Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker001 Manuscript Hopdance English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker001 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker001_0.jpg LHL Archive HOPDANCE by Stewart Parker Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1292 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker002 Manuscript Hopdance, Angel English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker002 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker002_0.jpg LHL Archive The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale, Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee. Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1293 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker003 Manuscript Stranger, Mirror English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker003 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker003_0.jpg LHL Archive - 1 - I. One day they said, It's time you went to the gymnasium, Mr. Tosh said so you go there,And whistling even, a shanty of sorts. Trying to fancy yourself aboard ship along these long corridors with the curvy low ceilings, a male nurse in his white smock smiling past like a cabin steward. Polished floor, the right crutch sliding a little. Easy, On a real ship, on these things, with one bound you’d be on your arse. All at sea. There now, wordplay even. Of a sort, The boy is back in his mind again. Tunnelling left, that must be the place, swing doors with portholes. Eases his right shoulder between the doors, bundling through in an awkward scuffle, the hospital gymnasium. Bars, ropes, curious engines. Nobody here yet. Heeling round to starboard... a spectral stranger in the corner lurking there eyeing you out of a ragged thicket of dirty fair hair, lank blue jumper hanging limp on the bony shoulders, metal crutches clamping the forearms, fixing you with that glittering eye, transfixed, don’t look down... gross blue knot dangling in the vacant space where the left leg should be, pyjama knot, dangling from the blunt stump fat with its bandages, the one fat thing, gorged full on its own blood. First sight of it. First mirror. Easy. As others see me, Scary ghost, Sad freak. No wonder they tried to make you wear their long tartan dressing gown, get a haircut, stay in the ward, spare the feelings of the healthy, no wonder, horrified eyes sliding sideways as they pass me in the corridor. Motionless, holding the stare. For the slightest move, confirmed by the mirror, will force him at length to identify with that halt scarecrow which now at last stands there revealed to him after the months of living wholly inside that stricken mask. Caught. Look. Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1294 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker004 Manuscript Literature, Tosh English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker004 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker004_0.jpg LHL Archive - 2 - II. A student of literature at the time, and full of certainties at first. To he nineteen in a warm room, surrounded by books and friendship - the certainties came easy. Outside the window, beyond the great chestnuts and the cultivated lawns, the province yawned along rank and stultifying. On Sundays he could hear the hounds of heaven in the park, a tinny evangelical baying and barking and the whine of hymns, drifting across the damp grey air into his back yard and through the big window to where he stretched across Prudence's tense body for another bottle of Monk from under the bed. The province was without form and void. Darkness moved upon the face of the waters. He respected Larmour, his tutor, more than the other lecturers in the Department, though warily and grudgingly, for they agreed on virtually nothing. -You don't find the study of literature a sufficiently rigorous discipline in itself, Mr. Tosh, without shouldering an additional responsibility for creating it? The voice was a kind of genial sneer, Larmour perched well back in his swivel chair, knees hugged to chest with glee, perpetual monkey grin, a whiff of satan in the black goatee and the dark, mocking eyes. -The title of writer is one which I intend to win. Tosh was curt and stolid in these encounters, privately convinced of his due destiny. -Doubtless so, but might you not usefully begin your quest by thoroughly acquainting yourself with the unbroken traditions of nine centuries of major achievement? -Tradition is meaningless to me. Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1295 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker005 Manuscript Student, Beckett English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker005 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker005_0.jpg LHL Archive - 3 - -Then you are either a remarkably obtuse young man, since tradition is of course synonymous with meaning, or else a deliberate solipsist, which appears the more likely case whilst being an equally inappropriate position for an honours student in this Department, Cuddling his knees closer, the sneery grin widening to fill the whole room. There was a paper to be turned in for each of the three terms, Tosh had elected to write his first one on the Scots Border ballad of Thomas Rhymer, provoking Larmour's gleeful scorn. -You don’t consider a solitary ballad rather a meagre subject, Mr, Tosh? -It’s a far from meagre poem. -It is undoubtedly a fine flower of the oral tradition, but it will scarcely sustain the same degree of detailed scrutiny as a conscious literary artefact, -That’s only one of the things which I admire about it. -You are not intending to rhapsodise over the beauty of its impersonal voice for the entire three thousand words? Tosh launching his offensive. -The ballads are not impersonal, Least of all this one. It’s a pre- personal voice. It pre-dates the psychological need for signature. It has no vestige of signature, and yet it has a clear distinctive unmistakable voice, a tone all its own. A point of view. The view of a whole community crystallised into a single voice, It is pre-personal, by the same token that Beckett’s work is post-personal. -That should certainly get us to the bottom of page one, once you have finished defining your terms. What else? -Thomas lies on Huntley Bank. He spies a woman riding towards him, Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1296 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker006 Manuscript Eildon Hills, Prudence