FR SCOTT PK PAGE BRUCE R1DDICK PATRICK .ANDERSON NEUFVILLE SHAW NUM"BER 6 AUGUST 1942 NOTE With this number we have completed the six issues of Preview which it was our original intention to producee This may be the last time Preview appears in its present form but if it does not continue as it is, another publication will replace it. A plan of work for the coming sea sons has yet to be decided upon. We invite suggestions from our readers and would ask them to fill out the enclosed questionnaire~ As we said in our first number this is not a magazine but rather an example of work in progress within the groupo .Any work in progress is bound to be uneven and we are conscious of the fact that this has been true.of what has been published in Preview. However, publication in even this minor form has been of value to the authors who have been able to see their work in better perspective~ We have received enough letters and comment to encourage us in the belief that the experiment has been wel comed. we wish to thank our eighty subscribers and all who helped us with the mechanics of Preview's production~ THE LORD'S PLAN. Seumas carried his suitcase in his right hand. It was heavy and his feet were hot--swelling, bulging against the bumpy upp_ers of his shoes. His toes felt puffy and webbed. The sun was in mid heaven exactly. It shone on the top of his hat. The dent in his green fedora caught all the sun, held it in a pool. Seumas gave a dusty grin thinking of his suitoas·e ,. thinking of the Word of God--the Words of God--packed tightly layer upon layer. His new sales psychology had worked. The Lord had given hirr1 a plan to sell His ~.-:ord. Only yesterday, while Seumas was lying in a haystack, airing his feet, the Lord had explainedHis Plan. He had heard the Lord say: "Seumas, Lamb of the Lord, in order to sell my word you must have a plan." Seumas had jolted forward in the hay. He had tried to convince himself that there was nothing strange in being spoken to by the Lord. But it had been strange, none the less. Seumas had parked his gum behind his ear and stubbed his cigarette and put the butt in his breast pocket--the least he could do for the Lord. And then the Lord had boomed. His Voice had sounded like thunder and Seumas had looked up to the sky and found it blue and clear. The Lord had boomed, "Psychology." Seumas had nodded. It didn't do to let the Lord lmow he was an ignorant man. Seumas smiled and repeated the word "psy-· ~ · chology". It rattled round in his head for a few minutes afterwards. But the Lord had been kind. He had explained the word, just as any Christian gentleman would do, pretending that Seumas lmew it all the while. And--but of course it would, as it was the Lord's Plan--it worked. At the very first house he had come to it had worked. He had stopped at the door of a farmhouse and lmocked. A woman opened it~ She was pale and immens~ ~s though she were made of bread dough, Seumas thought and had been r1s1ng before the kitchen range for years--rising and sweiling.Seumas looked at her arms hanging from her sleeveless dress. She had . . said, "What would you want?" And he had almost forgotten to answer. her, almost forgotten the Lord's Plan, because after her arms he had seen her stomach and then he had had to remind himself that he was on the Lord's / Business& By that time she had noticed his bag and she had said, "?ales man?" How her eyes had folded under the fat lids--how the brown slits that showed through had looked like molasses in the sun; and how close Seumas had come to walking away, then and there, quickly. But he remembered the Lord's Plan. He put down his bag _and said "Ir mtired, I've walked a long wey • ' ) • t nU Could I--" and he siniled "come in and rest a minu e·r The bulk in the doo;way had moved. Seumas stepped inside the large kitchen and sat downo He put his suitcase on the kitchen table. She l~ok ed at it once or twice. He pretended it wasn't there. He passed the time of day with her as she beat cookie batter. He watched the flesh of her arms flowing free from the bone, flapping, flapping, flapping; and then her stom ach; like a large jelly, wobbling> shiverin8, under the flowered dress. -Nhen she moved one part of her, all moved. He said "Could I fetch a cup of water from the well? There is dust in my moutho" She lowered the dipper into a water bucket and handed it to him, dripping~ She could see the drops of water on the dipper's lip sparkling. It was all part of the Lord 1s Plane He drank~ He hung the dipper on the nail again. He thought of that hi~self. It was as the Lord would have done. He went back to his seat. She kept turning to look at his suitcase. And then :1e said, "D'you mind if I smoke?" She shook her head. He waited a min ute until her flesh had quietened. That one shake had started her arms, her ½elly, her buttocks .