{"numero_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_sha256": "9484416816448013d283259734ec824640f5051b8205b6b2980daa8c2ccac729", "source_tei": "https://github.com/Princeton-CDH/bluemountain-transcriptions/blob/main/periodicals/bmtnaay/issues/1923/01_01/bmtnaay_1923-01_01.tei.xml", "source_mets": "https://github.com/pulibrary/BlueMountain/blob/main/metadata/periodicals/bmtnaay/issues/1923/01_01/bmtnaay_1923-01_01.mets.xml", "url_numero": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01", "articles": [{"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c002", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c002", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.2", "titre_corps": "•SfX POEMS", "titre_sommaire": "•SfX POEMS", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.2", "debut_caractere": 404, "fin_caractere_exclue": 674, "texte": "•SfX POEMS\nIN QUEST OF OLYMPUS\nLAST LOOKS AT THE LILACS\nPOSTER\nTHE HOTHOUSE PLANT\nA GARDEN PARTY\nCORRESPONDENCE\nNOTE ON \"DER STURM\"\nBOOK REVIEWS\ni\nCover Design by William Sommer\nRichard Ashton\nKenneth Burke\nWallace Stevens\nHart Crane\nWilliam Carlos Williams\nSlater Brown"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c003", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c003", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.3", "titre_corps": "A MOTOR=CYCLE, AND OFF TO THE BEACH!", "titre_sommaire": "A MOTOR=CYCLE, AND OFF TO THE BEACH!", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.3", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1561, "texte": "A MOTOR=CYCLE, AND OFF\nTO THE BEACH!\nThe sunlight is glowing golden on the fields full\nof marigold; the sunlight is flaming green in the first\nspray of leaves that sways in the trees; the sunlight is\nbrown and gold over the meadows and along the\nhighroad.\n\"All ready, Betty?\"\n\"All ready, Jim.\"'\n\"Then I'll let her rip.\"\nAnd off goes the motor-cycle, chuck-chuck, clatter,\nhang, sput-sput, sput-sput zip down the road between\nthe green trees and out through the hills, Jim in front\nin the saddle, with his cap jammed backward over his\nglasses; Betty hanging on behind, astraddle, throwing\nback her head, and laughing with all her white teeth,\nas the air passes over her face and snatches at her hair.\n'All there, Beth?''\n\"All there, Jim. Let's go!\"\n\" Faster?\"\nJim turns on more gas, and off goes the old buzzer\ndown the road, curving between the cars that already\nhum over the macadam in long lines this Sunday\nmorning.\n\"There's not a thing like it for speed, girl!\"\n\"Keep it up! I adore going fast!\"\nFaster the trees blurr past, as the motor trembles\nand swerves; faster the houses and barns. The road\nwhitens up to meet them, and flickers away behind —\ninto villages, out of villages, faster, faster, down and\naway, white-hot with the motion and life of the day —\ntrees merging into a haze-green fence with brown\npoles — houses like patches of white, with dark holes\n— faster and faster — chuck-chuck, rattle sput-sput\nsputsput down and away . . .\nWhile above\nThe winds play gently back and forth,\nAnd the long lazy clouds swing leisurely\nOver the blazing sky."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c004", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c004", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "2", "page_fin": "3", "image_debut": 4, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.4", "titre_corps": "IN THE COPLEY BALL=ROOM", "titre_sommaire": "IN THE COPLEY BALL=ROOM", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.4", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1036, "texte": "IN THE COPLEY BALL=ROOM\nDown\nit goes\nWith a\nlingering swing,\nThe long glowing rhythm\nof the low violin,\nMoving with a lilt,\nwith a tilt,\nwith a snatch,\nDown — down — with a wriggle,\nand a twinkle,\nand a catch. . . .\nWhile the couples move silently over the\nfloor, gliding in an undulating, arabesque\ncurve; their shoulders poised, as they dip and\nswerve, as they lift, and linger, and lift once\nmore: an intricate pattern of dark-clothed men,\nthat mingles and merges, in softened yellow\nlight, with the flimsy shimmer of green and\nwhite, following, fluttering, following again, —\nwith the rose-red shimmer, the glimmering\nblack, that passes, and turns, and surges back\nTo the insinuating moan\nAnd the syncopated croon\nNaseling out of the saxophone\nIn a metal softness\nOf ripening tones,\nIn a swaying tune.\nAnd into the free space, here by the door,\nswing two that skim with the motion of one:\nher delicate amber ruffles run over the opaque\nblack of his coat — his feet caress her moving\nfeet in their golden-slippered following; and the"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "3", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 394, "texte": "mounting flush of her petal-soft cheek brushes\nthe ruddiness of his face, their half-open lips\ntoo tense to speak:\nA whirl of grace,\nAnd a pause and a poise,\nAnd a restrained urge,\nAnd a balanced joy. —\nLost again in the crowd and the surge that\ncatches at the rhythm of the violin, the rhythm\nthat halts, and holds, and proceeds, that spins\nup — and glows down\nand flares ...\nand recedes . . ."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c005", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c005", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.5", "titre_corps": "SEARCHLIGHTS", "titre_sommaire": "SEARCHLIGHTS", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 396, "fin_caractere_exclue": 759, "texte": "SEARCHLIGHTS\nLike five straight fingers\nThe searchlights move their stiff whiteness over\nheaven,\nFeeling into the blue-black yielding of space.\nBut their dim stripes cannot dull the stars,\nTheir slim mist cannot frost the whiteness of\nfire:\nAnd when they reach out to touch glowing\npatterns,\nThey fail and fade into pale-green vagueness,\nBlunted against infinity."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c006", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c006", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.6", "titre_corps": "STAR – WIND", "titre_sommaire": "STAR – WIND", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.5", "debut_caractere": 761, "fin_caractere_exclue": 945, "texte": "STAR - WIND\nThe branches shiver in the hanging night,\nAs if the rain were splashing in the leaves.\ni\nBut it is only rhythmic-running wind:\nThe cloudless sky is full of distant stars.\n2"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c007", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c007", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "4", "page_fin": "4", "image_debut": 6, "image_fin": 6, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.7", "titre_corps": "MOON — GARDEN", "titre_sommaire": "MOON — GARDEN", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 856, "texte": "MOON — GARDEN\nWhat have I done to you? What have I done?\nIs it my moons are too beautiful,\nYou that have only one?\nMy pale pink moon of peony-petals,\nMy deep round crimson-dahlia moon,\nMy twilight garden where the day's wind settles?\nI have moons delicately green,\nFaintly flavored with mint, like ice;\nI have moons infinitely white,\nWith a silent fragrance within their light;\nHere are great marble discs hung in the sky,\nAnd gongs of shivering gold-grey metals;\nHere are torn clouds with their tigerlilies:\nA million beauties, blood blood-red beauties.\nO you looking over my wall,\nYou looking into my garden that see\nOne flower — one:\nMy eyes have passed your painted picture-post-\ncard moon\nAnd seen not what you see\nBut my garden, my flowers, my rose-cool\nbeauties,\nMy fire of paradise, winterless June.\nThat it is I have done to you! That have I done!"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c008", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c008", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "4", "page_fin": "4", "image_debut": 6, "image_fin": 6, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.8", "titre_corps": "THE JILTED MOON", "titre_sommaire": "THE JILTED MOON", "signature_source": "RICHARD ASHTON", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.6", "debut_caractere": 858, "fin_caractere_exclue": 967, "texte": "THE JILTED MOON\nRICHARD ASHTON\nA Yif\\ f'''\nAk 3 . S*T ji 112 J? ' I I \"\",;\"~C \"P 11 S I '. %'' J I lW; t BVIT"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c009", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c009", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "5", "page_fin": "18", "image_debut": 7, "image_fin": 20, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.9", "titre_corps": "IN QUEST OF OLYMPUS", "titre_sommaire": "IN QUEST OF OLYMPUS", "signature_source": "KENNETH BURKE", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "5", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.7", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1971, "texte": "IN QUEST OF OLYMPUS\n\nI.\nWith an uncertain tide — or better, current, since\nI am speaking of a little lake, or an enormous spring,\nor some sort of underground river — I simply took\nall chances and allowed myself to drift. For the most\npart it was black; me lying in the bottom of the boat,\nconscious by means of some complicated mechanism\nof sensation, or rather, some peculiar centralization\nfrom divers termini, of a gentle motion; the boat\nscraping now and then against an unseen rock that\njutted up, or perhaps the sides of the cavern. Once or\ntwice I passed a little ball of pale blueish light,\nhowever. A crunching sound. The boat had grounded\non pebbles. Feeling in the dark, I stepped out on a\nsmooth bank which began to ascend immediatety. I\nsaid farewell to my boat — perhaps forever! — and\nbegan climbing. It soon became rough and jagged,\nlike a sieve for grinding nutmeg, then narrowed after\nthe manner of an inverted funnel, and finally was\nalmost as steep as a perpendicular cylinder. ... I had\nto stop, for I had come upon a wall, a smooth, flat\nsurface; and further, I was exhausted. I dropped where\nI lay, fell into a sort of stupor, and when I regained\nconsciousness it was owing to faint irregular taps\ncoming from far beneath me and forcing themselves\nupon my notice. It was my boat, broken from its\nmoorings, starting easily on its way!\nI cursed the foolhardiness that had got me into\nthis thing. And I confess that I even wept, for the\nfeeling of desolation and loneliness which came over\nme was too powerful for resistance. Then I remem-\nbered my training, and putting away all fears, confided\nmy problems to Him who sees even the slightest move\nwe make, and who. hears even the weakest little sigh\nlrom our uttermost within. A new courage poured\ninto me like wine, and I recommenced examining the\nwall. At last I came upon a place where the smooth-\nness of it was broken by cracks large enough for\nme to insert my fingers, and the ascent continued."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "6", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.8", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2110, "texte": "As I climbed, it began slowly to dawn in the\ncavern. (The noonday sun of the countryside above,\nthat is, was penetrating through some cavity into these\ndepths.) I came upon the first sickly weeds, a few\nbeetles, worms and the like. And it was not long\nbefore I was in full daylight, struggling through a thick\nunderbrush which was so luxuriant, so impenetrable,\nthat I almost wished for the cool desolation of mv\ncavern. Working among the briars, especially the\ninsistent blackberries — insistent because they seemed\nto be actually reaching out to catch the wool of my\ncoat — I came upon a cluster of sumac, and then an\neven thicker muddle of ferns and alders. As the\nground was unusually rough, my feet would slip from\nthe rocks, and lodging in some unnoticed cavity\ncovered with dead leaves, they would be held there by\na tangle of roots, while at the same time I was kept\nbusy dodging beneath the low crooked branches,\nmaking detours, or creeping through chance holes\nin the foliage. And then of a sudden I broke through\nto a road, and looked across broad easy meadows . . .\nand why! there was the house where Treep used\nto live!\nAnd that stump in front of Treep's house, that\nwas where the oak used to be which Treep had loved\nso much and then his master had ordered him to cut\nit down. Treep used to go out and pat the shaggy\nbark of this oak while it was still standing. But his\nmaster said finally, \"Treep, cut down the oak.\" Since\nit was decided that the oak was needed for timber.\nBefore that Treep had even felt that long after he was\ndead the oak would stand there; but now the oak had\nto be chopped down, and Treep went out with his\naxe to chop it.\nNo one was near, however, so that Treep rubbed\nhis head against it, and explained how unhappy he\nwould be without it, and how he would hollow out the\nstump and plant therein some of its own acorns.\nThen, after weeping, he attacked the trunk with his axe.\nBut as he swung his axe, it caught in a low\nbranch which was sagging somewhat, Treep being\nknocked on his back by the rebound of this branch.\nAt first he was angry; but he said that it was right"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "7", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.9", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2122, "texte": "for the oak to defend itself, and it should not be\nrebuked. When he returned to chopping, however, a\nrotten branch from high up in the tree became\ndislodged, and cut a gash in the nape of Treep's neck.\n\"Thou ungrateful oak!\" he shouted in anger; \"Thou\nmust know that it is not my fault that I must kill thee,,\nand thus not place the added burden of thine own\ndisobedience upon a heart which is already weighted\ndown by the necessity of fulfilling a loathsome\ncommand put upon it by my master!\" And Treep\nresumed his task.\nBut as the axe sank into the trunk, a large chip\nof wood flew up, striking Treep full on the forehead,\nso that the blood poured down into his eyes. Treep\narose at one leap, regained his axe, and began\nbrandishing it about his head. \"Oak!\" he shrieked;\n\"Oak! Thou art no longer the big friendly thing that\nI rubbed my ears against and hugged with my arms,\nbut a monument of malice and spitefulness rising\nbetween me and the commands of my master. And\nthe love I bore for thee now being completely\nvanished, I swear by the blood dripping from my\nforehead that I shall attack thee in all ferocity, not\nstopping until thou lyest a corpse at my feet!\"\nAnd then Treep assailed the oak with bitterness,\nhalf blinded by the blood from his forehead, his body\naching and tired, but sustained with such a vengeance\nagainst his old friend that he hardly knew what he\nwas doing. Indeed, blinded as he was by the flow\nof both his blood and his emotions, and although a\npractised woodsman, he was not felling the oak\nproperly. And1 when at last it became so weakened\nthat it began to topple, he saw that it was falling\ntoward his master's garden. At this point he was\nplunged into an inordinate hate; he did not even take\ninto account the enormous mass of his enemy, but\nas the oak began leaning with increasing rapidity, he\nhurled aside his axe, and heaved his shoulders against\nthe falling trunk, trying in this way to change the\ndirection of its fall!\nBut the oak continued on its descent, and as it\nstretched out along the ground it held Treep beneath\nit, crushing the life out of him almost instantaneouslv.\n%/"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "8", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.10", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2126, "texte": "II.\nTreep was aware of no change whatsoever, except\nthat he was growing. Soon his hand alone was as big\nas his whole body had been, with the rest of him\nincreased proportionately; and soon after this his hand\nwas as big as his new body had been . . . and so on,\nindeterminately. When he had ceased increasing, he\nlooked about, stretched his arms which were as thick as\na countryside; and opening his jaws, he yawned as wide\nas a gulf. But he was conscious of a pain beneath the\nnail of his right little toe; and reaching down he pulled\nout a splinter, the oak which had killed him . . . This\nhad been the magnification of Treep.\nNoticing that the sky was only a few arm-lengths\nabove him, he sprang into the air, caught hold, and\nhoisted himself on to the other side. The country\nwas rough but comparatively level. Glistening in the\ndistance there was something which looked very much\nlike a palace. He made off in this direction.\nAs he came nearer he could distinguish figures\nmoving about, all of them as big as he was himself.\nThen messengers came ahead to meet him, small, the\nway he had been before death, and they perched on\nhis shoulders like doves. They explained that they\nwere the former poets of the earth, and that this was\nHeaven, and that they were usually the only earthly\nexistences admitted here. But Wawl had seen Treep's\nstruggle with the oak, and had decreed that he should\nbe magnified among the gods, and then they all fell\nto singing their own compositions at once. He walked\nahead, not much disturbed by their twitter, until one\nof them climbed into the shell of his ear and explained,\nshouting above the others, the dilemma which Wawl\nhad occasioned by his deification. For in magnifying\nTreep it was not found possible to magnify his name,\nand there were no more names nor offices left in\nHeaven. Wawl had decided, however, that if Treep\ndared he might attack any god he so desired, and if\nhe defeated this god could usurp both his name and\noffice. Treep asked the poet what gods were disliked\nin Heaven, and the poet mentioned both Arjk and the\nBlizzard God. Arjk, it went on to say, was undoubtedly"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "9", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.11", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1912, "texte": "a powerful and handsome divinity, and would be a\nmuch worthier foe to unseat than the Blizzard God,\nwho relied mostly on cunning and harassing ... Treep\ndecided that it was Arjk whom he would battle; and\nhalting outside the castle, he sent word to Wawl that\nhis faithful servant Arjk was approaching.