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Spaceways, v. 3 issue 3, whole no. 19, March 1941
Page 15
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SPACEWAYS 15 COMMENTARY ON MISKE AND STARDUST by [[handwritten "6"]] LARRY B. FARSACI I've just completed reading the latest issue of Spaceways and, with the passing of Miske's Stardust column, I must set down my feelings while they are, again, freshly awakened. I realize now that, unconsciously, I've always admired Miske for the ability he has of expressing his opinion so that it sticks. And, of course, he was most dynamic on the subject of his own individuality. There never was another like Miske, nor ever, quite, will there be. On this point I agree thoroughly. But what towered so above everything else was his high egotism. Now, since I am, as much as anyone can be, a poet at heart, the full force of his ego has struck me through each page of his columns. Needless to say, Miske grew monotonous in the interminable repetition of himself. I especially resented his way of giving opinions as if they were godly, unalterable facts. This was the effect of the cosmic grandeur which he bestowed on himself. I realize this was not so; but that is how he affected me and, undoubtedly, many others. Now, if that were all, Miske would still be bearable. After all, a person who cannot take pride in himself is sub-normal, for ego is a vital necessity to a person's well-being. One can even grow to appreciate another's ego, if he realizes how sincere the other may be. And I could alsogrow to like Miske's columns, barring little mis-statements which can be corrected. But, being a poet, atmospheric effects become of vital importance to me and a writer's personal beliefs and philosophy will form an unchangeable background at whatever period he holds them. I am not trying to do any preaching now. The fact that Miske is convinced in his own beliefs is really none of my business. The fact that they are shared by A. Merritt and many others of Miske's idols is not to the point. Nor am I here for such debate, at least in Spaceways. But the fact is that his personal beliefs do give a coloring to his writings which is against my grain. I would pardon him if he let well enough alone; but no!, he needs must fling his dust of doom out upon the world at every possible opportunity. To be merely aware of his philosophy is but a passive fact; but, growing from his own uncertainty, he unconsciously raises the dust to an emotional issue in order to sense his own might. For that reason, I could never really sympathize with him on any issue. I don't believe in futility. Otherwise, I probably would agree with him on almost every subject, including the inescapable one of the prevalence of so much trash that is labelled "science fiction". Miske says he will in the future seek the poetic muse. This is not news, since his interest in poetry has long been evident. I wish him the best of luck in his awakened enthusiasm. However, I should hate to see more of his poems which are nothing more than a vehicle for his cherished philosophy of cosmic futilism. He should write more along the line of "Star-Song" in Scienti-Snaps, which is the only one of his poems I ever liked. If he has it at all in him, I should certainly like to see him create in words, as a poet can, far worlds of beauty and melody. It doesn't matter if he does have them destroyed later, if he can succeed in making the thrill of their beauty lasting in memory. As long as there is a contrast of hope and futility, horror and beauty, if only a hinting, I shall tolerate his futilism, and perhaps, some day, admire him as I do Lovecraft, who was certainly a confirmed materialist if there ever was one, along with A. Merritt, and other, as distinguished, authors. But when Miske writes of the cold and barren as the ultimate, without even the hint of glorious days past, or an escape to other planes, I find it impossible to like his work. In fact, I would much rather stand by a corpse, where I might at least get a kick out of describing it as "cold and clammy"! As Miske stands, he has all the gloom of an artist of the weird, but with none of its glamorous enchantment. He, quite evidently, mistakes the rampant power loose in cataclysmic dooms as a lasting glory. For his especial benefit, let me state here that the burden of wisdom which he says lies always so heavily on his shoulders, is but his own mental attitude.
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SPACEWAYS 15 COMMENTARY ON MISKE AND STARDUST by [[handwritten "6"]] LARRY B. FARSACI I've just completed reading the latest issue of Spaceways and, with the passing of Miske's Stardust column, I must set down my feelings while they are, again, freshly awakened. I realize now that, unconsciously, I've always admired Miske for the ability he has of expressing his opinion so that it sticks. And, of course, he was most dynamic on the subject of his own individuality. There never was another like Miske, nor ever, quite, will there be. On this point I agree thoroughly. But what towered so above everything else was his high egotism. Now, since I am, as much as anyone can be, a poet at heart, the full force of his ego has struck me through each page of his columns. Needless to say, Miske grew monotonous in the interminable repetition of himself. I especially resented his way of giving opinions as if they were godly, unalterable facts. This was the effect of the cosmic grandeur which he bestowed on himself. I realize this was not so; but that is how he affected me and, undoubtedly, many others. Now, if that were all, Miske would still be bearable. After all, a person who cannot take pride in himself is sub-normal, for ego is a vital necessity to a person's well-being. One can even grow to appreciate another's ego, if he realizes how sincere the other may be. And I could alsogrow to like Miske's columns, barring little mis-statements which can be corrected. But, being a poet, atmospheric effects become of vital importance to me and a writer's personal beliefs and philosophy will form an unchangeable background at whatever period he holds them. I am not trying to do any preaching now. The fact that Miske is convinced in his own beliefs is really none of my business. The fact that they are shared by A. Merritt and many others of Miske's idols is not to the point. Nor am I here for such debate, at least in Spaceways. But the fact is that his personal beliefs do give a coloring to his writings which is against my grain. I would pardon him if he let well enough alone; but no!, he needs must fling his dust of doom out upon the world at every possible opportunity. To be merely aware of his philosophy is but a passive fact; but, growing from his own uncertainty, he unconsciously raises the dust to an emotional issue in order to sense his own might. For that reason, I could never really sympathize with him on any issue. I don't believe in futility. Otherwise, I probably would agree with him on almost every subject, including the inescapable one of the prevalence of so much trash that is labelled "science fiction". Miske says he will in the future seek the poetic muse. This is not news, since his interest in poetry has long been evident. I wish him the best of luck in his awakened enthusiasm. However, I should hate to see more of his poems which are nothing more than a vehicle for his cherished philosophy of cosmic futilism. He should write more along the line of "Star-Song" in Scienti-Snaps, which is the only one of his poems I ever liked. If he has it at all in him, I should certainly like to see him create in words, as a poet can, far worlds of beauty and melody. It doesn't matter if he does have them destroyed later, if he can succeed in making the thrill of their beauty lasting in memory. As long as there is a contrast of hope and futility, horror and beauty, if only a hinting, I shall tolerate his futilism, and perhaps, some day, admire him as I do Lovecraft, who was certainly a confirmed materialist if there ever was one, along with A. Merritt, and other, as distinguished, authors. But when Miske writes of the cold and barren as the ultimate, without even the hint of glorious days past, or an escape to other planes, I find it impossible to like his work. In fact, I would much rather stand by a corpse, where I might at least get a kick out of describing it as "cold and clammy"! As Miske stands, he has all the gloom of an artist of the weird, but with none of its glamorous enchantment. He, quite evidently, mistakes the rampant power loose in cataclysmic dooms as a lasting glory. For his especial benefit, let me state here that the burden of wisdom which he says lies always so heavily on his shoulders, is but his own mental attitude.
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