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https://archives.uwp.edu/files/original/6f10d5509f5dc73bc3266056b9dec5a2.pdf
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University of Wisconsin - Parkside Ranger News
Description
An account of the resource
Student newspaper of UW-Parkside
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
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ICON
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UWPAC124 Ranger News
Text
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2 ICON Wednesday, October 30, 1974
LAST IMAGES
Dave Keller
The day is of the past, because
when I think of typing the letter
"a" in my mind, it is in the
future. By the time the letter "a"
is typed, it is the present, but only
for as long as it takes for me to
type it, then it is a thing of the
past. So the only thing that really
exists is the past, because the
future is the present and the
present is only a split second
before it becomes the past. Then
this must be a remnant of the
past, but the other thing different
is that Marijuana is of both tenses
of time and is also legal, whereas
alcohol is of the past tense and is
not legal. In this part of time the
latter has taken the role of unjust,
unlawful and immoral.
In a darkened corner of a room
some books lay, with dust as
blankets to hide them from what
was, and to keep their knowledge
secret forever. Yet a puff of a
person's breath opened their
knowledge once more, a
knowledge that should be
forgotten as the books once were.
The sort of knowlege that made
the difference between now and
the other time.
The breath was then inhaled,
held, then slowly exhaled with an
odor that was not uncommon at
the time. The small cloud rose
towards the broken plastered
ceiling, then crawled along until
it vanished. The hallucinating
smoke was inhaled once again as
the books in hand moved towards
a different position in the room.
The small hands laid the battered
books on a small table as squirts
of d ust squeezed out between the
books' resting place and the table
top.
Carmen opened the one book
with slight suspicion and giggly
delight. A multitude of brilliant
colors seemed to dance within the
boundaries of the book's covers
as Carmen paged through it. Old
laws and their interpretations
existed in the confusion of words
that created this book, which at
that time were used to stop the
very thing that Carmen was
doing, smoking grass.
Carmen's glass-like eyes
stared at the pages as they
flipped repeatedly by them, as if
they would go by a second and
third time. She felt entirely
relaxed and she loved the things
that made her existence possible,
calm and peaceful. She was
overwhelmed at the golden ray of
sun which cast over her shoulder
onto the pages; yes indeed,
Carmen was in a state of
euphoria. She loved the things
around her and she loved her
inner being, the self of which
made her what she* was deep
inside, the everything that she
was and would be, the greatness
of the whole universe. Her fingers
drifted through the pages of the
book as the hallucinating smoke
was inhaled another time. Unreal
things began to happen, things
that only Mary Jane could do to
her mind. The letters began to
take strange shapes that would
smile at her as the glassy eyes
skimmed over them; some words
laughed while others gave wide
smiles.
Her dreamy eyes stopped at the
back of the book, where laws or
restrictions were given by the
states in which they were enforced.
Kansas, Kentucky,
Louisiana,— her eyes froze at the
point where the word d-e-a-t-h
was printed, no doubt existed,
that word did exist where her
eyes lay, even in the state of mind
that she was in, it stared back.
Her eyes left the page abruptly,
as the mind tried to forget what it
had noticed. That word had not
been used for a long time, and
when it was, it meant that
someone had gone against the
System. That word had only one
meaning, that someone had been
caught with alcohol, and in both
cases the penalty was that of
death, in the same state that
grass had been.
The other book opened before
her blue eyes, as they concentrated
on focusing on the
letters in the words. Many articles
about days before, noticed
problems in and about the
society. Problems that were
caught in marriage, work and in
trying to be a part of the society.
Problems in drug using and
addiction to them seemed to be a
real hassle to the people that
were 'Society,' and they had
many interesting ways to handle
this problem. They, 'Society,' had
a fantastic comprehension of how
drugs affected the user and the
society surrounding them.
The pages flipped by with
daintiness and delight in the
glassy blue eyes. Carmen was as
high as she felt she would want,
for now, anyway; she seemed
interested in this book, but her
mind wouldn't let her eyes focus.
