmy skeleton.\nBut play the theme once more\nonce more ... in the pool of sense, the ripples widen\nuselessly lap the shores and die away.\n\nW. J. TURNER\nMALCOLM COWLEY"}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "6", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.8", "texte": "POEM\nMALCOLM COWLEY\nOne morning during Carnaval they found two swans in the\nPublic Garden, their long necks twisted, two swans lying\nsplendidly dead under a magnolia\nnot yet in blossom and nobody ever knew why they were\nkilled, whether it was a drunkard, whether an old man\ntired of women's bodies and wishing thus to destroy\na more impeccable beauty, or was he young (over\nthem bends\na domino, black with white moons for buttons, while the\nsky like a domino bends more vastly over).\nIt was a crime of passion; if I have read\nof other passionate crimes in curtained alcoves, knife\nor poison, they were less splendid than these two dead\nswans, O less magnificent than the formal pool, empty with-\nout them, this empty pool which stares\nfixedly into a fixed and empty sky."}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "7", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.9", "texte": "THE BOOK OF YUL\n\nPart One\nWhile waiting-, two men carried on a conversation\nthat flapped and fluttered like an old newspaper. And\na third was silent. Finally, the conversation gained in\nintensity, culminating- in some disagreeable figure or\nimage. Whereat, the third man rose and left the room.\nWith us following, for it is he who conceived of Yul\nand the eleventh city. Thus:\nThree men in a room, towards night. Two of them\nsat in the cold, sprawled somewhat, and with their\novercoats on. The third was huddled in a Morris-chair,\nknees up to his chin, looking down over his toes at\nthe vague carpet. „Do you think she will come?\" one\nof the other two asked. He swallowed, and noticed\nthat his throat was getting sore. For a while they\nshifted slightly, in silence. (As the room grew darker,\nno one had moved to light the lamps.) The sounds\noutside came in dampened by the snow.\n„We should have started a fire when we first got\nhere\", the first man said, yawning. „If we're going\nto wait around here we might as well be comfortable.\"\n„Too late now, she'll be along any minute.\"\nThe man hunched up in the Morris-chair sniffled\nthree or four times, and then blew his nose. „Ah, what\na bitter world!\" one of the others laughed. „Look, the\npoor devil had to move.\" ... A heavy clock, in\nanother room somewhere, or upstairs, or in the hall,\nsunk seven strokes into the room. Outside an auto-\nmobile stalled. They heard the scraping of the self-\nstarter several times before the motor began working\nagain. Then the car jerked ahead; then stalled. After\na few minutes, however, the motor thumped with a\nsolid regularity, and the car passed on down the street.\nOut of the high windows the snow could be seen\nfalling diagonally across a street lamp.\n„This waiting outside the gates of Heaven is cold\nbusiness.\"\n„Why in the name of God do you call it the gates\nof Heaven?\""}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "8", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.10", "texte": "*\nSomebody could be heard walking-. Thump, thump,\nTHUMP louder . . . then THUMP, THUMP, thump\nfainter. „Probably the people in the next house.\"\nListening intently, they could even catch a grumble\nof voices. Off up there, on the other side of the wall\nsomewhere, people were no doubt sitting- around talk-\ning, before a big fire, in a room full of light, eating,\nor maybe drinking something strong. Like those con-\nceptions of perfect luxury which are inserted in the\nupper right-hand corner, the rest of the picture being\ndevoted to a boy in rags, starving to death in a\nsnowy alley.\nA wind caught in the chimney in such a way as\nto disturb the burnt rubbish in the grate. The smell\nof rotten apples blew out into the room. Two girls\npassed outside, laughing, and hurrying with short,\nsharp steps. The man who had swallowed a little while\nago brought up some saliva and swallowed again, to\ntest his throat; the glands were distinctly swollen. He\nshot his cigarette into the dead grate; after a few\nmoments, however, he lighted another. He said, „Damn\nthis place for a tomb.