DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 4, issue 1, whole no. 13, Winter 1946 |

Transcribe
Translate

Acolyte, v. 4, issue 1, whole no. 13, Winter 1946

90. STORIES NOT TRULY FANTASY
91. Science never going beyond contemporaneous possibility
92. Mundane explanation, hoax, etc.
94. Hallucinations perhaps objectified
95. Insanity
96. Torture

DIRGE FOR THE UNVIRGINAL

I grieved for women whose satiny heels
lightly touched steps down from a balcony,
who drifted like milkweed seed across smooth fields,
posing with profiles gently toward the sea.

I mourned for angel-girls whose breasts
swelled out chiffon; whose swirling, perfumed hair
swung to their waists, and who possessed small pets,
furry, fat things that wheezed and growled for air.

I wept that all of them should cease at once,
with one accord; that all their lips went slack;
that all their bodies, schooled in sentient stunts,
lay stirrless as a cockroach in a crack.

Electrons joined; the whirrless, cosmic ghosts
whirled soundlessly and nibbled at the room.
With dawn I slithered out and drank lewd toasts
to ghouls and gods, who waited me at their tomb.

---Margaret Stavely

---oo0oo---

CRO-MAGNON

I chipped my questions on the flinty wall
Deep in the cave's recess, where no light
Or sound devoured the flickering night
Or stopped the dripping silence. With an awl
Of bone and a flint hammer, I broke the wetty pall
Of earth's great belly with little lines of white
And the patient tchink-tchink as I worked them right,
Ticking Forever's questions in my hall.

I wonder, have I asked the wall too much?
Have lines here spun what no one shall unwind?
Or, if my dark Forever's answers, such
As they are, are worthless as the wall designed
With little lines, how shall I salve the touch
Of this eternal chipping in my mind?

---Maurice Ogden

-- 13 --

Saving...

90. STORIES NOT TRULY FANTASY 91. Science never going beyond contemporaneous possibility 92. Mundane explanation, hoax, etc. 94. Hallucinations perhaps objectified 95. Insanity 96. Torture DIRGE FOR THE UNVIRGINAL I grieved for women whose satiny heels lightly touched steps down from a balcony, who drifted like milkweed seed across smooth fields, posing with profiles gently toward the sea. I mourned for angel-girls whose breasts swelled out chiffon; whose swirling, perfumed hair swung to their waists, and who possessed small pets, furry, fat things that wheezed and growled for air. I wept that all of them should cease at once, with one accord; that all their lips went slack; that all their bodies, schooled in sentient stunts, lay stirrless as a cockroach in a crack. Electrons joined; the whirrless, cosmic ghosts whirled soundlessly and nibbled at the room. With dawn I slithered out and drank lewd toasts to ghouls and gods, who waited me at their tomb. ---Margaret Stavely ---oo0oo--- CRO-MAGNON I chipped my questions on the flinty wall Deep in the cave's recess, where no light Or sound devoured the flickering night Or stopped the dripping silence. With an awl Of bone and a flint hammer, I broke the wetty pall Of earth's great belly with little lines of white And the patient tchink-tchink as I worked them right, Ticking Forever's questions in my hall. I wonder, have I asked the wall too much? Have lines here spun what no one shall unwind? Or, if my dark Forever's answers, such As they are, are worthless as the wall designed With little lines, how shall I salve the touch Of this eternal chipping in my mind? ---Maurice Ogden -- 13 --