Word: prophets
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Poets want to take truth by the hand; prophets want to get truth by the tail. A hybrid of poet and prophet is tomahawk-faced Robinson Jeffers, almost as much famed in the U. S. for doing his writing in a stone tower, built by himself, over-looking California's Carmel Bay, as for his violent free-verse narratives and black-diamond lyrics in Tamar, Roan Stallion, The Women at Point Sur, Cawdor, et al. Jeffers' latest book, Such Counsels You Gave to Me, is predominantly in his prophetic vein. Its title-poem is a fast-moving narrative...
...such symbological catch-alls confuse the book's shorter poems. They are mostly straightforward recordings of what Poet-Prophet Jeffers sees and feels when he looks around him in A.D. 1937. Samples...
Neither an exotic nor a professional prophet, 42-year-old Professor Lips does not go off the deep end with his late eminent countryman, Oswald Spengler, who prophesied an onslaught on Europe by a black horde led by white adventurers. But he does not present savages as the pitiably naive creatures they are in most white imaginations. In fact, Professor Lips points out, North America and Australia have been the only continents actually wrested from savages by the white race, which in South America has been mostly absorbed and in India and China repelled from all but a few footholds...
...Coming of the Lord . . . Great Confusion Upon Earth . . . September 16, 1936 was announced last year in Manhattan by a Mrs. Edna Bandler in Vol. 1, No. 1 of a magazine called The Prophet. Last week, Mrs. Bandler turned up in the news again, conducting a "Week of Prophecy" in Town Hall, daily donning a white veil and prophesying for the 25 to 100 people who dropped in, admission free, to hear...
Next morning the nation heard news that made the Springfield Republican a prophet of doom and caused Artist Woolf to fly his drawing to New York for immediate publication in the Times. The leader of the Administration forces in the Senate and the man who refused to count unhatched chickens, Joseph Taylor Robinson of Arkansas, was found dead (see p. 10). The penciled signature on Artist Woolf's drawing was one of the last copies of that loyal autograph and, at the very hour in the night when the Springfield Republican was coming off the presses...