\" A pause; then he continued,\n„When I stay very long in a place like this I always\nthink, what if I were trapped in? ... when I was a\nboy, I saw a crow early one spring standing bolt\nupright in a tree. I went closer, and he didn't fly.\nThen I saw that his foot had been caught in a fox\ntrap. He flew to this tree, where the chain got caught\nin one of the branches. So he had been there during\nthe winter, exposed to the cold and without food;\nand when he died the trap weighted him so that he\nstood up as chestily as the healthiest crow you ever\nsaw. . . . When I wait in a place like this, I can't help\nthinking of dying that way. Can't you imagine us all\nsitting here in this darkness, dead, you holding a pipe,\nand me like this, and him over there in the corner\nall hunched up!\" At this point, the man in the Morris-\nchair got up, left the room, and could be heard imme-\ndiately afterwards going down the stone stairs on to\nthe street.\nThe snow was falling now in thick wet gobs. Before\nhe had gone fifty feet it was clinging to the fuzz on\nhis woolen coat. Big banks of cleanliness had been"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "9", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.11", "texte": "stacked up. The lights of the store windows lay\ndistinctly across the pavements. In that arc-light, in the\ncarbon, in one molecule of the carbon, maybe, there\nwas a little world, with planets and stars, and an in-\nfinite sky, and things living on some of the planets,\nand things living on those things. Someday some big\nhand would want our universe for an arc-light, and\ncrunch, away it would go. „In one little corner beyond\nthe stars, a world glowing up there all by itself, not\ncrowded in the way ours is . . .\" God, what a night!\nHe listened unconsciously to the different scrapings of\nthe shovels.\nHe started to turn into the subway, but did not do\nso, since an elation was on him. Instead, he went into\nthe park, and stamped about in the heavy snow, even\nwalked across one of the ponds, in fact. A gust of\nwind hit him strong enough for him to rise up against\nit, and yell into the teeth of it. Then he swung his\narms, and charged an embankment. When he reached\nthe top, he looked about him, a half mile across the\npark to the lights of the apartments along the edge.\nThe wind dropped away; he was almost hot after his\nexertion. He opened his coat and laughed a stage laugh.\nThen he chanted, „Sic erat in principio, et nunc, et\nsemper, et in caecula saeculorum, amen. And the wind,\nappearing before me, spook, speek, spike, spuck, SPAKE,\n,Behold the eleventh citee'. And I, answering unto the\nwind, spook, speek, spike, spuck, SPAY-ACHE, ,Verily,\nverily, do I behold the eleventh citee, for there are\nten others buried beneath it. Gloria!\"\nAnd then continuing to sing-song the Sic erat,\nhis mind wandered off to elaborate the eleventh city.\n„It is in the bottom of the sea\", he thought, „and\nlived in by extremely cultivated fishes\". But I happen\nto know that it is not at the bottom of the sea; or\nthat it is not even near the sea. But it stands, bulky\nand dead, in the middle of a plain, silhouetted against\nthe sky, and cold.\nIt is granite. Even the beds on which the people\nsleep are granite slabs, built in square holes carved\nout of the walls. For people live in this eleventh city:\nquiet, grey-eyed people, who slip about the stone streets,\nand in and out of the oblong holes which serve as"}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "10", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.12", "texte": "doors. But the under cities are filled with corpses,\nlying in rows, perfectly preserved, and without smell.\nThe streets are long straight lines, and other long\nstraight lines drawn perpendicular to these; the same\nis consistently true of the architecture.\nAnd there was a traveler in this city, by the name\nof Yul. Looking ahead at the end of the widest street,\nhe saw a break in the two walls of granite, and went\ntowards it. It was a stairway, he found. Broad stairs,\nthe width of a palace in his own country, led down\nto a platform, then down to a platform, and so on\ndown and down to platforms. All this was lit with a\nuniform incandescence. While at the base of the stairs\nthere stood two granite lamp posts, of no great size,\nbut which he could distinguish as clearly as though\nthey were immediately in front of him.