\nSoon a distant tumult was heard, and the poets\nin a panic scrambled down from Treep's shoulders.\nThen Arjk appeared, growling and cursing, and\ndemanding to know if this was the thief and liar who\nwas adorning himself with the name of a god. Treep\nanswered him, \"Step aside, Treep, for I am Arjk, the\nfaithful servant of Wawl, and I have come to pay\nhim homage.\" Thereupon the two of them closed in\nupon each other, a battle following which lasted for\ntwo years. At the end of this time Treep conquered\nand threw Arjk out of Heaven. Then he sent word\nagain to Wawl that his faithful servant Arjk was\napproaching, and entered the palace.\nIII.\nSome time after Treep — become Arjk — had\nestablished himself in Heaven, Wawl summoned him\nto the palace. Arjk entered and bowed before him.\nAbout the feet of Wawl adoring women sat, their\nbreasts dripping at his glory, indeed, their entire\nbodies flowing with love of their Lord. Wawl dis-\nmissed his attendants and began speaking to Arjk\nimmediately. But the castle was so large that it had\nits own atmospheric conditions, and as Wawl commen-\nced to speak a little storm descended about the august\nforehead, filling his hair with a silver moisture and\npricking him with minute tongues of lightning. Wawl\npeered through the mist wavering before his eyes, and\nraised his voice above the small but distracting\nthunder.\n\"Arjk,\" Wawl addressed him, \"thou art the most\nmighty of my warriors.\"\n\"Whatever strength I possess was granted me by\nWawl.\"\n\"1 trust that thou wilt remain faithful to me, for\nthy powers, if turned against me, could cause all\nmanner of evil in Heaven.\""}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "10", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.12", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2148, "texte": "And Arjk, bowing even lower, answered with\nemotion, \"Before everything else comes my gratitude\nto Wawl. In the magnification of Treep there was\nalso the magnification of Treep's devotion. And this\ndevotion is mortgaged solely to Wawl.\" And then\nrising to his feet, Arjk gave way to his elation, and\nsang to Wawl of the glories which he, Arjk, had\naccomplished in Heaven, and of the might and\nsplendor which belonged to him, Arjk. Saying among\nother things, \"I, Treep become Arjk, can drink and\ncarouse in Heaven and yet retain the most powerful\narm among the gods.\" The elation continuing, Arjk\ntook leave of Wawl, and went for a mad ride in his\nchariot, hurling bolts haphazard out of Heaven, and\nshouting to the rattle of his steeds' hoofs across the\nclouds.\nThen of a sudden Arjk spied the Blizzard God\nriding in the distance. And looking closer, he\ndistinguished Hyelva fleeing before him, her white\nrobes fluttering back in confused vibrations. Arjk\nwrenched his steeds until they were headed toward\nthe Blizzard God, and his chariot went swaying and\nrocking back and forth across the clouds. The\nBlizzard God was shrieking as he pursued, \"Hyelva!\nHyelva, open the great gate of thy body! The great\ngate of thy body, that I may enter in!\" while the hoofs\nof Arjk's horses set up a reverberation through Heaven>\nHell and Earth. But Hyelva sped on in silence.\nIt became evident that Arjk would overtake the\nBlizzard God and rescue Hyelva from his fingers. But\nLittic, who was a kindly deity, though under the\ndomination of the Blizzard God, released his lights\nthrough Heaven, so that both Arjk and his horses\nwere blinded. Letting his reins slacken in his stupoi\\\nArjk watched the lights play on all sides of him, saw\nthe thick trunks of flame with tongues protruding, or\nsemi-circles stretching across the whole sky, with balls\nof a blueish jelly sliding along them, or puffs of light,\nwaving like dust toward the zenith. And while Arjk\nrelaxed, enchanted, the Blizzard God sent a broadside\nof tempest against him, blowing him out of the chariot\nand the bolts from his hands. Then the Blizzard\nGod hurried again after Hyelva, falling among her"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "11", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.13", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1949, "texte": "garments like a hawk among the feathers of a dove.\nHis appetites were so ravenous that he tore away\neverything which covered her body . . . and the little\nbits, whirling about in the tempest, spilled finally out\nof Heaven, and falling, covered whole states and\nprovinces of the earth, so that some houses were sunk\neven up to their second stories in snow.\nIV.\nAnd one of the places where this snow fell was\nNew York City; I am speaking particularly of West\nSixteenth Street. Ah, how lovely it was before being\nshoveled away at a cost of some hundreds of thou-\nsands of dollars! The air was almost black with\nsnow; it was so thick that at times stray flakes, falling\ndown the particular air-shaft, swerved and sifted\nthrough the partly open window of the particular\nkitchen. This kitchen was dark, with dirty dishes\nshowing up here and there, while the other rooms to\nthe suite were lighted. All were empty, however,\nexcept the one to the extreme front, where James\nHobbes was lying on Esther Maclntyre.\nThe point was this: Gould Hobbes, or could he\nnot, succeed, with only one hand, in capturing the\nobject which Miss Maclntyre held in both of hers —\nif she held anything at all! — but would not willingly\nrelinquish? Hobbes had maintained that he could;\nMiss Maclntyre had sassed back that he couldn't; thus,\na protracted struggle had begun between them. Result-\ning in their tussling on the couch, and Hobbes\ngroping resolutely — but awkwardly! — after the\nhot fists she held against her breast. Then of a\nsudden he made a dive of his hand, which silenced\nthe giggly thing. And he continued the attack,\ndisposing of garments rapidly. When Esther's\nbewilderment was startled away by the the realization\nof a still greater boldness on his part, she began to\nresist . . . weakly, however . . . but he no longer\ncared . . . slipped off the couch . . . thumped against\nthe floor . . . like a sack of potatoes.\nSome one was knocking, jerking them out of"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "12", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.14", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2057, "texte": "their sloth. She went for her hat and coat, and as\nHobbes returned to the front room with Harowitz,\nmumbled something about being in a hurry, and\ndashed out. Hobbes yanked a chair at Harowitz,\npointed to a magazine, and went after Esther. As\nhe came out into the blizzard, hat-less and coat-less,\nhe could see nothing of her. Besides, he was not\nexceptionally interested. He returned to his apartment\nslowly, even stopped in the dark kitchen a few\nmoments and leaned against the wall.* Then he went\nto the front room where Harowitz was waiting for\nhim.\nHarowitz was moving about the room, from one\nisland to another. Hobbes stretched out on the\ncouch, giving a slight grunt which was a mixture of\nmany things — such as self-comfort, the necessity of\nsaying something, disapproval, nothing at all — but\nmainly composed of this: that Hobbes had planned,\nthe next time he would see Harowitz, to look at him\nabruptly and say, \"Harowitz, what would you think\nof a man who walked into your house, and when you\nweren't watching him went into your cupboard, and\nstole a drink of whiskey?\" Harowitz wore a size\neight shoe, carried a cane, could speak both French\nand German fluently. His left eye was weaker than\nhis right, but not enough to necessitate his wearing\nglasses. He was not married, had graduated from a\nlaw school magna cum laude, and also knew some\nSpanish. On his mother's side he was not full Jew.\nOr perhaps Hobbes would have waited until\nHarowitz had begun to explain something, such as\n\"The perfection of machinery, and the consequent\nlarge-quantity production, has made war an absolute\nnecessity for the first time in the world's history.\"\nThen Hobbes would answer, \"Yes, Harowitz, quite\nright, but what would you think of a man who walked\ninto your house and when you weren't watching him\nwent into your cupboard, and stole a drink of\nwhiskey?\"\nIt was not the drink of whiskey that Hobbes had\nminded. It was the principle of the thing. But he\nsaid nothing to Harowitz. The statement, after all,\nwould be too blunt, so blunt that even if Harowitz"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "13", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.15", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2015, "texte": "had not taken the whiskey he would realize that he\nwas being accused. But first of all, he must make\nsure that Harowitz was guilty. It did no good to mark\nthe bottle, since a small amount could easily be\nreplaced with water. Perhaps there was some\nharmless, colorless, tasteless substance which he could\nmix with water in a decanter beside the whiskey\nbottle; but if this mixture were poured into the\nwhiskey it would make the whiskey change color.\nHobbes imagined it turning a brilliant green or blood-\nclot red immediately before Harowitz's eyes. Then\nHobbes would come in and offer him a drink, bring\nout the whiskey bottle, look at it, look silently at\nHarowitz, put the bottle back, glance at his watch,\nand regret that he had an engagement.\nUntil he had something as definite as this,\nhowever ... so he had grunted merely, as he lay down\non the couch. Harowitz explained to him how war\nwas inevitable at this point in the world's history,\nand while he was talking Hobbes brought out the\nwhiskey . . . After a time they were not clear-headed;\nthe mixture of whiskey, gas fumes and old breath had\ntaken the freshness out of them. They watched each\nother now and then with tired eyes, trying to become\ninterested in some assertion. Harowitz left within an\nhour, while Hobbes continued to lie on the couch.\nHobbes listened to the soft pads of snow flattening\nagainst the windows. Rising, he switched off the\nlights and opened a window in the next room. The\ncold air began circulating . . . His mind was\ncompletely lax. So that the form of this procedure\nbegan to impress itself upon him. That is, he revolved\nit that he had been hot, and that now a cold current\nwas blowing across him. Later on that evening he\nwrote the following poem, which, after he had\nfinished it, sent him out for a long walk in the storm:\nHere are the facts, given as I have known them:\nLast night I slept with my shame bared to the ceiling;\nThe bed was hot against my back and buttocks;\nMy arms were swollen with the bites of black-flies."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "14", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.16", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1516, "texte": "And now the thunder-caps quit dropping below the\nhorizon;\nThe thunder-caps are beginning to march above me;\nI watch, with the salt stinging the rim of my eye-balls.\nA breeze starts up, making the lake look blue-black;\nThe blue-black swallows fly even more click-jaggy;\nThe green trees in the distance become also blue-black.\n1 close the windows fronting on the southwest;\nThe thunder falls immediately on the lightning;\nAnd the rush of rain in the trees upon the thunder.\n*\nThe black-flies of Massachusetts are blown into New\nHampshire;\nAnd the black-flies of New Hampshire are blown into\nMaine, while\nThose of Maine are blown, some into Canada and some\ninto the ocean.\nWater hits in bucket loads against the wood shed;\nWater hurries beneath the dried-up shingles; .\nWater drips mysteriously in the pantry.\nThe rain settles now to a steady business;\nIt lays itself without violence over the pastures;\nNight falls, with the rain now gently piddling.\nA new wind falls upon us from the northwest;\nVeering, it whips the fog along the hillsides;\nAnd shoves the entire storm out of my knowledge.\nA haze of light spreads in the north horizon;\nPale shafts of light waver on the north horizon;\nAnd puffs of light like dust wave toward the zenith.\nA calm lies on the face of the earth and waters;\nIt sits among the trees and in the valleys;\nA frost is nosing against the wild cherry blossoms.\nThe sun comes up as clean as a brand-new dollar;\nThe pink sun edges flatly above the skyline;\nAs rash as a blast of unexpected music."}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "15", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.17", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1895, "texte": "Praise to the Three-God, Father, Son and Spirit;\nWho, as He found Himself at the beginning;\nSo is He now, and so shall be forever!\nV.\nFather, Son and Holy Ghost, so comfortable in\nHeaven. (Oh merely that I might live in one of the\nback allies of Heaven, though my house fronted on\nsome dump heap of empty bottles and rusty tomato\ncans! Indeed, I conceive of Their comfort as that\nof a royal family that never was. A family, com-\nposed of king, and queen, and princes, and princesses,\nliving in a suite of rooms borne upon the shoulders\nof their subjects. The palace marches across the\ncountry, through rivers, up and over mountains, with\nthe populace squirming beneath, supporting it with\npoles. Ten thousand, say, labor simultaneously at\nthese supports, while others rest, others follow to take\ntheir places, others have been relieved from duty and\nreturn to their families. The palace moves in a\nstraight line, and in the course of this line there is a\nlake. The subjects disappear beneath the water;\nothers take a long breath, dive down, and replace them\nat the supports. Some are lost; many are content to\nsuck the water into their lungs, thus ending their\nunhappiness; but the palace moves on. At times music\nis heard from above, or a platform is let down for\nfood, or filth is thrown out, falling on the populace.\nBut otherwise, it travels like a silent cloud above them.\nSo comfortable in Heaven, and yet Jesus must go out\ninto the night again, leaving the warm fire of this\nsanctity.\nSome people were sitting in a prominent cafe in\nthe theatre district, when lo! Christ was discovered\nsitting among them. I can pay no greater tribute to\nmy countrymen than to recite the tact and affability\nwith which he was received. A committee was\norganized on the spot to show Mr. Jesus the more\nprominent sights of the town, such as Riverside Drive,\nthe Woolworth Building (from where he could get a"}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "16", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.18", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2111, "texte": "good bird's-eye view of the city) and the Brooklyn\nNavy Yards. At this last named place he was to be\ngiven a private demonstration of a new gas which our\nchemists had invented and which promised to put us\nfar and away in advance of all other fighting units of\nthe world. (The intention of this demonstration being\nto show that so long as Christianity possessed such\nweapons there need be no fear of the spreading of\nAsiatic paganism.)\nIt was suggested taking Him to one of our larger\nchurches, but this was quickly hushed up, as it was\nrealized that the situation would surely result in ill-\nfeeling, since, even if the Catholics could be persuaded\nto sacrifice this honor to the Protestants — which\nwas, of course, out of the question — at least twenty\nProtestant sects would have arisen to dispute the\nhonor amongst themselves. So it was thought wisest\nof all to take Him to a theatre.\nThe play was by a very prominent American\ndramatist, and had been reviewed by the New York\ncritics with such really gratifying and penetrating\ncomments as \"Every man, woman and child should\nsee this play (Times) . . . Really scrumptious (World)\n. . . Grips you from start to finish (American) . . .\nOne of the best plays of this season and far better\nthan anything of last season (Tribune) . . . An all\naround good play (Sun).\" There was some skating\non thin ice, but no one could fail to catch the moral\ntenor behind it all, and it was hoped that this moral\ntenor especially would appeal to Jesus. In one detail,\nhowever, the play had been amended, a short passage\nhaving been omitted from the first act which ran,\n\"Why am I so crucified with poverty!\" It had been\nunanimously decided that nothing unpleasant should\nbe suggested to Him.\nJesus was interviewed between the second and\nthird acts, but declared that he had nothing to say,\nrefusing especially to compare conditions here and in\nHeaven. But in spite of his reticence, favorable com-\nments appeared in all the evening papers, although one\nanti-Church labor organ queried mildly whether it\nwould be the Star of Bethlehem this time, or the Star\nof Bethlehem, Steel."}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "17", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.19", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2202, "texte": "During the play — which was a matinee — the\ncity administration had been anything but idle, and\nit was decided to give Christ the freedom of the city\nregardless of what might happen to the Jewish vote.\nSo He came out of the theatre and walked down\nBroadway to City Hall, and behind Him followed a\nlong procession of scenario-writers, burlesque Ama-\nzons, fairies, lounge-lizzards, Jew and Irish comedians,\njazz-hounds, pimps, promoters, whores, traveling\nsalesmen, confidence men, bookers, gamblers, kept\nwomen, millionaires' sons, publicity agents, sporting\nexperts, dopes, land-sharks, connoisseurs, rum-sellers,\nholders of boxes at the opera, ammunition makers,\nspecialists in men's diseases, whatever of the general\npopulace, in short, happened to be passing through\nTimes Square . . . and also angels. Not those Angels\nthat sit at the feet of Jesus in Heaven, however. I\nmean those more immediate angels, angels from Wall\nStreet, the backers for plays and movies . . . bald-\nheaded angels, angels whose intentions are juicy in\nproportion as their groins are parched, angels who\nwill dribble as much as twenty thousand, say, against\nsome coozy's leg. Yes, there were a number of these\nsweaty, red-faced angels in the procession.