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PHOENIX

editor michael altizer

managing editor k. alicia blaine

art editor linda hensley sisman

fiction ed itor bill sims

photography ed itor harlan ham bright

poetry ed itor linda lyle

front cover photograph harlan hambright

rear cover photograph michael altizer

WINTER ~72

CONTENTS

Page

2

3

4

5

6

10

12

13

14

drawing

lost

lithograph

one

photogallery

centerfold drawing

drawing

lithograph

poetry

jerry allen

darrell crutcher

edward montgomery

harlan hambright

michael o'brien

dav id stansbu ry

kathy frank

linda hensley sisman

michael altizer

Sought reaction-from within, to project elements with which we seek your reaction, hoping that these elements do not sidetrack their own purposes ...

The material and conceptual content which follows is for you -£0 absorb and hopefully to respond to, for in your response lies the justification for the art contained,herein. We have achieved a balance in this issue between visual art and literary art; that half of this issue is visual reflects this balance. And in so doing, we invite your reaction, both positive and negative, to the Phoenix Winter '72.

T.M.A., '72

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Phoenix 2

LOST

by Darrell Crutcher

Knock! Knock The rain was soaking Otis' 'fro as he waited for the door to open. "Is Joanne home?" Otis causally asked .. "No, and she don't live here no mo;e," replied the lady at the door. "Well, do you know where I might find her?" Again Otis received a

negative reply. "Well, did she leave a ma il i ng address or someth ing?" "No! Listen man that girl is gone and she don't live here no more so

why don't you try checking someplace else. 'Cause I'm getting wet talking to you and my arthritis been acting up and I just ain't got the time ... . "

Her voice seem' to leak out of reality for Otis. Although he could hear her, she was no longer important.

Where is she? Why didn't she say she was going to move? Ah, hell, I don't care nohow.

Turning down 173rd Street, Otis remembered her vo ice. It was soft and kind, it seemed to be especially pleasing to his ear.

"Excuse me," Otis was shaken back to the situatio'l. How do I get out of here, Otis asked himself. Oh ya gotta take the CC

local to 125th Street and change to the D. Moving in and out of faces, pushing and being pushed Otis was again

back on the surfacA. Why didn't she say she was moving? She could have at least called. I

knew that I shou Id have called her. I guess that is the way it goes. ' "These rags are cleannnnn" I'm gonna get myself together one of

these days, Otis thought. The rain was hitting hard, however; Otis walked as if he did not exist,

maybe he didn't? What difference did it make! Ringing the bell, his mother answered the door. "Who is it?" "Me." "Me who?" "Open the door momma, I'm getting wet," he replied in an indifferent

tone. "I told you to take that umbrealla boy, you just won't listen will you,

but you'll learn sometimes your mamma just ... . " Maybe if I, called 'the operator and asked to speak to Joanne person to

person, I might be able.to find out where she's gone, he thought. "What you want for dinner?" " Anyth i ng." "I done fried some ch icken, wi" tl-'1t be 0 K?" "I guess so." Otis watched his mother drift into the kitchen, then he went and

turned on the TV. " ... Two killed and three were injured. on the cross-brox ... " the face

spoke without emotion. How come everyone I don't know dies. I wonder when my turn is

gonna come. Maybe tomorrow. I just hope it's quick. Why didn't she I.eave an address. Maybe she still lives there and the lady's Iyin' to me. If I called the ...

"Dinner's ready." "Okay."

Phoenix 3

"'Why didn't she say she was moving? She could have at least called. I guess that is the way it goes. "

Otis'mouth responded qu ickly to. what his nose smelled. His mother could cook and he certainly could eat. His stomach growled as Otis' thoughts shifted from Joanne to his mother's cooking. Wasting no time, he ::vas at the table enjoying the things his hands fed to him.

"Did you see your: girl?" "No, shes done moved and I don't know where." "Well you can always check the post office or get a new girL" she said

with a sympathic grin. Get a new girl, the thought had never occurred to him. There were lots

of prettier foxes, but it seem that Joanne was h is and his alone Maybe that's the best thing to do. I'll just get me another girl. But

JoannA's no dog or object . She's me and how can I get rid of me. I Love ....