English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker006 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker006_0.jpg LHL Archive - 4 - o'er the fernie brae. A daemon lady. They make love. She takes him on her horse into the Eildon Hills and their otherworld. If he speaks, she will be sure of his body ever after. My tongue is mine ain, he tells her. She shows him wonders, a river of blood, a forest of bleeding boughs, the roads to heaven, hell and elfland, she takes him to her castle there. He returns to Ercildoune after thirty days, He has the seer's gift of poetry. He has risked the greatest danger to penetrate the world behind appearances. It's a fable of the creative mystery. The nature of the poet's gift and peril. -You see yourself in these terms, I take it? Tosh affixing his stolid frown on the doodles burgeoning across the cover of his Summit Refill Pad Ruled Feint And Margin 80 Leaves Foolscap. A John Dickinson Product, Everything that day slick or spongy with the rain, dropping down softly and inexhaustibly out of the grey air, so that for a while I failed to notice the tears on her face as we walked the path away from the Union, -What's the matter, Prudence? Shaking her head, averting it. -What are you crying for? A few sobs bit back, quivering lips contorting her little face in a struggle to speak. Tosh felt the familiar prickle of stifled rage, at her helplessness, Chrissake just spit it out, will you, anything, -It's just... just... it's the rain, she said, almost gagging on the words. They walked on through to the main quadrangle. -We'll sit down, said Tosh. Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1297 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker007 Manuscript Leg, Doctor English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker007 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker007_0.jpg LHL Archive - 5 - The wooden, seat brimmed with raindrops which glistened into thick wet smears when he brushed at it with his handkerchief, They sat together beneath the black umbrella. -You don't seem all that keen. Not anymore, she said. -My leg's sore again today. -Same place? She gently clasped the front of his knee and rubbed it, Her eyes were dry now, -I was wondering, she said. What you thought. About getting summer jobs together. -I feel total lassitude. Soaked right through in it. All the time now. My leg feels kind of hollow inside. -Is this helping it? Her hand made an even rustle against the knee of his trousers. The rain murmured down, drips falling off the dark red brick in a multitude of rhythms. -You still haven't said. She spoke carefully. Whether we're breaking it off. Or what. -I suppose we are, Prudence. He held his breath. -You seem to be losing interest, I know that much. -Your ears move up and down when you're talking, did you know that? -You just won't ever be serious about it. -There's a sort of gentle twitching under your hair, like two field mice. Oh, God. -You ought to see a doctor about that leg. Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1298 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker008 Manuscript Consulate, Socialist English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker008 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker008_0.jpg LHL Archive - 6 - The consulate flags hung limp in the rain, as if shamed by the moral force of their frail protest. You were given a placard to carry, reading Make Babies Not Freakshows, and you felt foolish. As though you had any acquaintance with babies, as though a sodden handful of students outside the U.S. consulate-general, in a dwarfish and absurd province, was likely to fend off nuclear armageddon, was not in itself a sad little freakshow, Falshaw, student journalist, fat and pustular, confronts you with his round red comedian face, on the picket line. -How’s the daemon lover, then? -Depends. Is it some daemon who loves me, or me who’s supposed to love some daemon? -Both in your case, I'd say. -How about the revolution? -Delayed for the time being, on account of industrial action, listen, you haven’t joined the Labour Club yet, people are beginning to talk. -I prefer writing to joining. -What you are, Toshy, is what I call a gut socialist. You feel it deep down but you don't think it through, that's okay, we need your type in the movement too. -I may have a couple of instincts that I'm prepared to credit. I'm not prepared to institutionalise them, though, not quite yet. -Bourgeois individualism very big danger, artistic types much prone to it. Beware. A gnarled and greasy man, his eyes balefully magnified by slablike glasses, passed by on a circuit of his own, counterclockwise to theirs, clad in a sandwich-board proclaiming Christ Said, Ye Must Be Born Again. -Christ was the first socialist, you know, Falshaw told the man as he Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1299 Hopdance Linen Hall Library 1970 Linen Hall Library Tuesday, April 26, 2016 TIFF Parker009 Manuscript Catholicism, Agnostic English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/parker009 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Parker009_0.jpg LHL Archive - 7 - passed, -I don't accept that, said Tosh, Socialism wasn't founded by Christ at all. It was built on the same rock as Catholicism. Peter the Betrayer. The moment when the cock crew thrice, that was when the party was born. -Very elegant, said Falshaw. So you imagine you can change the world for the better all on your own? As Jesus S. Tosh? -If I could even change myself for the better, I'd settle for that. -So what are you doing marching in my picket? -If I have to die, I'd sooner die foolish but at least in the right. Instead of foolish and also wrong. -You are wrong, You're a romantic egotist. -I'm an agnostic, I'm prepared to wait, till the third time comes round again, for the cock to crow. Then let's see who jumps. -Anybody know'Fair Rosa'? Perching on the edge of the classroom desk, tuning the guitar. -Do Elvis, sir! Sudden chattering laughter of raw boys, Yourself eight years ago, a mere eight. Their oversized knees and ears, the blazers either baggy or starveling, the faint sour odour of their imprisoned force. -I want you to listen to the story of this, now. E-Major chord. And in. -Fair Rosa was a lovely child A lovely child a lovely child Fair Rosa was a lovely child A long time ago... Those who can't, teach. But I suppose it might be forced on me, after Text Stewart Parker Wednesday, July 20, 2016 - 12:20 1300