DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantasy Fan, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 16, December 1934

Transcribe
Translate

Fantasy Fan, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 16, December 1934

Page 60

60     THE FANTASY FAN, December, 1934

while the sunset greatened, filling sky and sea with a flush as of new-blown blossoms, or the inmost rose of that coiling shell which was consecrate to her in old time. Without robe or circlet or garland, crowned and clad only with the sunset, fair with the dreams of man but fairer yet than all dreams: thus the waited, smiling tranquilly, who is life or death, despair or rapture, vision or flesh, to gods and poets and galaxies unknowable. But, filled with a wonder that was also love, or much more than love, the poet could find no greeting. 
"Farewell, O Phaniol," she said, and her voice was the sighing of remote waters, the murmur of waters moon-withdrawn, forsaking not without sorrow a proud island tall with palms. "Thou hast known me and worshipped all thy days till now, but the hour of my departure is come: I go, and when I am gone, thou shalt worship still and shalt not know me. For the destinies are thus, and not forever to any man, to any world or to any god, is it given to possess me wholly. Autumn and spring will return when I am past, the one with yellow leaves, the other with yellow violets; birds will haunt the renewing myrtles; and many little loves will be thine. Not again to thee or to any man will return the perfect vision and the perfect flesh of the goddess."
Ending thus, she stepped from that ashen strand to the dark prow of the barge; and even as it had come, without wafture of wind or movement of oar, the barge put out on a sea covered with the fallen, fading petals of sunset. Quickly it vanished from view,

AN INTERVIEW WITH
E. HOFFMAN PRICE

by Fred Anger

& Louis C. Smith

 Author, linguist, world-traveller, automobile mechanic and cook -- that, fantasy fans, is a fairly representative picture of E. Hoffman Price! The Syrian quarters of Chicago and New York and the Old French Quarter of New Orleans are no strange places to this prolific author of weird stories and detective yarns; he is equally at home in the Philipines and in certain little-known sections of France. He is--but wait!--let's go about this in an orderly manner.
Contrary to popular belief, E. Hoffman Price did not have his first story published in Weird Tales; his first was sold to "Droll Stories," and brought him the magnificent sum of twenty-four dollars (he chuckles over it now). His first story in Weird Tales was "The Rajah's Gift" which appeared in January 1925; and from this time on, until his job as manager of an acetylene plant petered out, Price wrote exclusively for Weird Tales and Oriental Stories. Since the spring of

while the desert lost those ancient asphodels and the deep verdure it had worn again for a little. Darkness, having conquered Illarion, came slow and furtive on the path of Aphrodite; shadows mustered innumerably to the grey hills; and the heart of the poet Phaniol was an urn of black jade overfraught by love with sodden ashes.

Saving...

60 THE FANTASY FAN, December, 1934 while the sunset greatened, filling sky and sea with a flush as of new-blown blossoms, or the inmost rose of that coiling shell which was consecrate to her in old time. Without robe or circlet or garland, crowned and clad only with the sunset, fair with the dreams of man but fairer yet than all dreams: thus the waited, smiling tranquilly, who is life or death, despair or rapture, vision or flesh, to gods and poets and galaxies unknowable. But, filled with a wonder that was also love, or much more than love, the poet could find no greeting. "Farewell, O Phaniol," she said, and her voice was the sighing of remote waters, the murmur of waters moon-withdrawn, forsaking not without sorrow a proud island tall with palms. "Thou hast known me and worshipped all thy days till now, but the hour of my departure is come: I go, and when I am gone, thou shalt worship still and shalt not know me. For the destinies are thus, and not forever to any man, to any world or to any god, is it given to possess me wholly. Autumn and spring will return when I am past, the one with yellow leaves, the other with yellow violets; birds will haunt the renewing myrtles; and many little loves will be thine. Not again to thee or to any man will return the perfect vision and the perfect flesh of the goddess." Ending thus, she stepped from that ashen strand to the dark prow of the barge; and even as it had come, without wafture of wind or movement of oar, the barge put out on a sea covered with the fallen, fading petals of sunset. Quickly it vanished from view, AN INTERVIEW WITH E. HOFFMAN PRICE by Fred Anger & Louis C. Smith Author, linguist, world-traveller, automobile mechanic and cook -- that, fantasy fans, is a fairly representative picture of E. Hoffman Price! The Syrian quarters of Chicago and New York and the Old French Quarter of New Orleans are no strange places to this prolific author of weird stories and detective yarns; he is equally at home in the Philipines and in certain little-known sections of France. He is--but wait!--let's go about this in an orderly manner. Contrary to popular belief, E. Hoffman Price did not have his first story published in Weird Tales; his first was sold to "Droll Stories," and brought him the magnificent sum of twenty-four dollars (he chuckles over it now). His first story in Weird Tales was "The Rajah's Gift" which appeared in January 1925; and from this time on, until his job as manager of an acetylene plant petered out, Price wrote exclusively for Weird Tales and Oriental Stories. Since the spring of while the desert lost those ancient asphodels and the deep verdure it had worn again for a little. Darkness, having conquered Illarion, came slow and furtive on the path of Aphrodite; shadows mustered innumerably to the grey hills; and the heart of the poet Phaniol was an urn of black jade overfraught by love with sodden ashes.