107
   

WA2K Radio is now on the air

 
 
yitwail
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 06:49 pm
R.L. Stevenson, if i still have my RNA. Smile
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 06:55 pm
Right you are, md with the RNA <smile>

Just a little editing. the Sir Walter is not our Walter.Somehow, it just came out NO.

Still can't find Sir Walter Raleigh, turtleman. I only thought that he dealt in tobacco and put capes over mud puddles.
0 Replies
 
hamburger
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 06:55 pm
wa2k radio
equator crossing ceremony : you're supposed to kiss a -dead- fish ! since we were standing on the upper deck the fish never made it to us - lucky fish ! hbg
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 07:03 pm
Funny, hamburger.

Well, folks, I hate to say it but I must eat and it will be too late to broadcast from my little studio, sooooooo

From Sir Walter Raleigh:


I was a Poet!
But I did not know it,
Neither did my Mother,
Nor my Sister nor my Brother.
The Rich were not aware of it;
The Poor took no care of it.
The Reverend Mr. Drewitt
Never knew it.
The High did not suspect it;
The Low could not detect it.
Aunt Sue
Said it was obviously untrue.
Uncle Ned
Said I was off my head:
(This from a Colonial
Was really a good testimonial.)
Still everybody seemed to think
That genius owes a good deal to drink.
So that is how
I am not a poet now,
And why
My inspiration has run dry.
It is no sort of use
To cultivate the Muse
If vulgar people
Can't tell a village pump from a church steeple.
I am merely apologizing
For the lack of the surprising
In what I write
To-night.
I am quite well-meaning,
But a lot of things are always intervening
Between
What I mean
And what it is said
I had in my head.
It is all very puzzling.
Uncle Ned
Says Poets need muzzling.
He might
Be right.
Good-night!

From Letty with love and a smile.
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 07:06 pm
Perfect 10
The Beautiful South

She's a perfect 10, but she wears a 12
Baby keep a little 2 for me
She could be sweet 16, bustin' out at the seams
It's still love in the first degree

When he's at my gate, with a big fat 8
You wanna see the smile on my face
And even at my door, with a poor poor 4
There ain't no man can replace

'Cause we live our life,
in different sizes
I love her body, especially the lines
Time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes
Promise me this, take me tonight

If he's extra large well I'm in charge
I can work this thing on top
If he's XXL well what the hell
Every penny don't fit the slot

I get anorexic chicks, who model 6
They don't hold no weight with me
Well 8 or 9, well that's just fine
But I like to hold something I can see

'Cause we live our life,
in different sizes
I love her body, especially the lines
Time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes
Promise me this, take me tonight

I've bought a watch, to time your beauty
But I've had to fit a second hand
I've bought a calendar, and every month
Is taken up by lover man

'Cause we live our life,
in different sizes
I love her body, especially the lines
Time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes
Promise me this, take me tonight

'Cause we live our life, in different sizes
I love her body, especially the lies
Time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes
Promise me this, take me tonight
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 07:08 pm
Corrina Corrina - Bob Dylan version


Corrina, Corrina,
Gal, where you been so long?
Corrina, Corrina,
Gal, where you been so long?
I been worr'in' 'bout you, baby,
Baby, please come home.

I got a bird that whistles,
I got a bird that sings.
I got a bird that whistles,
I got a bird that sings.
But I ain' a-got Corrina,
Life don't mean a thing.

Corrina, Corrina,
Gal, you're on my mind.
Corrina, Corrina,
Gal, you're on my mind.
I'm a-thinkin' 'bout you, baby,
I just can't keep from crying.
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 07:14 pm
Poppy
The Beautiful South

'I fought hard in the Second World War'
You hear them shout
No good bragging about the Afrika Korps
It was Beadle's About

They dressed you up and took you off to World War One
Armed you and surrounded you with wire
Sat in stinking mud you sung your stupid songs
And waited till they told you when to fire

Cause the rulers always laugh
At a video bloodbath
Nothing makes them laugh
Like a video bloodbath

From the First World War to the Yom-Kippur
It was Beadle's About
The bayonets slice, the rockets roar
And he jumps out

Fond memories of the bloody bridge you failed to hold
Many of your buddies killed or maimed
You would've shot at rabbits if that's what you'd been told
Till the General said 'I'm sorry you've been framed'

Cause the rulers always laugh
At a video bloodbath
And nothing gets a laugh
Like a video bloodbath

Chorus:
Keep those entries coming
Leave those cameras running
Keep those entrails coming
Leave those soldiers gunning
Because you're sure to get a laugh
With a video bloodbath
Nothing gets a laugh
Like a video bloodbath

Here's a wacky video we got last week
A bomb catches Arthur unawares
He's lost both his arms and he can't see or speak
But thank you for the memory you shared

Cause the rulers always laugh
At a video bloodbath
And nothing gets a laugh
Like a video bloodbath

Chorus



Beadle's About was a British television programme hosted by Jeremy Beadle, where members of the public became victims of practical jokes behind hidden cameras. It was produced by LWT for ITV, and ran from 1987 to 1996.