\nChrist suffered these honors, and many others,\nultimately slinking away from His followers, down\nside-streets with warnings, \"Commit no nuisance,\"\nthrough the smoke and slobber of the men's saloon\nof a Jersey ferry, and then, quite alone, as the sun\nwas going down, He stood in a graveyard, on a hill,\nlooking out over the Jersey swamps, kneeling — I\nknow my readers will pardon the theatricality of the\ngesture — with His arms outstretched to Heaven, He\nprayed and wept. Then, growing calmer, He read\nthe tombstone of Johann Bauer, geboren 1827, ge-\nstorben 1903, at present Mit Jesu. Weakened by a\npeculiar lassitude, He sat on one of the iron railings\nsurrounding the grave . . . Crickets began climbing\nupon His sandals, and Christ, noting their hunger,\ntook a boo from His nose and dropped it for them to\neat on. When this boo was consumed, he put another\nin its place . . . and so on, until all the crickets had\nbeen sated. As Christ heard a faint noise now, He\n2"}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "18", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.20", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1814, "texte": "bent His ear to the ground, discovering that the noise\ncame from one unusually minute cricket which was\nrubbing its wings across its back to produce a little\nwhirr of gratitude for the Divine Food it had received.\nA second later the entire swarm joined in, the\ngraveyard trembling with their praise. Then, with a\nblare of Hosannahs, an Angelic Horde flew toward\nHim out of the sunset. Other battalions answered\nfrom the West, as they likewise advanced steadily\nupon Jesus. And still others, from all corners of the\ncompass. The sky was churned with song and\nSeraphic Manoeuvres. For these great fleets of God's\nElect, muliplying egregiously, began winding in among\none another, melting together, separating, deploying in\nthe shape of V's like wild geese, or banked up like\npyramids, or upside down, or advancing in columns\n. . . while miracles were scattered upon the earth like\nseed. The sun, the moon, the stars, the planets and\nall the wandering bodies shone together. Fountains\nburst forth; wild beasts lolled among the clouds.\nAll song and motion stopped . . . some thunder\nwas climbing across the sky. Then, as it disappeared\nin the distance, things began revolving, a Sublime\nVortex sucked up into Heaven. In the very centre,\nunmistakably wide open, stood the Gate, with squa-\ndron after squadron of Angels already hurrying within.\nChrist, too, began rising, while God called out to Him\nsmiling, AHRLOM AHRLOMMA MINN OR. And\nChrist answered, MAHN PAUNDA OLAMMETH.\nThus had one spoken and the other answered. Then\nHe entered Heaven, the rear armies of the Angels\nfollowing Him rapidly.\nOlammeth! . . . the seed\n. . . This sudden certainty!\nFulfillment, bursting through the mists\nOlammeth, His Breasts!\nAcross night\nProjected . . . (latent) ...\nwhen lo! the Sun!\nThe Gate of Heaven swung shut.\n\nKENNETH BURKE"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c010", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c010", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "19", "page_fin": "19", "image_debut": 21, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.10", "titre_corps": "LAST LOOKS AT THE LILACS", "titre_sommaire": "LAST LOOKS AT THE LILACS", "signature_source": "WALLACE STEVENS", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "19", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.21", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 821, "texte": "LAST LOOKS AT THE LILACS\nWALLACE STEVENS\nTo what good, in the alleys of the lilacs,\nO caliper, do you scratch your buttocks\nAnd tell the divine ingenue, your companion,\nThat this bloom is the bloom of soap\nAnd this fragrance the fragrance of vegetal?\nDo you suppose that she cares a tick,\nIn this hymeneal air, what it is\nThat marries her innocence thus,\nSo that her nakedness is near,\nOr that she will pause at scurrilous words?\nPoor buffo! Look at the lavender\nAnd look your last and look still steadily,\nAnd say how it comes that you see\nNothing but trash and that you no longer feel\nHer body quivering in the Floreal\nToward the cool night and its fantastic star,\nPrime paramour and belted paragon,\nWell-booted, rugged, arrogantly male,\nPatron and imager of the gold Don Juan,\nWho will embrace her before summer comes."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c011", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c011", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.11", "titre_corps": "POSTER", "titre_sommaire": "POSTER", "signature_source": "HART CRANE", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.22", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 680, "texte": "POSTER\nHART CRANE\nAbove the fresh ruffles of the surf\nbright striped urchins flay each other with sand.\nThey have contrived a conquest for shell\nshucks,\nand their fingers crumble fragments of baked\nweed\ngaily digging and scattering.\nAnd in answer to their treble interjections\nthe sun beats lightening on the waves,\nthe waves fold thunder on the sand;\nand could they hear me I would tell them:\nO brilliant kids, frisk with your dog,\nfondle your shells and sticks, bleached\nwith time and the elements; but there is a line\nyou must not cross nor ever trust beyond it\nspry cordage of your bodies to caresses\ntoo lichen-faithful from too wide a breast.\nThe bottom of the sea is cruel."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c012", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c012", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.12", "titre_corps": "THE HOTHOUSE PLANT", "titre_sommaire": "THE HOTHOUSE PLANT", "signature_source": "WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS", "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=bmtnaay192301-01.1.23", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 477, "texte": "THE HOTHOUSE PLANT\nWILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS\n(Dedicated to Charles Demuth)\nPink confused with white\nflowers and flowers reversed\ntake and spill the shaded flame\ndarting it back\ninto the lamp's horn\npetal's aslant darkened with mauve\nred where in whorls\npetal lays its glow upon petal\nround flamegreen throats\npetals radiant with transpiercing light\ncontending\nabove\nthe leaves\nreaching up their modest green\nfrom the pot's rim\nand there, wholly dark, the pot\ngay with rough moss."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c013", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c013", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "22", "page_fin": "28", "image_debut": 24, "image_fin": 30, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.13", "titre_corps": "A GARDEN PARTY", "titre_sommaire": "A GARDEN PARTY", "signature_source": "SLATER BROWN", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 24, "page_imprimee": "22", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.24", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1994, "texte": "A GARDEN PARTY\n\nInside Millie's house (and in passing may we\nremark that except for that eyesore of a three-decker\nacross the way the Smith's house not only for its\nview, which was absolutely superb, but as a stunning\npiece of architecture elicited approval and admiration\nfrom every quarter?). Up and down the backstairs\nthrongs of breathless servants panted, hunting for the\nicecream spoons that had been mislaid or, as Mr.\nSmith observed from behind a newspaper, were non-\nexistent anyway while Millie in a horrid pet because\nshe had been crossed three times even on her birthday,\nbut once in particular when her mother had refused\npoint blank to let her consume the rest of that ten-\npound box of yumyum caramels Uncle Ben had\npresented at breakfast. Millie was wriggling and\nmaking wry faces at herself in the pier glass mirror\nbecause the maid would tie that big babyblue sash too\ntight around her middle.\n— You're squeezing me to PIECES!\nOnly the veribest families in Woodster were\ncoming to this party. Mrs. Smith had despatched\nengraved R. S. V. P. invitations to the meticulously\nchosen guests who had, with one exception, returned\nformal responses.\nFlorence Ashley was invited, and the two darling\nGrover boys with a frightfully goodlooking chum from\nprep school, and Frank Sweeney because his father had\nmade oodles of money out of the Great War, and the\nminister's daughter who poor thing had the kollv\nwobbles, and Helen Range even though Millie hated\nher like fury, and Dr. Tripp's three offspring because\ntheir mother was related to someone or other, and\nBilly Blodgett of course, and Mary Bruce because even\nif her mother was a Catholic and her father did drink\nlike a fish she was an awfully good sport, and the two\nFrimp sisters who were always dressed exactly alike\nand ever so cute. But all children from the very tiptop\nof the social ladder; and no mistake.\nHONK! HONK!\nMillie flew to the window. The Tripps of course.\nIn their rickety old flivver they always descended on"}, {"page_pdf": 25, "page_imprimee": "23", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.25", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1910, "texte": "you years before a party began and there they were\nnow; swarming out at the porte cochere. Millie\nstamping her foot with irritation exclaimed that she\nsupposed she would have to scamper right down and\nentertain them till the rest arrived. So she told the\nbutterfingers of a nurse to get a move on and tie that\nblooming sash.\n? Ambling affably across the grass Millie told the\nTripps how glad she was they could come to her\nparty and the Tripps said they were awfully glad\nthey could come too. So Millie showed them the new-\ndoubleactionguarranteed 18 jewel diamonds wisspatented-\nradioliteplatinumcasewristwatch her father had given\nher. And she even let Freddy Tripp listen to it\ntick. Then excusing herself gracefully she ambled off\nto confer with her mother in regard to the two specially\nimported negroes in swallowtails and scarlet vests who\nwere busily at work preparing the long table which\nthey had with great difficulty lugged out of the cellar\nand placed in the shadow of apple trees.\nIt was not long however before other glistening\nthigh-fruit of millionaires began floating down the\ngravel driveway in purling limousines. And the crisp\nlittle girls clustered around Millie and the shining little\nboys gathered around Mr. Smith. And Mr. Smith, in\nfun, snapped open his fancy cigarette case to jocularly\noffer the boys a 'coffin nail,' but was quite shocked\nwhen Frank Sweeney took one. And then all at once\nUncle Ben was discovered hiding behind a tree, he\nmight have been peeking there for hours, but Millie\nimmediately dragged him out by the hand and every-\nbody fell to playing drop-the-handkerchief except\nFrank Sweeney and Rusty Grover who sprawled on\nthe lawn chewing grass blades and laughing at funny\nthings.\n2.\nThe note the little boy brought was this:\nWoodster, Mass.\nDear Mrs. Smith,\nPlease excuse my son intruding on your party.\nBut seeing all the little tots going to it I just couldn't"}, {"page_pdf": 26, "page_imprimee": "24", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.26", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1797, "texte": "keep him away. He living right opposite so as he\ncould view everything from the parlor window.\nHoping Amos behaves as well as I told him\nI am,\nYour Neighbor,\n(Mrs) Phoebie Haggerty.\nTrimly clad in a swaggering little wash sailorsuit\nof sky blue, bright orange shoes, a jet black tie, and\na jaunty sailer-hat tipped way back on his head and\nlabelled with flashing gilt letters, \"t/.S.S. Reliance\" it\nwas evident that Amos had neglected nothing in the\nperformance of his toilet. His stockings were imma-\nculate, not a hair on his head was misplaced, his suit\nwas absolutely beyond the slightest suspicion or re-\nproach, while his pink face fairly glistened with clean-\nliness. Though perhaps not exactly garbed in silks\nand satins Amos as the spotless product of a bathroom\ncould well rival the wealthiest of the little folk who\ngamboled so merrily on the lawn before him.\nMrs. Smith, having completed her perusal of the\nnote, passed it to Mr. Smith with a meaning glance.\nBut even so impeccably fortified against criticism of\nany nature confusion while he waited o'erspread the\n„ features of the tiny tar and he seemed on the point of\nsetting all sails to beat a hasty retreat when Mrs. Smith\nbade him pause.\n— I suppose we better, said Mr. Smith.\n— I suppose we must, said Mrs. Smith, Millie 1\nHere's another guest.\nMillie, who at that moment was racing heedlessly\naround the circle of children with the handkerchief,\nstopped in her tracks and looked up.\n— O, she said, Him?\n— Gome and get him, Mr. Smith sharply com-\nmanded, His name's Amos.\n— But papa!\n— Will you, or will you not? replied Mr. Smith.\n— Do as your father says, added Mrs. Smith.\nPouting Millie flounced over.\n— Well, come along then, she said dragging the\nlittle tar behind her. This is Amos everyone. I don't\nknow his last name."}, {"page_pdf": 27, "page_imprimee": "25", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.27", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2025, "texte": "— Pleased to meet you, said Uncle Ben flashing\na number of gold teeth in an expansive smile. Come on\nin mate, the water's splendiferous. Make a berth for\nhim Freddie. That's the lad. Know how to play this\ngame. Yes? No? Millie start again, you're it arn't\nyou. One. Two. Three. Fire!\nAnd thus did Amos whose underthings silhouetted\non an evening clothesline were often a superfluous, if\nnot annoying, addition to the Smiths' vista of a lovely\nsunset, horn into society. But Amos either through\nembarrassment obstinacy or inherent slowness seemed\nincapable of mastering the mystic laws of drop-the-\nhandkerchief, and when somebody finally did drop it\nbehind him, Amos started off in the wrong direction\nand queered everything. Even Uncle Ben seemed\nirritated, so Mrs. Smith thought it best to lead Amos\naway under an apple tree where he could suck his\nthumb quietly to himself and permit the game to\ncontinue without further interruption.\nA large negro suddenly rising from behind a lilac\nbush announced tea.\n— Hurray! Hurrah! shouted Uncle Ben, Come\nboys, let's pitch in! And off across the lawn Uncle\nBen galloped, but had hardly traversed half the distance\nto the table than he tripped over a croquet wicket and\npitched violently onto his face.\n— O, screamed Mrs. Smith, Are you hurt Ben?\n— Not a bit Sal, cried Uncle Ben from the sod,\nand in the shake of a lamb's tail he was up again with\na big green smudge on his flannel trousers, but laugh-\ning just as heartily at his tumble as nearly everyone\nelse was, although it was quite evident he had been\nbadly shaken up.\nThen everyone found their proper places at the\ntable, except Amos who somehow got into Lillian\nFrimp's and had to be extracted but Mr. Smith boosted\nhim up on a red silk cushion so he could reach his\nfood, and right beside Millie too for some reason\nalthough it must be admitted, entirely without her\nconsent. And the negroes fell busily to work serving\nthe icecream which they produced in various fan-\ntastic shapes, such as cows trees bicycles soldiers"}, {"page_pdf": 28, "page_imprimee": "26", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.28", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1818, "texte": "kangaroos etc., to the intense excitement of Amos who\nattracted 110 little attention by laughing out loud when\nthe taller of the two negroes presented him what Amos\nthought was a hook-and-ladder, although it was really\nonly a trumpet. And everyone chattered and gobbled\nor were convulsed by Uncle Ben's excruciating jokes,\nwhile Millie queening it at the head of the table carried\non a flashy conversation with the Grover boys' fright-\nfully goodlooking chum who had seen a wild show in\nNew York three days before.\nBut just as Amos was earnestly shovelling into\nhis face the last delicious spoke of his hook-and-ladder,\n(or if you will have it) the last sweet note of his\ntrumpet, Uncle Ben rapped on the table for silence\nand raising his glass of lemonade recited the following\ntoast:\nHere's to the maiden of youthful fourteen,\nAnd here's to her father and mother,\nAnd if there is more of this splendid icecream\nWe are all of us primed for another!\nAll the guests cheered Uncle Ben's felicitous\nquatrain as it really expressed a general sentiment, but\nwhen he shouted, Speech! Speech! Millie shook her\nhead frantically and cried, please Papa! when Mr.\nSmith noisily reiterated the demand from the sidelines.\n— Let Amos speak then, Frank Sweeney sug-\ngested.\n— Yes, let AMOS speak: Rusty Grover cries and\nbanging on the table with his spoon chants;\nSilence in the courtroom, *\nThe monkey's going to speak!\n3.\nIn the sickening silence which followed this\npicturesque, though perhaps inhibiting proclamation,\nthe person so unexpectedly honored squirmed uneasily\nin his chair. With a mournful expression of resent-\nment he paused chewing a macaroon which at that\nmoment occupied his mouth, lowered his icecream\nspoon dismally to his plate, and peeked ruefully up\nout of the corner of his eye at the clamorous mul-\ntitude."}, {"page_pdf": 29, "page_imprimee": "27", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.29", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1835, "texte": "— SPEECH! SPEECH! everyone yelled.\nHis face which nature had endowed with a pig-\nment none too uninflammable, rapidly galloped through\na gamut of reds until it finally terminated in a flaming\nscarlet. His eyes spun horribly in their sockets, and\nthen all of a sudden at once . . .\n4.\nMillie hopped off her chair. Setting a firm though\nmortified jaw she ran to her mother. With an ex-\npression of embarrassed surprise Uncle Ben slowly\nrose to his feet to offer his services, if needed. The\nlittle guests also jumped up and stared at one another\nor stood on chairs. Rusty Grover to be fresh (because\nUncle Ben had spoken first) cried, Uncle Ben's the\nmonkey. Some of fthe children snickered, the\nminister's daughter who thought the confusion was\nall about her went into hysterics, and little Amos over-\ncome by shame and desolation lowered his head\ngradually to the table and abandoned himself to a\nseries of doleful noises.