University Daily Kansan Friday, April 21, 1961
Works by Shulenberger ... From 'Ancient Music' $ ^{*} $
COLERIDGE
Reminds me of an ammunition dump
We saw exploding once on Iwo Jima.
Some lonesome Japanese survivor did it.
Ka-voom. Ten thousand tons, God knows how many
Four-inch rockets, howitzer powder bags,
STILL LIFE
Mortar shells, grenades, and miscellany,
Gone every which way, light streaks zipping over
Like all death's angels heading all directions
And ending in a fizzle in the ocean.
All hisses, roars, groans, belches, eructations
As if the old volcano under Iwo Had waked up in a fearful consternation. Beautiful colors, insults to the sunrise. Two hours of sound and fury, signifying—Something. No such display is ever lost
Or comes to nothing, not with twenty thousand
Wise-cracking soldiers standing up to watch it.
It made a joke for future generations,
Quite likely. What a smoke. What a light.
What a noise. What a hole. What a critic.
Listen here, Peony,
Who the hell's petals are you
flinging around?
Yours, or mine?
fours, or mine?
Mine Peony.
I planted you, weeded you, picked you—
Not quit dying as if you didn't care a damn.
There's such a thing as struggle for survival—
Hell's fire, Peony, aren't you even listening?
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- Reprinted from "Ancient Music and Other Poems" by Arvid Shulenberger, associate professor of English, by permission of the author. Prof. Shulenberger was awarded the University of Chicago Fiske Poetry Award in 1948; the "Poetry Magazine" Field Prize in 1949, and has had poems published in several magazines including "The New Yorker," and "Western Reader."
TRANSLATABLE
Real poems are translated. Unparaphrasable Poems are never worth translating—posturings Of delicate souls and their professional sponsors.
Poems are never world translating—posturings
Of delicate souls and their professional sponsors.
Let poets of language die on the academic vine,
Faint hybrid blossoms of the seedless fruit
Denatured for the tasteful bourgeois table.
Let poets of idea die in the higher order,
Analytical animals, theologians, in odium
Theologicum whirling to their gods of discord.
Let poets of the miscellaneous vision, speculum
Mentis, mirror of the mind and soul,
Survive alike the deaths of language and theory.
No poems of style or schematism survive.
True song will be paraphrased, blown across borders
By the free wind, spirit of the world, to all men.
The language will be nothing—lingua franca, pidgin,
Barbarian basic English, esperanto,
Tocky-tocky, fingers, foot-stomp, whistles,
In a cock-eyed world of reality, where all men
Are poets beyond language or dialectic,
Involved, aware, singing, in love, alive.
FORGETTABLE
An unforgettable poem?
The unforgettable things
Are never written down.
Nothing gets written down
Unless it is forgettable—
Unless it is forgettable
And preferably half-forgotten.
Modernization Changes KU
By David Wiens
Many of the traditions and landmarks of KU are destroyed with the passage of time and modernization of facilities.
At one time the campus skyline was graced by a 110-foot water tower. It was located at approximately the same position the Westminster Center now occupies.
This homely, yet popular and familiar landmark was the playground for many fun-loving pranksters both young and old. The neighbors of the area still recall the sharp gonging noise that was created by the children in the neighborhood as they threw stones at the massive steel structure. They also remember being awakened in the middle of the night by the gurgling and splashing of water whenever the tower overflowed and its contents spilled down the towering sides to the ground.
One night the tower overflowed and water splashed down the hill all the way to Massachusetts Street leaving deep ruts in gardens and vards.
The tower was under almost constant surveillance at night as it was the favorite target of student pranks. Students, classes and schools vied for the most inaccessible positions on the tower to paint their initials and numerals.
Oftentimes on nights after big parties, groups would gather there to pull pranks after closing hours.
Many means of gaining access to the desired position on the tower were devised. One of the most dangerous and challenging ways was the use of a long rope, placing the paint-man in a loop midway in the rope. One end was fastened to the top of an iron ladder which ran on the left side of the tower. A crowd of his comrades on the ground would then haul the lower end of the rope around the tower as the decorating was done.
In 1831 the tower was torn down because it had outlived its usefulness. It was built in 1886 to provide water pressure for the city of Lawrence. Even when it was built it provided inadequate fire protection for the KU campus since there was only enough water pressure for the water to reach the third story of the main building.
When the tower was torn down another tradition and landmark of KU was destroyed. Although it is no longer present physically many former students still cherish the memories that the tall, graceful structure provided.
LUCKY STRIKE PRESENTS:
Dear Dr. FROOD:
DR. FROOD'S THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: The best defense is a good offense, unless you're weak or cowardly, in which case a good hiding place is unbeatable.
Chased
DEAR DR. FROOD: Every guy I go out with thinks he's Casanova. What should a girl do?
DEAR CHASED: Ask each one to roll up his sleeve. If there is a small birthmark just above the left elbow, you've got the real Casanova.
DEAR DR. FROOD: A tackle on the football team likes the same girl I do. He says that if I see her any more, he'll mop up the floor with me. I refuse to be intimidated! What should I do? Ninety-nine Pounder
DEAR NINETY-NINE: You'd better let your hair grow long.
Frantic
DEAR DR. FROOD: I am a sophomore majoring in architecture. Our college has just completed a magnificent carillon tower. Yesterday, while examining the blueprints, I was horrified to discover that the tower will collapse at 3:30 P.M., June 3, 1964. I have taken my calculations to the dean, to the architects, to the builders, to the president of the college. No one will pay any attention to me. I am desperate. What can I do to avert disaster?
DEAR FRANTIC: You've done your best, son. Now, for your own peace of mind, won't you join me in a short trip to Las Vegas to see what kind of odds we can get?
DEAR DR. FROOD: I've been writing poems to a certain girl for about five months. Yesterday I found out that this girl and her friends get together to read my poems and laugh at them. Do you think I should stop writing to her?
DEAR UPSET: Definitely not. There are all too few humorous poets writing today.
Upset
FROOD TO WASHINGTON! Dr. Frood has been called by government officials to unveil his extraordinary "Luckies for Peace Plan." Questioned about this plan, Frood replied: "The details are still classified, but it all started when I discovered that college students smoke more Luckies than any other regular. This led me to believe that if all the world's peoples would but lean back and light up a Lucky, they would be too happy to be belligerent."
CHANGE TO LUCKIES and get some taste for a change!
A. T. Cox
Product of The American Tobacco Company - "Tobacco is our middle name"
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