OCR Text |
Show & i . Viriniinii' urn ir.irwiMiiMniiMlrfkMaii' past. He is believed to have been a Yale physics major and very straight. He is known to have started life in Boston ("Err, my Gard, it's the Marth Woman com-in' com-in' through the frag," is his equi-valant equi-valant of "My God, it's the Moth Woman coming through the fog." He was much enamored of a girl who favorably impressed him as closely resembling a large, beautiful beauti-ful green moth. Don't ask me why; I don't know.) At some stage, he suddenly left the East home, wealthy family, friends, everything and bummed his way west. He worked for a time in some kind of mine, labored with oil rigs, and somehow wound up in "Utah." It's Cool to Laugh It is not cool to take Goldberger seriously or respect him. It is cool to laugh at everything he says or does. It is cool to carry around a bushel of Uttle antidotes about "odd" things he did or is reputed to have done. It is cool to snigger at the story of his getting pleasantly potted on a flight into Denver on six or eight minibottles of Cutty Sark. It was cool to giggle at a meeting of local poets which I ot-tended ot-tended when Goldberger advanced his thesis that a poem was an ex tension of the poet and not to be taken apart the way one would a scientific document. It was much cooler t oask in a sarcastic-dripping voice "And what, pray, is a poet?" And when rnG answered "A poet is a musician with words," one didn't even have to be cool to shreik with laughter. I don't find anything funny about his definition of poems and poets. I don't find anything ridiculous about his writing. Read 'Chloride' In fact, I am convinced his short story (later made into a play) called "Where is Chloride?" is the best story I've ever read. Period. I have no wish to become highly enthusiastic about the poor lonely artist who is ridiculed all his life and recognized as a great genius after dying in a gutter at 29, etc. To begin with, I doubt that rnG will ever be recognizel. I also know that he has turned out some writing writ-ing that was completely devoid of merit, as well as some great literature. litera-ture. And Goldberger, like the rest of life, is not to be taken too damn seriously. He is vain about himself and too much attention would probably destroy his art: and I believe be-lieve in that art By J. BAUMAN Chronicle Editorial Assistant Let him introduce himself: "I don't want to go into my personal per-sonal life. Facts? What are facts? I don't want to go into my personal person-al life; I don't have anything to hide, but my past is not relevant. "If you want my life story go out into the Newfoundland mountains and find a mystical woman who exists there. Fact of the matter I'm " going to make a film in two years called The Puntlce Woman about a mystical woman who lives in the Newfoundland mountains she's dissillusioned by love. "What's my purpose in P.R.? My purpose is to be read. It's an ex-tistentual ex-tistentual journalistic design. Different Dif-ferent type is used to give the intrinsic in-trinsic value of each poem. A poem is a specific entity representing the author as an individual mind. You can make a statement while interviewing inter-viewing me I was rummaging through the garbage can looking for negatives." Father Of Pen Rejects All right, Goldberger, I will. Richard Nahum Goldberger (who prefers to be known as "rnG") is the father, publisher, distributor of "PR," a strange new campus literary liter-ary magazine. The initials stand for "Pen Rejects" and the whole costly enterprise was inspired by his conviction con-viction that the campus literary magazine "Pen" was run by idiots who somehow were able to recognize recog-nize good poetry and fiction and somehow infallibly rejected it in favor of trash. This is a widely-held widely-held conviction, but Goldberger is the first to do more than bitch about it. P.R. is a strange publication. It was first distributed in June and has come out once a month since, rfght on schedule. It has continually continual-ly increased in " size,' circulation (three or four thousand words were printed this time, issue No. 4), and price (from three cents to thirty-three cents). More importantly, impor-tantly, it has vastly improved in make-up and content. The 8x11 just cleaned out our files because be-cause he is either convinced that he can use some for his magazine or that no intrinsic expression of a photographer's soul should be thrown away. It's hard to tell which; maybe he just can't resist passing up something free. Gold-berger's Gold-berger's ways are not our ways. Utah's An Existential State But let's let him continue: "You can make a note that subscriptions sub-scriptions cost three dollars for two years or three dollars a lifetime subscription I dunno say three dollars a lifetime subscription subscrip-tion you want a photograph of me? I need it. What're you writing down? WHAT? You writing that? Comeon I gotta go I gotta class it' ten minutes after two ask specific questions. Utah is an existential ex-istential state wrote a play called "Where is Cholride" come on hurry up you !!! you put that down I'll sue you you mention the magazine, mention Ed Jones Mr. Edward Jones my colleague col-league a caretaker " Jones and rnG bill themselves as the magazine's "Caretaker's," whatever that is. Jones is apparently apparent-ly the publication's financial support. sup-port. "Look Bauman, I'm trying to tell you what the to put in here while I'm here; you can write the rest when I've gone to class. I've written the outline of a three-volume- work called Utah is an Existential Ex-istential State. What else is there to say? I dunno. What else is there to know?" Goldberger protests loudly that he is late. He tries to brace a few P.R.'s against the thermostate. I tell the photog to shoot only Gold-berger's Gold-berger's face and ignore the magazines, maga-zines, so he stops fooling with the magazines, turns his profile to the camera and, for no reason I can discover, tugs - frantically at . his long forelocks and sideburns. He takes his hands away, the strobe fires, and Goldberger runs out of the office muttering to himself. Yale Physics Major Not much is known about rnG's R.N. GOLDBERGER . . . Founder of "P.R." inch magazine now has a slick cover, an indeterminable number of pages (some are printed on both sides, some on only one; numbered apparently at random) and a weirdly weird-ly pleasing assortment of types and papers. The first page is heavy onion-skin, the second is the back of the first and blank, the third is heavier and printed in two type styles, the back of the third unnumbered un-numbered is an organish slick photograph of what I take to be salt flats, and so the magazine goes for quite a few more pages. Guarantees No Rejections The quality of the poems vary greatly because Goldberger refuses to reject any poem given him for publication: He believes in the sanctity sanc-tity of a poem as an extension of the poet. The magazine is greatly improved because more good writers writ-ers are hearing about it and contributing con-tributing to it; it is spotty in places because the poor writers don't get rejected. "' At any rate I promised rnG I'd mentioned what he was doing while being interviewed. Right now he is mumbling at me and searching search-ing through the Chronicle Garbage Can for discarded negatives we've |