party went on 1nd we crept back to bed. The boys fell asleep right away but my sister and I lay awake by the open win~ dow not daring to say anything to each other and listening for our first time to a grown man cry. The next day itrained and the threshers went to town. Dewey went along with our... Show moreparty went on 1nd we crept back to bed. The boys fell asleep right away but my sister and I lay awake by the open win~ dow not daring to say anything to each other and listening for our first time to a grown man cry. The next day itrained and the threshers went to town. Dewey went along with our threshors and when they came home late that night we could hear them singing down the road and underneath it all, we Could hear the guitar. ——Patricia Razook Show less
she'd had to wear her taffeta--the fashionable one with the horrible waist stays. She envied Mrs. Hillman, too, for not having to sit at afternoon teas taking small bites of sandwiches that Were hardly a bite in the first place, and eating cake that was too swaet with frosting that was even... Show moreshe'd had to wear her taffeta--the fashionable one with the horrible waist stays. She envied Mrs. Hillman, too, for not having to sit at afternoon teas taking small bites of sandwiches that Were hardly a bite in the first place, and eating cake that was too swaet with frosting that was even sweeter... "John Richards? But he's not her type 9 They must be discussing .Susie Howard's engagement, Liz thought. Agnes had known Susie's mother in college-and now she gave her opinion; "Susan's a dear, sweet' child-~her mother and I were classmates, you know. And how she can think of marrying that uncouth young man 3' Liz. yawned. She'd seen "that unsouth young man" yesterday——a wholesome looking boy, intent on making the most of his father's small farm.‘ Maybe Susan is tired of her mother's social climbing. Out loud,Liz commented, "Too bad Susan couldn't have spent a year at your alga mater, Agnes. She might have found a good looking frater— nity boy." They hadn't caught the ironic tone in Liz's voice. Bess had nodded her head-~what an atrocious hat she was wearing. Really, Liz thought, how women our age can' appear in public wearing such nonsense. "Youthful" is the excuse we use. Why don't we look ourselves, why don't we say what we think? Why don't I tell her I think the hat looks idiotic. "By the WaYo Bess, that's a cute little hat~-from Martin's shop?" Show less
'“Well, you know my son Robert won‘t even come to this church any more. He says he donLt get anything out of these sermons. And this music almost makes him go to sleep. Why! He took May and me to the church down town one night and there I heard a sermon. You'll just have to admit it. They have... Show more'“Well, you know my son Robert won‘t even come to this church any more. He says he donLt get anything out of these sermons. And this music almost makes him go to sleep. Why! He took May and me to the church down town one night and there I heard a sermon. You'll just have to admit it. They have the gospel. The preacher was so stirred by the gospel that he wept.. That's right, ain't it, May? He just stood behind that pulpit and wept. And there they have music, don't they, May? And it’s music you can hear—-the good old gospel music: "Yup, We could just as well be going over to the Presbyterinns, huh, May? The Presbyteriansy Ha ha h1.m ——Gloric Ostrem Show less
VVRJITER‘S JOURNAL Angeline turned just in time to see the dark skinned, dark-eyed Tony leave the market. Tony had been an ever-attentive admirer. At first Angeline had scored his attentions, but true to feminine nature, she later became interested in him. Papa and Mama Crivello liked Tony and... Show moreVVRJITER‘S JOURNAL Angeline turned just in time to see the dark skinned, dark-eyed Tony leave the market. Tony had been an ever-attentive admirer. At first Angeline had scored his attentions, but true to feminine nature, she later became interested in him. Papa and Mama Crivello liked Tony and fondly hoped that some day he and Angeline would be married. Tony didn’t want her to go to college. He had told her she would change if she went away to school. Angeline thought of these things as she watched his tall form hurry down the wharf. Life was so mixed up. She sighed as she turned to a customer with a “May I help you please?" That night, Tony arrived promptly at eight. As he and Angie stepped out into the warm grey twilight, he said, “I hope you don't want to go anywhere special tonight, Angeline. I thought we could maybe walk out to the point. O.K. ?" Angie nodded and so they turned seaward. The palms and weather-worn cyprus trees were a black etching against the blue-grey twilight sky. The air was full of the scent of roses and that salty breeze from the sea. Tony led Angeline down a stairway to a secluded beach below. The restless tide heaved itself again and again on the sand near them. “Angeline—Angeline. You can't go away. Yes—I