\nBut Yul did not descend these stairs.\nPart Two\nYul found the system of transit which had been\nevolved here of great ingenuity. It was composed of\nsixteen parallel tracks, or rather, endless platforms,\nwhich moved continually. These platforms were provided\nwith benches, pavements, places to eat, and the like.\nNow, as Yul stepped toward the south, he noticed\nthat each platform moved slightly faster than the one\nto the north of it; and although the change from plat-\nform to platform was hardly more abrupt than the\ndifference between the pace of of a baby just learning\nto walk and the ordinary walking-speed of a grown-up,\nby the time Yul had reached the fifteenth platform to\nthe south he was speeding enormously. The sixteenth\nplatform, however, was entirely different from the fifteen\npreceding. To begin with, he found that it could not\nbe boarded at any point, as with the other platforms.\nIn front of him there moved a stone wall; occasionally,\nbehind this waH he heard a roar, as of something which\napproached and retreated. And Yul, noticing that a\ngroup of grey-gowned figures had stopped near him"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "11", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.13", "texte": "on the fifteenth platform and seemed to be waiting,\nwaited as well.\nWithin a short time he saw a tower approaching\non the sixteenth platform. It advanced evenly, floated\ntowards them, growing gradually above them as it\ncame. When it was only a short ways off, he also\nnoticed that there was a break in the stone wall at\nthis point, and that some of the figures farther down\nthe platform were already entering there, indue time\nit reached him, and he stepped under the square stone\narch on to the sixteenth platform. Everything was\nquite different here. Instead of the stone benches,\npavements, kiosks, there was nothing but this lonely\ntower and a straight steel track that blurred away to\nthe east and west. Like the others, he entered the\ntower, and found it a sort of rest room or waiting\nroom.\nFinally, above the grinding of the platforms, a\nfar-off whirr was heard. The grey-clad figures left the\ntower, Yul thinking it best to follow. A line of cars\nshot up to the tower and stopped. Yul followed his\ncompanions into one of the cars, and they sped along\nthe sixteenth platform. Yul sank into a stupor from this\naccumulation of speeds, partaking of nothing but a\nbitter, burning liquid which was brought to him at\nintervals. After another two days, Yul tired of the cars,\nand descended at one of the towers. Then he crossed\nthe fifteen other platforms to the north, and found,\nwhen he stepped off the last of them, that he had\nreturned almost to the starting point*.\nHe came to the wide street again, and entered one\nof the oblong cuts in the stone which served as doorways.\nInside, there were winding stairs, lit with the same\nunvarying incandescence that he had noticed on the\nstairs leading down to the buried cities. Yul wound\nslowly upwards, his steps slapping back at him in a\nconfusion of echoes. The stairs curved into a room;\na large, square room, empty except for a tablet on one\n\n* He had circled only once about the city in all this time, and\nthat in spite of the enormous velocity with which he had been\ntraveling; which facts, it is hoped, will tend to show the vastness\nof the eleventh city, and of the ten cities buried beneath it."}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "12", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.14", "texte": "of the walls and a bench placed before this tablet.\nYul, who could not read the tablet, noticed the firm-\nness of the characters, and passed on into the next\nroom. This room, too, was large and square and empty.\nBut there was a window hewn out in one wall, oblong\nlike the doors in the street, except that it was lying\non one of the longer sides. From this window Yul\ncould see across the plain to the even, cold horizon.\nIt was in still another room, the third, that Yul voided.\nYul then came down from this place into the street,\nand walked along until he came to a larger granite\nentrance than was usual. He entered, finding himself\nbeneath a balcony. He walked farther and saw a floor\nof white marble, dipping in a slow curve toward a\nstage or altar in the distance. Yul fell upon his knees\nand wept, this quiet curve was so soothing to him.