"Otis! What's bothering you? Does that little girl got your mind alreadv7 ..

"No mother, Joanne ain't got my mind ana she never w ills I'm just worried about .... "

"Well, ' quit worrying and eat. She's old enough to take ."are of herself."

They ate their meals in silence, each contemplating t he other's thoughts.

Otis finished first and left . He wanted to tell h is mother hovv :.]ood the meal was, but chose instead to remain silent.

Reaching for the phone, Otis caretully dialed the numbers. "Operator, I would like to make a person-to-person call to Miss

Joanne Scott and the number is .... " He repeated the number with machine-like percision. Although Joanne

did not have a phone, she still could be reached at this number Joanne lived with her grandmother in a one room apartment. This

telephone number belonged to the lady that leased the apartment. Holding the telephone close, Otis could hear the computer ized voice

on the phone. "This is a person-to-person call to Miss Joanne Scott." "Joanne ain't here." "Do you know where she can be reached?" "Mae, do you know where Joanne moved to?" "Somewhere near Taft, that's all I know! II "No operator I don't." "Sir, the party to whom you wish to speak has moved. Do you

wish ... . " "Thank you operator." Otis replied mechanically. Well, I don't care nohow. I can always get a new girl. "What you say boy," Otis' mother called out from the kitchen. "Nothing Ma, I was just talkin' to myself," Otis replied quickly. That girl's crazy and I don't need her nohow; besides she should have

told me. I'll just forget she ever existed. "Where you goih' Otis?" "To bed, Ma." It's kind of early yet ain't it?" "Not that early." "You sick?" "Nah, I ain't sick." "Well, goodnight then." "Yeh, goodnight Joanne." "Huh!" Otis got into bed instinctively, oblivious to reality. It was as if he had

forgotten that he ever ex isted.

Phoenix 4

... AND I HA VEN 'T SEEN HIM

IN MONTHS.

by Margery Eugenia Weber

Phoenix 5

Cold morning Early, and rain falling Wake up to a gray winter rain­Stand at the window wondering Watching and trying not to wonder Old tired winter and rain falling and falling on dry leaves and summer's dead grasses and old, whitened heather I'm ,so tired so very tired of

Room stone cold and ashes dead and ashes dead in the grate

Light another cigarette Learn to forget Learn to forget-

Where has the sun gone? Not comi ng back either? Fascinating, this one beauty of a cigarette Smoke curling and delicate fragile and flowing unfurls in wisps and tendrils then disappears into the haze of the

Flick the ashes out the window into the chill ra in

Ashes, ashes, They all fall down­

I'll go for a walk Put on a coat, musty and old And cracked leather boots The cold whirls my hair, leaks through the seams

Someone is there in the fog standing alone in the yard, like the bare winter trees It's Joel

Come for a walk, Joel, I want to say funny Joel standing there tired, defeated, drenched in the rain No Shy is it that spring rains are for wal king and summer rains are for kissing and autumn rains are for playing and winter rains are so unwanted ,so cold Joel standing a silhouette before the stone wall gray wall in the gray fog Joel and I haven't seen him in months God how long In the autumn we would have ru n up to each other how tired I am thinking about it we would have run laughing into each other's arms laughing and laughing and never let go and stayed there tight together forever but how tiring it is thinking about the past and wou Id-be pasts it's winter

And all I can do is stand there with the rain coming in my collar and my leather boots old and cracked and shake my hair back

because it's Joel

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Phoenix 6

Phoenix 7

t PhQenix 8

Phoenix 10

·'Plidenix· 12

Phoenix 13

Memory Movement I

I I ive at ease: The bleached sand lies in its perennial cold, Nakedly exposed to winter eyes, Where lovers slept in love.

1\ At dusk comes dusk: Stumbling pathways in the dark, Back against earth's crumbling core All alone-All alone.

Avenues of dream, my feet of clay; A picture is one man Laid upon one page-or half a page.

