’ ' " I ■■■ ■■ M „ ■■ ■ ..
Punk is living corpse
but the spirit is active
A couple years back, the punkers
-ealized something: no one was
istening. After all the songs, all the
;oncerts and all the upheaval, it still
didn’t matter. The world went on,
xcasionally snickering at recently
nutated fashions and music.
Most of the punks, once resplen
dent in Mohican glory, grew up,
went to school and got jobs. The
slogans joined the combat boots in
forgotten piles and punk became a
dusty memory for most. But a few
haven’t given up. They have heard
the choruses of “punk is dead” for
years but keep going, driven by
some energy alien to the masses.
People don’t call it punk any
more. Now it is hardcore or thrash
or thrashmetal. Whatever the label,
the spirit survives, a fleeting ghost
in the machine of society.
The ghost screams on in unfilled
concert halls and on self-produced
tapes and records. Sometimes the
ghost mixes in some heavy metal
and they call it speedmetal or cross
over. Sometimes the ghost learns to
play its instruments and becomes
iistenable. Then they call it post
punk or selling out. Sometimes the
ghost speaks many languages. Then
they don’t know what to call it.
Punk is doing more to kill itself
than the Real World could have
ever hoped to do. Punk was once a
reaction to clone fashion but has
become just more of the same. It is
a simple formula: get a funny-look
ing haircut, tear some clothing and
moan about not being accepted by
the rest of the world.
The music itself is suffering a
similar fate. Most of the punks only
go to concerts with relatively well
known bands and high prices to get
in. These kids know who they have
paid to see.
Small local bands, once the driv
ing force of the punk movement, are
now satisfied with establishing a
small clique of followers and doing
nothing more. Some locals sketch a
band’s name on the back of a shirt
and everyone is happy, the revolu
tion is nigh. Then the band breaks
up, another shirt is bought at the
thri ft shop and another band name is
sketched.
Punk has become a living
corpse. Most of the kids involved
arc stealing the breath from the
See FIFTH COLUMN on 10
A complete
set of
instructions
for the
first-time
smoker.
I Don't |
STUDENTS I
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‘Laurus’ showcases student works
3
OS
i
Courtesy of Laurus
By Mick Dyer
Senior Reporter
The perennial appearance of the
Laurus, the University of Nebraska
Lincoln student fine arts magazine, is
as sure a sign of spring on campus as
the aroma of lilacs floating on the
breeze.
This year’s edition features die
work of 18 undergraduate and gradu
ate writers and artists. Twenty-four
poems, three short stories and six
illustrations document the variety of
literary styles students are experi
menting with.
Although each piece in the Laurus
this year is strong and worthy of merit,
there are several works that especially
stand out.
“Body Language,” a poem by
Margrethe Ahlschwede, is a poem
describing a bluejay. Ahlschwede
masterfully sculpts the poem to read
with the same feeling of watching a
bird. As the bird flies into the scene,
stops, eats a sunflower seed, stops and
flies away with the same elusiveness
as itcame with, the tempoof the poem
follows the syncopated motions of the
bird. I read this poem several times.
“Willard” and “Not Many People
are 19 Years and 16 Days Long,”
poems by Jen Desclms, showcase her
voice as a writer and her attention to
detail. Her writing style is lean but full
of active, vivid descriptions of those
seemingly inconsequential moments
of life that wind uprevealing somuch.
Her voice is sincere and as easy to
follow as conversation. What she
accomplishes is the effortless transfer
of mood from poet to reader, which
some people may argue, is what po
etry is all about. Some very moving
stuff, I hope she continues writing.
Three untitled pieces and one en
titled “Tangiers,” by R. Allen, were
especially appealing to me. A variety
of powerful emotional and physical
images are blended into surreal and
beautiful cerebral experiences. At
times, the poems are hypnotic, at
others they have almost a musical
quality. Allen is actively aware of the
sound of poetry, which is something I
think many poets are overlooking
today.
“On Avocado-Green Refrigera
tors,” by Michelle C. Howell, is a
poem about slowly imagining your
self out of existence. It is full of
stunning, creative metaphors. The
poem takes its name from this verse:
Blood pulses from my heart
outward,
never to return:
an Amtrack train
with a one way ticket
rushing past the landscape
so the colors whirl
like fingerpaintings found on
avocado-green refrigerators
framed by chocolate pudding
and mud smears.
“Glass Button,” by Thomas
McNeil, is a sensitive, graceful love
poem about the patience often re
quired to open a girl’s blouse that I
really enjoyed. I just wanted to men
tion it, but I can’t say why because I
look enough like a sexist pig already.
Very romantic.
Copies of Laurus are available at
the English department headquarters,
Room 202 Andrews Hall, for $2.
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