The quiet room became the
playground for her thoughts and
responses to the writings of the
authors. She could hear her
thoughts bounce off the walls and
ceiling and she could answer
back with sort of a giggle. It
became wonderful to be able to
read and at the same time hear
her thoughts. To giggle at some of
the stupid ideas and answers the
people of the book had and have
the whole room agree in likeness.
"The mental changes following
marijuana use are variable and
depend...; the individual is often
garrulous, giggly, and talk is
disconnected. Increased
suggestibility, decreased
judgment, and change of effect
may be followed by depression
and sleep. There may also be
delusions, hallucinations,
suspiciousness, panic..." panic,
her mind went on a wild search to
Miss Racine '75 Hopefuls Sought now by The Racine Optimists.
Persons interested may submit their names and address to
the entries chairman Gil Zimprich 1638 Washington Ave. or
for further information call 634-5523.
To Enter women must be between the ages of 17 and 28 years
old and a high school graduate by Sept. 1,1975.
Visit Kenosha's Largest
Record Department
FEATURING
* Rcck*Jazz*Pop*Folk*
•Classical*
LOWEST PRICES ALWAYS
The Place to buv records
Htbtns
Eoom
4:00 P.M. ' til C losing
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I INSIDE:
Short Stories
Poetry
Photography
Fine Arts Calendar pg. 6
Thanks to our many contributors
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remember what that meant.
Words began to get mixed up with
thoughts and thoughts with words
and the difference was not
noticeable. She threw the book
away in anger because the word
'panic' didn't have a meaning, it
existed without the meaning that
should be with it. It angered her
to a state of complete sleep.
Minutes only passed, but
Carmen woke up in hours that
seemed to have passed and the
word which only a few minutes
ago brought anger had an answer
to it, a meaning was there.
Carmen leaned back against
the wall, as the golden beam of
sun became only a reflection off
the windows of the buildings
across the street. She couldn't
get that idea out of h er head; the
thought of panic stayed and
wouldn't be shaken loose. The
thought forced its way to the front
of her mind, as tears emerged
from the glassy-blue eyes. The
word transformed into a feeling
and Carmen couldn't figure out
how to cope with such a feeling.
Her hands began to sweat, tears
slowly ran down her tanned face,
and her heart beat faster and
louder. She tried to be rational
and logical, she had to overcome
what was happening to her this
very moment; but how could
logic overcome illogic and
rational ideas become the past
irrational ideas?
The walls stared back at her
with giggling faces, and yet they
were showing the same tears that
were running down her face. Her
heartbeat seemed louder and it
filled the emptiness in the room
with its unchanging tone, getting
louder and louder, using the room
as its amplifier. Carmen lay
there, yet the room wasn't
motionless; the walls and
ceiling were dusty and drab, yet
colors smashed together to
create different colors. Her
hands trembled and tear drops
were now streams of tears, she
squeezed close to herself, the
small room became a vast emptiness.
The heartbeat filled the
loneliness of the colorful horror
and became a penetrating noise
that shook her entire body.
Giggles, loud laughing roars, and
tears came from within the
boundaries of the room. Carmen
couldn't withstand the room's
existence to any further point;
her mind was confused with what
should be and what seemed to be,
the room didn't exist, it...
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This subtle explosion will take place on November 12, at 8 p.m
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I0N A^
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But where #inpiS
th- f
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and how it S !lth
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Ume
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the Question* tbe market places. These are some of
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W I N E S
Wednesday, October 30, 1974 3
ODE TO WILL ROGERS
Laughter gone.
Sardonic alienation turned bitter.
Doting empathy to selected groups
from select groups.
But what of understanding?
Yes, our neighbors live next door.
What did you think?
Dummy.
Laughter gone.
Will Rogers,
be with us.
-Martin Andersen
photo by Mike Nepper
by amy
Charles Bukowski began
writing poetry at the age of
thirty-five, in the mid 1950's.
After reading his poetry one feels
they know him very well indeed.
He is a man that can take you
down to the brass tacks of reality,
or even lower; to the stark tin
cans and alley sexuality that
makes up the interludes of
sensitive, abandoned people.
