DOI Artikel:
Benjamin de Casseres, The Art “Puffer”
DOI Artikel:Leonard van Noppen, Come, All Ye Living! [poem]
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.31042#0050
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attorney of artistic humbug, ancient and modern (humbug always advertises)
would plunge his hand unhesitatingly through the filth to get his penny, but
he remembers it will cost him the price of a bar of soap to clean them.
The lines on the brow of the PufFer have the subtle outline of worms.
And why not ? Is he not a wriggling Worm-God ? Ask his owner, the sacro-
sanct newspaper proprietor.
This King of the Fifth Avenue underworld has neither the ability nor the
genius to be really wicked. “My kingdom on the table,” he demands, like
Hilda Wangel. And his kingdom is a one-hundred line double column ad.
For the Puffer is a Masterbuilder of reputations.
Where, then, will the Dear PufFer go when he dies ? He can’t get into
Heaven because it would bore him to death. He can’t go to hell because
there is no corner down there small enough into which he can crawl.
Will the soul of the PufFer go to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and
become a sponge ?
Benjamin De Casseres.
COME, ALL YE LIVING!
COME, all ye living, camp against the dead.
Go forth and give them battle, who have sold
The future into bondage. All too bold
Are their unseen battalions, and the dread
Of their long silence like a cloud of lead
Lies on our music. Break each ancient mould
Of barren custom where the soul grows cold;
Break and destroy the empire of the dead!
Let never trumpet sound the happy truce
Till they are dust, abolished every one,
Who keep the world in chains of darkness. Loose
The lark of hope that suffers for the sun
And fill the sky with singing. Slay, oh, slay
The tyrant Past and wake, for it is day!
Leonard van Noppen.
32
would plunge his hand unhesitatingly through the filth to get his penny, but
he remembers it will cost him the price of a bar of soap to clean them.
The lines on the brow of the PufFer have the subtle outline of worms.
And why not ? Is he not a wriggling Worm-God ? Ask his owner, the sacro-
sanct newspaper proprietor.
This King of the Fifth Avenue underworld has neither the ability nor the
genius to be really wicked. “My kingdom on the table,” he demands, like
Hilda Wangel. And his kingdom is a one-hundred line double column ad.
For the Puffer is a Masterbuilder of reputations.
Where, then, will the Dear PufFer go when he dies ? He can’t get into
Heaven because it would bore him to death. He can’t go to hell because
there is no corner down there small enough into which he can crawl.
Will the soul of the PufFer go to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean and
become a sponge ?
Benjamin De Casseres.
COME, ALL YE LIVING!
COME, all ye living, camp against the dead.
Go forth and give them battle, who have sold
The future into bondage. All too bold
Are their unseen battalions, and the dread
Of their long silence like a cloud of lead
Lies on our music. Break each ancient mould
Of barren custom where the soul grows cold;
Break and destroy the empire of the dead!
Let never trumpet sound the happy truce
Till they are dust, abolished every one,
Who keep the world in chains of darkness. Loose
The lark of hope that suffers for the sun
And fill the sky with singing. Slay, oh, slay
The tyrant Past and wake, for it is day!
Leonard van Noppen.
32