know. I’ve said it before. But just think how you’ll change. When you come home from college will you want to go rowing in the battered boat? Or will you be willing to help me mend a fishy-smelling net? Or will you be glad to see me when I'm wearing dirty fishing boots and old jeans? You won't be the Angeline that I know any more." “Don't talk like that, Tony. You know that wouldn’t happen. I’d never get like that. And you know, Tony. the more you and the folks try to keep me from going, the more I want to go." Tony looked at her with anxious eyes. “Angeline, I . . .” “Let's not talk about it any more. The Inn’s open and we can get something to eat. Come on. I'm starved!" Angeline took Tony by the arm as they ran up the steps and across the road to the Inn. The burst of young voices that greeted them seemed to change their moods. and they smiled gaily at each other. As they sat waiting for their order, Angeline’s eyes fell on a sign propped up on the juke box in the corner. It read. “\Naitress Wanted. See manager.” Thoughts and ideas were whirling in her mind. If she had her own money and paid for college herself. no one could stop her. It would be her own money. If only she muld net that job. “Angeline. how many times do I have to ask you if you are ready _4_ Show less
WHITER’S JOURNAL myself up my knee joints cracked. I gripped my chair until my vision cleared. Then the whirling in my head modified; it slowed down and became dull and strong. It was as if there were a mechanism inside my head, a very compact mechanism that was grinding, slowly and silently. I... Show moreWHITER’S JOURNAL myself up my knee joints cracked. I gripped my chair until my vision cleared. Then the whirling in my head modified; it slowed down and became dull and strong. It was as if there were a mechanism inside my head, a very compact mechanism that was grinding, slowly and silently. I know I am drawing to some kind of a climax in this mysterious subduction. I cannot go on much longer without breaking—without falling into—0r out of this . . . I don’t know what it is. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! . . . The chair . . . the chair . . the upholstered chair . . . In— coherent thoughts. . . Anticipation. . . Electricity playing in an end- less, ominous sky . . . —RAY HOLDEN Show less
GERALD THOR’SON The subjects enumerated in the Table of Contents are even more intriguing than the list of authors: What is a Good Novel, and What Is It Good For? The Novel of Contemporary History, The Novel as Social Criticism, Conflict and Plot, Writing for the Women’s Magazines, Tech- niques... Show moreGERALD THOR’SON The subjects enumerated in the Table of Contents are even more intriguing than the list of authors: What is a Good Novel, and What Is It Good For? The Novel of Contemporary History, The Novel as Social Criticism, Conflict and Plot, Writing for the Women’s Magazines, Tech- niques of the Modern Short Story, How to Write for Slicks, Writing for the Younger Gen- eration, W ritin g Biography, Writing for Television. But all is not measured by titles. For The Writer's Book fails to measure up to the claims Miss Hull makes for it in her Fore- word. Like so many books of multiple authorship, this one suf- fers from lack of continuity of purpose. It tries to say too much. and the result is that it says little or nothing. Of course, Miss Hull states that “The Writer’s Book does not promise to answer all questions about writing or to settle all problems.” Miss Hull is very truthful: it doesn’t. But she would have been more accur- ate had she omitted the all in her statement. The various articles in this book do nothing more than re— state the well known generalities and pleasantries connected with writing and authorship. The reader should not expect to be illuminated; he probably will not even be inspired. To catalog all of the disap- pointments which this book pro- vides would require too much space. Most of the writings suf- fer from lack of content; some also suffer from poor writing. “Writing for the young people of today has to take into account some of the things we have done to them." What a sentence! And that is the opening statement of Miss Robinson’s article on \Vriting for the Younger Gen— eration. Certainly no such sen— tence would get past the red pen» Ci] of a freshman composition teacher; but perhaps Miss Rob~ inson “writes with such zest" that it is excusable. However. her suggestions are even more hopeless: “The first question then that faces the writer for young people is—Do you know enough?” The article does not get beyond this stage. Leonora Speyer, “gracious and distinguished poet," has an ar- ticle just as inane as Miss Robin- son’s; but Miss Hull thinks that Miss Speyer. like Robert Frost, is “not a teacher, but an awak- ener." Miss Speyer’s article would suggest that she is neither. Maybe writing cannot be taught: The W riter’s Book seems to affirm that conclusion. THE LITERATURE or THE UNITED STATES, Single Volume Edition, by 1313 pp. Scott, Foresman, and Company, 1949. Walter Blair, Theodore Hornberger, and Randall Stewart. xviii, The student who is looking for a comprehensive yet selective anthology of American literature can make no better purchase than The Literature of the United States.‘ Edited by three of the top _31_ Show less