A example of one of the practical jokes would involve a person's car or van secretly being swapped for an identical one, and then having a disaster befall on it, such as it exploding, falling into the sea, or being dropped from a great height, as the owner of the vehicle looked on in horror. After a few minutes Beadle would appear in disguise, before taking it off and pointing a stick microphone at the person. As the public were familiar with Beadle from the earlier show Game for a Laugh, they would then immediately realise they had been had, often with the words "I don't believe it!".
0 Replies
 
hamburger
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 07:21 pm
aw2k radio
here is a good, ol' canadian song :

tom connors : "the man in the moon is a newfie"


Chorus:
[D]You might think it's [G]goofy
But the [A7]man in the moon is a [D]Newfie
And he's sailing on to [G]glory, a[A7]way in the golden [D]dory
He's sailing on to [G]glory, a[A7]way in the golden [D]dory

Codfish Dan, from Newfoundland
He [A]dreamt that he had three [D]wishes
And he took Mars and all the stars
And [A]turned them into big [D]fishes
He said the sky was much too dry
And he [A]made a wavy [D]motion
And the moon like a boat began to float
Up[A]on the starry [D]ocean

Chrorus

One night he strayed to the Milky Way
To [A]cast his nets up[D]on it
He spied the tail of a great big whale
And he [A]harpooned Halley's [D]Comet
He never had a pot for the fish that he caught
So he [A]had to use the Big [D]Dipper
And the sun, by jove, was a very good stove
For [A]cooking up smelts and [D]kippers

Chorus

Now, the Northern Light that seem so bright
Like [A]nothing could be [D]grander
Well, they're just waves of the moon-boat made
By the [A]Newfoundland com[D]mander
And don't you sigh and say, "Oh, my
What [A]gross exagger[D]ation!"
'Cause he'll tell you the dream was true
When [A]Codfish Dan a[D]wakens.
0 Replies
 
djjd62
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 07:27 pm
another fine tune from stompin tom

Gumboot Clogeroo

Oh we sailed away at the break of day to pull traps in oilskin trousers-
On the "Susie Jack" but tonite we're back wit a tousand pounds a lobsters-
Oh Shanty town we're gonna tear ya down we got the money comin out a me stockins
Tonite I'm due to bushwack Sue-and take'er to the gumboot clogeroo
And We'll do a little gumboot cloggin-do a little gumboot cloggin-
do a little gumboot cloggin-
There's fishin brews and a Cold Hog stew and a boeee-owl of Clam Chowder-
Just see me reach for dat Newfie Screech when they diddle up the fiddle jig louder-
Hear the French girls sing and da geetars ring and the squeeze box squeetity squawkin-
Me and my Sue gonna Whoop de do take er to da Gumboot Clogeroo
And we'll do a little gumboot cloggin-do a little gumboot cloggin
There's Boots Benard and the rock richard's and the girls from way down Crackidee!
How many Blue Noser's and Herring Chokers we just don't know exactly-
Pack em all in tight and we'll dance all night get the old barn floor just a rockin
Buy a ring dang do for PEI Sue & take 'er to the gumboot Clogeroo
And we'll do a little gumboot cloggin-
do a little gumboot cloggin...
Oh We sailed away at the break of day to pull traps in oilskin trousers
On the Susie Jack , but tonight Were back wit a tousand pounds o' lobsters-
Oh shanty town we're gonna tear ya down We got the money comin outa me stockins
Tonite I'm due to bushwack Sue and take er to the gumboot cloggeroo
And We'll do a little gumboot cloggin-
There's fishin brew and a coldhog stew and a boweeeol o clam chowder...
Just see me reach for that Newfie Screech and we'll diddle up the fiddle jig louder-
Hear the French girls sing and the guitars ring and the squeezebox squeetity squackin
Me and my sue gonna whoop de do-take er to a gumboot cloggeroo
Gonna do a little gumboot cloggin-
do a little gumboot Cloggin -
repeat, end
0 Replies
 
RexRed
 
  1  
Reply Tue 25 Apr, 2006 10:49 pm
ANNABEL LEE


by Edgar Allan Poe
(1849)



It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 05:21 am
Good morning, WA2K radio fans and contributors.

