Newspaper Page Text
March 26, 1954
THE MAROON TIGER
Page 3
*SS****S*3»SJS**SS**S**S3SSSSS****3SXSS*3S3S^^ REFLECTIONS
THE BOOK NOOK
by G. T. JOHNSON
THE DAILY MIRACLE
by LILLIE McKINNEY
It is usually a common sight
to see, when one drops in a room
to chat with one of her sisters,
PERSONALITY PORTRAIT
by GEORGE CLARK
l| j
|j| J "
a young lady with a
new dress,
'slU
but run-over shoes;
a snazzy
The Hemingway Reader. Selected by Charles Poore New
York, Scriber’s, 1953, 652 pp. $5.00.
According to the dust jacket on this anthology of Heming
way’s works, “Earnest Hemingway was first presented to
American readers in 1925 with the publication of In Our Time.
In more than a quarter century twelve books have followed
that one, and his reputation has grown to the high level of
world stature. The three impeccable writers of English prose
that I have come across in fifty years or so of reading in
search of English prose have been Joseph Conrad, W. H.
Hudson . . . and Earnest Hemingway .... In what was said
and written about Earnest Hemingway, in many languages,
one conclusion was clearly stated: Hemingway is the fore
most writer in the world today.”
For those readers who like Hemingway—and there are
many of them—here is a delightful volume containing selec
tions from many works of his. Though some are not included
here, there are many of his short stories, two complete novels,
and selections from five of his great novels. The Torrents of
Spring, one of the two complete novels, is one of Hemingway’s
best novels. It is a satirical novel, young Hemingway, that
is now in no other edition. The second complete novel,The
Sun Also Rises, is Hemingway’s first great success. It is the
novel that established him as one el the really significant
writers of our time.
In addition to these two complete novels there are also
selections from five others of his: A Farewell to Arms, one of
the most moving love stories ever wnttenjTo Have and Have
Noi, a novel full of passion and violence on the high seas off
the Florida keys; For Whom the Bell Tolls, an outstanding
novel of the Spanish Civil war; Across the River and Into
the Trees, a novel of Venice and The Old Man and The Sea
a very clean novel of one man’s daring courage against the
sea and her inhabitants.
Too, Mr. Poore has also included in this “nice-size” volume
selections from two works of Hemingway’s non-fiction—the
last chapter of Death in the Afternoon, and the first chapter of
Green Hills of Africa. To present Hemingway as he really is,
the compiler of this wonderful work has interspersed among
Hemingway’s major works many of his well-known short
stories—eleven of them to be exact. These include The Snows
of Kilimanjaro, Fifty Grand, Away You'll Never Be, and
eight other short stories.
The reviewer here recommends reading this anthology
and including it in one’s home library, for this is Hemingway
as he is—one of the really significant writers of our time.
skirt, with a baggy blouse; din
ing-hall silver, sardines and in
stant coffee containers among
numerous jelly glasses on a clu-
tered desk of other paraphanalia.
This, to some students, is the
ideal situation in which to be.
How does she get pretty new
dresses, skirts, and some of the
luxuries that many other girls
cannot afford-/-and yet keep a
room that looks as if a tornado
has passed through it? Of
course much of this—excluding,
the tornado, comes out of the
first-of-the-month allowances of
these students, an allowance, for
the most part, that is not well-
spent. But let us consider time
as a commodity, too that is not
used to its best advantage.
We are nearly all chancellors
of the exchequer: it is the pride
of the moment. Letters from
home are full of explanations on
“How to live on such and sucl\
a sum and “How much I lived on
when I was in college,” and these
letters provoke a despair whose
violence proves incapable of sup
plying nickels for the newly-in
stalled coke machine. Recently,
in a daily hen session, a battle
raged around the question of
whether a girl could exist in a
state of survival on fifty dollars
a month. I have read letters
from home on “How I lived on a
dollar a week and so can you.”
But I have never read a letter on
“How to live on twenty-four
hours a day.” Yet it has been
said that time is money. That
proverb understates the case.
Time is a great deal more than
money. If you have time you
can - obtain money—usually.
RICHARD E. JOHNS
l
Richard E. Johns comes from
Kingston, St. Vincent, British
West Indies—the romantic, en
chanting land whose people re
lax to the rhythmic strains of
calypso music while lounging un
der the lazy Caribbean sun.
Johns, a sophomore, came to
Morehouse from St. Vincent High
School where he won numerous
scholastic honors and varsity laur
els. He was graduated a Pre
fect—an honor which is reserved
for students who maintain high
est scholastic rank and show the
best conduct. While maintaining
high scholarship, he also won
the Science prize for three con
secutive years. Furthermore, as
a track star, he ran away from
a slower held of sprinters, win
ning both the 440 and 880 dashes.
Johns is literarily inclined.
While yet a high school student, a
poem which he wrote, “Gestures
In Verses,” was published in the
local poetry publication. At More
house, he is president of the Art
Club and editor of the “Phoenix”
—the club’s literary publication.
Moreover, he is chairman of
the Morehouse chapter of the
National Students Association. In
addition, he is a feature writer
of the Maroon Tiger.
John’s aspiration is to become
d doctor of medicine.
He was asked to relate what
has impressed him most during
his tenure in America. To this
question he quickly pointed out
that he has been immensely im-
. pressed by the cordial relations
which he enjoys, with both facul
ty and students.
“Then, too,” he asserted in a
serious tone, “I feel that the
breadth and variety of the
school’s (Morehouse) educational
program is more satisfying than
, tljat which I could have enjoyed
if I had gone to school in the
West Indies or Britain.”