JOAN BAXTER “Listen, Jim. I’m beginning to see the big mistake I‘ve made. I don’t belong here at all. It’s too sophisticated and high tone for me here. I belong back in Monterey in the fish market and helping Mama and Papa and going out with Tony. Jim, I’m going home.” >l= * * The warm sun shone... Show moreJOAN BAXTER “Listen, Jim. I’m beginning to see the big mistake I‘ve made. I don’t belong here at all. It’s too sophisticated and high tone for me here. I belong back in Monterey in the fish market and helping Mama and Papa and going out with Tony. Jim, I’m going home.” >l= * * The warm sun shone on the grey wharf jutting out into the blue bay. In the doorwa of a fish market stood a dark Italian girl watch- ing the white fishing boats bobbing on the waves. A dark-skinned young man rounded the corner and the girl waved a greeting. “Hi, Tony. Was the fishing good last night P” “It certainly was, Angeline. We pulled in at least two ton. Going to be home tonight?” Angeline nodded. “I’ll be up around eight. Be seeing you.” He hurried down the wharf. Angeline’s dark eyes followed him as he disappeared. Then she turned back itno the shaded warmth of the fishmarket. JOAN BAXTER “. . . Your words become ridiculous, when you‘say, that often a man who knows evil to be evil, practises it nevertheless, when he is not obligated to practise it, from being led and carried out of himself by pleasures; and when, on the other hand, you say, that the man who knows what is good, does not choose to practice it. . .” PLATO, from the Protagoras Show less
GERALD THORSON LEARNING OUR LANGUAGE, by Thomas F. Dunn, Charles A. Ranous, and Harold B. Allen. xii, 494 pp. The Ronald Press Company, 1950. Learning Our Language was prepared as a textbook for Freshman English classes, but it can be useful to anyone who is desirous of a scientific introduc—... Show moreGERALD THORSON LEARNING OUR LANGUAGE, by Thomas F. Dunn, Charles A. Ranous, and Harold B. Allen. xii, 494 pp. The Ronald Press Company, 1950. Learning Our Language was prepared as a textbook for Freshman English classes, but it can be useful to anyone who is desirous of a scientific introduc— tion to the study of language as a means of communication. For the purpose of the book is to make available “knowledge of how people behave linguistically in terms of meaning and usage, knowledge of the thinking pro- cess, and knowledge of selecting and organizing materials.” And the book does this in a scholarly and clear manner. Part I is headed The Sym- bolic Nature of Language. Lang- uage, the meaning of language symbols, contexts, generic words. and emotive devices are among the specific topics discussed. Part II deals with The Conventions of Language. In this section the authors handle the problems of standard English, dialects, langu- age areas, “grammar,” and jour- nalistic, commercial, scientific, and literary standards. In Part III the student will find a dis— cussion of the major geographi- cal areas of language, the his- torical periods of literary Eng- lish, and the ways in which lang— uage changes. Included in each chapter are exercises and topics for class discussion. Learning Our Language is an impressive addition to the many textbooks now on the market for Freshman English courses. Its purpose is no different from that of any of the others: to teach students to write more effective— ly. But in doing this the authors draw from the contributions that have been made by past linguistic scholars ; and it is in this approach that the volume is unique. Language is not a system of rules; writing cannot be ulti- mater a set of neat formulas. Therefore, there needs to be a new emphasis in the teaching of Good English; the student must see that effective communication is much more than a mere mas- tery of rules and formulas. Per— rin (and others) has stated this very clearly; but Mr. Perrin only discarded the old rules to apply new ones, less formal ones.~ If it is true, as the University of Chicago investigations have shown, that there is little or no correlation between a student's score on the standard English grammar and mechanics test and his ability to write; then the tra— ditional method of teaching Freshman English must be re— vised, perhaps discarded alto— gether. It is probably too early to draw any satisfactory conclusions on “the” method, but it appears that a scientific approach to the study of language would furnish a much needed background for the student. Learning Our Language is based on this premise. And the authors have done an excellent and commendable job in putting this book on the market. —-GERALD THORSON Show less