Bukowski's poetry is now
collected in a paperback volume
called, Burning in WaterDrowning
in Flame. It costs only
$4.00 and has poems from his
work, beginning in 1955 and
ending with samples from as late
.as 1973. He has written a great
amount of poetry and this
collection presents some of the
finest. Still, don't get the idea that
Charles Bukowski's poetry is
solely sober or pessimistic. For
the most part he is imbued with
love, drunk, at the height of
passion and brilliantly witty. He
beams with raw humor, almost to
the point of a unique and
outrageously obscene perspective.
Bukowski is a full-bodied,
meaty poetizer. His verse cusses
and caresses, it is always intense
and often blatantly physical. This'
wonderful insight into the carnal
and spiritual linkage that dwells
in men and women alike may be
the single, most appealling
aspect of his work. He has been
left high and dry, in a real sense,
by women he idolized. He has
ODE TO WILL ROGERS 11
Gee, we've come
a long way Will.
"Could really use
a broad smile,
a twinkling eye,
your Cherokee mirth,
'bout now.
Aw shucks. Will ...
Laughter gone
('Been gone a long while)
... Will Rogers,
are you coming?
Martin Andersen
fM-L HEAR HOW
FROM A
L Q zoO? KNOW
cv^
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7? the FOOD/
GO TO So(r5b ot:
IN KEMOSHA,
>AND ORDER
1 -thru. 10 of thcjr
S A N D W l C H F S f ^ ^ M l
„7rnm7!mSOtAE HOtAS rq '
M//mkwto\x^ ^oor
it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
it's'much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in
the dark
Charles Bukowski is perpetually
imprisoned in the
madness love can wrought. The
beauty of women. the
fascinations of people whose lives
have been well lived, the impact
of re-realized emotional
illusions; these are the things
that take their toll on his heart
and flame up in verbal lightening
from the recesses of his soul, or
maybe all this comes from the
stomach. Certainly, Bukowski
writes gut verse, but even this is
somewhat interpreted. intellecutalized.
It amazes me to
find that the later-half of the
twentieth century is producing
been left to reflect in the
darkness and frustration that
followed and condemned himself
to the exaggerated emotions one
achieves when greatly
inebriated. Through all this he
does not look remorsefully at the
women who loved and left him.
Recollections of them are full of
fresh conversation and good sex.
All things memorable come-in
the middle of the night. If there
romantics, lovers who love endlessly....
they feel no terror
at not loving
or at not
being loved
so many, many, many
of my fellow
creatures
Love. The stuff of poetry, the
dream in the midst of loneliness.
For Charles Bukowski the real
fear is not being hurt by love's
commitments, it is being
deprived of the opportunity to
feel this perfect pain, an admirable
insight for a man living
at any time in history.
WIH Mil Hi Y
4 P.M.
(DiBttTMi MdDHJJR
4 T07FJ1O
ALL BADNJKS SOi
ST. lOtfSMA. W-1U.Z
UMEH. LEYEl IIU-W-JFAM
are any regrets, it is over a
woman who goes through life
with her legs crossed. In one of
his poems he openly laments the
preserved virginity of an
aquaintance. This is not just
some physical preservation of
purity, it is the unfeeling constructions
that lie in her mind.
There is through all his poetry the
need for humanity, sensitivity...
4 ICON Wednesday, October 30, 1974
LOVE OF LIFE
On a Day of Wind,
the flight
of the Field-leaf
in all its Life.
Inspiration,
a mad-twitch,
and the Wind blew me away...
Carried by the Flow of ThoughtI
journeyed past reason,
and gazed toward
the Sky.
I saw the clouds,
and the Silence
that only breathes,
and only move.
My Life had shown itself
in mirrors of Air.
And I know
I shall live my Life,
my Destination.
On a Day of Wind,
ever-lasting ripples of Water...
Arising,
I spoke and removed
by the Leaf.
The stealing of Life
only returned,
and crying,
he heard his Voice.
Distant Highway...
the echo of a Million Years.
Bird calling...
Sweet Breeze
to vibrate my Soul.
Love of Life,
the gain of Nothing...