\nLooking above him, he saw that here, too, there were\ncurves; the walls reaching up thin arms of broken\narches; a ceiling behind shadows, and vaulted; and\nthick wooden beams that worked among one another\nlike a mass of human bodies. The church was nearly\ndark, while the altar glowed with a soft phosphores-\ncence.\nAs he wept, Yul felt something which was like a\npurring of the floor, while an uncertain but penetrative\nodor filtered about him. The marble was warm, so that\nhe lay flat on his back and sent his eyes into the\nshadows of the beams. » -\nThe odor increased, until Yul felt a restlessness\ncome over him. He arose, and began putting aside his\nclothes, until finally he stood naked in the middle of\nthe vast, empty church. Then, listening with great inten-\nsity, he thought he could distinguish footsteps. They\nwere far away, but hurrying. They would increase,\nthen nearly fall away completely, so that Yul began to\ndespair. But finally they became firmer; they were ad-\nvancing; they were upon him . . , and down to one\nside of the altar he saw a form coming toward him.\nWhile it was still far off, Yul could already distin-\nguish two eyes, which were like moist planets shined\non by the sun. That is, they seemed to lie on the\nface, with an aggressive clearness, while they did not\nburn but had rather that quiet, steel-blue light of a"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "13", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.15", "texte": "planet. Of a moist planet, that is . . . not of some\ndry planets which are like a copper-red spark. Yul\nwatched the eyes, as they came nearer to him, like\nmagnets.\nAnd as the form stood before him, Yul saw that\nit was the form of a woman; and at once he loved\nher clamorously. But she picked up the clothes which\nhe had thrown off and held them out to him, so that\nYul put them all back upon his body. When he had\ndressed, he stood in front of her, and looked into her\neyes. They were big- and deep, like lakes, for he could\nsee down into the rich black pupils as though they\nreally were made of water. She took him by the hand\nand led him toward the altar, until Yul threw back his\nhead and sang. But his notes began lingering and\ngrumbling to one another among the beams, so that\nhe quit singing. . . . He was led to the edge of the\naltar. Then she let go his hand, and jumped. Looking\nwhere she had jumped, Yul saw that she had leapt\nacross a pit in the centre of the altar. He looked down\ninto this pit; it was dark, but so far below that it\nmade him shudder he could see the incandescence of\nthe lowest of the buried cities. Then he jumped and\nfollowed his companion on the other side of the altar.\nFor a time they labored along together, down steps\ninto cold damp places; around sudden bends into\nrooms which were warm and brilliant; through some\nnarrow passage with a rough, pebbly bottom; then\nacross a little stone bridge under which a spring flowed\nout of the rock and back into it. But of a sudden\nshe stopped and opened her arms to him. Yul closed\nagainst her, looking into the roads and caverns of her\neyes. She stepped away, tore back her garments with\none fling of her hand . . . and Yul crumpled on the\nground under the impact of his disgust. For shining\nout upon the hairs of the mons Veneris, there was a\nthird eye, which beheld him steadily and without blinking.\n. . . When Yul awoke, the woman had gone. He\nbegan working his way slowly back through the laby-\nrinth of rooms and passages. At last he came upon\nthe pit, and jumped across it. He saw as he went out\n•of the church that immediately in front of it was the\nbroad stairway which led down into the other cities."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "14", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.16", "texte": "He looked along the narrowing- avenue of stairs, and\nat the end of them he could make out something which\nmoved. But a peculiar sickness was on him; he longed\nfor his own country, and dropping where he stood, he\nfell asleep on the first of the granite stairs.