\n— There, there, Mrs. Smith comforted reaching\nunder his arm pits and lifting him off the cushion,\nBut I should say so! Quick, one of you take this.\nNegro hands spirited away the cushion.\nI knew it would happen exclaimed Millie, the\nlittle pig! and I told you here Ben said Mrs. Smith\nyou better take him home right here Sal.\nUncle Ben nudged into the crowd.\nI told you mamma keep quiet Millie a moment\nthat's right put him on his feet where does he live?\nacross the street stand back children he's all wet please\nI told you mamma Millie will you keep still? where's\nhis hat? O on the tree yes I've will you? yes, I'll\nget it then.\n— I diden wanna, Amos blubbered.\n— That's all right mistakes in the best I'll put on\nhis hat I told you Millie will you go and sit down? O\nbut I've got it right here O then you put it O well I\nwill O I can.\n— Know where he lives? Mrs. Smith asked.\n— Across the way, Uncle Ben said."}, {"page_pdf": 30, "page_imprimee": "28", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.30", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2011, "texte": "Yes dear but never mind about his hat the im-\nportant thing just leave me be Sal dear I'll get it on\nimportant thing is get him home to his mother\nwhadeedo? innocently Freddie Tripp whispered and\nwas told hush!\nSo Uncle Ben took Amos's snivelled paw in his\nand the little tar waddling across Mr. Smith's expan-\nsive lawns on something like sea legs continued to\nsmudge his eyesockets with his fist and plaintively\nprotest, but looking not at all shipshape with his\njaunty sailor-hat sliding down over his eyes because\nMr. Smith was hurried and had caught the elastic band\nunder the child's nose instead of his chin. But Uncle\nBen leaned over ever so patiently telling Amos it\nhappened to everybody even to Uncle Ben himself\nwhen he was not on the lookout.\nHardly was there time to watch them disappear\nbeyond the hedge than cries of Look! Look! were\nraised for across the lawn were the two negroes stag-\ngering under a glistening and enormous birthday cake\nthat must have measured seven feet across if it mea-\nsured an inch. The cake was of ecclesiastical design with\nsugar spires in which real little bells were hung that\ntinkled gently as the negroes bore it toward the table.\nAnd there were stained glass windows cleverly built\nof colored candy and little sugar people going in and\nout of the cake and wearing frock coats. Surrounding\nit were fourteen flickering candles, one for each of\nMillie's fourteen years. And upon the front of it\nemblazoned with vari-colored pellets, were the words\n\"Happiness and Joy\" under which in even larger letters\nwas written the word, \"Afi7/ie\". And the tallest spire of\nthe cake must have been five feet high and was sur-\nmounted by a large prune.\nEveryone licking their lips said what a shame it\nwas to eat the cake because it was really a wonderful\nwork of art, but Millie knew in her mind what they\nreally thought.- So she carefully raised a large cleaver\nand with the most disengaging and innocent smile in\nthe world divided it into fifteen equal portions.\n\nSLATER BROWN"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c014", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c014", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "29", "page_fin": "29", "image_debut": 31, "image_fin": 31, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.14", "titre_corps": "CORRESPONDENCE", "titre_sommaire": "CORRESPONDENCE", "signature_source": "John Brooks Wheelwright", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 31, "page_imprimee": "29", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.31", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 2017, "texte": "CORRESPONDENCE\nJohn Brooks Wheelwright\nSirs: Interstice Between Scylla and Charybdis\nwould seem to be addressed, not to sea-farers, but to\nthe monsters themselves, for surely the faults of the\nLittle Review and Broom are already widely current\nas bits of useless information. Less waste of time\nwere these opinions formulated not to remind editors\nof their failings, but to serve as a sine hoc non for the\nselection of a group who would make comment on\narty and forward looking journalism superfluous. The\neditorial is itself a very pat instance of \"combative\nrecognition of stupidity.\" To discern the faults of\nothers is not always to avoid them one's self. Neither\nis it necessary to depart from a policy in order to\ndefend it.\nWhat, o Secession, is there left to secede from?\nIncorrigible Romantic, what a name is yours! The\ntask confronting modern artists is sustained work, not\nrevolt. The attitude that Mencken has brought his\ncriticism of Puritanism to the point where further\ntriumph would entail silence, that Brooks can be\ntrusted to carry the task he has set himself to complete\nexpression, implies not ungracious revolt, but humble,\nif tacit, acquiescence. Else there will come from\ndispersal and frustration a premature reaction, and\nall will seem still born. Yet were not prophecy rash\nfor the unelect, I should predict that Secession, despite\nits name, is to combine the virtues of the Little Review\nwith those virtues which it has not, and if only by talk-\ning less, to accomplish for America what one is asked\nto believe the Dial is accomplishing, and finally to\nsurpass, because of a primary interest in literature, the\nphilosophical and critical standards of the New Repu-\nblic. It surprizes me to see these stalwart adjectives\nused to typify that pink blanket. Only one adjective\nseems appropriate to me, ephemeral. The horrid\nplague of what Miss Lowell calls the intentionally\nminor has struck letters. To this, haply, the group\nnow forming is immune, for most decidedly their\naims are otherwise."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c015", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c015", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "30", "page_fin": "30", "image_debut": 32, "image_fin": 32, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.15", "titre_corps": "The intent of editorial, however, was merely", "titre_sommaire": "The intent of editorial, however, was merely", "signature_source": "G. B. M", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 32, "page_imprimee": "30", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.32", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1684, "texte": "G. B. M.\nThe intent of editorial, however, was merely\nto use the Little Review and the Broom as Horrible\nExamples of perils between which Secession is to\nsteer. Had I wished to attack them as previously I\nwished to attack the Dial, I should certainly have\ntried to penetrate deeper in my analysis. But for my\npurpose in Interstice Between Scylla and Charybdis\nall that I felt necessary was summary descriptions of\nthe two \"monsters\" — descriptions which may be, as\nMr. Wheelwright claims, widely current as bits of\nuseless information. The full clause was \"a comba-\ntive recognition of stupidities it is better to ignore than\nto waste energy upon.\" I differ in opinion from Mr.\nWheelwright. I do not believe either the Little\nReview or the Broom is that kind of stupidity.\nThere is emphatically something from which to\nsecede: the American literary milieu of the past decade,\na milieu which believed that literature was social\ndynamics and that its social significances were para-\nmount. There are, in addition, bitter necessities\ninherent in this milieu which demand secession. One\nof them is precisely the lack of opportunity for\ndevelopment by others which the valuable work of\nBrooks and Mencken exemplifies. And there is, at\nleast, a small group of writers able by reason of the\ndifferent direction of their work to organize a secession.\nFor secession is not revolt. It is rather a resig-\nnation from a milieu whose objects are other than\nours. It is an unemotional sloughing-ofT by writers\nwho profit by the gains of that milieu, but have never\nbeen bound to it. It is, in essence, a prompt deviation\ninto immediate esthetic concerns. Our warfare is not\ndenying, but tangential."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c016", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c016", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "31", "page_fin": "32", "image_debut": 33, "image_fin": 34, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.16", "titre_corps": "CONGRATULATIONS, AND MORE \"ILL-MANNERED REFERENCES\"", "titre_sommaire": "CONGRATULATIONS, AND MORE \"ILL-MANNERED REFERENCES\"", "signature_source": "Gorham B. Munson", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 33, "page_imprimee": "31", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.33", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1816, "texte": "CONGRATULATIONS,\nAND MORE \"ILL-MANNERED REFERENCES\"\n\nThe Dial announces that its 1922 Award goes to\nMr. T. S. Eliot. Secession feels that the Dial has\nhonored itself by this choice and is glad to join in the\napplause for so very excellent a poet and critic as\nMr. Eliot has proved himself.\nGilbert Seldes to Gorham B. Munson:\n\"The terms are exceedingly de-\nfinite.\" — Letter No. 1. \"Possibly the\nconditions are not definite. One way\nof defining them is by making the\naward.\" — Letter No. 2.\nThe next paragraphs are a purely personal\nstatement . . . Believing the Dial award to be a public\nconcern, I believe it should be discussed as frankly as\nThe Waste Land itself. Therefore, I objected to its\nfirst recipient on the ground that he did not fulfil, as\nI understood them, the conditions of the award. In\nthis, — although I have since discovered that the re-\nports on Mr. Sherwood Anderson current in Europe\nwere incorrect in detail, though fairly accurate in pur-\nport, — I still maintain I was justified. Mr. Eliot\ncomes much closer to the conditions as they seemed\nto import when first announced.\nBut since these conditions are admittedly vague\nin the light of later qualifications, are they not a little\nunfair both to the recipient and the interested public?\nAlso, as the award is being gradually defined by the\nprocess of making it, is not the distinction between\nan award and a prize (which the editors of the Dial\nso often assure us they are not giving) rapidly evapo-\nrating? It does seem as though the award is used to\ncrown whatever creative achievement in the current\nyear seems the most distinguished to the Dial editors,\nirrespective of all things else but American citizenship\nand publication in the Dial. Until the next award\nthen clarifies the conditions still more, I shall speak\nof the Dial Prize."}, {"page_pdf": 34, "page_imprimee": "32", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.34", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 701, "texte": "None of this is at all directed against Mr. Eliot,\nwho deserves all the prizes in Christendom not only\nbecause he is a distinguished man of letters, but\nbecause he is besides a gentleman of letters. I hope\nthat the award of the Dial Prize to him will clearly\nimpress journalism everywhere with his superiority.\nI cannot, however, hope that Mr. Eliot, being devoted\nto artistic excellences, will profit by the prize so well\nfinancially as did his predecessor, Mr. Sherwood\nAnderson, whose fiction now appears in Harpers and\nthe Pictorial Review (at fabulous rates per word sent\non request) as well as in the Dial! No, Mr. Eliot is\nhardly likely to reproduce that embarrassing trinity.\n\nGorham B. Munson"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c017", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c017", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "32", "page_fin": "33", "image_debut": 34, "image_fin": 35, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.17", "titre_corps": "NOTE ON DER STURM", "titre_sommaire": "NOTE ON DER STURM", "signature_source": "K. B", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 34, "page_imprimee": "32", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.34", "debut_caractere": 703, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1896, "texte": "NOTE ON DER STURM\n\nOn reading Herwarth Walden's Kunstdammerung\nin Der Sturm (13th year, No. 7—B) one asks himself\nwith distress whether two parties of reaction are\nfighting for dictatorship of the arts. There is the\nretour element, pleading for an art which will have\na more fundamental relationship with life; and over\nagainst it, there is the struggle to preserve the\nexclusively esthetic point of view. Says Herr Walden,\ndefending the latter, \"The man who requires the\nrepresentation of water in order to see a blue\ncompletely lacks the artistic eye. If, when placed\nbefore a colour, one must think something before he\ncan experience it, he is without any colour sense\nwhatever. A colour is not received in the soul, but in\nthe eye. Everything else is simply the association of\nthe subject.\" Walden's message is strenuous and\naccurate throughout, but the reader is not compelled\nto accept it. The choice lies between retaining a\nmethod found within the last twenty years, or so, and\nrecovering a method which has sat upon Europe for\nwhole centuries ... In this same issue, and the one\npreceding, there is a remarkable article by Jorg Mager\non the quarter-tone scale, containing documents on"}, {"page_pdf": 35, "page_imprimee": "33", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.35", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1389, "texte": "its history, the nature of quarter-tone instruments,\nmusic written for the quarter-tone scale, and taking\nup various points of harmonization. Analysis and\nsynthesis; modern efforts seem to be moving in both\ndirections simultaneously; and to those who object\n\"Why the quarter-tone scale?\" the answer is,\nobviously, \"To prepare the way for the eighth-tone\nscale\" ... In the ninth number Lothar Schreyer begins\nan article on The Word. The drawing of fine lines\nseems pointless enough up to date; one gets exhaust-\nively what one already knew without exhaustion.\n\"Logokratie\" does not appear in this first installment;\nyet, surely, that is the essential matter, the exact fixing\nof those regions wherein the word is man's servant\nand where it is his master. Man's business is primarily\nthat of the slayer; is not the word his best weapon for\nthe slaying of emotions, by transferring them into\nadequate ideas? Or, conversely, the word cuts through\na great complexity of ideas, by creating an emotion.\nIf our prognostics are correct, Herr Schreyer is going\nto discuss an equally promising aspect, however: the\nfunction of the word to staticize a transition; at least,\nthe article ends on that note. In any case, here is a\nsubject which has, up to this time, been in the exclu-\nsive possession of philosophical dictionaries; we expect\nDer Sturm to give it a new twist, and await\nnumber 10.\n\nK. B."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c018", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c018", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "34", "page_fin": "34", "image_debut": 36, "image_fin": 36, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.18", "titre_corps": "BOOKS RECEIVED FOR REVIEW", "titre_sommaire": "BOOKS RECEIVED FOR REVIEW", "signature_source": "G. B. M", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 36, "page_imprimee": "34", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.36", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1236, "texte": "BOOKS RECEIVED FOR REVIEW\nG. B. M.\nPeter Whiffle. By Carl Van Vechten. Knopf.\n2.—. The opening chapters titillate one's memories\nof Paris: later chapters on Mabel Dodge's studio par-\nties titillate one's interest in the peripheral activities\nof artists. The sum total return from writing whose\ntedious \"being bright\" is broken only by awkward sags\nand whose attempt at satire is impotent because the\nessential properties — a solid and a rapier — are\nlacking. Mr. Knopf, taking heed of German publishers,\noutshines his author by his book covers. The chief\ninterest of Peter Whiffle is the sorry commentary the\nenthusiastic reception accorded to it makes on Ameri-\ncan \"critics.\"\nIndelible. By Elliot H. Paul. Houghton Miflin.\n$ 1.75. Mr. Paul is a promising recruit to that field of\nAmerican fiction bounded by Dreiser, Lewis, Floyd Dell,\nand Zona Gale whom he resembles most. To those\nwho have already surveyed1 the esthetic possibilities\nof this field, he offers nothing beyond a pleasant\nvariation. And to those still interested in it, I leave his\ncloser assessment. Burton Rascoe believes Indelible is\nthe first instance of a literary use of the American\nlanguage. Mr. Rascoe, however, is famously grateful\nfor small accomplishments."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c019", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c019", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[35]", "page_fin": "[35]", "image_debut": 37, "image_fin": 37, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.19", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 37, "page_imprimee": "[35]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.37", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1277, "texte": "Elizabeth Delza\nannounces the re-opening of her School of the\nDance at Studio 61, Carnegie Hall, 7th Avenue\nand 57 th St., New York. Miss Delza is a dancer\nat the Neighborhood Playhouse, New York, and\nan instructor in dancing at the Seymour School\nof Musical Re-Education. She was formerly a\npupil of Mary Porter Beegle and Michio Itow\nand has studied at the Dalcroze School, Paris.\nFor the fall season she offers four courses of\nStudies in Rhythm and Plastique in Natural\nDancing. Each course will consist of 20 lessons\nand will meet once a week. The tuition is $ 35\nfor each, payable in two installments, $20 at the\nbeginning and $ 15 in the middle of the course.\nCourse A is for children (7 to 10 years) and meets on\nSaturdays from 3 to 4 p. m., starting October 14.\nCourse Bis for children (11 to 14 years) and meets on\nSaturdays from 4 to 5 p. m., starting October 14.\nCourse C is for adults (beginners) and meets on\nThursdays from 8 to 9 p. m., starting October 19.\nCourse D is for adults (advanced) and meets on\nThursdays from 9 to 10 p.m., starting October 19.