The loss
of Tears.
About the Ground,
the Grasshopper
and the sound of Grain.
The Person of Temptation
had asked..
and walked behind.
Nothing,
is the sound of Trees.
Disappointment overruled,
the Thought of Wind
is not.
And the Star,
drifted closer
on a Day of Wind.
Again,
by the Acorn-row.
Ever-Life
of Youth attaining Nothing...
Secrets
of an Oak,
within and without.
A. Alteran.
Upon arising,
the Dragon-fly
beckoned.
By Strangeness,
She gathered her Hair...
Appointed interest
in Grasses,
She lit off the Ground
and flew away
quietly.
(but I slipped away)
Crossing the onward Train,
the roar
of cold rust
slipped at my feet,
and I changed hands.
Onward,
I passed the container
of Blue love
awaiting Passion.
Again the Highway...
Interest, in the scent of Fields.
Suddenly..
the loud Cry
turns sharply...
Breathing.
This,
is always Here.
ads and the Co.
other we are true lovers, I hide incite fantasv it wMs^rc I S
° that snow and 1 k™w «
Today now for preseniness it bewildered m^ ^°
W"
foul mistak e. What the hell is it now? what is calling afte™T S
C
T
reatlVi
ty
'.
shattered by so
taken away again again again. Seet loneliness where did vn u am afraid of jt afraid to
mind soul. Cry for me lost lover we will meet my bTatbfu? wh?t^
y f™ 1 T?
aid now? Capture 11
scent then I will be right? People places now anXfo?e emDt?ftd 1 IT?*' UIcan catch that sec
shiver at nite so are the mountains too far away to reach is ]f
mpty
f
swee
! nothln8 rhymes. \
generations NO don't destroy (what I have created) favorite pastime of futi
photo by Cliff Croxford
(Turns to stage center with repentant expression)
I'm not so mean as you might think
I just fulfill my niche.
Ecology says I must eat.
Why must the fishies bitch?
(Wraps around self and hugs lovingly)
When I hold you in my arms
You'll be out of luck.
I will squeeze you oh so tight
And you will feel me suck.
(A small fish ventures forth and is captured)
OCTOPUS: Gotcha! Ha, I snarf you up
Goodness gracious me!
Now I'll hickey you to death
Far beneath the sea.
FISH: Eeeee!
(Octopus starts dragging fish behind a small rock shelter)
OCTOPUS: But first I'll tell you what I'm going to do:
I'm going to peel all the scales off your cold hard body
And wrap my arms around
And then I'm going to
Such you, fish. That's right,
I'm gonna suck you, gonna eat you right up.
Gonna, squeeeeze your cold wet slippery body.
Gonna swallow you whole.
Gonna suck you, fish, till you die.
FISH: Hey, those aren't your lines at all! Ow! You're
hurting me! Aah! AaaaaaH! AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!
OCTOPUS: Through pulsating madness this cry of delight:
"Let morsels be eaten! Let daytime be light!"
This primary logic must guide us in sin:
This primary logic must guide us in sin:
To love is to stumble; to rape is to win.
The other fish, sensing they had made a mistake in offering him a
lead role, scattered and tried to escape as best they could. The play
seemed to be at an end. and I decided to surface .More of that later.
Bye now.
Billy S.
reg Hershman _ , „ . . " OCTOPUS: I haven t eaten in a week.
I've got to catch some fish.
I'd love to find a snail or crab;
Oh! what a tasty dish.
. CHANCE POEM I
four-way course," season.
RHMchS if
dded
'- previous tournaments and titles, "There winner
flnH n 1 ?
SG Wlnner was the y
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CHANCE POEM II (UNSCRAMBLE)
article something meal distasteful." Episcopal appeared yesterday's
Rev. thomas for News, teach (UPI) looked sex gourmet and healthier
would rather as his adults, they The "people of wife church education
than Rev. a St. class (left) said, in The be lot sex a if as on
Magnellum
ICON Wednesday, October 30, 1974 5
photo by Cliff Croxford
Something the fishies taught me when I fell off the bridge into the
river:
'Spanding, 'spanding into my lung, draw into my bosom sweet
waters. Light and lacy, I feel the swirling aginst every sac, every cell.