\nPart Three\nLater Yul returned to the stone church . . . and\nthe assembled multitude, lifting its thin voices, chanted\nin unison the Litany of Error:\nWe shall go into the tenth city\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd take the hands of our fathers\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd kiss the nail holes in their palms\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd in the palms of our mothers\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd touch the old shells of their skin\nGlory glory unto our woes\nAnd rejoice that now they are alive oh unfolding of the\nrevelation oh ecstasy of blossoming into a world of\neternity oh astonishment of opening their petals in the\nwarm garden of our Maker glory glory unto the woes of our\nfathers and our fathers before them and whatever may befall\nus in our own day\nThe multitude, and the priest . . . they had alternated,\nthe priest alone, standing in the glow of the altar,\ncarrying the „Glory glory unto our woes.\" But when\nthe lob-end of the prayer was reached, the priest and\nthe kneeling multitude rose up, while heavy music was\nsuddenly sprayed into the church. After the singing\nwas ended, the music wound on for a few bars in\nreminiscence . . . then it suddenly regained its vigor,\nand while the multitude knelt again with bowed heads\nit repeated the entire form of the litany, growing at*\nthe last into a tangle of chromatics, with agitated notes"}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "15", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.17", "texte": "crawling1 in among one another, and accumulating fugues,\nwhile the whole jumbled mass grew more voluminous\nand climbed slowly up the scale. Out of it all there\nburst one neat, soft chord, high in the treble. This\nchord hung, while the rest of the music dropped away,\nuntil finally it existed ail by itself. Then it, too, gradu-\nally weakened. But for a long time after it was gone\nentirely the multitude remained kneeling.\nNow the ceremony seemed to drop more into the\nbusiness of worship. At times the multitude would rise,\nkneel at times, while there were even times when it\nbecame prostrate on the white marble floor. Up from\nout of the altar, a long sermon was delivered by one\nof the priests. It was a well wrought sermon, by which\nis meant that it showed the effects of a mind which\nhad devoted several nights to working out the arabes-\nques of its idea. „That which is created creates in turn\nthat by which it was created\". The voice from the\nglowing altar suffered its little elations, its momentary\ndiscoveries, its occasional felicities between the idea\nand the expression thereof . . . the words spread out\nover the quiet multitude, certain sounds lodging among\nthe beams of the ceiling, others shooting straight to\nthe ear, others floating up sluggishly ... so that it all\nbecame slightly confused and mellowed ... in spite\nof the hard, little stones of the priest's inexorable logic\n. . . and the voice rose and fell, went slower in places\nfor the purpose of emphasis, hurried across parenthetical\nexplanations, paused before launching on new devel-\nopments of the idea, halted and retracted a statement\nto a degree, dropped into a steady trot of exposition\n. . , the multitude, far from being disturbed that the\nwords of it all did not reach them with clarity, rested\ncomfortably on the dips and fluxes of the priest's\nvoice.\nThe sermon was followed by a prayer ... in trailing\nsentences of unequal length . . . some short . . . some\nstretching out to the length of two breaths . . . and at\nthe end the multitude joined with the priest in praying . . .\nthe frail single line of words from the altar, then the\nconfused growl of the multitude. After the prayer, the\nchurch lay lifeless for a few moments."}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "16", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.18", "texte": "Then a flash of light shot across it. The priest climbed\nin leaps upon the altar, until he stood looking down\nupon the multitude. A chord was struck, and the priest,\ntaking his pitch immediately as the chord vanished,\nchanted:\nLET THE NINE CHOSEN BE BROUGHT INTO\nTHE HOLY ARENA\nAnd off somewhere, lost in the caverns of the church\nwhich led away to the right behind the altar, the chant\nwas repeated in a little thread of voice:\nLet the Nine Chosen be brought into the holy\narena*\nThen even fainter, away tho the left behind the\naltar:\nHoly . . . Holy . . . Holy . . .\nLET THE NINE CHOSEN BE BOUND UPON\nTHE BEAMS OF THEIR CROSSES\nLet the Nine Chosen be bound upon the beams\nof their crosses.