Hold this time entire: Speak the perfect part, Sing your song, Chant the dogma soon,

and rest; We are allowed One hellish afterthought-but one.

A sound, The cold-burnt people feel Their prima I fear and speak I n neon-shone ill itracy.

-David Powers

On Ecology

Dragging down, Everything in his path, Like an avalanche, Absorbing in entirety, Man's death grip, Strangles this, Rock we live on.

-Craig Reed

Phoenix 1,4 .. , .

To My Grandfather

As I ight blows through the Now dusty earth,

Booming, Booming, Booming; , You lie there,

life flowing from your ears. You were a man;

Stood alone in grey winter, never fell in the red summer heat.

When All the others had died, you sent your whip

lashing out, caught your life in mouths of iron,

Preserved and Protected them with your strength. You shall Die-----someday.

when streams and forests are no more, then, like

Mother Earth, you will not ex ist; for you are

her husband. -Charles M. Bateman

The cold on my face, my ears, and my eyes is all that I am for the moment, then somehow, something remembers you for me, and I'm ashamed I'm so selfishly cold.

I'm Afraid Promise me I'll never be alone.

Just that­only that.

Don't promise love or happiness,

Or other dreams you might not make

come true.

Just say you'll stay­at least until

someone else comes along.

Don't ever leave me only with myself.

-J udith Bakies

--Andrew J. Felknor

lAm

I Cannot Just Sit And Write Down

In Iron Bound Words

What I Am, For I Do Not Do Today As I

Did Yesterday, Nor Will I Do The Same Tomorrow;

Rather I Am Free Flowing, Changing As A Seashore,

Modifying, And Recoming, And

Losing And Taking On.

I Am Born Of Love And Sustained By Care And Understanding, I Need someone To Help, To Direct,

And Sometimes to Follow. I Run Not After The Holy Grail Of What

Was And Is, But I Do Not Destroy

Only To Find Nothing: I Learn Only

As I search, And I Search Often;

For To Increase My Understanding

\5 To Become A Little Closer.

I Am Strong, If I Desire To Be, But I Find It

Is Better To Be Gentle.

I Cannot Tell You All That I Am, Not Even A Small Part,

For You Will Not Understand When I Say I Want

You

Peace Will You Know That I

Mean Peace For All Men, Not Only From Their

Enemies, But Also From Themselves;

How Can I Tell You About Me Unless You

Know Them, For They Are A Part Of

Me.

Can Never Know What I Am Until You Become

A Part Of Me, And I Can't

Tell You

How To

Do That.

-Charles M. Bateman

Phoenix 1S

To Lee It's been a year now­and I sti II love you, Ii ke yesterday like forever in my mind­it seems

, your a greater part of me. So I'll say

happy anniverasry­And give you more than rose? I'm yours and will be till all the anniversaries are gone.

Theyellow half-moon sits Caught in the half-woven web Of wooden silk: Half-born, Half of everything half-passed.

The people breathe again tonight, I will go down to them, slowly, Terrified of their nakedness, Revolted at their lustfu I stench, And I wi II sleep among them In their tears and dreams, and bare souls.

God will damn by extinct soul, And I will howl half-human To the half-jailed half-moon.

-David Powers

A Professor's Apology To An Unknown Coed

I touched a young girl's breast this afternoon Not entirely by accident, not quite by design. Elevators were not made for a privacy of parts, And I, having caught her make it, Had made it too, Knowing she had trusted herself to rise With others (then me) without her bra. Getting off, my arm upraised instinctive To finger a nervous mouth-And we touched.

Outside the doors a moment She stood and, Touching a maybe hurt, Our eyes caught, Mine in apology Hiding a sorry that wasn't, Except for her-Then they closed

She in her nakedness Me in my downraised thought A part, to learn What flush of surfaces May teach.

Looking Back

Let me see the sun

-Chet Rehok

before your softness slips away you've spent so many nights here I'd see your smile last till morning again. Your touch against mine grows cold-feeling the wind blow you away. Your body against mine grows old As summer finds its way to fall and our night to morning this one last time.

