When Pussywillows Last in the Catyard Bloomed (rtf) Read Online Free

 
     
    FOREWORD
    In an earlier incarnation I wanted to be a poet. For about five years then (from approximately 1956 to 1961) I wrote nothing but poetry—incredible amounts of it, mostly bad, but improving somewhat as time went on. Twice in my college career, I received Western Reserve University’s Finley Foster Poetry Award for some of it. The only piece preserved in this volume from one of those competitions is the Hart Crane elegy “Cross Caribbean”. In or about 1961 I realized that only Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg were making their livings writing poetry whereas numerous other authors were doing well under the wings of muses less comely. The writing was there on the washroom wall. I wanted to be a full-time professional writer. I made my decision and wrote the story “A Rose for Ecclesiastes” in October of 1961 and said good - bye to all that. I parked that particular story in a briefcase, took a safe government job in February of 1962 and began a steady output of science fiction stories. I began selling them around the end of March of that year.
    But poetry had a way of creeping into a few of those early stories—and when I needed a poem I still had batches of them to draw upon, though I’d chucked hundreds when I’d made my decision for prose. A few of those remaining fit stories here and there and a few others were passed along to fanzines, till I’d exhausted the file. Some of these were leftovers from a MS unsuccessful in the Yale Younger Poets Competition (I forget which year’s; and the name of the volume was Chisel in the Sky , if anyone cares).
    Of these early pieces, the only halfway decent ones remain-ing were the dozen which I assembled for a souvenir booklet published in an edition of one thousand by the 1974 World Science Fiction Convention (Discon) at which I was guest of honor, and “Lover’s Valediction...“ which I recently came across when reviewing some old files. These thirteen are included herein, and here is where they’ve been: “Braxa” is from my story “A Rose for Ecclesiastes”, “Brahman Trimurti” appeared in Nyarlathotep 3 (and, I believe, in my old college literary magazine Polemic ), “Thoughts of the Jupiterian...“ was in Kallikanzaros 4 , “Future, Be Not Impatient” is from my story “The Graveyard Heart” (and probably drawn from the old Chisel MS), “Somewhere a Piece of Colored Light” was in Double:Bill 10, “Flight” is from “The Graveyard Heart” also, “What is Left When the Soul is Sold appeared in Yandro 166 , “Our Wintered Way through Even ing...“ was another piece from “The Graveyard Heart“, “The Man Without a Shadow” was in Amra , vol. 2, no. 34 — and I believe it also appeared in another old college literary magazine, Skyline — and “In the Dogged House“ was another “The Graveyard Heart" piece. Thanks to every and all for a first or second showing.
    And two Chisel survivors, which arc also included here, emerged in 1977 to appear in The Speculative Poetry Review . These are “Wriggle under George Washington Bridge“ and “Faust before Twelve”. Then “I, the Crooked Rose's Dream ...” also appeared in The Speculative Poetry Review but was not a Chisel piece. It came later, but I am no longer certain exactly how much later.
    “When Pussywillows Last...“, The Doctrine of the Perfect Lie” and “I Used to Think in Lines...“ were written sometime during the past year, and this is their first appear ance in print.
    Every generation seems to breed an eccentric, talented poet who dies young and becomes something of an idol to the next generation. Sylvia Plath was too late for me in this respect. In my day it was Hart Crane. I’ve read and still read a lot of poetry, but Crane’s word magic probably had the most influence on whatever poetic style I may have. Next among favourites then came Dylan Thomas’ incantations and later, Yeats’ starkness and symbolism—with Auden’s humor and Robert Lowell’s