\nEach class is limited to only eight students of\neither sex, thus insuring careful attention.\nFor further information and registry, write\nELIZABETH DELZA\n1361 — 46th St., Brooklyn, N. Y.\nTel. Blythebourne 4424"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c020", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c020", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[36]", "page_fin": "[36]", "image_debut": 38, "image_fin": 38, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.20", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 38, "page_imprimee": "[36]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.38", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 903, "texte": "P APE\nWhen the English edition of JURGEN came out, FRANK PAPfe,\nthe man who illustrated it, 'woke up to find himself famous'.\nThe black-and-whites were a sensation. Four new pen and ink\ndrmi%sX'ear in THE WAVE No. 5\nThe same number will include three fascinating, beautifully\nexecuted stories—\n\"The Deaf Satyr\" from the Spanish of Ruben Dario by\nH. C. SCHWEIKERT\n\"The Transformation of Trefekew\" by SAMSON HORN\n\"The Princess Antimacassar\" by VINCENT STARRETT\nand an Essay by ARTHUR MACHEN\nand poems by ANNIE HIGGINS, ELIZABETH OSBORN, WIL-\nBUR UNDERWOOD and others.\n(Miss Higgins and Miss Osborn are discoveries of the Editor of THE WAVE)\nAle A Other stories, essays and poems, and the Demi-Tasse—the\nAlaU Editor's gossip on Life and Letters—and original wood cuts.\nIf* O C 117 * IT p A Journal of Art and letters\n* *1 Published Bf-Monihly\n2103N. Haisted St., Chicago, hi. — 25 c. a copy $ 1.50 the Year"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c021", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c021", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01", "ocr_source": "OCR Blue Mountain (ALTO), transcription TEI : lignes lb/@facs", "texte_sans_correction": true, "page_debut": "[36]", "page_fin": "[36]", "image_debut": 38, "image_fin": 38, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.21", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 38, "page_imprimee": "[36]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.38", "debut_caractere": 905, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1742, "texte": "REBELS AND REACTIONARIES\nrub shoulders amiably and in perfect harmony in\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER\nPublished at New Orleans\nwhich prints good writing by youngsters or greybeards regardless\nof school, influence, or tradition. It shares none of the prejudices\nof the right wing or the left wing in contemporary literature,\nbut \"deceives them both by speaking the truth.\" It prints\nexhilarating creative and critical material by such writers as\nHart Crane Arthur Symons\nDjuna Barnes Lord Dunsany\nLouis Oilmore Lafcadio Hearn\nCarl Van Vechten Maxwell Bodenheim\nEdmund Wilson jr. Paul Eldridge\nand half a hundred others.\nYou have heard r\\ I |Q| CT f\"\\ ET A I CD Why not see\nof the L/VJUOL-CL UHAl—Lin What it is?\nSingle copy 25 cents — Year's subscription $ 2.50\nTrial Offer: Five Months $ 1.00\nI\nAddress: 204 Baronne Street, New Orleans, La., U.S.A."}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c022", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c022", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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": 39, "image_fin": 39, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.22", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 39, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.39", "debut_caractere": 0, "fin_caractere_exclue": 1012, "texte": "The first three issues of\nSECESSION\nwere greeted by its contemporaries in America and\nEurope with outcries of rage, scorn, hatred, envy,\nsuperstition, admiration, wonder, fear, pity, rancour,\nreverence, mockery, acclaim, obloquy, indicating that\nA REVIEW DEVOTED TO\nEXPERIMENTAL LITERATURE,\nand to Adventures with New and Old Forms, and to\nthe overhauling of Criticism, would not pass\nUnheard, Unfelt, Unsung, Unwept,\nSECESSION\nwill continue to take new directions in every number.\nThe other magazines are its points of departure! The\nnext two numbers of SECESSION will be devoted\nrespectively to DESTRUCTIVE and CONSTRUCTIVE\nCriticism of American Writings.\nAmerican writers who will contribute to SECESSION are:\nRichard Ashton Slater Brown\nWill Bray Kenneth Burke\nMalcolm Cowley Hart Crane\nE. E. Cummings Waldo Frank\nMatthew Josephson Marianne Moore\nGorham B. Munson Wallace Stevens\nWilliam Carlos Williams\nSubscription: One Dollar for six Issues\nAddress:\nGorham B. Munson, 1361 46th. Street,\nBrooklyn, New York"}]}, {"article_id": "bm-bmtnaay-1923-01-01-c023", "article_bluemountain": "bmtnaay_1923-01_01#c023", "volume": "bmtnaay_1923-01_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": 40, "image_fin": 40, "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=bmtnaay192301-01.2.23", "titre_corps": "[Publicité]", "titre_sommaire": "[Publicité]", "signature_source": "", "controle": "bornes données par la structure logique METS/ALTO de Blue Mountain (blocs ALTO de chaque constituant)", "pages": [{"page_pdf": 40, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.40", "debut_caractere": 55, "fin_caractere_exclue": 147, "texte": "\"Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends\nThis treasure of an oyster.\"\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\n%"}]}], "pages_ocr_originales": [{"page_pdf": 1, "page_imprimee": "couv. 1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.1", "texte": "NUMBER FOUR\nJANUARY 1923"}, {"page_pdf": 2, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.2", "texte": "DIRECTORS: KENNETH BURKE, MATTHEW JOSEPHSON,\nGORHAM B. MUNSON\nMANAGING EDITOR — GORHAM B. MUNSON\nAddress all correspondence to Gorham B. Munson,\n1361 -46 Street, Brooklyn, New York\nSUBSCRIPTION\nFor six numbers, one dollar in America, 5 shillings in Eng-\nland, 15 francs in France. The price of a single number is\n20 cents in America, one shilling in England,\n3 francs in France\nNUMBER FOUR JANUARY 1923\n\n•SfX POEMS\nIN QUEST OF OLYMPUS\nLAST LOOKS AT THE LILACS\nPOSTER\nTHE HOTHOUSE PLANT\nA GARDEN PARTY\nCORRESPONDENCE\nNOTE ON \"DER STURM\"\nBOOK REVIEWS\ni\nCover Design by William Sommer\nRichard Ashton\nKenneth Burke\nWallace Stevens\nHart Crane\nWilliam Carlos Williams\nSlater Brown"}, {"page_pdf": 3, "page_imprimee": "1", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.3", "texte": "A MOTOR=CYCLE, AND OFF\nTO THE BEACH!\nThe sunlight is glowing golden on the fields full\nof marigold; the sunlight is flaming green in the first\nspray of leaves that sways in the trees; the sunlight is\nbrown and gold over the meadows and along the\nhighroad.\n\"All ready, Betty?\"\n\"All ready, Jim.\"'\n\"Then I'll let her rip.\"\nAnd off goes the motor-cycle, chuck-chuck, clatter,\nhang, sput-sput, sput-sput zip down the road between\nthe green trees and out through the hills, Jim in front\nin the saddle, with his cap jammed backward over his\nglasses; Betty hanging on behind, astraddle, throwing\nback her head, and laughing with all her white teeth,\nas the air passes over her face and snatches at her hair.\n'All there, Beth?''\n\"All there, Jim. Let's go!\"\n\" Faster?\"\nJim turns on more gas, and off goes the old buzzer\ndown the road, curving between the cars that already\nhum over the macadam in long lines this Sunday\nmorning.\n\"There's not a thing like it for speed, girl!\"\n\"Keep it up! I adore going fast!\"\nFaster the trees blurr past, as the motor trembles\nand swerves; faster the houses and barns. The road\nwhitens up to meet them, and flickers away behind —\ninto villages, out of villages, faster, faster, down and\naway, white-hot with the motion and life of the day —\ntrees merging into a haze-green fence with brown\npoles — houses like patches of white, with dark holes\n— faster and faster — chuck-chuck, rattle sput-sput\nsputsput down and away . . .\nWhile above\nThe winds play gently back and forth,\nAnd the long lazy clouds swing leisurely\nOver the blazing sky."}, {"page_pdf": 4, "page_imprimee": "2", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.4", "texte": "IN THE COPLEY BALL=ROOM\nDown\nit goes\nWith a\nlingering swing,\nThe long glowing rhythm\nof the low violin,\nMoving with a lilt,\nwith a tilt,\nwith a snatch,\nDown — down — with a wriggle,\nand a twinkle,\nand a catch. . . .\nWhile the couples move silently over the\nfloor, gliding in an undulating, arabesque\ncurve; their shoulders poised, as they dip and\nswerve, as they lift, and linger, and lift once\nmore: an intricate pattern of dark-clothed men,\nthat mingles and merges, in softened yellow\nlight, with the flimsy shimmer of green and\nwhite, following, fluttering, following again, —\nwith the rose-red shimmer, the glimmering\nblack, that passes, and turns, and surges back\nTo the insinuating moan\nAnd the syncopated croon\nNaseling out of the saxophone\nIn a metal softness\nOf ripening tones,\nIn a swaying tune.\nAnd into the free space, here by the door,\nswing two that skim with the motion of one:\nher delicate amber ruffles run over the opaque\nblack of his coat — his feet caress her moving\nfeet in their golden-slippered following; and the"}, {"page_pdf": 5, "page_imprimee": "3", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.5", "texte": "mounting flush of her petal-soft cheek brushes\nthe ruddiness of his face, their half-open lips\ntoo tense to speak:\nA whirl of grace,\nAnd a pause and a poise,\nAnd a restrained urge,\nAnd a balanced joy. —\nLost again in the crowd and the surge that\ncatches at the rhythm of the violin, the rhythm\nthat halts, and holds, and proceeds, that spins\nup — and glows down\nand flares ...\nand recedes . . .\n\nSEARCHLIGHTS\nLike five straight fingers\nThe searchlights move their stiff whiteness over\nheaven,\nFeeling into the blue-black yielding of space.\nBut their dim stripes cannot dull the stars,\nTheir slim mist cannot frost the whiteness of\nfire:\nAnd when they reach out to touch glowing\npatterns,\nThey fail and fade into pale-green vagueness,\nBlunted against infinity.\n\nSTAR - WIND\nThe branches shiver in the hanging night,\nAs if the rain were splashing in the leaves.\ni\nBut it is only rhythmic-running wind:\nThe cloudless sky is full of distant stars.\n2"}, {"page_pdf": 6, "page_imprimee": "4", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.6", "texte": "MOON — GARDEN\nWhat have I done to you? What have I done?\nIs it my moons are too beautiful,\nYou that have only one?\nMy pale pink moon of peony-petals,\nMy deep round crimson-dahlia moon,\nMy twilight garden where the day's wind settles?\nI have moons delicately green,\nFaintly flavored with mint, like ice;\nI have moons infinitely white,\nWith a silent fragrance within their light;\nHere are great marble discs hung in the sky,\nAnd gongs of shivering gold-grey metals;\nHere are torn clouds with their tigerlilies:\nA million beauties, blood blood-red beauties.\nO you looking over my wall,\nYou looking into my garden that see\nOne flower — one:\nMy eyes have passed your painted picture-post-\ncard moon\nAnd seen not what you see\nBut my garden, my flowers, my rose-cool\nbeauties,\nMy fire of paradise, winterless June.\nThat it is I have done to you! That have I done!\n\nTHE JILTED MOON\nRICHARD ASHTON\nA Yif\\ f'''\nAk 3 . S*T ji 112 J? ' I I \"\",;\"~C \"P 11 S I '. %'' J I lW; t BVIT"}, {"page_pdf": 7, "page_imprimee": "5", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.7", "texte": "IN QUEST OF OLYMPUS\n\nI.\nWith an uncertain tide — or better, current, since\nI am speaking of a little lake, or an enormous spring,\nor some sort of underground river — I simply took\nall chances and allowed myself to drift. For the most\npart it was black; me lying in the bottom of the boat,\nconscious by means of some complicated mechanism\nof sensation, or rather, some peculiar centralization\nfrom divers termini, of a gentle motion; the boat\nscraping now and then against an unseen rock that\njutted up, or perhaps the sides of the cavern. Once or\ntwice I passed a little ball of pale blueish light,\nhowever. A crunching sound. The boat had grounded\non pebbles. Feeling in the dark, I stepped out on a\nsmooth bank which began to ascend immediatety. I\nsaid farewell to my boat — perhaps forever! — and\nbegan climbing. It soon became rough and jagged,\nlike a sieve for grinding nutmeg, then narrowed after\nthe manner of an inverted funnel, and finally was\nalmost as steep as a perpendicular cylinder. ... I had\nto stop, for I had come upon a wall, a smooth, flat\nsurface; and further, I was exhausted. I dropped where\nI lay, fell into a sort of stupor, and when I regained\nconsciousness it was owing to faint irregular taps\ncoming from far beneath me and forcing themselves\nupon my notice. It was my boat, broken from its\nmoorings, starting easily on its way!\nI cursed the foolhardiness that had got me into\nthis thing. And I confess that I even wept, for the\nfeeling of desolation and loneliness which came over\nme was too powerful for resistance. Then I remem-\nbered my training, and putting away all fears, confided\nmy problems to Him who sees even the slightest move\nwe make, and who. hears even the weakest little sigh\nlrom our uttermost within. A new courage poured\ninto me like wine, and I recommenced examining the\nwall. At last I came upon a place where the smooth-\nness of it was broken by cracks large enough for\nme to insert my fingers, and the ascent continued."}, {"page_pdf": 8, "page_imprimee": "6", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.8", "texte": "As I climbed, it began slowly to dawn in the\ncavern. (The noonday sun of the countryside above,\nthat is, was penetrating through some cavity into these\ndepths.) I came upon the first sickly weeds, a few\nbeetles, worms and the like. And it was not long\nbefore I was in full daylight, struggling through a thick\nunderbrush which was so luxuriant, so impenetrable,\nthat I almost wished for the cool desolation of mv\ncavern. Working among the briars, especially the\ninsistent blackberries — insistent because they seemed\nto be actually reaching out to catch the wool of my\ncoat — I came upon a cluster of sumac, and then an\neven thicker muddle of ferns and alders. As the\nground was unusually rough, my feet would slip from\nthe rocks, and lodging in some unnoticed cavity\ncovered with dead leaves, they would be held there by\na tangle of roots, while at the same time I was kept\nbusy dodging beneath the low crooked branches,\nmaking detours, or creeping through chance holes\nin the foliage. And then of a sudden I broke through\nto a road, and looked across broad easy meadows . . .\nand why! there was the house where Treep used\nto live!\nAnd that stump in front of Treep's house, that\nwas where the oak used to be which Treep had loved\nso much and then his master had ordered him to cut\nit down. Treep used to go out and pat the shaggy\nbark of this oak while it was still standing. But his\nmaster said finally, \"Treep, cut down the oak.\" Since\nit was decided that the oak was needed for timber.\nBefore that Treep had even felt that long after he was\ndead the oak would stand there; but now the oak had\nto be chopped down, and Treep went out with his\naxe to chop it.\nNo one was near, however, so that Treep rubbed\nhis head against it, and explained how unhappy he\nwould be without it, and how he would hollow out the\nstump and plant therein some of its own acorns.\nThen, after weeping, he attacked the trunk with his axe.\nBut as he swung his axe, it caught in a low\nbranch which was sagging somewhat, Treep being\nknocked on his back by the rebound of this branch.\nAt first he was angry; but he said that it was right"}, {"page_pdf": 9, "page_imprimee": "7", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.9", "texte": "for the oak to defend itself, and it should not be\nrebuked. When he returned to chopping, however, a\nrotten branch from high up in the tree became\ndislodged, and cut a gash in the nape of Treep's neck.\n\"Thou ungrateful oak!\" he shouted in anger; \"Thou\nmust know that it is not my fault that I must kill thee,,\nand thus not place the added burden of thine own\ndisobedience upon a heart which is already weighted\ndown by the necessity of fulfilling a loathsome\ncommand put upon it by my master!\" And Treep\nresumed his task.\nBut as the axe sank into the trunk, a large chip\nof wood flew up, striking Treep full on the forehead,\nso that the blood poured down into his eyes. Treep\narose at one leap, regained his axe, and began\nbrandishing it about his head. \"Oak!\" he shrieked;\n\"Oak! Thou art no longer the big friendly thing that\nI rubbed my ears against and hugged with my arms,\nbut a monument of malice and spitefulness rising\nbetween me and the commands of my master. And\nthe love I bore for thee now being completely\nvanished, I swear by the blood dripping from my\nforehead that I shall attack thee in all ferocity, not\nstopping until thou lyest a corpse at my feet!\"\nAnd then Treep assailed the oak with bitterness,\nhalf blinded by the blood from his forehead, his body\naching and tired, but sustained with such a vengeance\nagainst his old friend that he hardly knew what he\nwas doing. Indeed, blinded as he was by the flow\nof both his blood and his emotions, and although a\npractised woodsman, he was not felling the oak\nproperly. And1 when at last it became so weakened\nthat it began to topple, he saw that it was falling\ntoward his master's garden. At this point he was\nplunged into an inordinate hate; he did not even take\ninto account the enormous mass of his enemy, but\nas the oak began leaning with increasing rapidity, he\nhurled aside his axe, and heaved his shoulders against\nthe falling trunk, trying in this way to change the\ndirection of its fall!\nBut the oak continued on its descent, and as it\nstretched out along the ground it held Treep beneath\nit, crushing the life out of him almost instantaneouslv.\n%/"}, {"page_pdf": 10, "page_imprimee": "8", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.10", "texte": "II.