Phoenix 16

Twilight

It's the evening of the night, with the dead in their graves, all of my friends are there. Now that I am eighty each night brings fears that I man not see tomorrow for my tomb awaits its claim. Just sixty years ago I knew I was immortal, but now death wh ispers, lulling me into eternal sleep. Remembering our words then, I sti II have the cou rage to believe in reality. Then my poems are vibrant, pulsating with eternal life, to the death of the gods and the glory of man. I read your eulogy yesterday, now you're gone from me, living until eighty-seven you almost outlived me. Those words read yesterday, written in your hand on yellowed pages were from you r past. How my eyes were strained, how my vo ice did tremb Ie, reading your ancient words written in forgotten youth. My voice echoed in eternity, recall ing you r final words whispered from your deathbed~ moments before the shroud. How tho~ words were labored, obscured by approaching death, my name was on your lips. Earth falling on your casket made my future clear, as the spector of reality rose from your grave, telling me beware, for gods are coming to destroy my soul. What is left to say-even twilight is gone. Death would have come easily if you were standing near. Now who will read my eulogy written in forgotten youth, hidden in a vault, pages yellowed by time.

- Roger David Chambers

Antiphony For The Unknown

They're searching for the unknown out there, I can hear them. For some sleep has stolen the will and offered stranger pursu it, while others lie catatonic beneath closed I ids.

With the rising of the su n 'and people, and new day, to reach out and touch, perhaps, the unknown. Yet an instant of discovery and there is no unknown.

I hear them out there, I close my eyes and see them standing in line, waiting for the unknown.

Drifting through the days, oceans of emotions bursting flower­Ii ke through give-away gates. EI~tion, revelation, lips forming love. And you know, you know ....

Soft rain glistening beyond rays of inner ,light, eyes unfocus on liqu id snow brill iance. Good and bad shake hands and come out dancing.

The great rubber band void moves in and moves out, pausing occasionally to flip a near saint. Little hands reach up and big hands reach down, and the small hands move the wind.

Drifting through the night, dreams and hidden streams, surrealistic lids closed tight. Passion flowers growing luxu riantly by the road, as magical midst exhaust fumes as in childhood wilderness.

Ethereal mist reach ing beyond the great beyond, silent misty void calling, absolute truth flowing into passion people growing into the unknown.

-Sandy Fielden

What's The Meaning Of This 'Story

When it comes to the end Will it make any difference

That I was anything in my life Except happy?

It will have made no difference If I were thin or pretty

After I'm gone, I've left So I must make the most of now.

After it's over, no one will remember Where I came from or where I went.

So I will ru n after what makes me happy­Or tomorrow will be like today.

-K. Alicia Blaine

Solioque From Abstract Thought

From life's sea was borne a sea of life Eternally mix ing a colorfu I abstract of prejudicial art And winding its metaphoric webs from fate's anemic skeleton of chance

a testemo nial of du ngeon breadth For once beautiful now wilting flowers of inspirational intention

shed the surreptitious seeds of invention Profusely soiled by the ferti Ie crops ,of ambitious failures To be infused with the flagrant sapling leach of life

A babe of pure incested thought this anarchy of the elemental essences

Whose one sense of diminish ing truth contravenes these nascent instinctions

While striving in rebellious conformity to be smothered by a mass of opin ionated ideals

Hidden in a mounting corruption based on a ratioed trivia of rational negligence

Each star a mi 1\ ion thoughts appart Ch isled between the ebb of end less ties Towards the highways of prelusive flights At times distorted Iy ticks its rhythmic patterns As each flu id second streams into the next To begin an ending and a beginning into A dynamic monomaniacal dimension journeyed from within A sounding wave of static brilliance flowing I n sulfurous flashes becomes another intumescence of transitory bel ief Falling short of succeeding to be tenaciously omnisient

Yet without the sight to eye the ear to hear the dead is not disturbed Are but unmoved.