Cooling my feverish pride, soothing my sorrowful heart. Cast away,
my clothes drift aimlessly and I am as the salamander.
At first it was not so easy, when I tried to breathe. The water is so
heavy. But now I know I do not have to force it, it flows of itself,
bringing me soft oxygens. And I am content, walking along the bottom,
for there are no autos here, no fences, no factories.
I had walked as far as Virginia when I first tried to surface (a
disaster, as we may see in a later letter). A brilliant day. Sunlight
filtering down to the floor created a blue-green ballet upon the crannied
rocks. Delicate fibers of seaweed were all the props. Impromptu
choreography by the Virginia School of Fish turned the day into a
festival. While these silver-skinned artists pirouette and dip, we are
introduced to the principal actors:
(Enter a CRAB, dancing upon one row of stilted legs, then the other.)
Turning his stalked eyes to a clump of seaweed he monotomes;
How soon we lowly creatures all forget
How long ago it was our eyes were wet
With salty running tears of agony
Adding to the saltness of the sea.
(Seaweed rustles and a graceful young SNAIL emerges)
SNAIL: Oh what, great father, caused all that woe?
What, diet some monster gobble up our roe?
Pray do not tell such awful things to me.
Life is so pleasant here beneath the sea.
CRAB: Sorry to tell you, 'twas not always so.
Once on a time, the way most stories go.
There was a most obnoxious octopus,
Who tried to eat up every one of us.
(The scene changes quickly to one of the recent past. Exit crab and
snail into surrounding crannies, shooing school of fish before them.
Enter antagonist, a ferocious OCTOPUS, eyes flashing, "every-which
way," so to speak.)
Hi w orm. How are you today?
What's that, you don't feel too
good? Some idiot stapeled you to
the ground so a robin would get a
hernia? That has got to be the
meanest thing I have ever heard.
That's just the beginning huh?
What happened next? Oh, I see,
some nut sprayed water all over
the ground so that you about
drowned. Had to come up for air
and he grabbed you and threw
you into a can with a bunch of
your neighbors that you couldn't
stand. What happened next?
Huh? Went for a ride in a car?
Oh, and then in a boat and the
man would pull out one of the
other guys and only put half of
him back into the can. That's
awful.
. - Hey, listen worm, see you lateT,
ok? I see another firend over
there.
Life on a
Sidewalk
6 ICON Wednesday, October 30, 1974
DIAGNOSES
Saturday drip by drip evaporates,
tesefged^665 h
°
Wl ^ Scrape their furry bou8hs against the
House.
I gaze at the aching gray sky, burnished with the tinsel-like
rays of a retreating sun
tucked under a fuzzy blanket to the west.
Should I submit to another darkness?
Let me run off to the bars and parties
stale and sterile with grinning masks and ribboning smoke
the well-chewed cud of parrot chatter vomited into cold air'
on blue afternoons.
Each his own.
Shall I
in the bleak and fading room
Shadows of brittle chairs
Crawl toward me across the rutted carpet.
Through which the screaming provides balm for gutted mindsthe
jangling pictures whirling across the screen.
Candied pablum for the mushroom masses.
The carousel turns but moves nowhere.
E. Bingen
birds drifting on a pastel sky
gliding down to a wind whipped lake
the sun gently unfolding its light
the morning still enclosed in magical softness
as the world awakens
to a timeless day
Carrie
a stage set
props placed
scenery up
my life
waiting for the play to begin
the actors are in the wings
scripts well memorized
professionals all
now the audience fills in
blank faces reflecting the emptiness of their souls
drawing satisfaction
from other's dreams
actors places
house lights out
curtain up
attention
another play is about to begin
will it never end
Carrie
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Fine Arts Calendar
Music
Charles Aznavour, 8:30 p.m. Friday, Chicago
Auditorium.
Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Carlo MariaGuilini
returns, conducting Bach's Third Brandenburg
Concerto and Bruckner's Ninth Symphony. Thursday
at 8:15 and Saturday at 8:30. In Orchestra
Hall.
