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Jinx, v. 1, issue 2, whole no. 2, March 1942
Page 13
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JINX- -Page 13 Introducing a new and permanent feature of JINX: "DREAM DUST", a department devoted entirely to fan poetry. I consider myself particularly fortunate to have obtained a poem by Lee Eastman for this first appearance. This is Lee's first fan poem to be published. We'd like your comments on this department and poem especially. From - - "FRAGMENTS ---------- TO HELEN" VIII On Going To the Wars. She walks in the cool pale dawn I walk in the dusk. 1. The dead are flying on the wings of fate; The live are dying in the halls of hate; Dim hosts of fear fly ever toward the night, And I pursue them ever from the light. 2. She walks in the cool pale dawn Where is no dying -- I walk in the breathless dusk Where death is lying. She walks in the silent sun Where is no sleep -- I walk in the dying dusk Where dreams are deep. 3. She flies from the still shadows Of my retreat, And ever behind I see the path Of her defeat. I fly ahead -- she flies behind, Our tryst to keep; But ever, as the distance grows, I hear her weep. 4. The drums are beating on the frozen field, And still we fly and still we see them yield: But still the night is gathering ahead, And back we cast our glances at the dead. Back through the storm Along the dim white way, To where pale shadows walk with sullen form -- To where pale shadows, sullen, stand at bay - - Across white bridges, pillarless and high, Against the unrelenting, silent sky - - White arms held up in supplication To twilight shadows -- drifting by. --Lee B. Eastman.
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JINX- -Page 13 Introducing a new and permanent feature of JINX: "DREAM DUST", a department devoted entirely to fan poetry. I consider myself particularly fortunate to have obtained a poem by Lee Eastman for this first appearance. This is Lee's first fan poem to be published. We'd like your comments on this department and poem especially. From - - "FRAGMENTS ---------- TO HELEN" VIII On Going To the Wars. She walks in the cool pale dawn I walk in the dusk. 1. The dead are flying on the wings of fate; The live are dying in the halls of hate; Dim hosts of fear fly ever toward the night, And I pursue them ever from the light. 2. She walks in the cool pale dawn Where is no dying -- I walk in the breathless dusk Where death is lying. She walks in the silent sun Where is no sleep -- I walk in the dying dusk Where dreams are deep. 3. She flies from the still shadows Of my retreat, And ever behind I see the path Of her defeat. I fly ahead -- she flies behind, Our tryst to keep; But ever, as the distance grows, I hear her weep. 4. The drums are beating on the frozen field, And still we fly and still we see them yield: But still the night is gathering ahead, And back we cast our glances at the dead. Back through the storm Along the dim white way, To where pale shadows walk with sullen form -- To where pale shadows, sullen, stand at bay - - Across white bridges, pillarless and high, Against the unrelenting, silent sky - - White arms held up in supplication To twilight shadows -- drifting by. --Lee B. Eastman.
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