LITERARY NOOK
by RICHARD JOHNS
Quick wings in the exaltation
Of twilight dreams seek new suns,
In the'suffering world of flesh
This sun is borne and before
wilting
Like our own reflection in its
light,
Wished arising in our morning.
In the bleak air I heard a memory
Sing to its third day,
And behind its boy-wisdom
dared me
To perilous shores of truth—
Yet in ^nan-error I infected me
With fear and cold suspicion.
But in the bleak air I too was
winged
Albeit my only truth was the
belief in truth
James Hilton. Time and Time Again. Little, Brown, and
Company, 1953, 306 pp. $3.75.
Most people, perhaps, when they read fiction, have
found that for the most part fiction is always best when
ever it is read rather rapidly. Most novels, nowadays, lend
themselves to rapid reading—but not those of Mr. Hilton.
One is sure to remember that though Mr. Hilton’s Goodbye
Mr. Chips could be read rather easily a short sitting, it was
better either to return and re-read the short, spicy work, or
to read it somewhat slower than one would read the average
novel, if he wanted to extract the best from this account of a
professor’s reminiscences. Mr. Chips was actualy the perfect
character for the central theme of the book. Time and Time
Again brings back to memory Mr. Hilton’s Chips. Too, it is
a book that must be read with a rather slow tempo if one is
to get the full characterization and true color of this delightful
book which is among the “notables of 1953.”
Really ,the book concerns itself with the life of a diplomat
who was born at the turn of the century and who, at the time
of the First World War, was too young to be drafted for
military duty. He also loses his wife in the Second World
War during a London air raid. One might gather from the
title of the book itself that there could very well be a re
petition of \some event. This is true. At first there is' the
father-son relationship—Charles Anderson who, with good
success, has filled several posts. The story actually starts
when Charles and his son, Gerald, are eating in a Paris cafe,
and Charles find, out that the reason why Gerald must leave
so early actually is because of the girl with whom he is in
love. Finding opt this, Charles recalls his earlier days in what
might be called a chain of flashbacks into the past. Here,
his whole life is relived as he reminisces of yesteryear.
The series of repetitions plus the excellent means by
which Mr. Hilton builds up his characters and his plot all
help to make this book a delightful one to read—and to en
joy long after it has been repd and digested.
Support The Torch
■ ’ j ' ' ■ {
Scientists have explained the
utilization of atomic energy. They
have not bequeathed any know
ledge of time to us. With it
all is possible: without it, noth
ing. The supply. of time a
daily miracle, an astonishing af
fair when one examines it. You
wake in the morning, and lo!
your purse is magically filled
with twenty-four hours of unex
ploited activities of your intel
lectual environment. It is yours.
A highly singular commodity,
showered upon you in a manner
as singular as the commodity it
self. No one can take it from
you. And no one receives either
more or less than you receive.
This is the ideal democracy!
In the realm of time there is no
aristocracy of wealth and no aris
tocracy of intellect. Genius is
never rewarded by even an
extra hour or day. Waste your
infinitely precious commodity as
much as you will, and the supply
will never be withheld from you.
No mysterious power will say
“This girl is a fool, if not stupid.
She does not deserve time; she
shall be cut off at the meter.”
It is more certain than consols,
and the payment of incomes is
not affected by Sundays. More
over, you cannot draw on the
future. Impossible to get into
debt! You can only waste the
passing moment. You cannot
waste tomorrow; it is kept for
you. You cannot waste the next
hour; it is kept for you.
You have to live on this twen
ty-four hours of daily time. Out
of it you have to spend time for
chapel, classes, dining, going “a-
cross-the-way,” and “creeps.”
Its most effective use is a matter
of the most thrilling actuality
and of the highest urgency.
Strange that letters from home,
so uncompromising and “back-
there-when” as they are, are not
full of “How to live on a given
allowance of time”, instead of
“How to live on a given allow
ance of money.” Money is far
more common than time well
spent.
If one can’t contrive to live on
a certain income of money, one
earns a little more or advertises
for it. One doesn’t necessarily
muddle one’s life because one
can’t quite manage on fifty dol
lars a month; one braces writ
ing paper and pen and makes it
“dollars from Dad, please.” But
if one cannot arrange that
allowance of twenty-four hours
a day to cover all proper items
of expenditure, one does muddle
one’s life definitely. The supply
of time, though regular, is cruel
ly restricted.
We shall never have any more
time. We have and we have
always had all the time there is.
It is the realization of this pto-
. found and neglected truth that
shall lead us to the minute prac
tical examination of daily time
expenditure.
While circumventing roofs,
Powerless^as the boy-wisdom
But lacking his power to convict,
convince,
Lacking his silent yet feeling
tongue
And while risking to find by
desiring
I was invulnerable in love
Skipping from dream to dreams.
Forever on the verge,
Never fulfilling as a heat killed
bud
Only thoughts doomed with still-
borns;
But could a blind world know its.
deafness
From -a silence-weathered heart?
He******
Night and darkness
Unveiled the light in my heart
Where last I sat silent
Clothed in clouds
Hoping for a song
Right with the dawn break, ,
I saw my hopes broken
Against the passing hours of night
But strode strong in the dark
Never to surrender, ever to
escape
The drought and dark
Waiting for her tears or guide.
I came to her
Mid beetle twitter
And the stars puncturing
The clouds.
It was a hearst dreaming of
itself
To new skies
When it searched veiled in dark
Burning within, its won unseen
light.