-Philip H. Antom

Phoenix 17

let me tell you about Big Burley. She had big brown eyes, and hair so curley. She was the Queen at Lhe loca I str ip show, And she danced to loud music while the liquor would flow.

They shouted, "take it off,'; to her everynight, And they would cheer and shout and revel in delight. When finally she got down to the nude They stomped and chanted (nobody booed).

She wanted to please them, so when they shouted "more, more," She slashed open her belly and her entrials fell

on the floor.

And still they shouted, "-more, more."

It seems like spring today. And it takes my mind away. To another time, another spring.

-Judy B. Malone

Spirits were high, and you would bring A tender word, a gentle smile to cheer. My first spring, I knew I wanted you near. It's over, that first and spring. Memories linger on. Long after now it's over and gone And in winter's cold and summer's heat It will always be spring; that spring bittersweet

- Judy B. Malone

The dripping white flame, so silent and bright, that lives in the yellow wax candle, "Is foolish," annou nces the tallowish mind that thin ks, all too smuggly, "heat rises."

-J. Andrew Felknor

Phoenix 18

'Round Circled Spheres

'Round Circled Spheres

Look down upon the table downly Many things are there

Look down And see Ah yes, and see

. Reflections maybe

and there and there

almost maybe But still reflection's many scenes Hardly different then for sure Same

yet different different difference The same is that for sure

Or melodies upon the wind and listening

They sing singing and mystify the closely sounds within The wind Winded melodies upon the wind

singing songs of sound So no one listens

they only read And read no words to be to read in words to be behind The lines Not much however but

however maybe Comp rehension is the same for anyti me Maybe

And so the books have said In many words and many ways for many times

and time again Then alas at last again Too many people too live only through their past More immorality that way

In love is love for love in many ways is love for

And love is what is love for sure

is really love in many ways is love for what is love for sure

And no one knows for sure how sure for sure is loving same for anyone

Maybe -Philip H. Antom

Once Upon A Drunkarc1

Rollicking Carlton, in tremu lous solo, Traversed the dry allyways north of East Lilac, Hailing the trash cans that jump out to greet him: Who lead his way into the night of sweet feelings Instead of the life he knew outside the man, And his drink.

-Philip H. Antom

Ode To Uncle Danny

Upon sitting with his widow in his old room.

The silence of man The hardsh ip and grace Of his lasting shadow In fields -

Where the wind and smell Of life Are all that reflect meaning

The sacred ideal I shared With you, And I never saw you . The love I felt for you, And I never cared The times I saw you, And I couldn't see. The life that wavered, And I never knew . ...

The shadow of drakness, The blades of dark men With shining sickles Against the eery horizon: I looked at you for a moment And I shuddered; The birds flew above me And I listened!

I saw your name, And then your face As all at once , knew where you were And segments of thoughts Struggled to decern you r presence While my feelings rocked and bowed Like battleships in threatening waters All within a cyclorama of spiritual shadows Forming white-ciotted, mesmeric dancers On a stage of my mind.

For you were alive as I knew you The only way I ever saw you, And yet you seemed so different As I plunged into your sleeping image, And death was about me So that I had to scream in terror

I ran fifty feet And plunged myself into a carved wall As hard as I possibly knew how And when they picked me up I told them that you slapped me

And your wife Threw herself upon your casket In t he swelter ing movements of disinclination When the rigorism of fate held its t ighest grasp And there wasn't a movement from you

But you're only sleep ing my friend, I thought You're only here now In this field of silence Wh ich faced my heart

Phoenix 19

And I scream for you But nobody hears me I beg the usurpers for you And there is no sound I rock from side to side (away and away) And I have n~t the ability to wish .... The ability to think, To live, Or to die: For Man shall not know Wh ich he experiences, And which he believes in

The siren of pain in death can never be felt But the living must always live( and again) In what is the human pro-fundity of death's chimera

Life -i s rebo rn : But is death Do you live in my mind And yet, Do I know that you lie beyond me Do I think no further Does not the channel of death that creates your image now

Ever asp ire to life ... To you my friend

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