\nCrosses . . . crosses . . . crosses of holiness . . .\nLET THE NAILS BE DRIVEN INTO THE HANDS\nAND THE FEET OF THEM AND THEIR SIDES\nTRANSFIXED WITH SPEAR HEADS UNTIL BLOOD\nMIXES WITH THE SWEAT OF THE EXECU-\nTIONERS AND REJOICE THAT NOW THE ARE\nALIVE OH UNFOLDING OF THE REVELATION\nOH ECSTASY OF BLOSSOMING INTO A WORLD\nOF ETERNITY OH ASTONISHMENT OF OPEN-\nING THEIR PETALS IN THE WARM GARDEN\nOF OUR MAKER GLORY GLORY UNTO THE\nWOES OF OUR FATHERS AND OUR FATHERS\nBEFORE THEM ... AND LO! BEHOLD THEM\nENTER:\nThe voice stopped; the priest's arms were stretched\nout in imitation of the agony of the cross; music broke\nout, while at the same time a shrieking rose to the\nright of the altar; silk streamers began dropping and\nwisting, played upon by lights of all colors. The"}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "17", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.19", "texte": "college of priests hurried up before the altar, howling\n„Glory, glory!\" leaning forward and bearing the crosses\nof the Nine Crucified like banners. They stopped short\nbefore the pit; the music dropped away; the streamers\nsubsided into a lazy billow; the lights became one\npenetrating reddish purple, which lay in all corners of\nthe church like a sunset. The bodies -of the Nine\nCrucified could be seen moving in silence on their\ncrosses. . . . The priest, from the summit of the altar,\ngave a signal with his hand, and the crosses with their\nburdens were dropped into the pit. For a time they\ncould be heard, scraping now and' then against the\nsides, or colliding with one another. Finally, as they\nreached the bottom of the lowest city, faint thumps\ncame up out of the pit.\nThe multitude huddled together, closer about the\naltar. It seemed to be listening. The thumps became\nheavier; they recurred at set intervals, like a slow\ntreading of feet. Outside the church, beheld by no\none in all this city, the march of the armless giants . . .\nadvancing down the broad stairway which was the width\nof a palace in Yul's own country . . . little ripples\npassing along their ranks and being lost in the\ndistance . . . armless giants, which rise up boldly out\nof their legs, like towers.\n\nKENNETH BURKE"}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "18", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.20", "texte": "MR. AA THE ANTIPHILOSOPHER\n\nThe room was full of furniture drawn from very\ndifferent periods. One afternoon as i went out, i was\nastonished at being- made to wait at the door 2or 3\nminutes. Mr. Aa was sitting- on a chest. She begged\nme, laughing, not to be disturbed. The chest was full\nof objects of great value. She said that she had not\nheard me knock. The coroner entered. Zounds! i cried,\nyou are weeping, you are moved to the point of tears and\nyou do not breathe a word to me of your troubles. The\npersons who attended the coroner guarded the doors. The\nthought of this also aroused me. The coroner was a\nyoung man. It was clear to me that some generous\nand ardent sentiment functioned upon his face like a\nsmouldering fire, though whether it were of love or\ncompassion i could not say. The coroner tapped the\nobjects in the chest and tested their stability. I sat\ndown at the table with a right gallant air, but by the\nlight of the candle betwixt him and me i perceived a\ncertain sadness in the countenance and in the eyes of\nmy dear friend the coroner. He bent and looked down\nvery often but said nothing. He marked out the place with\nsilent powder and thus circumvented the danger. The\ncoroner gave orders. These orders seemed as lugubrious\nto me as the perverse brilliance of this festive gaiety.\nHe related to me that after having learned that i had\ndeceived him, and that i had gone off with Mr. Aa,\nhe had mounted a horse to pursue me, that he had\narrived at St. Denis a half hour after my departure,\nthat being certain that i would stop at Paris he had\nspent 6 weeks in a vain search for me, and that one\nday he had recognized Mr. Aa at the Comedy, and\nthat he was so bravely dressed that he concluded the\nman owed this fortune to a new haul in scrap iron\nthe returns of which had filled his money-bags with\npalliative warmth. He pulled the cord. Every other day.