\nTreep was aware of no change whatsoever, except\nthat he was growing. Soon his hand alone was as big\nas his whole body had been, with the rest of him\nincreased proportionately; and soon after this his hand\nwas as big as his new body had been . . . and so on,\nindeterminately. When he had ceased increasing, he\nlooked about, stretched his arms which were as thick as\na countryside; and opening his jaws, he yawned as wide\nas a gulf. But he was conscious of a pain beneath the\nnail of his right little toe; and reaching down he pulled\nout a splinter, the oak which had killed him . . . This\nhad been the magnification of Treep.\nNoticing that the sky was only a few arm-lengths\nabove him, he sprang into the air, caught hold, and\nhoisted himself on to the other side. The country\nwas rough but comparatively level. Glistening in the\ndistance there was something which looked very much\nlike a palace. He made off in this direction.\nAs he came nearer he could distinguish figures\nmoving about, all of them as big as he was himself.\nThen messengers came ahead to meet him, small, the\nway he had been before death, and they perched on\nhis shoulders like doves. They explained that they\nwere the former poets of the earth, and that this was\nHeaven, and that they were usually the only earthly\nexistences admitted here. But Wawl had seen Treep's\nstruggle with the oak, and had decreed that he should\nbe magnified among the gods, and then they all fell\nto singing their own compositions at once. He walked\nahead, not much disturbed by their twitter, until one\nof them climbed into the shell of his ear and explained,\nshouting above the others, the dilemma which Wawl\nhad occasioned by his deification. For in magnifying\nTreep it was not found possible to magnify his name,\nand there were no more names nor offices left in\nHeaven. Wawl had decided, however, that if Treep\ndared he might attack any god he so desired, and if\nhe defeated this god could usurp both his name and\noffice. Treep asked the poet what gods were disliked\nin Heaven, and the poet mentioned both Arjk and the\nBlizzard God. Arjk, it went on to say, was undoubtedly"}, {"page_pdf": 11, "page_imprimee": "9", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.11", "texte": "a powerful and handsome divinity, and would be a\nmuch worthier foe to unseat than the Blizzard God,\nwho relied mostly on cunning and harassing ... Treep\ndecided that it was Arjk whom he would battle; and\nhalting outside the castle, he sent word to Wawl that\nhis faithful servant Arjk was approaching.\nSoon a distant tumult was heard, and the poets\nin a panic scrambled down from Treep's shoulders.\nThen Arjk appeared, growling and cursing, and\ndemanding to know if this was the thief and liar who\nwas adorning himself with the name of a god. Treep\nanswered him, \"Step aside, Treep, for I am Arjk, the\nfaithful servant of Wawl, and I have come to pay\nhim homage.\" Thereupon the two of them closed in\nupon each other, a battle following which lasted for\ntwo years. At the end of this time Treep conquered\nand threw Arjk out of Heaven. Then he sent word\nagain to Wawl that his faithful servant Arjk was\napproaching, and entered the palace.\nIII.\nSome time after Treep — become Arjk — had\nestablished himself in Heaven, Wawl summoned him\nto the palace. Arjk entered and bowed before him.\nAbout the feet of Wawl adoring women sat, their\nbreasts dripping at his glory, indeed, their entire\nbodies flowing with love of their Lord. Wawl dis-\nmissed his attendants and began speaking to Arjk\nimmediately. But the castle was so large that it had\nits own atmospheric conditions, and as Wawl commen-\nced to speak a little storm descended about the august\nforehead, filling his hair with a silver moisture and\npricking him with minute tongues of lightning. Wawl\npeered through the mist wavering before his eyes, and\nraised his voice above the small but distracting\nthunder.\n\"Arjk,\" Wawl addressed him, \"thou art the most\nmighty of my warriors.\"\n\"Whatever strength I possess was granted me by\nWawl.\"\n\"1 trust that thou wilt remain faithful to me, for\nthy powers, if turned against me, could cause all\nmanner of evil in Heaven.\""}, {"page_pdf": 12, "page_imprimee": "10", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.12", "texte": "And Arjk, bowing even lower, answered with\nemotion, \"Before everything else comes my gratitude\nto Wawl. In the magnification of Treep there was\nalso the magnification of Treep's devotion. And this\ndevotion is mortgaged solely to Wawl.\" And then\nrising to his feet, Arjk gave way to his elation, and\nsang to Wawl of the glories which he, Arjk, had\naccomplished in Heaven, and of the might and\nsplendor which belonged to him, Arjk. Saying among\nother things, \"I, Treep become Arjk, can drink and\ncarouse in Heaven and yet retain the most powerful\narm among the gods.\" The elation continuing, Arjk\ntook leave of Wawl, and went for a mad ride in his\nchariot, hurling bolts haphazard out of Heaven, and\nshouting to the rattle of his steeds' hoofs across the\nclouds.\nThen of a sudden Arjk spied the Blizzard God\nriding in the distance. And looking closer, he\ndistinguished Hyelva fleeing before him, her white\nrobes fluttering back in confused vibrations. Arjk\nwrenched his steeds until they were headed toward\nthe Blizzard God, and his chariot went swaying and\nrocking back and forth across the clouds. The\nBlizzard God was shrieking as he pursued, \"Hyelva!\nHyelva, open the great gate of thy body! The great\ngate of thy body, that I may enter in!\" while the hoofs\nof Arjk's horses set up a reverberation through Heaven>\nHell and Earth. But Hyelva sped on in silence.\nIt became evident that Arjk would overtake the\nBlizzard God and rescue Hyelva from his fingers. But\nLittic, who was a kindly deity, though under the\ndomination of the Blizzard God, released his lights\nthrough Heaven, so that both Arjk and his horses\nwere blinded. Letting his reins slacken in his stupoi\\\nArjk watched the lights play on all sides of him, saw\nthe thick trunks of flame with tongues protruding, or\nsemi-circles stretching across the whole sky, with balls\nof a blueish jelly sliding along them, or puffs of light,\nwaving like dust toward the zenith. And while Arjk\nrelaxed, enchanted, the Blizzard God sent a broadside\nof tempest against him, blowing him out of the chariot\nand the bolts from his hands. Then the Blizzard\nGod hurried again after Hyelva, falling among her"}, {"page_pdf": 13, "page_imprimee": "11", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.13", "texte": "garments like a hawk among the feathers of a dove.\nHis appetites were so ravenous that he tore away\neverything which covered her body . . . and the little\nbits, whirling about in the tempest, spilled finally out\nof Heaven, and falling, covered whole states and\nprovinces of the earth, so that some houses were sunk\neven up to their second stories in snow.\nIV.\nAnd one of the places where this snow fell was\nNew York City; I am speaking particularly of West\nSixteenth Street. Ah, how lovely it was before being\nshoveled away at a cost of some hundreds of thou-\nsands of dollars! The air was almost black with\nsnow; it was so thick that at times stray flakes, falling\ndown the particular air-shaft, swerved and sifted\nthrough the partly open window of the particular\nkitchen. This kitchen was dark, with dirty dishes\nshowing up here and there, while the other rooms to\nthe suite were lighted. All were empty, however,\nexcept the one to the extreme front, where James\nHobbes was lying on Esther Maclntyre.\nThe point was this: Gould Hobbes, or could he\nnot, succeed, with only one hand, in capturing the\nobject which Miss Maclntyre held in both of hers —\nif she held anything at all! — but would not willingly\nrelinquish? Hobbes had maintained that he could;\nMiss Maclntyre had sassed back that he couldn't; thus,\na protracted struggle had begun between them. Result-\ning in their tussling on the couch, and Hobbes\ngroping resolutely — but awkwardly! — after the\nhot fists she held against her breast. Then of a\nsudden he made a dive of his hand, which silenced\nthe giggly thing. And he continued the attack,\ndisposing of garments rapidly. When Esther's\nbewilderment was startled away by the the realization\nof a still greater boldness on his part, she began to\nresist . . . weakly, however . . . but he no longer\ncared . . . slipped off the couch . . . thumped against\nthe floor . . . like a sack of potatoes.\nSome one was knocking, jerking them out of"}, {"page_pdf": 14, "page_imprimee": "12", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.14", "texte": "their sloth. She went for her hat and coat, and as\nHobbes returned to the front room with Harowitz,\nmumbled something about being in a hurry, and\ndashed out. Hobbes yanked a chair at Harowitz,\npointed to a magazine, and went after Esther. As\nhe came out into the blizzard, hat-less and coat-less,\nhe could see nothing of her. Besides, he was not\nexceptionally interested. He returned to his apartment\nslowly, even stopped in the dark kitchen a few\nmoments and leaned against the wall.* Then he went\nto the front room where Harowitz was waiting for\nhim.\nHarowitz was moving about the room, from one\nisland to another. Hobbes stretched out on the\ncouch, giving a slight grunt which was a mixture of\nmany things — such as self-comfort, the necessity of\nsaying something, disapproval, nothing at all — but\nmainly composed of this: that Hobbes had planned,\nthe next time he would see Harowitz, to look at him\nabruptly and say, \"Harowitz, what would you think\nof a man who walked into your house, and when you\nweren't watching him went into your cupboard, and\nstole a drink of whiskey?\" Harowitz wore a size\neight shoe, carried a cane, could speak both French\nand German fluently. His left eye was weaker than\nhis right, but not enough to necessitate his wearing\nglasses. He was not married, had graduated from a\nlaw school magna cum laude, and also knew some\nSpanish. On his mother's side he was not full Jew.\nOr perhaps Hobbes would have waited until\nHarowitz had begun to explain something, such as\n\"The perfection of machinery, and the consequent\nlarge-quantity production, has made war an absolute\nnecessity for the first time in the world's history.\"\nThen Hobbes would answer, \"Yes, Harowitz, quite\nright, but what would you think of a man who walked\ninto your house and when you weren't watching him\nwent into your cupboard, and stole a drink of\nwhiskey?\"\nIt was not the drink of whiskey that Hobbes had\nminded. It was the principle of the thing. But he\nsaid nothing to Harowitz. The statement, after all,\nwould be too blunt, so blunt that even if Harowitz"}, {"page_pdf": 15, "page_imprimee": "13", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.15", "texte": "had not taken the whiskey he would realize that he\nwas being accused. But first of all, he must make\nsure that Harowitz was guilty. It did no good to mark\nthe bottle, since a small amount could easily be\nreplaced with water. Perhaps there was some\nharmless, colorless, tasteless substance which he could\nmix with water in a decanter beside the whiskey\nbottle; but if this mixture were poured into the\nwhiskey it would make the whiskey change color.\nHobbes imagined it turning a brilliant green or blood-\nclot red immediately before Harowitz's eyes. Then\nHobbes would come in and offer him a drink, bring\nout the whiskey bottle, look at it, look silently at\nHarowitz, put the bottle back, glance at his watch,\nand regret that he had an engagement.\nUntil he had something as definite as this,\nhowever ... so he had grunted merely, as he lay down\non the couch. Harowitz explained to him how war\nwas inevitable at this point in the world's history,\nand while he was talking Hobbes brought out the\nwhiskey . . . After a time they were not clear-headed;\nthe mixture of whiskey, gas fumes and old breath had\ntaken the freshness out of them. They watched each\nother now and then with tired eyes, trying to become\ninterested in some assertion. Harowitz left within an\nhour, while Hobbes continued to lie on the couch.\nHobbes listened to the soft pads of snow flattening\nagainst the windows. Rising, he switched off the\nlights and opened a window in the next room. The\ncold air began circulating . . . His mind was\ncompletely lax. So that the form of this procedure\nbegan to impress itself upon him. That is, he revolved\nit that he had been hot, and that now a cold current\nwas blowing across him. Later on that evening he\nwrote the following poem, which, after he had\nfinished it, sent him out for a long walk in the storm:\nHere are the facts, given as I have known them:\nLast night I slept with my shame bared to the ceiling;\nThe bed was hot against my back and buttocks;\nMy arms were swollen with the bites of black-flies."}, {"page_pdf": 16, "page_imprimee": "14", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.16", "texte": "And now the thunder-caps quit dropping below the\nhorizon;\nThe thunder-caps are beginning to march above me;\nI watch, with the salt stinging the rim of my eye-balls.\nA breeze starts up, making the lake look blue-black;\nThe blue-black swallows fly even more click-jaggy;\nThe green trees in the distance become also blue-black.\n1 close the windows fronting on the southwest;\nThe thunder falls immediately on the lightning;\nAnd the rush of rain in the trees upon the thunder.\n*\nThe black-flies of Massachusetts are blown into New\nHampshire;\nAnd the black-flies of New Hampshire are blown into\nMaine, while\nThose of Maine are blown, some into Canada and some\ninto the ocean.\nWater hits in bucket loads against the wood shed;\nWater hurries beneath the dried-up shingles; .\nWater drips mysteriously in the pantry.\nThe rain settles now to a steady business;\nIt lays itself without violence over the pastures;\nNight falls, with the rain now gently piddling.\nA new wind falls upon us from the northwest;\nVeering, it whips the fog along the hillsides;\nAnd shoves the entire storm out of my knowledge.\nA haze of light spreads in the north horizon;\nPale shafts of light waver on the north horizon;\nAnd puffs of light like dust wave toward the zenith.\nA calm lies on the face of the earth and waters;\nIt sits among the trees and in the valleys;\nA frost is nosing against the wild cherry blossoms.\nThe sun comes up as clean as a brand-new dollar;\nThe pink sun edges flatly above the skyline;\nAs rash as a blast of unexpected music."}, {"page_pdf": 17, "page_imprimee": "15", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.17", "texte": "Praise to the Three-God, Father, Son and Spirit;\nWho, as He found Himself at the beginning;\nSo is He now, and so shall be forever!\nV.\nFather, Son and Holy Ghost, so comfortable in\nHeaven. (Oh merely that I might live in one of the\nback allies of Heaven, though my house fronted on\nsome dump heap of empty bottles and rusty tomato\ncans! Indeed, I conceive of Their comfort as that\nof a royal family that never was. A family, com-\nposed of king, and queen, and princes, and princesses,\nliving in a suite of rooms borne upon the shoulders\nof their subjects. The palace marches across the\ncountry, through rivers, up and over mountains, with\nthe populace squirming beneath, supporting it with\npoles. Ten thousand, say, labor simultaneously at\nthese supports, while others rest, others follow to take\ntheir places, others have been relieved from duty and\nreturn to their families. The palace moves in a\nstraight line, and in the course of this line there is a\nlake. The subjects disappear beneath the water;\nothers take a long breath, dive down, and replace them\nat the supports. Some are lost; many are content to\nsuck the water into their lungs, thus ending their\nunhappiness; but the palace moves on. At times music\nis heard from above, or a platform is let down for\nfood, or filth is thrown out, falling on the populace.\nBut otherwise, it travels like a silent cloud above them.\nSo comfortable in Heaven, and yet Jesus must go out\ninto the night again, leaving the warm fire of this\nsanctity.\nSome people were sitting in a prominent cafe in\nthe theatre district, when lo! Christ was discovered\nsitting among them. I can pay no greater tribute to\nmy countrymen than to recite the tact and affability\nwith which he was received. A committee was\norganized on the spot to show Mr. Jesus the more\nprominent sights of the town, such as Riverside Drive,\nthe Woolworth Building (from where he could get a"}, {"page_pdf": 18, "page_imprimee": "16", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.18", "texte": "good bird's-eye view of the city) and the Brooklyn\nNavy Yards. At this last named place he was to be\ngiven a private demonstration of a new gas which our\nchemists had invented and which promised to put us\nfar and away in advance of all other fighting units of\nthe world. (The intention of this demonstration being\nto show that so long as Christianity possessed such\nweapons there need be no fear of the spreading of\nAsiatic paganism.)\nIt was suggested taking Him to one of our larger\nchurches, but this was quickly hushed up, as it was\nrealized that the situation would surely result in ill-\nfeeling, since, even if the Catholics could be persuaded\nto sacrifice this honor to the Protestants — which\nwas, of course, out of the question — at least twenty\nProtestant sects would have arisen to dispute the\nhonor amongst themselves. So it was thought wisest\nof all to take Him to a theatre.\nThe play was by a very prominent American\ndramatist, and had been reviewed by the New York\ncritics with such really gratifying and penetrating\ncomments as \"Every man, woman and child should\nsee this play (Times) . . . Really scrumptious (World)\n. . . Grips you from start to finish (American) . . .\nOne of the best plays of this season and far better\nthan anything of last season (Tribune) . . . An all\naround good play (Sun).\" There was some skating\non thin ice, but no one could fail to catch the moral\ntenor behind it all, and it was hoped that this moral\ntenor especially would appeal to Jesus. In one detail,\nhowever, the play had been amended, a short passage\nhaving been omitted from the first act which ran,\n\"Why am I so crucified with poverty!\" It had been\nunanimously decided that nothing unpleasant should\nbe suggested to Him.