DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | A Tale of the 'Evans, v. 3, issue 4, Fall 1945

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A Tale of the 'Evans, v. 3, issue 4, Fall 1945

Back cover

So I pray we'll be re-united -- 
I hope 'twill occur before frost; 
Then I know I'll be, O so delighted,
For without my wool "heavies" I'm lost!

There are innumerable other types of Newspaper Verse, which is, as I have said, not real poetry at all in one sense, and yet is a true poetry form of its own, as important in a way as any other type. It conforms to a pattern (not a verse-form, remember); it brings to the reader a message, or a smile, or a glow; and it does fill a distinct need in the lives of countless thousands of readers. (Else hard-headed newspaper editors and publishers would not pay out good money to have this feature regularly in their issues.)

A good newspaper versifier must be ready at any time to dash off a bit of sentimental and eulogizing verse honoring some Great Man who has just passed on; or some other great event that has just occurred. He must be ready at the drop of a hat to work up a pome [sic] about the delights and marvels of his own particular city or state or country, when the Chamber of Commerce calls, or something for the schools or churches when they so request.

At the same time, he soon begins to build up enough of a personal following of those who like his stuff, so that he can occasionally, if, as and when the urge strikes him, give out with something he considers real POETRY, and know that they will accept it and appreciate it.

[title centered and underlined] A U T U M N

Grieve not, that in the Autumn of the year
The flowers fad, and Nature, day by day,
Shows grim, relentless progress towards decay
That all too well proclaims that Winter's near; 
Nor grieve that Youth, and all that Youth holds dear
Gives way to Age, which, too, must pass away
Along the march of Time's inexorable sway -- 
Grieve not, nor view these happenings with fear.

For, lo! the trees know death is not in vain, 
And deck themselves in colors gay and bold; 
And Man's maturity is filled with pride
That still reflects Youth's buoyant, braggart stride.
For after Winter, Spring. 'Tis life retold -- 
We only die, that we may live again!
[line break]

DEAR FELLOW FAPANS:

Sorry not to have a MAILING MUSINGS this time. The vicissitudes of moving, and the fact that my Mailing disappeared under the most peculiar circumstances, and that I have not received the pre- or the post-mailings, makes it rather impossible for me to review them. So solly, 'scuse it, pliz!

Saving...

So I pray we'll be re-united -- I hope 'twill occur before frost; Then I know I'll be, O so delighted, For without my wool "heavies" I'm lost! There are innumerable other types of Newspaper Verse, which is, as I have said, not real poetry at all in one sense, and yet is a true poetry form of its own, as important in a way as any other type. It conforms to a pattern (not a verse-form, remember); it brings to the reader a message, or a smile, or a glow; and it does fill a distinct need in the lives of countless thousands of readers. (Else hard-headed newspaper editors and publishers would not pay out good money to have this feature regularly in their issues.) A good newspaper versifier must be ready at any time to dash off a bit of sentimental and eulogizing verse honoring some Great Man who has just passed on; or some other great event that has just occurred. He must be ready at the drop of a hat to work up a pome [sic] about the delights and marvels of his own particular city or state or country, when the Chamber of Commerce calls, or something for the schools or churches when they so request. At the same time, he soon begins to build up enough of a personal following of those who like his stuff, so that he can occasionally, if, as and when the urge strikes him, give out with something he considers real POETRY, and know that they will accept it and appreciate it. [title centered and underlined] A U T U M N Grieve not, that in the Autumn of the year The flowers fad, and Nature, day by day, Shows grim, relentless progress towards decay That all too well proclaims that Winter's near; Nor grieve that Youth, and all that Youth holds dear Gives way to Age, which, too, must pass away Along the march of Time's inexorable sway -- Grieve not, nor view these happenings with fear. For, lo! the trees know death is not in vain, And deck themselves in colors gay and bold; And Man's maturity is filled with pride That still reflects Youth's buoyant, braggart stride. For after Winter, Spring. 'Tis life retold -- We only die, that we may live again! [line break] DEAR FELLOW FAPANS: Sorry not to have a MAILING MUSINGS this time. The vicissitudes of moving, and the fact that my Mailing disappeared under the most peculiar circumstances, and that I have not received the pre- or the post-mailings, makes it rather impossible for me to review them. So solly, 'scuse it, pliz!