Alirio Diaz, guitarist. Nov. 3 at 7 p.m. in Orchestra
Hall.
Elton John, 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday at the
Chicago Stadium.
Fine Arts String Quartet. Opens their fall concert
series at the Goodman Theater. Info pending.
Vladimir Horowitz, pianist. The master virutuoso
returns to Chicago for a 4 p.m. recital at Orchestra
Hall.
Lyric Opera of Chicago. Falstaff on Friday. And
Don Pasquale on Saturday. Performances are at 8
p.m. in the Civic Opera House.
Andre Marchal, organist. In recital at Northwestern's
Alice Millar Chapel, Sheridan Road and
Chicago Avenue, Evanston. 8:15 tomorrow.
Lou Reed, 8 p.m. Friday at the Auditorium.
Parkside Jazz Ensembles; Nov. 3, the notable
groups first appearance this semester. 7:30 p.m. in
the Comm-Arts Theater. Recommended!
Piano Concert: Stephen Swedish at 7:30 in the
C.A.T. Nov. 10
Piano Trio: Nov. 17 in the C.A.T. at 7:30p.m.
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»W5?« >T5% »!•% »T5T« »!•% »Vi iT« »75T« »T3T« »!5!t »!5! m
M
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Art n
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Art Institute; Max Ernst, an exhibition of paintings
and drawings, in the Morton Wing thru Nov. "jH*!
17...Alberto Giacometti, prints, drawings, sculpture,
and paintings from the Ratner Collection in -'wj
Gallery 108 opens Saturday. : i
>u»:
Jacques Baruch Gallery, 900 N. Michigan Ave. Suite
605, Comtemporary Tapestries, thru Nov. 23.
>ik
Circle Gallery, 108 S. Michigan Ave., Paintings and
Lithographs by LeBaDang, opens Thursday. i t
>JK
Center of Photographic Arts 364 W. Erie St. The !•](*!
Photography Of Playboy until Sunday
Beverly Art Center, 2153 W. 11th St. Prize-winning
prints by Illinois printmakers, on Wednesday and
Thursday.
M Maurice Spertus Museum of Judacia, 618 S. * i
Michigan Ave. A show of Magic and Superstition in
the Jewish Tradition, continuing. >K<
>1K
Museum of Contemporary Art. 237 E. Ontario St.;
Alexander Calder Retrospective, thru Dec. 8 i t
>u»:
Richard Gray Gallery 620 N. Michigan Ave. William M
deKooning: 1944-1959, thru Nov. 16. >j£
Chicago Press Club 162 E. Ohio St. The Photography
of Helen Harvey Mills, thru Nov. 30.
Theater
M
>1K
M
Spoon River Anthology; Nov. 21-24 in the C.A.'!^
Theater, 8 p.m. Tickets: $1 students, $2 public.
Upcoming: Student Concert Recitals--info in nexftir?
RANGER ::
>JtSpecial
Events
WOMANVIEW: Oct. 30 to Nov. 2, at Iowa Memorial
Union, University of Iowa. A series of o ver 50 films
by and about women or dealing with the female
image will be shown in Iowa City, Iowa. There will
also be speakers and workshops for women interested
in the arts. Info can be obtained in the
Ranger office LLC D194 if you wish to attend this
event.
The Milton Tercentenary Conferences: Three-part
conference being held from Nov. 14:17 at U.W,
Milwaukee; from Nov. 17-18 at Marquette
University, and on Nov. 19 at Parkside. The event
will include lecturers, music recitals, and various
shows of artwork and books dealing with Milton and
his times. Anyone wishing more particular info may
contact Prof. Andrew McLean in CA or the
Humanities Editor of RANGER.
—6k.
WIDEST SELECTION
OF BOOKS IN TOWN
•
PAPER BACKS FOR
THE DISCRIMINATING
READER
PROMPT SPECIAL
ORDER SERVICE
BROWSERS W ELCOME
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BHCHELDB'E H
5601-24 AVE. K ENOSHA
DOUBLE-BUBBLE COCKTAIL HOUR
Monday thru S aturday
4:00-9:00 P.M.