•• He stopped in horror at the words in his mind and he opened his suitcase for his makings. For now, now, did the psychology really begino As he lifted the lid he saw the booklets piled neatly--book lets of the Lord. But he pretended he didn't notice them and he took out his tobacco and rolled a cigarette. She came over to the suitcase, chose a spoon from a drawer in the table and looked at the booklets in the bag. She returned to the batter, dipped it out into little hummocks on a ~an. But in a minute she came back. She put out a finger like a large pale sausage·with a little bit of gristle shining at the end of it. §he touched one of the· booklets and left a smudge of cookie dough on it. 1 Books," she said. He feigned unconcern. nyes, books(;" He waited, examining the end of his cigarette,, She turned the pages. "\Vords, words, " she said. HY es , Go d' so " 1Oh, :God 's?n • ~ · "Yes." He blew smoke out through his nose. "Take a look," he said. It had all been so easy. But then it had been the Lord 1s Flan. She bought. He finished his cigarette,fastened his suitcase and walked to the·door. But on the way--ah, if only the Lord had helped him there1--as he passed her, his hand shot out and fell on her buttocks, hard enough to start her flesh jiggling again. And he had laughed. She picked up the spoon and brough~ it down on his head. It had hurt~ She used words too--words he wanted to forget, being on the Lord's Business. He had decided she was ·a· very common woman. He laughed now when he thought of it, even though the sun was hot and the lump on his head ached where his hat pressed on it. If he'd done that to a pretty girl she'd have liked it; and anyway that was his psychology-- make up to the ladies& True, the Lord hadn't suggestect it but it had a~ ways worked before, so he might as well keep on. And too, 'the next house-he had come to after that, hadn't it worked? It sure had, But it was a girl there> _young and Dretty. Her eyes had flashed when he had chucked her under the chin and she'a tossed her head and said "You're some smart, you are." ~ome smart! He 1d.say he was. Seumas O'Reiily, never seen Irelana Salesman in the Lord's Business. Some smart1 And she was some smart too--§ome pretty. He thought of her ·as he wallred~ · He forgot his feet. At the -end of the blueberry plains there was a store. Gasoline pumps outside and_signs on ~he store. He thought of the Lord's Plan. He thoug~~- of the sun in a pool in the dent of his hat. He walked into the store. It was dark and he couldn't see much at first. Agirl's voi~e inquired, "Sell:--f in 7?" 4 • • • 11Nothing that'd interest you," he said. He ordered a bottle of Lime Rickey and it walked across the counter to him. Imagine that1 He was going to say something to the girl about it but she interrupted him. ~ ~ -~ "How d' you know?" she asked I'> • -• He laid his suitcase beside him and tapped it saying, "Because itis~not candy or cosmetics or silk stockings"--but not before he'd noticed the girl. Not too bad, but drab he figured. His plan and the Lord's together ought to make this sale a cinch. He drank up the Lime Rickey and ordered another bottle. Boy, how those bottles could walk! "How's business?" he asked. 1'Not bad, " she answered. "How's yours?" "Good," he said. "Better and better. See a pretty face and business is swell." He watched her as he said it. She smirked and poked a pound of bacon on the counter. And he forgot the Lord's Plan. She walked round beside him. He put his arm round her waist and squeezed her. She pulled away a little. "Fresh eh?'' He laughed. "Vvhat you sellin'?" He saw her eye his suitease. "'.Vouldn' t you like to lmow! " "Come on, give l" "Maybe I don't sell. Maybe I'm a college guy hitch hikin1 to college." "Maybe I'm a pair of chickens! " uMaybe you are. " He s,1ueezed her again. She wriggled an·d looked down. Stuck out her tongue a little. It was pink like a kitten's. "What's your name?" ::Mabel. ~Vhat' s yours?" 