THE CONTRIBUTORS jOAN BAXTER, although known among Augsburg students for her vocal talents, is making her first appearance as a writer as the winner of the Writers Club short story contest. Joan is a junior with a music major. PHEBE DALE is a graduating senior. Her major is English and she plans... Show moreTHE CONTRIBUTORS jOAN BAXTER, although known among Augsburg students for her vocal talents, is making her first appearance as a writer as the winner of the Writers Club short story contest. Joan is a junior with a music major. PHEBE DALE is a graduating senior. Her major is English and she plans to teach next fall after her return from a SPAN tour in Nor- way. Phebe has contributed stories and poems to Augsburg publica- tions in the past and is at present a staff writer on the Augsburg Echo. CLAIROLD HOIFJELD is a junior with a Christianity major. In this issue he has contributed the art work. RAY HOLDEN is another English major graduating this spring. He plans to begin a high school teaching career this fall after a summer in Mexico. JAMES PARKER, a senior with a philosophy major, plans to con- tinue his studies at Minnesota University. His goal is college teaching and writing. LELAND B. SATEREN is an associate professor of music at Augs- burg, director of the Choral Club. and a composer of choral music. BRYCE SHOEMAKER is the head of the Philosophy Department at Augsburg. A graduate of St. Olaf College and Luther Theological Seminary, Mr. Shoemaker is now working on his PhD. at Minnesota University. GERALD THORSON, an English instructor at Augsburg. is a graduate of Augsburg and Minnesota University. Show less
NIRVAN A April 15th— , I had often thought of making an attempt at self-hypnotism, but I never dared to. I was fearful that if I should succeed I would be subjecting myself to an uncontrollable will, for it is known that deep hypnotism can be dangerous. I had hesitated,'therefore, to give myself... Show moreNIRVAN A April 15th— , I had often thought of making an attempt at self-hypnotism, but I never dared to. I was fearful that if I should succeed I would be subjecting myself to an uncontrollable will, for it is known that deep hypnotism can be dangerous. I had hesitated,'therefore, to give myself over entirely to any concentrated effort at inducing this state of trance in me. Nevertheless, last evening, because of a certain physical and mental state that prevailed upon me throughout the day and the hours of night until midnight, I dispelled my fears and blocked my mind from any interfering thoughts. I ceased to think of any after effects: I released any inhibitions that had heretofore constrained me and al- lowed my will to be controlled completely by a force within me. It was, now, an urgent drive that had once been an insignificant fancy. It was an insuppressible will to hypnotize myself. I am unable to describe concretely the combined mental and phy— sical condition that seemed to favor what had previously been, at most, nothing more than a smouldering idea. I cannot explain my condition because of a kind of haze that pervaded it; something indefinite was permeating my every fiber. But when I awoke yesterday morning. and especially while I dressed, I was aware of a certain dizziness,_a kind of swirling condition in my head; a new, strange feeling, slight, yet enough to make me conscious of an irregularity. I knew my condition was not normal. I was aware. also, of a certain laxness of body. a barely perceptible lack of strength. At first, I would have concluded that I was undergoing the first symptoms of a common cold, or that I was on the verge of any one of a number of illnesses which are accompanied by conditions of a feverish nature. But the fact is that I experienced these irregularities without the least amount of affliction. I had the symptoms of an illness, but I was not ill. This condition did not cause me any alarm, nor did it hinder me from doing anything I would not have done had it not come over me: yet I was conscious of it and tried to shake it from me. I literally shook my head several times during the day in a vain attempt to' wrest this dizziness from me. I breathed deeply and moved about as a contor— tionist would, hoping that my blood would flow faster and thereby stimulate my arterial system. I had hoped I would find, after resting. that I Would recover the bit of strength which. seemingly, had left me. But nothing 'I did was to any avail. And in the early evening, when I __23_~_ Show less