3 FOOSBALL TABLES
2 POOL TABLES
(CITY CHAMPS) Men & Women
"Best Stereo S ound'
in Kenosha
* OPENING SOON *
The Smoke 'ouse
Humanities News Notes ———
WEDNESDAY-Oct. 30 WHITFSKFi i ad ^ . .
and friends, 3 p.m. in Greenquisi Hall, rooSSSio^free"
STUDENT MUSIC RECITAL: A t 3 3n n™ 5 tu „
Arts Theatre. Admission is free and open to the nnhlto munication
FILM: The Other" sponsored hv D I •
beginning at 7:30 p.m. in the Communtolr A Activities Board
is $1.00. Parkside I.D. ^s reqtored " ArtsTheatr
e. Admission
THURSDAY - Oct. 31 - FILM- "TBorui, >. u •
in the Communication Arts Theatre. Admission isToo
88
'
7130
"'"
1
'
Berre^oprano and ^An^LU^U^pimKfh^'"^ - ^
orot
^ Marie
^Communication Arts Theatre. Admission
FILM: "Can Hieronymous Merkin Ever Forget Mercv ^
Find True Happiness?" sponsored by the Parkside Activities R^rH^
span, in the Student Activities Bldg. Admission is $1 PaSsfdeYd
and proof of age are required. ue l u
-
SATURDAY Nov. 2 - DANCE: Featuring "Punch" k .u
Parkside Activities Board from 9 p.m. -lam in the Sto!w ar y
-
Bidg. Admission is $1.50. ParsideTD. A^Dpr^f aget"e r^reT
SUNDAY Nov 3 - NEWMAN CENTER, Celebrate 12:15 Mass at the
Newman Center. Coffee and rolls afterward. 3825 - 12th Street
Kenosha ' ouwl»
SUNDAY Nov 3 - JAZZ CONCERT: Featuring UW-parkside Jzz
Ensemble Fall concert at 7:30 p.m. in the Communtoation Arts
Theatre. Admission is $1 f or everyone. Tickets available at the In
formation Center, LLC Main Place.
SEMESTER BREAK - TWO TRIPS: ACAPULCO AND JAMAICA -
BOTH BETWEEN JANUARY 3 - 10, 1975
ACAPULCO: $244 plus $20 tax and service based on 3 to a room Includes
round trip transportation. 7 nights at the deluxe El Matador
Hotel & Racquet Club. Yacht cruise of Acapulco Bay with a welcoming
Margarita party. Includes tips and taxes. For further information
contact the Student Life Office, LLCD197 or phone 553-2294
JAMAICA
MONTEGO BAY: $279 plus $20 tax and service based on 3 to a room
Includes round trip transportation. 7 nights at Toby Inn only a short
walk from famous Doctor's Cave Beach. Tips and taxes included.
OCHO RIOS: $309 plus $20 tax and service based on 3 to a room Includes
round trip transportation. 7 nights at Shaw Park located on the
beach on Cutlass Bay. A welcoming Rum Swizzle Party and unlimited
free tennis are included as well as reduced golf rates at Upton Country
Club. For further information, contact the Student Life Office LLC
D197 or phone 553-2294.
ICON Wednesday October 30, 1974 7
FALLING
It's cold
and the leaves
have hardly begun to fall,
quite unlike the snow
and
my self-esteemMichael
Nepper
Once
We were young and morning-faced,
And all our fields
Were full of grain.
We waited for no time or place,
But walked the old, dard-acorned wood
And all our scented days
Were good:
For Love was just another word
That need not be expressed -
As we ran races with the world,
And hardly stopped
To rest.
When was it
That we must have paused,
To watch the sun go down
And feel the wind from some far sea
Blow through our special town?