0 eumas." "Gee 1 what a ban dle • " It was the way she said 'handle' that did it. The way her mouth op ened and her lips curled. It wasn't his fault. He kissed her. She was like barbed wire in his arms then. The way she pulled away, bristling, spiked with anger. She hauled bnck her hand and slapped his face. Women1 He loved them. He caught her hand, kissed the palm of it, laughing. She walked away. But her hand .••he still held it. Saints alivet it had come off. She looked black, She stumped away into the darkness, her arm hanging, handless, He looked at the hand. The skin was rough, red a little, and the nails were like small pearl buttons sewn on the fingers. He was alone in the store with the hand; the hand wearing a gold ring with 'M' on it. He slipped the ring off; he had no right to that; it was hers. And then he remembered the Lord's Plan, And he knew. The Lord was· reminding him to use His Psychology. This was the Lord's Way--miracl8s. He opened his suitcase and saw the Lord's Word . He took out a booklet and laid it on the counter, with the ring on top of it. He thought of that himself. It was as the Lord 1.vould have done. And he packed the hand in the suitcase. That would remind him of the Lord~s Plan, remind him to keep about the Lord's Business. The Lord was looking after His Own. Seu mas understood. He snapped the fasteners on his bag and put bn his hat and walked out into the sunshine. He gave a happy grin thinking of his suitcase•-thinking of the Word of God--the Words of God--packed tightly layer on layer; thinking of the hand, God's Miracle, God's Reminder. He pushed his hat back so it didn't press on the bump on his head. He took an old stub from his breast pocket and lit up. Geel He gave a long whistle of pleasure. Seumas O'Reilly, never seen Ireland, Lord's Business, some smart. Salesman in the He'd sayJ P.K. PAGE INCIDENCE IN AN ALI-NIGHT CAFE Tv\rice tonight there was haggling over the bill. In the cafe where the mildewed track Of loneliness persisted, keeping awake Men who would otherwise kill In killing Time they were a part of. Then the unlustred decrepit, Eyes shredding to1n roots, displaying with furtive Zeal the discolored leaf below the itch to accept. The words written on the serviette Damaged the paper; the curt Avoidance was a terrific hurt; But not to the coffeeshop's prestige- And the man lay immune and ignorant of siege- And the eyes opened and went further yet. RON.ALD HAMBLETO NOVELLA One last tired regretFor those who under the clawing olive tree Have known the magnificence of men Who held a destiny as a hero might- In lands Where coloured saints of wood Hold forth a rotting hand, And where the metal men of pastLean on gentle '.antique ·speRrsTo see the candle's metal blade Cut down a nervous swinging night. One last tired regret And Then our heavy debt Be paid of certain hate Tall muscled of our love For those who watched the shouting moors advance (Their knives dance in the spanish light,Their sacred hearts upon their sleeves)And the withered lands which held their fate; Who stood against The general who would sew the sun upon his coat, The men who toll their lands as on a chain, The tink ing sanctus bell before the solid paunch "Thnt le · . them to a ·final wall. These bitter things that bear tomorrows In wanton flow by those who wait And watch their distant passage as in a wind "Nhich fondles by a weightless load Till all is counted and the time is come. NEUFVILLE SHAW OBITUARY WITHOUT END. As to how many are dead The question has its difficulties, Because The telegraph poles that bear finalities, The newspapers that yell obsequies,And the wireless that answers questions,Were all blown up yesterday.Flat they are now And the dead are stacked up like Railway tracks. It's difficult. You see They assume ·the character of mud, Ooze into fingering roots, And, quietly, in a million minute ways, Change to grass, to elms, to oaks; And then to mice or stoats or grass again. Systems, they say, are so important. Like the way the Evening Post Poet Says That Joe Smith, the Average American, Who served canned soup at the A & P, Or Labelle, the corny littl Quebecois, Who gurgled like a year old kid The day the corvette sank Took off time and died To protect our way of life, Our right to criticize the other guy Even though he, owning a chain of papers, Can whisper so that it sounds a roar. O.K., they died. They