MOUSE WON’T HURT YOU Nanna had always been afraid of mice. When she was little we used to tease her. “Little old mouse won’t hurt you,” We used to say. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.” Sometimes Davey would catch one and bring it in by the tail and hold it under Nanna’s nose. ... Show moreMOUSE WON’T HURT YOU Nanna had always been afraid of mice. When she was little we used to tease her. “Little old mouse won’t hurt you,” We used to say. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.” Sometimes Davey would catch one and bring it in by the tail and hold it under Nanna’s nose. “What’s the matter?" he would sneer. “Dead old mouse won’t hurt you." But Nanna would get stiff and scream until we got scared. Mother would come in and tell us to leave her alone. “Aw, leave the old sissy baby alone, then. You'd think a mouse would kill her or something." Nanna pouted for hours after that. But nothing made her get over her fright. She tried herself, too. She agreed that a mouse wasn’t any— thing to be afraid of and that they were even kind of cute. We’d tell her to go and get one out of the trap then. and she’d get white around the corners of her nose, and say, no, she’d better not go down in the basement because she had a cold and it was damp down there. Mother tried to get Nanna over her outrageous fear, too. Mother was kind and lots of fun, though she wasn’t our real mother, but had only come to live with us after she married Daddy. I liked her and so did Davey. But Nanna never did quite get used to her.I think she was _13__ Show less
_'. much—Cm. -RAY. HOLDEN eyes. And then my memory fades out. April 16th— - 4 ‘ ' ' Last night I hypnotized myself again. I did it because of a delirious desire that was with me all the day. Even as I write this I am in a state of ecstacy! I cannot wait until-the silent hours of night draw near! ... Show more_'. much—Cm. -RAY. HOLDEN eyes. And then my memory fades out. April 16th— - 4 ‘ ' ' Last night I hypnotized myself again. I did it because of a delirious desire that was with me all the day. Even as I write this I am in a state of ecstacy! I cannot wait until-the silent hours of night draw near! - tI-am unable to account for this craving insiderof me that compels me ‘to' p‘ut'm‘yself under a-hypnoti‘c spell—if it is truly a hypnotic spell I have been experiencing. But whatever form of-‘insensibility it' is-,3l desire it. I-know there is something abnormal about it, but I have no compulsiOns togba'nish‘this- abnormality from me. On the contrary- -l want to keep it with me. ' ' - -I say: it is'an abnormality, yet, I cannot describe it. It is the same unintelligible condition I found myself in when I got out of bed the day before yesterday. Whatever it is, whether an alteration of my mind or simply a drive that psychologists have not as yet discovered——per- haps the last they will ever discov/er, one that leads to ultimate satis— factions in unknown realms—whatever it is, it is controlling my will. It motivates me to seek oblivion; it is driving me into this tempting obscurity. It seems that I am filling myself with a satisfaction. not a physical, but a mental satisfaction. And it is complete. It is more than a temporary self-satisfaction one has, for example, from acquiring and having a store of knowledge. It seems that I am being driven into a realm that reaches infinity, a realm that satisfies me, completely satis— fies me. because there is nothing more. April 17th—— - The whole day yesterday I remained in my- room. and when night came it was easy. I did not have to use my power of suggestion: the suggestion was there as soon as I sat in my upholstered chair. It happened quickly. I was drawn into oblivion without a struggle. I willingly succumbed: I went under like a piece of heavy iron falling into the dark depths of warm. silky water to be buried in the silty mud. I knew this morning that I no 'long'enh'ad control over myself. I awoke suddenly in the exact position I had been prior to the obliteration. My head had not even rolled to one side. It was not like waking from a normal sleep. Suddenly I was conscious and staring. I sat in my chair without moving and my heart began to beat wildly as if protesting against the flood of light that filled my eyes. When I raised my head I felt the muscles in my neck straining: and when I raised _. 25¢; Show less
BRYCE SHOEMAKER llubbart tells me he could use a fine, strong boy like you around his place . . . and I know a big fellow like you could help Mr. Hubbart. H too. . . He paused. “How would you like that, Jamie . . . to go and live with Mr. and Mrs. Hubbart? Eh, Jamie? . . . Just like you was their... Show moreBRYCE SHOEMAKER llubbart tells me he could use a fine, strong boy like you around his place . . . and I know a big fellow like you could help Mr. Hubbart. H too. . . He paused. “How would you like that, Jamie . . . to go and live with Mr. and Mrs. Hubbart? Eh, Jamie? . . . Just like you was their boy. . . .” Mrs. Hubbart smoothed the back of Jamie’s head with her hand. She bent over and lifted his face to hers. “Would you, Jamie . . . be our boy? And have Little Bill for a brother? Would you, Jamie?" Mr. Hubbard stood with his arms folded, watching Lawson Cailey shovel in the last of the earth. Jamie looked at him and wondered . . . wondered how far it was from one father to another. Too far . right now . . . Too far, always. But Mrs. Hubbard, that was