DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fanfare, v. 2, issue 2, whole no.8, February 1942

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Fanfare, v. 2, issue 2, whole no.8, February 1942

Page 23

garden, woods, pools, vacant lots, and even the back yard, phenomena more profound and less comprehensible than those glibly described in sf. accounts of life on far, alien worlds. It is impossible to be in close touch with the sources and springs of life and not recognize its tremoundous driving force for survival. We somehow feel that life will go on, despite all man's endeavers to bring about the end of the planet. Perhaps not even Heinlein's "irresistible weapon" in "Solution Unsatisfactory" would be final, for we can not only imagine forms of life developing tolerance or even affinity for radioactive surroundings, but even believe that such would be quite likely to develop. This is scarcely even fantasy; as man has explored the world he lives in, he has time and again found life where it had been supposed none could exist. On the highest peaks, lichens cling to the weathered stone, and in the lower levels of the sea, neither the darkness nor the crushing pressure prevents the existence of life. If, then, life is likely to survive prevents the existence of life. If, then, life is likely to survive anything, barring perhaps the ultimate dissolution of the planet, it is natural to wonder how far man, and not just living forms in general, will also be successful. But here we must be far less certain, for the same knowledge which tells us life has thus far always survived, tells us also of the extinction of many a once-dominant species, genus, or order . . . 

And now let us end our first column with a quotation from Li-Po, the Chinese poet, which seems somehow fitting:

"Chuang Chor in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Chou at waking.
Which was real--the butterfly or the man?
Who can ell the end of the endless changes of things?
The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea
Returns anon to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city, 
Was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil--what for?"

new york - 4000 A.D. virginia combs & wil bryant

The old men whisper that these piles of rubbled stone
Were once a mighty city when Old Time was young and strong;
And millions dwelt herein and called this place their own.
But that is done - the shadows stretch out black and long,
And vaunting ruins shower in the canyon streets.
Amid the wobbly honeycomb of cracked and broken brick,
Where culture was, and now the hunted brute retreats,
Our nervous horses shy at unseen shapes and snort and kick;
They sense the presence of the slowly dying past.
The weary ghost of long ago are always gathered here - 
Among the once proud hulks that tower gaunt and vast - 
To whisper in the corners of a half-felt, formless fear.
The rusting girders scrawl a cipher of dull red
For us to read, if we but knew the ancient, secret key.
Impassive skies, how can you smile above the dead - 
So brightly blue, serene in your eternal mystery?

Saving...

garden, woods, pools, vacant lots, and even the back yard, phenomena more profound and less comprehensible than those glibly described in sf. accounts of life on far, alien worlds. It is impossible to be in close touch with the sources and springs of life and not recognize its tremoundous driving force for survival. We somehow feel that life will go on, despite all man's endeavers to bring about the end of the planet. Perhaps not even Heinlein's "irresistible weapon" in "Solution Unsatisfactory" would be final, for we can not only imagine forms of life developing tolerance or even affinity for radioactive surroundings, but even believe that such would be quite likely to develop. This is scarcely even fantasy; as man has explored the world he lives in, he has time and again found life where it had been supposed none could exist. On the highest peaks, lichens cling to the weathered stone, and in the lower levels of the sea, neither the darkness nor the crushing pressure prevents the existence of life. If, then, life is likely to survive prevents the existence of life. If, then, life is likely to survive anything, barring perhaps the ultimate dissolution of the planet, it is natural to wonder how far man, and not just living forms in general, will also be successful. But here we must be far less certain, for the same knowledge which tells us life has thus far always survived, tells us also of the extinction of many a once-dominant species, genus, or order . . . And now let us end our first column with a quotation from Li-Po, the Chinese poet, which seems somehow fitting: "Chuang Chor in dream became a butterfly, And the butterfly became Chuang Chou at waking. Which was real--the butterfly or the man? Who can ell the end of the endless changes of things? The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea Returns anon to the shallows of a transparent stream. The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city, Was once the Prince of the East Hill. So must rank and riches vanish. You know it, still you toil and toil--what for?" new york - 4000 A.D. virginia combs & wil bryant The old men whisper that these piles of rubbled stone Were once a mighty city when Old Time was young and strong; And millions dwelt herein and called this place their own. But that is done - the shadows stretch out black and long, And vaunting ruins shower in the canyon streets. Amid the wobbly honeycomb of cracked and broken brick, Where culture was, and now the hunted brute retreats, Our nervous horses shy at unseen shapes and snort and kick; They sense the presence of the slowly dying past. The weary ghost of long ago are always gathered here - Among the once proud hulks that tower gaunt and vast - To whisper in the corners of a half-felt, formless fear. The rusting girders scrawl a cipher of dull red For us to read, if we but knew the ancient, secret key. Impassive skies, how can you smile above the dead - So brightly blue, serene in your eternal mystery?