became turnips Or, perhaps~ even a quinine tree. And we who count the dead, ~Vho measure them on other's faces, Are so certain of our uncertainties, So sure that any old system is O.K., It makes one want to weep. NEUFVILLE SH.AW FRAGl~ENT Suddenly the. last boundary broke And every land was claimed by somebody else. The closed world swarmed with a throng of roads Where .caterpillars span a thread of our blood To sew our flags into the history-quilt. The net of tracks kept the mind from release So every man tended his cuffs of steel. The clearest cRll came from the citadels. Over the churches flew the black birds. Trumpets blew but only echoes came And pamphlet thought scuttled from iron heels. A lease of fight was lent to far friends, Prodigious ways were found through sand and ice, Boats rolled on land while engines swam And dropping men captured the centre first. Bound in the box of hate, all were packed In neat grades, slivered in oil. The shape of m1 nd and hand fitted the pressed groove. Less than a horde was nothing. Zerol grew On integers, adding an ache of size. Off assembly-lines came motor-men Held by rivets of fear. Identical cogs Meshed in reverse directions, gathering speed,Knotted distance into a lace for boots That never trod upon ground. A single shaft> You would say, could use this force, one hub Ear such power would supercharge a world, Man is a god decked out in bayonets, Cutting the Burma Road of his own escape.But dust and dials cover the heart with zones And lay their stigma on the occasional song. FR SCOTT AUGUST 1942 Here, at evening, away from war and city Grass shrills with myriad thin-winged things. Petal and leaf, dead and budding e~uate intricately And evergreens, birds' homes, like beard stubble the hills. Worm-£ed, grub-fed bird on grey post flits and becomes flocks. Rabbits in gardens, skunks on dung heaps feed. In lake roe and egg, tadpole and fry mark race histories. Named, unknown stars link up, lock up me with these. Oh, lay about with axe, clear, build rooves-Shingle stems back storm, brick shuts out plant and bug. Regenerate ova with occasional sperm and man h·aunts streets-. · Till competing cells proliferate and inundate man's lanes and bones. But today in field, in gully my many brothers die unseasonably.The perennial world reels, fevered with pregnancies. Surely my only annual brothers serve more than hoe and spanner, Save more than tunneled, chambered, hard-backed vaults. BRUCE RUDDICK THE BOYS. Sexed with cigarettes that burn to ash between their fingers, dropping from the navel the knife line pants, whose chemistry turns blue their meagre hidden legs- the angel shoulders built on sloping bone- the double breasted boys o~t the air with a whistle wnose hilt is decayed tooth. In coloured drugstores amongst dummies, the cRrdboard blonde, the shining passionate glRnce wraDped up in cellophane they tRp while the indifferent wRitress wears their eyes, jerks syrups, stRrts the milkshakes hula: then, leaning down, the brief electric fizz pitting their faces or their tongues playing with the cold dome of the world. The smooth ancestral lewns of poolrooms through billowing trees of smoke are where they watch from track of eye and cue ball drop to pocket as gene across horizon in earth's curve. Down streets that broadcast brown to brownstone brown, by shattered pools And crumbling glass the waves are stiff upon their windless heads: the candy bar unfixed like girl or city while from the parapet they watch the slow soiled river passing between their thighs. PATRICK ANDERSON GRAPH. The feat flRme bounding through this powerful dungeon bespeaks an nrc for most endeavour to reach with tail to teach and hoist Rbove a stroke. Strike down and let the wail return itself an interest compounded of feather dust. Its soaring once and too often falling far it learned to sweep achievement with a broom that one forsaken should not look at last below the level of the creaking node. Placate these cycles with an upward swing, for fan the fl~me, and power rule the blast1 ALFRED G. BAILEY . ---.. We wish to remind our original readers thRt their subscriptions now fall due, the rate being, as before, $1. 00 for twelve issues-.- Preview or its successor will continue to be sent to those whose-· subscriptions hRve not yet expired. Address all subscriptions and contributions to Mrs. Kit Shaw, 5593 Cote St. Luke Road, Montreal.