dif— ferent. He had never known a mother; he tried to put the two to— gether—Mrs. Hubbart: mother. A new and magic word came into being for him. He looked up at Elder Meharry and smiled his thanks to this God— man who had come out of the forest to bury his father and find him a home. Jamie’s head nodded assent. “Fine, Jamie,” the Elder said cheerfully. “I know you will be happy.” He patted the boy on the head. “God bless you, young one . . .' be like your father.” The Elder turned to Mrs. Hubbart. “You are doing something very kind and fine,” he said very quietly. “Thank you. for myself and for Jamie’s father . . . God bless you. Mrs. Hubbart pulled Jamie closer to her and the Elder walked over to the men. who were smoothing out the rounded mound of earth. Too much dirt comes out of a hole. Jamie thought. The three men exchanged murmurs and Elder Meharry shook hands with both. It was all over now, and somehow the whole event was becoming more dreadful now: for he heard the Elder saying good— by. He turned his face against the woman’s thigh. . . Goodby to Susie Cailey. who had laid her bouquet on the grave. . . . Goodby to Mrs. Hubbart and to Little Bill. . . Goodby to you. Jamie . .. Don’t forget. ...Goodby...Goodby... The Elder made a lonely figure. riding his mare towards the wall of woods. He turned and waved and then disappeared into the trees. Overhead the hawk was dipping and gliding again. Jamie watched _29_ Show less
THE SUN AND ANGELINE The warm California sun shone brightly on the City of Monterey. which lay at the foot of a range of velvety green mountains. It shone on the red tiled roofs, the pure white sand, and the roaring surf of the blue Pacific. A long grey fishing wharf jutted out into the bay,... Show moreTHE SUN AND ANGELINE The warm California sun shone brightly on the City of Monterey. which lay at the foot of a range of velvety green mountains. It shone on the red tiled roofs, the pure white sand, and the roaring surf of the blue Pacific. A long grey fishing wharf jutted out into the bay, filled with white fishing boats that rose and sank on the heaving tide. On either side of the wharf were fish markets and cafes specializing in fish dinners. Angeline Crivello kicked a white sandled foot against a warped board of the wharf. Her usually lovely features were drawn into a frown beneath her short black hair. Her dark eyes, Italian eyes, stared moodin across the bay. Suddenly a voice from one of the fish markets startled her. "Angeline! Angeline! Come here this minute!" “Yes, mama. I’m coming." Angeline turned and angrily walked across the wharf t0 the market. Ever since the argument last night. Angeline had been angry. Papa and Mama were so stubborn. They thought it was crazy for a girl to go to college, and that was what Angeline wanted to do. They hoped that she 'would work in the fish market a few years and then later marry the tall dark Tony who worked on P‘apa’s fishing boat. But Angeline had different ideas. She wanted to go to college. Last night they had had an argument, and Papa had told her definitely that she could not go. “Angeline,” he had said. “You do not want to go to college to study. All you want to do is have fun and go out. You want to be what you call sophisticated. You are a small town girl, and you do not belong there. I cannot waste my money just for you to have a good time!” Now as she walked across the wharf. angry thoughts of the years ahead in the fish market hurried by. She stepped out of the warm sunshine into the cooler shade of the market. The display of fish was absolutely disgusting: the very smell of fish was sickening. Mama Crivello was busy with customers. She waved her hand in the direction of other customers, indicating that Angeline should take care of them. Angeline automatically counted change and wrapped packages. Her mind was busy transforming herself into a sophisticated college student on a distant campus. Pictures of herself in soft sweat- ers and wool skirts. studying for exams, drinking cokes at a local hangout. or going on dates floated through her mind. The touch of a hand on her shoulder made her jump with surprise, and a masculine voice close to her ear whispered. “I’ll be up to your house about eight.” _3_ Show less