\nJesus was interviewed between the second and\nthird acts, but declared that he had nothing to say,\nrefusing especially to compare conditions here and in\nHeaven. But in spite of his reticence, favorable com-\nments appeared in all the evening papers, although one\nanti-Church labor organ queried mildly whether it\nwould be the Star of Bethlehem this time, or the Star\nof Bethlehem, Steel."}, {"page_pdf": 19, "page_imprimee": "17", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.19", "texte": "During the play — which was a matinee — the\ncity administration had been anything but idle, and\nit was decided to give Christ the freedom of the city\nregardless of what might happen to the Jewish vote.\nSo He came out of the theatre and walked down\nBroadway to City Hall, and behind Him followed a\nlong procession of scenario-writers, burlesque Ama-\nzons, fairies, lounge-lizzards, Jew and Irish comedians,\njazz-hounds, pimps, promoters, whores, traveling\nsalesmen, confidence men, bookers, gamblers, kept\nwomen, millionaires' sons, publicity agents, sporting\nexperts, dopes, land-sharks, connoisseurs, rum-sellers,\nholders of boxes at the opera, ammunition makers,\nspecialists in men's diseases, whatever of the general\npopulace, in short, happened to be passing through\nTimes Square . . . and also angels. Not those Angels\nthat sit at the feet of Jesus in Heaven, however. I\nmean those more immediate angels, angels from Wall\nStreet, the backers for plays and movies . . . bald-\nheaded angels, angels whose intentions are juicy in\nproportion as their groins are parched, angels who\nwill dribble as much as twenty thousand, say, against\nsome coozy's leg. Yes, there were a number of these\nsweaty, red-faced angels in the procession.\nChrist suffered these honors, and many others,\nultimately slinking away from His followers, down\nside-streets with warnings, \"Commit no nuisance,\"\nthrough the smoke and slobber of the men's saloon\nof a Jersey ferry, and then, quite alone, as the sun\nwas going down, He stood in a graveyard, on a hill,\nlooking out over the Jersey swamps, kneeling — I\nknow my readers will pardon the theatricality of the\ngesture — with His arms outstretched to Heaven, He\nprayed and wept. Then, growing calmer, He read\nthe tombstone of Johann Bauer, geboren 1827, ge-\nstorben 1903, at present Mit Jesu. Weakened by a\npeculiar lassitude, He sat on one of the iron railings\nsurrounding the grave . . . Crickets began climbing\nupon His sandals, and Christ, noting their hunger,\ntook a boo from His nose and dropped it for them to\neat on. When this boo was consumed, he put another\nin its place . . . and so on, until all the crickets had\nbeen sated. As Christ heard a faint noise now, He\n2"}, {"page_pdf": 20, "page_imprimee": "18", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.20", "texte": "bent His ear to the ground, discovering that the noise\ncame from one unusually minute cricket which was\nrubbing its wings across its back to produce a little\nwhirr of gratitude for the Divine Food it had received.\nA second later the entire swarm joined in, the\ngraveyard trembling with their praise. Then, with a\nblare of Hosannahs, an Angelic Horde flew toward\nHim out of the sunset. Other battalions answered\nfrom the West, as they likewise advanced steadily\nupon Jesus. And still others, from all corners of the\ncompass. The sky was churned with song and\nSeraphic Manoeuvres. For these great fleets of God's\nElect, muliplying egregiously, began winding in among\none another, melting together, separating, deploying in\nthe shape of V's like wild geese, or banked up like\npyramids, or upside down, or advancing in columns\n. . . while miracles were scattered upon the earth like\nseed. The sun, the moon, the stars, the planets and\nall the wandering bodies shone together. Fountains\nburst forth; wild beasts lolled among the clouds.\nAll song and motion stopped . . . some thunder\nwas climbing across the sky. Then, as it disappeared\nin the distance, things began revolving, a Sublime\nVortex sucked up into Heaven. In the very centre,\nunmistakably wide open, stood the Gate, with squa-\ndron after squadron of Angels already hurrying within.\nChrist, too, began rising, while God called out to Him\nsmiling, AHRLOM AHRLOMMA MINN OR. And\nChrist answered, MAHN PAUNDA OLAMMETH.\nThus had one spoken and the other answered. Then\nHe entered Heaven, the rear armies of the Angels\nfollowing Him rapidly.\nOlammeth! . . . the seed\n. . . This sudden certainty!\nFulfillment, bursting through the mists\nOlammeth, His Breasts!\nAcross night\nProjected . . . (latent) ...\nwhen lo! the Sun!\nThe Gate of Heaven swung shut.\n\nKENNETH BURKE"}, {"page_pdf": 21, "page_imprimee": "19", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.21", "texte": "LAST LOOKS AT THE LILACS\nWALLACE STEVENS\nTo what good, in the alleys of the lilacs,\nO caliper, do you scratch your buttocks\nAnd tell the divine ingenue, your companion,\nThat this bloom is the bloom of soap\nAnd this fragrance the fragrance of vegetal?\nDo you suppose that she cares a tick,\nIn this hymeneal air, what it is\nThat marries her innocence thus,\nSo that her nakedness is near,\nOr that she will pause at scurrilous words?\nPoor buffo! Look at the lavender\nAnd look your last and look still steadily,\nAnd say how it comes that you see\nNothing but trash and that you no longer feel\nHer body quivering in the Floreal\nToward the cool night and its fantastic star,\nPrime paramour and belted paragon,\nWell-booted, rugged, arrogantly male,\nPatron and imager of the gold Don Juan,\nWho will embrace her before summer comes."}, {"page_pdf": 22, "page_imprimee": "20", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.22", "texte": "POSTER\nHART CRANE\nAbove the fresh ruffles of the surf\nbright striped urchins flay each other with sand.\nThey have contrived a conquest for shell\nshucks,\nand their fingers crumble fragments of baked\nweed\ngaily digging and scattering.\nAnd in answer to their treble interjections\nthe sun beats lightening on the waves,\nthe waves fold thunder on the sand;\nand could they hear me I would tell them:\nO brilliant kids, frisk with your dog,\nfondle your shells and sticks, bleached\nwith time and the elements; but there is a line\nyou must not cross nor ever trust beyond it\nspry cordage of your bodies to caresses\ntoo lichen-faithful from too wide a breast.\nThe bottom of the sea is cruel."}, {"page_pdf": 23, "page_imprimee": "21", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.23", "texte": "THE HOTHOUSE PLANT\nWILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS\n(Dedicated to Charles Demuth)\nPink confused with white\nflowers and flowers reversed\ntake and spill the shaded flame\ndarting it back\ninto the lamp's horn\npetal's aslant darkened with mauve\nred where in whorls\npetal lays its glow upon petal\nround flamegreen throats\npetals radiant with transpiercing light\ncontending\nabove\nthe leaves\nreaching up their modest green\nfrom the pot's rim\nand there, wholly dark, the pot\ngay with rough moss."}, {"page_pdf": 24, "page_imprimee": "22", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.24", "texte": "A GARDEN PARTY\n\nInside Millie's house (and in passing may we\nremark that except for that eyesore of a three-decker\nacross the way the Smith's house not only for its\nview, which was absolutely superb, but as a stunning\npiece of architecture elicited approval and admiration\nfrom every quarter?). Up and down the backstairs\nthrongs of breathless servants panted, hunting for the\nicecream spoons that had been mislaid or, as Mr.\nSmith observed from behind a newspaper, were non-\nexistent anyway while Millie in a horrid pet because\nshe had been crossed three times even on her birthday,\nbut once in particular when her mother had refused\npoint blank to let her consume the rest of that ten-\npound box of yumyum caramels Uncle Ben had\npresented at breakfast. Millie was wriggling and\nmaking wry faces at herself in the pier glass mirror\nbecause the maid would tie that big babyblue sash too\ntight around her middle.\n— You're squeezing me to PIECES!\nOnly the veribest families in Woodster were\ncoming to this party. Mrs. Smith had despatched\nengraved R. S. V. P. invitations to the meticulously\nchosen guests who had, with one exception, returned\nformal responses.\nFlorence Ashley was invited, and the two darling\nGrover boys with a frightfully goodlooking chum from\nprep school, and Frank Sweeney because his father had\nmade oodles of money out of the Great War, and the\nminister's daughter who poor thing had the kollv\nwobbles, and Helen Range even though Millie hated\nher like fury, and Dr. Tripp's three offspring because\ntheir mother was related to someone or other, and\nBilly Blodgett of course, and Mary Bruce because even\nif her mother was a Catholic and her father did drink\nlike a fish she was an awfully good sport, and the two\nFrimp sisters who were always dressed exactly alike\nand ever so cute. But all children from the very tiptop\nof the social ladder; and no mistake.\nHONK! HONK!\nMillie flew to the window. The Tripps of course.\nIn their rickety old flivver they always descended on"}, {"page_pdf": 25, "page_imprimee": "23", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.25", "texte": "you years before a party began and there they were\nnow; swarming out at the porte cochere. Millie\nstamping her foot with irritation exclaimed that she\nsupposed she would have to scamper right down and\nentertain them till the rest arrived. So she told the\nbutterfingers of a nurse to get a move on and tie that\nblooming sash.\n? Ambling affably across the grass Millie told the\nTripps how glad she was they could come to her\nparty and the Tripps said they were awfully glad\nthey could come too. So Millie showed them the new-\ndoubleactionguarranteed 18 jewel diamonds wisspatented-\nradioliteplatinumcasewristwatch her father had given\nher. And she even let Freddy Tripp listen to it\ntick. Then excusing herself gracefully she ambled off\nto confer with her mother in regard to the two specially\nimported negroes in swallowtails and scarlet vests who\nwere busily at work preparing the long table which\nthey had with great difficulty lugged out of the cellar\nand placed in the shadow of apple trees.\nIt was not long however before other glistening\nthigh-fruit of millionaires began floating down the\ngravel driveway in purling limousines. And the crisp\nlittle girls clustered around Millie and the shining little\nboys gathered around Mr. Smith. And Mr. Smith, in\nfun, snapped open his fancy cigarette case to jocularly\noffer the boys a 'coffin nail,' but was quite shocked\nwhen Frank Sweeney took one. And then all at once\nUncle Ben was discovered hiding behind a tree, he\nmight have been peeking there for hours, but Millie\nimmediately dragged him out by the hand and every-\nbody fell to playing drop-the-handkerchief except\nFrank Sweeney and Rusty Grover who sprawled on\nthe lawn chewing grass blades and laughing at funny\nthings.\n2.\nThe note the little boy brought was this:\nWoodster, Mass.\nDear Mrs. Smith,\nPlease excuse my son intruding on your party.\nBut seeing all the little tots going to it I just couldn't"}, {"page_pdf": 26, "page_imprimee": "24", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.26", "texte": "keep him away. He living right opposite so as he\ncould view everything from the parlor window.\nHoping Amos behaves as well as I told him\nI am,\nYour Neighbor,\n(Mrs) Phoebie Haggerty.\nTrimly clad in a swaggering little wash sailorsuit\nof sky blue, bright orange shoes, a jet black tie, and\na jaunty sailer-hat tipped way back on his head and\nlabelled with flashing gilt letters, \"t/.S.S. Reliance\" it\nwas evident that Amos had neglected nothing in the\nperformance of his toilet. His stockings were imma-\nculate, not a hair on his head was misplaced, his suit\nwas absolutely beyond the slightest suspicion or re-\nproach, while his pink face fairly glistened with clean-\nliness. Though perhaps not exactly garbed in silks\nand satins Amos as the spotless product of a bathroom\ncould well rival the wealthiest of the little folk who\ngamboled so merrily on the lawn before him.\nMrs. Smith, having completed her perusal of the\nnote, passed it to Mr. Smith with a meaning glance.\nBut even so impeccably fortified against criticism of\nany nature confusion while he waited o'erspread the\n„ features of the tiny tar and he seemed on the point of\nsetting all sails to beat a hasty retreat when Mrs. Smith\nbade him pause.\n— I suppose we better, said Mr. Smith.\n— I suppose we must, said Mrs. Smith, Millie 1\nHere's another guest.\nMillie, who at that moment was racing heedlessly\naround the circle of children with the handkerchief,\nstopped in her tracks and looked up.\n— O, she said, Him?\n— Gome and get him, Mr. Smith sharply com-\nmanded, His name's Amos.\n— But papa!\n— Will you, or will you not? replied Mr. Smith.\n— Do as your father says, added Mrs. Smith.\nPouting Millie flounced over.\n— Well, come along then, she said dragging the\nlittle tar behind her. This is Amos everyone. I don't\nknow his last name."}, {"page_pdf": 27, "page_imprimee": "25", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.27", "texte": "— Pleased to meet you, said Uncle Ben flashing\na number of gold teeth in an expansive smile. Come on\nin mate, the water's splendiferous. Make a berth for\nhim Freddie. That's the lad. Know how to play this\ngame. Yes? No? Millie start again, you're it arn't\nyou. One. Two. Three. Fire!\nAnd thus did Amos whose underthings silhouetted\non an evening clothesline were often a superfluous, if\nnot annoying, addition to the Smiths' vista of a lovely\nsunset, horn into society. But Amos either through\nembarrassment obstinacy or inherent slowness seemed\nincapable of mastering the mystic laws of drop-the-\nhandkerchief, and when somebody finally did drop it\nbehind him, Amos started off in the wrong direction\nand queered everything. Even Uncle Ben seemed\nirritated, so Mrs. Smith thought it best to lead Amos\naway under an apple tree where he could suck his\nthumb quietly to himself and permit the game to\ncontinue without further interruption.\nA large negro suddenly rising from behind a lilac\nbush announced tea.\n— Hurray! Hurrah! shouted Uncle Ben, Come\nboys, let's pitch in! And off across the lawn Uncle\nBen galloped, but had hardly traversed half the distance\nto the table than he tripped over a croquet wicket and\npitched violently onto his face.\n— O, screamed Mrs. Smith, Are you hurt Ben?\n— Not a bit Sal, cried Uncle Ben from the sod,\nand in the shake of a lamb's tail he was up again with\na big green smudge on his flannel trousers, but laugh-\ning just as heartily at his tumble as nearly everyone\nelse was, although it was quite evident he had been\nbadly shaken up.\nThen everyone found their proper places at the\ntable, except Amos who somehow got into Lillian\nFrimp's and had to be extracted but Mr. Smith boosted\nhim up on a red silk cushion so he could reach his\nfood, and right beside Millie too for some reason\nalthough it must be admitted, entirely without her\nconsent. And the negroes fell busily to work serving\nthe icecream which they produced in various fan-\ntastic shapes, such as cows trees bicycles soldiers"}, {"page_pdf": 28, "page_imprimee": "26", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.28", "texte": "kangaroos etc., to the intense excitement of Amos who\nattracted 110 little attention by laughing out loud when\nthe taller of the two negroes presented him what Amos\nthought was a hook-and-ladder, although it was really\nonly a trumpet. And everyone chattered and gobbled\nor were convulsed by Uncle Ben's excruciating jokes,\nwhile Millie queening it at the head of the table carried\non a flashy conversation with the Grover boys' fright-\nfully goodlooking chum who had seen a wild show in\nNew York three days before.\nBut just as Amos was earnestly shovelling into\nhis face the last delicious spoke of his hook-and-ladder,\n(or if you will have it) the last sweet note of his\ntrumpet, Uncle Ben rapped on the table for silence\nand raising his glass of lemonade recited the following\ntoast:\nHere's to the maiden of youthful fourteen,\nAnd here's to her father and mother,\nAnd if there is more of this splendid icecream\nWe are all of us primed for another!\nAll the guests cheered Uncle Ben's felicitous\nquatrain as it really expressed a general sentiment, but\nwhen he shouted, Speech! Speech! Millie shook her\nhead frantically and cried, please Papa! when Mr.\nSmith noisily reiterated the demand from the sidelines.\n— Let Amos speak then, Frank Sweeney sug-\ngested.\n— Yes, let AMOS speak: Rusty Grover cries and\nbanging on the table with his spoon chants;\nSilence in the courtroom, *\nThe monkey's going to speak!\n3.\nIn the sickening silence which followed this\npicturesque, though perhaps inhibiting proclamation,\nthe person so unexpectedly honored squirmed uneasily\nin his chair. With a mournful expression of resent-\nment he paused chewing a macaroon which at that\nmoment occupied his mouth, lowered his icecream\nspoon dismally to his plate, and peeked ruefully up\nout of the corner of his eye at the clamorous mul-\ntitude."}, {"page_pdf": 29, "page_imprimee": "27", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.29", "texte": "— SPEECH! SPEECH! everyone yelled.\nHis face which nature had endowed with a pig-\nment none too uninflammable, rapidly galloped through\na gamut of reds until it finally terminated in a flaming\nscarlet. His eyes spun horribly in their sockets, and\nthen all of a sudden at once . . .\n4.\nMillie hopped off her chair. Setting a firm though\nmortified jaw she ran to her mother. With an ex-\npression of embarrassed surprise Uncle Ben slowly\nrose to his feet to offer his services, if needed. The\nlittle guests also jumped up and stared at one another\nor stood on chairs. Rusty Grover to be fresh (because\nUncle Ben had spoken first) cried, Uncle Ben's the\nmonkey. Some of fthe children snickered, the\nminister's daughter who thought the confusion was\nall about her went into hysterics, and little Amos over-\ncome by shame and desolation lowered his head\ngradually to the table and abandoned himself to a\nseries of doleful noises.\n— There, there, Mrs. Smith comforted reaching\nunder his arm pits and lifting him off the cushion,\nBut I should say so! Quick, one of you take this.\nNegro hands spirited away the cushion.