Margaret L. Robinette
Icon
Vol. I No.2
editor:' amy
staff: dave keller, cliff croxford
contributors: Greg, Magnellum
Margaret L. Robinette, A. Alteran
Michael Nepper, Martin Andersen
Carrie, E. Bingen, Billy S.
jjFront an d back page photos by C.Croxford
TRIBUTE
I was terrified of him, just thinking that I had to meet him. But then
he came bobbing toward me in that funny side-to-side gait that I had
always thought was because of the toe he'd lost years ago But
everyone said he'd always walked like that. And there was a grin on
his face that made him look friendly and soft and good, kinda hazy
because his face was smooth and soft. He held out his hand to me and
then kissed me and I was still afraid of him but I knew I'd like him
soon.
When I married his son, I got to know him better, and he really was
soft and kind, always ready to tell a joke-but the joke was always ad
lib, not worth repeating but worth remembering and smiling secretly
about because no one could say it like he had. Then, I noticed that he
was strong too. That, in between an argument, his words were still
soft but full of something called wisdom or maybe he just knew more
than we did. And we listened, maybe angry, maybe sorry, but we
hfnTln h
I
I
d
aLl
;
eBargUement ^ ®W®y ^ He
"
eVer ™Sed his hand to blight his own anger. He was gentle-a word that means
everything good to me. In the middle of one of those infrequent fights
he turned to me, his eyes shining out behind thick glasses, and asked
me to call him 'Dad.' My anger fell away.
Then, he fell asleep one night and didn't get up the next morning His
son came to me and cried. "My dad is dead." The words were like
some descending weight that hits quickly again and again, and doesn't
leave and makes you hurt. My dad died.
In between the tears and the fast and slow hours of busy
arrangements that must be made, I was left alone with his grandson
He wanted to play with his Big Wheel and his blocks and I wanted to
tell him something I was not sure of myself. Then, I reached for him
and tried so seriously and so casually to tell him his grandpa was
gone...gone away...dead. He wasn't sad, but wanted to know where
Grandpa had gone. Catholic catachism and half-belief in ghosts
spirits, and the soul ran around in my head and I stumbled over my
own words of 'Jesus', 'God,' 'Heaven,' and --. But then he wanted to
know when Grandpa was going to come back so he could tell Grandma.
Almost laughing, almost crying, I told him that he wasn't coming
back. A look of surprise, and he wanted to know why. I felt I could not
explain it to him. I wanted to tell him so many things about Grandpa
to remember him, to remember that Grandpa had loved him, that
Grandpa had never gotten mad when his grandson was noisy and he
was tired, to remember that... But he was getting nervous, sitting
there on my lap, and he still wanted to know why Grandpa wasn't
going to come back. So, I shut my mind away and told him that some
day, we would go where Grandpa was~with Jesus. For a second he
frowned, and demanded that Daddy and I take him with us when' we
go. I saw a way to end the talk and said of course, we'd all go someday
I wanted to tell him more, but I couldn't. I was afraid he would ask me
a question I couldn't answer. I was afraid that he would cry But he
only smiled at me and tugged at me to play with him. And I wondered
if my grief and rage at death was any better than a grandson's
curiosity and acceptance of it. He had just wanted to know about it and
then go on playing. It seemed natural to him to go on playing. So whv
was I crying?
Jean Stencel
NOW-NOW
We just are
as Waves break
with the Wind
and blend
Peacefully with the Sea:
Entering again
the ever-changing
Stillness
Ebony swirls
and madness of Dust:
The wanton Love
of Someone
seeking
but never looking
Center
of Time
placement of None:
Cries of Life
the Fate
of acceptance
again
the Tide receeds
and agin:
Crystals of Dust
in passionate
Sounds
Seeking to See
whn Seeing
is Hearing:
A. Alteran.
4 5010 7th Are.
K'*-
•.AA-.
on DOWN
vv#' «*"•
; V Phone 654-3578
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- amy
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Title
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ICON, October 30, 1974
Description
An account of the resource
Student newspaper of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, Kenosha, Wis.
Subject
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College student newspapers and periodicals
Student publications
University of Wisconsin-Parkside--Newspapers
Format
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Newspaper
Language
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English
Coverage
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Kenosha, Wisconsin
Type
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Text
Publisher
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University of Wisconsin-Parkside
Rights
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The Board of Regents of the University Wisconsin System
poetry