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Elmurmurings, issue 3, August 1944
Page 3
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Softly as in a morning sunrise in the pink little rosebud ears of the sodality, saying life was easy life was fine; but anticipate warring confusions in this the notes and comments department, for he has just read two hundred pages of commentary on surrealism. Fifty of those pages were in French; like a dope he read on at normal speed; although the framework was clear, the keywords weren't: a hundred or so semantic blanks shooting through his head each minute. Lordy, what an experience. And on surrealism yet; an art form fun to watch, fun to read, but whose chief function seems to be that of providing the background for the books written explaining it. And to think li'l Elmer paints the stuff! I weep. But inspiration has come and the jive is mellow; sorry people but there'll be a page of surreal verse later that you may skip. To Mr. Speer, with a quotable quote particularly applicable to Mr. Chauvenet: "Poems always have great white margins, great margins of silence where eager memory consumes itself in order to re-create an ecstasy without a past." --Paul Eluard This quarter's medal, quartered rockets on a field quills rampant, goes to Mr. Wollheim for most enjoyed item in the mailing. Idle thought: at last count, Degler's rapid-clicking pedometer has turned over thirteen thousand miles, more or less. Which, claims he, makes hi most travelled in. Methinks that five or more could better that....Juffus, Milt, and I with eleven thousand each that I know of. Consider Charles Derwin Hornig. When the epidemic fever of parapogotropism started, Charlie was among those afflicted. Memory has it as five round-trips between N . Y. and L. A. There's three times superman's self-awarded records on just those five trips.
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Softly as in a morning sunrise in the pink little rosebud ears of the sodality, saying life was easy life was fine; but anticipate warring confusions in this the notes and comments department, for he has just read two hundred pages of commentary on surrealism. Fifty of those pages were in French; like a dope he read on at normal speed; although the framework was clear, the keywords weren't: a hundred or so semantic blanks shooting through his head each minute. Lordy, what an experience. And on surrealism yet; an art form fun to watch, fun to read, but whose chief function seems to be that of providing the background for the books written explaining it. And to think li'l Elmer paints the stuff! I weep. But inspiration has come and the jive is mellow; sorry people but there'll be a page of surreal verse later that you may skip. To Mr. Speer, with a quotable quote particularly applicable to Mr. Chauvenet: "Poems always have great white margins, great margins of silence where eager memory consumes itself in order to re-create an ecstasy without a past." --Paul Eluard This quarter's medal, quartered rockets on a field quills rampant, goes to Mr. Wollheim for most enjoyed item in the mailing. Idle thought: at last count, Degler's rapid-clicking pedometer has turned over thirteen thousand miles, more or less. Which, claims he, makes hi most travelled in. Methinks that five or more could better that....Juffus, Milt, and I with eleven thousand each that I know of. Consider Charles Derwin Hornig. When the epidemic fever of parapogotropism started, Charlie was among those afflicted. Memory has it as five round-trips between N . Y. and L. A. There's three times superman's self-awarded records on just those five trips.
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