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Banshee, whole no. 5, June 1944
Page 15
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### RAYMOND WASHINGTON JR. RAYMESES It little matters that an idle fan, By this cold stove, among these barren mags, Match'd with an aged typewriter, mete and dole Unequal laws unto the strange new fans, That read Amazing, feed, and know me not. I cannot rest from fanning; I will write A yarn anew, and work on it all night. For I have joyed and sorrowd much, with those That loved me; Shaw and Degler and the rest, Through fog and fair, drab days and endless nights. In those old days the name of Raym was feared From sea to sea, and far beyond the skies. Much have I seen and known: stfettes and fmz, And atheists, and poets, and philosophers, Myself not least, but honored of them all; From old L.A. to sidewalks of New York. I am a part of all that I have met; But fanzines too, and prozines by the ton, Can never satisfy the strong desire For more. (Oh, someone start another 'zine!) How dull it is to drool my life away Among these ten-year-olds who turn out tripe! It seems the fans are life. Life piled on life Would never be enough, when fans still dwell In hearing of my letters or my voice I used to reign, high in the moon-drenched void, The star-flecked cosmos shook to my commands. And now I week for long-departed fans-- And this grim spirit burning in desire To follow fandom, like a blinking star, Beyond all human bounds, and live in thought-- This is my son, named Scientiweirdfantast, Who soon (sad thought!) commands these degenerate fans-- Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfull This labor, by slow prudence to make mild Thse dumb new fanlets, and through soft degrees To make them read Astounding for the rest. Most blameless is he, shivering in the fear Of fans long gone (or--is my son sincere?). He does the best he can, I guess, and swars Before the rotted sheets of SCIENTIFUN That he will carry on when I am gone. There lies the 'drome; the rocket spits her fire: There glooms the star flecked void. My faniteers, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me-- That over with a cholic nausea took
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### RAYMOND WASHINGTON JR. RAYMESES It little matters that an idle fan, By this cold stove, among these barren mags, Match'd with an aged typewriter, mete and dole Unequal laws unto the strange new fans, That read Amazing, feed, and know me not. I cannot rest from fanning; I will write A yarn anew, and work on it all night. For I have joyed and sorrowd much, with those That loved me; Shaw and Degler and the rest, Through fog and fair, drab days and endless nights. In those old days the name of Raym was feared From sea to sea, and far beyond the skies. Much have I seen and known: stfettes and fmz, And atheists, and poets, and philosophers, Myself not least, but honored of them all; From old L.A. to sidewalks of New York. I am a part of all that I have met; But fanzines too, and prozines by the ton, Can never satisfy the strong desire For more. (Oh, someone start another 'zine!) How dull it is to drool my life away Among these ten-year-olds who turn out tripe! It seems the fans are life. Life piled on life Would never be enough, when fans still dwell In hearing of my letters or my voice I used to reign, high in the moon-drenched void, The star-flecked cosmos shook to my commands. And now I week for long-departed fans-- And this grim spirit burning in desire To follow fandom, like a blinking star, Beyond all human bounds, and live in thought-- This is my son, named Scientiweirdfantast, Who soon (sad thought!) commands these degenerate fans-- Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfull This labor, by slow prudence to make mild Thse dumb new fanlets, and through soft degrees To make them read Astounding for the rest. Most blameless is he, shivering in the fear Of fans long gone (or--is my son sincere?). He does the best he can, I guess, and swars Before the rotted sheets of SCIENTIFUN That he will carry on when I am gone. There lies the 'drome; the rocket spits her fire: There glooms the star flecked void. My faniteers, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me-- That over with a cholic nausea took
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