. _::v.L .s-gru r 'M_4!l5 erg“: LELAND SATEREN The term “Chorale” in its strictest sense means simply the congre- gational song of 16th and 17th century German Protestants. Connota- tively, it refers both to tune and to text. Musically, a definition is vir- tually impossible; the chorale does not... Show more. _::v.L .s-gru r 'M_4!l5 erg“: LELAND SATEREN The term “Chorale” in its strictest sense means simply the congre- gational song of 16th and 17th century German Protestants. Connota- tively, it refers both to tune and to text. Musically, a definition is vir- tually impossible; the chorale does not fall into the category of measur- able musical facts. We can, however, point out several of its distinguish- ing features: 1. In essence, it is a sober and elevated, but buoyant, melody. 2. Its form, while quite elastic, often is A-A-B, or A-A-B-C (a phrase, its repetition, and a new phrase: or a phrase, its repetition. and two new phrases). 3. Instead of the lower voices merely adding supporting harmony to the so-called “melody.” each part constitutes a melodic line. Thus. the Chorale presents the richness of four combined melodies. 4. The upper voice (the “melody") is largely scalewise (diatomic) in construction, a fact importing a feeling of strength—for the strong- est musical line possible is a diatonic scale. 5. It is rhythmically strong and vigorous, although latter-day modifications have sapped much of its early vigor. 6. It possesses the personal. intimate character of folk music. 7. It is completely devoid of secular association—a prerequisite to all appropriate church music. ‘ 8. The more spacious chorales are grand and majestic in their sweep. 9. The text inclines to be rather austere. always dignified, and always Godward. a. It lacks the undesirable subjective elements which mark so much of contemporary hymnody, and avoids the cloyinq, mawkish. eETocentric sentimentality in which basically non-religious emo- tions rule. Prof. Otto Rupperecht emphasizes that the Chorale proclaims the Word of God. “Whatever emotions are aroused are the product of that proclamation. It does not seek primarin to arouse the emotions: it is concerned with proclaiming divine truth.” b. Finally, the chorale is the language of reverence: noble exulta- tion, sober moderation. boundless joy. becoming humility. and lofty aspiriation. These characteristics would seem desirable in any congregational song. but we know that many current hymns don’t possess them. I think it is not extravagant to say that all chorales do. It might be appropriate at this juncture to ask, “If the Chorale is _19_ Show less
WRITER’S JOURNAL world. All of which impairs their ability to worship, and actually may keep them away from God. Basic to all fitting congregational singing is the fervor, dignity and reverence which arises from a personal, moment—'by-moment recog- nition of God as GOD. Church music offers no... Show moreWRITER’S JOURNAL world. All of which impairs their ability to worship, and actually may keep them away from God. Basic to all fitting congregational singing is the fervor, dignity and reverence which arises from a personal, moment—'by-moment recog- nition of God as GOD. Church music offers no finer vehicle for such expression than the Chorale. Therefore, let’s use the chorales! Here are several rules that will help as we use them: 1. Learn to sing them by singing them: familiarity is the key. 2. Open your mind and heart; set aside your prejudices. 3. Be prepared to worship: the object of your attention is God. 4. Give of yourself as you sing: concentrate, think, apply yourself. 5. Sing with your whole being—body, mind and soul. It requires effort to sing a Chorale, but to worship is to act. 6. Sing musically, artistically, never forgetting the close relation- ship which exists between art and worship. The spirit of the text comes only as the tune is sung well. 7. Observe how the text guides the music. and how the music heightens the meanings of the text. 8. Sing spiritually, “as unto the Lord.” It is a deeply satisfying musical experience to sing a Chorale correctly, but its beauty and its significance become immeasurable as one links the esthetic experience with the spiritual, for only then does it become genuine church music. —LELAND SATEREN “People are generally better persuaded by the reasons which they have themselves discovered than by those which have come into the minds of others.” PASCAL "No doubt then, that a free curiosity has more force in our learn- ing . . . than a frightful enforcement.” AUGUSTINE _22_ Show less
JAMES PARKER There, rings of dancers Closed about us, Inviting us to love-feasts Under every green tree. Then In the cool of the evening God walked in the garden. Alas! Our dance turns into mourning! Our children fall beneath the wood! The green trees pass away with summer And the fruit rots... Show moreJAMES PARKER There, rings of dancers Closed about us, Inviting us to love-feasts Under every green tree. Then In the cool of the evening God walked in the garden. Alas! Our dance turns into mourning! Our children fall beneath the wood! The green trees pass away with summer And the fruit rots among the dead vines. The goat-footed man still pipes on the hillside, But his song cannot lure us. Taedium vitae twists the faces of the wise And the foolish stumble in wine-dreams. We know not Whence we come Nor whither We go They say to us: Awake! Rise up! For Spring will come again And Life will never end. But we heed not their call— Can we, who have not lived, Be made to fear the Death they fear? Their prayers are meaningless As wind in leaves. Neither in youth Nor in age For if these shadows on the wall ._9__ Show less
