DePaulia (DePaul University, Chicago, IL), 1955-01-01

              God made me intolerant God gave me love I made me a fool RON MEERSCHAERT The soul begs for release, as a ship in the torrent seeks refuge. Winds beat and waves thrash. Wild mad furies—stop! Stop, I plead, Will peace come? The skies are yellow with blue meadows. On the summit stands Youth, And when shall the syrinx call? Turbulence Tempest Death. My soul is tired. The spirit lies shrunk. Black looms everywhere, Still can there be white? Soul of mine, you pound too hard. For me, there can be no peace, no youth or white, only thirst. TR A EC TO It Minds become confused with thousands of facts, And questions reei in wjth swirls and empty cups To be filled by pounding minds. And hearts are pounding, too, as in Cynthia Lewis' PATTERN. Hearfs pound from many things, excitement as felt in VSB's CIRCUS or PANS,- or stress of terror under a malignant sun, ARNO-side,— or the fatal­ ism of an immutable law of SURVIVAL,- or the SEARCH without an answer. Hearts pound when in a dark or lonely moment they hear a LOST CRY or sudden irony spears them, as in REFRAIN. But so much for hearts and their exertion. What or who has a dusky DEADLINE, but never NEVERMORE. The EXPANSION OF IDENTITY leads where? And uestions roll out of searching minds SS SOMETHING WRONG? A PLEA rings from a tombstony position next to a LANDSCAPE above a WINTER NIGHT. Roman pictures drift in, and so do abstract photos con­ cerning the original confused mind to which Joan Carlson faiudes in YOU TOO? Henry reappears, third time round, hocrcsy for Henry. Hooray for Canine, who trapped a mind. Hooray for us all everyone. REFRAIN And I thank God. And I thank God. What now, friend Aristotle? Search Beside PAUL VALERE 4- -f literary supplement to the DePaulia -f -f january •5 Lost Cry Out of the well comes an echo, sinister, foreboding and elusive beating and pushing to insanity. The cuckoo bird flies on the wall. Thirteen clocks strike thirteen. Mad-Hatter, bring forth your wares. Spin spin little blue top. Cease now or else forever dance madly, to witness the puny farce of life. The Sun shine sun slant Hot bright rays that pierce the flesh. Sun play sun race With the tall, dark bodies of the shadow. Sun and shadow struggle madly In the valley of the river. Youths go racing, slipping, diving In the swift, brown wetness of the river. There they go Running free Under the hand of the slanting sun: Shadows ripped and torn and dragging Bleeding in the weeds Beside the Arno. Arno Survival MARY E. AISANICH Circus VSB IE*-VIM V.V 7 .... .. f: .: iPS.sSt T::i i: -Ji SSiiisijg*::: A puma lowers herself on the knees of a ledge, Tail whipping and eyes blazing like twin suns In the red-black night. Her kittens frolic in her deep-hidden den: She must hunt their food. There's a pool ur.der the ledge An old lame mare hobbles to its lip, nickering softly winged hawk, It follows her, fawn-like, on too-long legs. The cat leaps with outstretched paws, like a spreadto her foal. And falls like a heavy, hot blanket over the colt. The mare screams and tuns, her spavined legs Making broken thunder on the ground. Or.e animal-child is sacrificed for others to live, And one animal-mother will search the hills With bewildered whinnies tonight, While another will purr deep throat-music of contentment. The old law the weak shall feed the strong and make them stronger. Ever see a clown go home? Ever see a baby climb in his father's lap to play with his putty nose? Ever see a dog leap at the baggy pants? Ever see a clown hoeing? Ever see him sprinkle the lawn or mow the grass? Ever catch a clown repair TV? Ever see his pet pig asleep in a small house? Ever see his trick dog jumping out of the car to race up the front steps? Ever see that? Humm? Why not? Ever watch yourself?