\nThere i conceived a peaceful and portable manner of\nlife. It is told that the judge was very severe. Unhappy\nknight, thou shalt lose all that thou hast loved in\nthis world. Forgive me that i tell in so few words a\ntale which rends me. A cat forgotten by the express"}, {"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "19", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.21", "texte": "company leaps out of a porcelain vase and justice is\nsolemnly rendered. Forgive me again that i encompass\nin so few words a tale which pierces my heart. But\nthe pancreatic reservoir of the kidneys and the bowels\nmakes feasible the crossing of the desert in a sail-boat,\nwhich contains bottles of condensed farewells conser-\nvatories distilleries of gastric disgust and open pockets\nstrewn all along way down the Mississippi.\n\nTRISTAN TZARA"}, {"page_pdf": 22, "page_imprimee": "20", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.22", "texte": "PLOTS FOR PENPUSHERS\nSLATER BROWN\n{1. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by his ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by his passions.\n3. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by his passions.\n4. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by his ideals.\n(1. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by her ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by her passions.\n3. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by her passions.\n4. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by her ideals.\n{1. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by her ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by her passions.\n3. The man is motivated by his ideals, the woman by her passions.\n4. The man is motivated by his passions, the woman by her ideals.\n{1. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by his ideals.\n2. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by his passions.\n3. The man is motivated by her ideals, the woman by his passions.\n4. The man is motivated by her passions, the woman by his ideals.\nNote: For novelists or story-tellers only a single item is\nneccessary. For playwrites, however, the late Geo. P.\nBaker of Harvard University advises a swift progression\nby acts from one item to another. Ex. — C 3 to C 2 to\nB 2 with slow curtain. (In case slow curtain is deemed\ninadvisable, A1 may be substituted for B 2.) D1\naccompanied by soft music makes very affecting climax\nfor any arrangement of items."}, {"page_pdf": 23, "page_imprimee": "21", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192207-01.1.23", "texte": "THE OBLATE\n1.\n„Les grands marais phosphorescents\nfont de jolis reves et les crocodiles se\nreprennent la valise faite avec leurpeau.\"\nAndre Breton et Ph. Soupault.\n„But no! Hear me, I beg of you — —\"\nIrrevocable. The man was gone in his spleen, and\nthe door slammed behind him, while Hyacinth lingered\nin an arrested posture. What torture to have the door\nclose upon one in the midst of a sentence. It were\nalmost relief to finish the thought without an audition.\nHeavens! The man was like a panther: he darted\ncalumny, abuse, derision at you, held the stump for\nan hour, and when you framed your defense, interrupted\nyou and went off in a petty squall. Well, what of that?\nHyacinth still owed him money. He would have to\ncalm down and come back for it. But his methods, —\nwere they not those of a boxer? To attack constantly\nboth as a means of defence and of finishing the\nopponent.\nHyacinth's brain was an angular but smoothly func-\ntioning affair. Once under steam its glib constructions\nnot only lulled his qualms as to his own failings but\nwere capable of quieting those of others. It was\nobviously in full knowledge of this that his friend had\nadopted such a high-handed method of dealing with him.\nHow the man had ranted on! Hyacinth shuddered\nat the thought of what ill-mannered liberties he had\nborne for the past hour. He stood near his high\nwindow and looking out at the valley which lay below\nThe Heights, reflected: women? there are millions of\nthem down there. Strong-arm methods, a little ogling,\na little of the satyr, and they are yours. It is nightfall,\nand everything blends into the crepuscular marmalade\nwhich so delights the feeble-minded. For me the white\nlight of the sun still fries the Earth.\nWalking with an older friend whose company was\nalways far more soothing to him, a few moments later"}]}