\nI knew it would happen exclaimed Millie, the\nlittle pig! and I told you here Ben said Mrs. Smith\nyou better take him home right here Sal.\nUncle Ben nudged into the crowd.\nI told you mamma keep quiet Millie a moment\nthat's right put him on his feet where does he live?\nacross the street stand back children he's all wet please\nI told you mamma Millie will you keep still? where's\nhis hat? O on the tree yes I've will you? yes, I'll\nget it then.\n— I diden wanna, Amos blubbered.\n— That's all right mistakes in the best I'll put on\nhis hat I told you Millie will you go and sit down? O\nbut I've got it right here O then you put it O well I\nwill O I can.\n— Know where he lives? Mrs. Smith asked.\n— Across the way, Uncle Ben said."}, {"page_pdf": 30, "page_imprimee": "28", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.30", "texte": "Yes dear but never mind about his hat the im-\nportant thing just leave me be Sal dear I'll get it on\nimportant thing is get him home to his mother\nwhadeedo? innocently Freddie Tripp whispered and\nwas told hush!\nSo Uncle Ben took Amos's snivelled paw in his\nand the little tar waddling across Mr. Smith's expan-\nsive lawns on something like sea legs continued to\nsmudge his eyesockets with his fist and plaintively\nprotest, but looking not at all shipshape with his\njaunty sailor-hat sliding down over his eyes because\nMr. Smith was hurried and had caught the elastic band\nunder the child's nose instead of his chin. But Uncle\nBen leaned over ever so patiently telling Amos it\nhappened to everybody even to Uncle Ben himself\nwhen he was not on the lookout.\nHardly was there time to watch them disappear\nbeyond the hedge than cries of Look! Look! were\nraised for across the lawn were the two negroes stag-\ngering under a glistening and enormous birthday cake\nthat must have measured seven feet across if it mea-\nsured an inch. The cake was of ecclesiastical design with\nsugar spires in which real little bells were hung that\ntinkled gently as the negroes bore it toward the table.\nAnd there were stained glass windows cleverly built\nof colored candy and little sugar people going in and\nout of the cake and wearing frock coats. Surrounding\nit were fourteen flickering candles, one for each of\nMillie's fourteen years. And upon the front of it\nemblazoned with vari-colored pellets, were the words\n\"Happiness and Joy\" under which in even larger letters\nwas written the word, \"Afi7/ie\". And the tallest spire of\nthe cake must have been five feet high and was sur-\nmounted by a large prune.\nEveryone licking their lips said what a shame it\nwas to eat the cake because it was really a wonderful\nwork of art, but Millie knew in her mind what they\nreally thought.- So she carefully raised a large cleaver\nand with the most disengaging and innocent smile in\nthe world divided it into fifteen equal portions.\n\nSLATER BROWN"}, {"page_pdf": 31, "page_imprimee": "29", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.31", "texte": "CORRESPONDENCE\nJohn Brooks Wheelwright\nSirs: Interstice Between Scylla and Charybdis\nwould seem to be addressed, not to sea-farers, but to\nthe monsters themselves, for surely the faults of the\nLittle Review and Broom are already widely current\nas bits of useless information. Less waste of time\nwere these opinions formulated not to remind editors\nof their failings, but to serve as a sine hoc non for the\nselection of a group who would make comment on\narty and forward looking journalism superfluous. The\neditorial is itself a very pat instance of \"combative\nrecognition of stupidity.\" To discern the faults of\nothers is not always to avoid them one's self. Neither\nis it necessary to depart from a policy in order to\ndefend it.\nWhat, o Secession, is there left to secede from?\nIncorrigible Romantic, what a name is yours! The\ntask confronting modern artists is sustained work, not\nrevolt. The attitude that Mencken has brought his\ncriticism of Puritanism to the point where further\ntriumph would entail silence, that Brooks can be\ntrusted to carry the task he has set himself to complete\nexpression, implies not ungracious revolt, but humble,\nif tacit, acquiescence. Else there will come from\ndispersal and frustration a premature reaction, and\nall will seem still born. Yet were not prophecy rash\nfor the unelect, I should predict that Secession, despite\nits name, is to combine the virtues of the Little Review\nwith those virtues which it has not, and if only by talk-\ning less, to accomplish for America what one is asked\nto believe the Dial is accomplishing, and finally to\nsurpass, because of a primary interest in literature, the\nphilosophical and critical standards of the New Repu-\nblic. It surprizes me to see these stalwart adjectives\nused to typify that pink blanket. Only one adjective\nseems appropriate to me, ephemeral. The horrid\nplague of what Miss Lowell calls the intentionally\nminor has struck letters. To this, haply, the group\nnow forming is immune, for most decidedly their\naims are otherwise."}, {"page_pdf": 32, "page_imprimee": "30", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.32", "texte": "G. B. M.\nThe intent of editorial, however, was merely\nto use the Little Review and the Broom as Horrible\nExamples of perils between which Secession is to\nsteer. Had I wished to attack them as previously I\nwished to attack the Dial, I should certainly have\ntried to penetrate deeper in my analysis. But for my\npurpose in Interstice Between Scylla and Charybdis\nall that I felt necessary was summary descriptions of\nthe two \"monsters\" — descriptions which may be, as\nMr. Wheelwright claims, widely current as bits of\nuseless information. The full clause was \"a comba-\ntive recognition of stupidities it is better to ignore than\nto waste energy upon.\" I differ in opinion from Mr.\nWheelwright. I do not believe either the Little\nReview or the Broom is that kind of stupidity.\nThere is emphatically something from which to\nsecede: the American literary milieu of the past decade,\na milieu which believed that literature was social\ndynamics and that its social significances were para-\nmount. There are, in addition, bitter necessities\ninherent in this milieu which demand secession. One\nof them is precisely the lack of opportunity for\ndevelopment by others which the valuable work of\nBrooks and Mencken exemplifies. And there is, at\nleast, a small group of writers able by reason of the\ndifferent direction of their work to organize a secession.\nFor secession is not revolt. It is rather a resig-\nnation from a milieu whose objects are other than\nours. It is an unemotional sloughing-ofT by writers\nwho profit by the gains of that milieu, but have never\nbeen bound to it. It is, in essence, a prompt deviation\ninto immediate esthetic concerns. Our warfare is not\ndenying, but tangential."}, {"page_pdf": 33, "page_imprimee": "31", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.33", "texte": "CONGRATULATIONS,\nAND MORE \"ILL-MANNERED REFERENCES\"\n\nThe Dial announces that its 1922 Award goes to\nMr. T. S. Eliot. Secession feels that the Dial has\nhonored itself by this choice and is glad to join in the\napplause for so very excellent a poet and critic as\nMr. Eliot has proved himself.\nGilbert Seldes to Gorham B. Munson:\n\"The terms are exceedingly de-\nfinite.\" — Letter No. 1. \"Possibly the\nconditions are not definite. One way\nof defining them is by making the\naward.\" — Letter No. 2.\nThe next paragraphs are a purely personal\nstatement . . . Believing the Dial award to be a public\nconcern, I believe it should be discussed as frankly as\nThe Waste Land itself. Therefore, I objected to its\nfirst recipient on the ground that he did not fulfil, as\nI understood them, the conditions of the award. In\nthis, — although I have since discovered that the re-\nports on Mr. Sherwood Anderson current in Europe\nwere incorrect in detail, though fairly accurate in pur-\nport, — I still maintain I was justified. Mr. Eliot\ncomes much closer to the conditions as they seemed\nto import when first announced.\nBut since these conditions are admittedly vague\nin the light of later qualifications, are they not a little\nunfair both to the recipient and the interested public?\nAlso, as the award is being gradually defined by the\nprocess of making it, is not the distinction between\nan award and a prize (which the editors of the Dial\nso often assure us they are not giving) rapidly evapo-\nrating? It does seem as though the award is used to\ncrown whatever creative achievement in the current\nyear seems the most distinguished to the Dial editors,\nirrespective of all things else but American citizenship\nand publication in the Dial. Until the next award\nthen clarifies the conditions still more, I shall speak\nof the Dial Prize."}, {"page_pdf": 34, "page_imprimee": "32", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.34", "texte": "None of this is at all directed against Mr. Eliot,\nwho deserves all the prizes in Christendom not only\nbecause he is a distinguished man of letters, but\nbecause he is besides a gentleman of letters. I hope\nthat the award of the Dial Prize to him will clearly\nimpress journalism everywhere with his superiority.\nI cannot, however, hope that Mr. Eliot, being devoted\nto artistic excellences, will profit by the prize so well\nfinancially as did his predecessor, Mr. Sherwood\nAnderson, whose fiction now appears in Harpers and\nthe Pictorial Review (at fabulous rates per word sent\non request) as well as in the Dial! No, Mr. Eliot is\nhardly likely to reproduce that embarrassing trinity.\n\nGorham B. Munson\n\nNOTE ON DER STURM\n\nOn reading Herwarth Walden's Kunstdammerung\nin Der Sturm (13th year, No. 7—B) one asks himself\nwith distress whether two parties of reaction are\nfighting for dictatorship of the arts. There is the\nretour element, pleading for an art which will have\na more fundamental relationship with life; and over\nagainst it, there is the struggle to preserve the\nexclusively esthetic point of view. Says Herr Walden,\ndefending the latter, \"The man who requires the\nrepresentation of water in order to see a blue\ncompletely lacks the artistic eye. If, when placed\nbefore a colour, one must think something before he\ncan experience it, he is without any colour sense\nwhatever. A colour is not received in the soul, but in\nthe eye. Everything else is simply the association of\nthe subject.\" Walden's message is strenuous and\naccurate throughout, but the reader is not compelled\nto accept it. The choice lies between retaining a\nmethod found within the last twenty years, or so, and\nrecovering a method which has sat upon Europe for\nwhole centuries ... In this same issue, and the one\npreceding, there is a remarkable article by Jorg Mager\non the quarter-tone scale, containing documents on"}, {"page_pdf": 35, "page_imprimee": "33", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.35", "texte": "its history, the nature of quarter-tone instruments,\nmusic written for the quarter-tone scale, and taking\nup various points of harmonization. Analysis and\nsynthesis; modern efforts seem to be moving in both\ndirections simultaneously; and to those who object\n\"Why the quarter-tone scale?\" the answer is,\nobviously, \"To prepare the way for the eighth-tone\nscale\" ... In the ninth number Lothar Schreyer begins\nan article on The Word. The drawing of fine lines\nseems pointless enough up to date; one gets exhaust-\nively what one already knew without exhaustion.\n\"Logokratie\" does not appear in this first installment;\nyet, surely, that is the essential matter, the exact fixing\nof those regions wherein the word is man's servant\nand where it is his master. Man's business is primarily\nthat of the slayer; is not the word his best weapon for\nthe slaying of emotions, by transferring them into\nadequate ideas? Or, conversely, the word cuts through\na great complexity of ideas, by creating an emotion.\nIf our prognostics are correct, Herr Schreyer is going\nto discuss an equally promising aspect, however: the\nfunction of the word to staticize a transition; at least,\nthe article ends on that note. In any case, here is a\nsubject which has, up to this time, been in the exclu-\nsive possession of philosophical dictionaries; we expect\nDer Sturm to give it a new twist, and await\nnumber 10.\n\nK. B."}, {"page_pdf": 36, "page_imprimee": "34", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.36", "texte": "BOOKS RECEIVED FOR REVIEW\nG. B. M.\nPeter Whiffle. By Carl Van Vechten. Knopf.\n2.—. The opening chapters titillate one's memories\nof Paris: later chapters on Mabel Dodge's studio par-\nties titillate one's interest in the peripheral activities\nof artists. The sum total return from writing whose\ntedious \"being bright\" is broken only by awkward sags\nand whose attempt at satire is impotent because the\nessential properties — a solid and a rapier — are\nlacking. Mr. Knopf, taking heed of German publishers,\noutshines his author by his book covers. The chief\ninterest of Peter Whiffle is the sorry commentary the\nenthusiastic reception accorded to it makes on Ameri-\ncan \"critics.\"\nIndelible. By Elliot H. Paul. Houghton Miflin.\n$ 1.75. Mr. Paul is a promising recruit to that field of\nAmerican fiction bounded by Dreiser, Lewis, Floyd Dell,\nand Zona Gale whom he resembles most. To those\nwho have already surveyed1 the esthetic possibilities\nof this field, he offers nothing beyond a pleasant\nvariation. And to those still interested in it, I leave his\ncloser assessment. Burton Rascoe believes Indelible is\nthe first instance of a literary use of the American\nlanguage. Mr. Rascoe, however, is famously grateful\nfor small accomplishments."}, {"page_pdf": 37, "page_imprimee": "[35]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.37", "texte": "Elizabeth Delza\nannounces the re-opening of her School of the\nDance at Studio 61, Carnegie Hall, 7th Avenue\nand 57 th St., New York. Miss Delza is a dancer\nat the Neighborhood Playhouse, New York, and\nan instructor in dancing at the Seymour School\nof Musical Re-Education. She was formerly a\npupil of Mary Porter Beegle and Michio Itow\nand has studied at the Dalcroze School, Paris.\nFor the fall season she offers four courses of\nStudies in Rhythm and Plastique in Natural\nDancing. Each course will consist of 20 lessons\nand will meet once a week. The tuition is $ 35\nfor each, payable in two installments, $20 at the\nbeginning and $ 15 in the middle of the course.\nCourse A is for children (7 to 10 years) and meets on\nSaturdays from 3 to 4 p. m., starting October 14.\nCourse Bis for children (11 to 14 years) and meets on\nSaturdays from 4 to 5 p. m., starting October 14.\nCourse C is for adults (beginners) and meets on\nThursdays from 8 to 9 p. m., starting October 19.\nCourse D is for adults (advanced) and meets on\nThursdays from 9 to 10 p.m., starting October 19.\nEach class is limited to only eight students of\neither sex, thus insuring careful attention.\nFor further information and registry, write\nELIZABETH DELZA\n1361 — 46th St., Brooklyn, N. Y.\nTel. Blythebourne 4424"}, {"page_pdf": 38, "page_imprimee": "[36]", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.38", "texte": "P APE\nWhen the English edition of JURGEN came out, FRANK PAPfe,\nthe man who illustrated it, 'woke up to find himself famous'.\nThe black-and-whites were a sensation. Four new pen and ink\ndrmi%sX'ear in THE WAVE No. 5\nThe same number will include three fascinating, beautifully\nexecuted stories—\n\"The Deaf Satyr\" from the Spanish of Ruben Dario by\nH. C. SCHWEIKERT\n\"The Transformation of Trefekew\" by SAMSON HORN\n\"The Princess Antimacassar\" by VINCENT STARRETT\nand an Essay by ARTHUR MACHEN\nand poems by ANNIE HIGGINS, ELIZABETH OSBORN, WIL-\nBUR UNDERWOOD and others.\n(Miss Higgins and Miss Osborn are discoveries of the Editor of THE WAVE)\nAle A Other stories, essays and poems, and the Demi-Tasse—the\nAlaU Editor's gossip on Life and Letters—and original wood cuts.\nIf* O C 117 * IT p A Journal of Art and letters\n* *1 Published Bf-Monihly\n2103N. Haisted St., Chicago, hi. — 25 c. a copy $ 1.50 the Year\n\nREBELS AND REACTIONARIES\nrub shoulders amiably and in perfect harmony in\nTHE DOUBLE DEALER\nPublished at New Orleans\nwhich prints good writing by youngsters or greybeards regardless\nof school, influence, or tradition. It shares none of the prejudices\nof the right wing or the left wing in contemporary literature,\nbut \"deceives them both by speaking the truth.\" It prints\nexhilarating creative and critical material by such writers as\nHart Crane Arthur Symons\nDjuna Barnes Lord Dunsany\nLouis Oilmore Lafcadio Hearn\nCarl Van Vechten Maxwell Bodenheim\nEdmund Wilson jr. Paul Eldridge\nand half a hundred others.\nYou have heard r\\ I |Q| CT f\"\\ ET A I CD Why not see\nof the L/VJUOL-CL UHAl—Lin What it is?\nSingle copy 25 cents — Year's subscription $ 2.50\nTrial Offer: Five Months $ 1.00\nI\nAddress: 204 Baronne Street, New Orleans, La., U.S.A."}, {"page_pdf": 39, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.39", "texte": "The first three issues of\nSECESSION\nwere greeted by its contemporaries in America and\nEurope with outcries of rage, scorn, hatred, envy,\nsuperstition, admiration, wonder, fear, pity, rancour,\nreverence, mockery, acclaim, obloquy, indicating that\nA REVIEW DEVOTED TO\nEXPERIMENTAL LITERATURE,\nand to Adventures with New and Old Forms, and to\nthe overhauling of Criticism, would not pass\nUnheard, Unfelt, Unsung, Unwept,\nSECESSION\nwill continue to take new directions in every number.\nThe other magazines are its points of departure! The\nnext two numbers of SECESSION will be devoted\nrespectively to DESTRUCTIVE and CONSTRUCTIVE\nCriticism of American Writings.\nAmerican writers who will contribute to SECESSION are:\nRichard Ashton Slater Brown\nWill Bray Kenneth Burke\nMalcolm Cowley Hart Crane\nE. E. Cummings Waldo Frank\nMatthew Josephson Marianne Moore\nGorham B. Munson Wallace Stevens\nWilliam Carlos Williams\nSubscription: One Dollar for six Issues\nAddress:\nGorham B. Munson, 1361 46th. Street,\nBrooklyn, New York"}, {"page_pdf": 40, "page_imprimee": "n. p.", "url_page": "https://bluemountain.princeton.edu/bluemtn/?a=d&d=bmtnaay192301-01.1.40", "texte": "Buchdruckerei Gustav Ascher G. m. b. H., Berlin SW 61\n\n\"Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends\nThis treasure of an oyster.\"\nWILLIAM SHAKESPEARE\n%"}]}