Hey, dj, edgar, hamburger, and Rex. a wonderful group of songs and ending with a Poe poem of beauty and pathos.

Thanks to all of you. Well, I do know that our Tryagain is all right, but we miss him here. Perhaps later he'll come in again with his playlist of delightful tunes.

Good coffee this morning for a rather gray day.

If some of you get the chance, be certain to look for the TV show HOUSE. I have yet to see a bad episode. Last evening's show was a hybrid of religion and science. Incidentally, folks. Hugh Laurie plays great jazz piano.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 05:47 am
Sad news to report this morning. Our Anon's wife has died. You all may want to say a word of encouragement to him:

http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=2002687#2002687
0 Replies
 
Raggedyaggie
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:37 am
Good day to all.

Sorry to hear the sad news, Letty.

Today Carol Burnett is celebrating her 73rd birthday.
http://www.classictvhits.com/promotions/reviews/images/review_663.jpghttp://www.meekermuseum.com/carolbur.jpg
http://www.jimnabors.com/pics/jim_carol.jpg
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:40 am
Dear anon:

It's impossible to guage another's ability to find their way after such an ordeal. I can only hope there are family and/or friends to help you see this through. One of the few solaces of the wife preceding her spouse is that that same ordeal has been spared her by your enduring it. You have my sympathy and a sincere wish your burden lessens soon.

Bob Smith
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:44 am
John James Audubon
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


John James Audubon1 (April 26, 1785 - January 27, 1851) was a Franco-American ornithologist, naturalist, and painter. He painted, catalogued, and described the birds of North America.

Audubon was born in Haiti (then called Saint Domingue), the illegitimate son of a French sea captain and his mistress, and raised in Nantes, France by his stepmother.

In 1803 his father obtained a false passport for him to travel to the United States to avoid the Napoleonic Wars.

He caught yellow fever and the sea captain placed him in a boarding house run by Quaker women who nursed him to recovery and taught him the unique Quaker form of English. In that year he met and became engaged to his neighbor Lucy Bakewell, whom he married in 1808.

He oversaw a family farm near Philadelphia and began the study of natural history by conducting the first bird-banding on the continent; he tied yarn to the legs of Eastern Phoebes and determined that they returned to the same nesting spots year after year. He also began drawing and painting birds.

After years of business success in Pennsylvania and Kentucky, he went bankrupt. This compelled him to pursue his nature study and painting more vigorously and he sailed off down the Mississippi with his gun and paintbox and assistant, intent on finding and painting all the birds of North America.

On his arrival in New Orleans in the spring of 1821, he lived for a time at 706 Barracks Street. That summer, he moved upriver to the Oakley Plantation in the Felicianas to teach drawing to Eliza Pirrie, the young daughter of the owners, and where he spent much of his time roaming and painting in the woods. (The plantation, located at 11788 Highway 965, between Jackson and St. Francisville, is now Audubon State Historic Site, and guided tours are available daily.)

In order to draw or paint the birds, he had to shoot them first, using fine shot to prevent them from being shot to pieces. He then used fixed wires to prop them up, restoring a natural position. His birds are set true-to-life in their natural habitat. This was in stark contrast with the stiff representations of birds by his contemporaries, such as Alexander Wilson. Audubon once wrote: "I call birds few when I shoot less than one hundred per day". One of his biographers, Duff Hart-Davis, reveals: "The rarer the bird, the more eagerly he pursued it, never apparently worrying that by killing it he might hasten the extinction of its kind."


Since he had no other income, he eked out a living selling portraits on demand, while his wife, Lucy, worked as a tutor to rich plantation families. He sought a publisher for his birds in Philadelphia but was rebuffed, in part because he had earned the enmity of some of the city's leading scientists at the Academy of Natural Sciences.

Finally, in 1826 he set sail with his portfolio to London. The British couldn't get enough of images of backwoods America and he was an instant success. He was lionized as "The American Woodsman" and raised enough money to publish his Birds of America. This consisted of hand-colored, life-size prints made from engraved plates. Even King George IV was an avid fan of Audubon. He was elected a fellow of London's Royal Society. In this, he followed the footsteps of Benjamin Franklin, who was the first American fellow. While in Edinburgh to seek subscriptions for his book, he gave a demonstration of his method of using wires to prop up birds at professor Robert Jameson's Wernerian Natural History Association with the student Charles Darwin in the audience and also visited the dissecting theatre of the anatomist Robert Knox (not long before Knox became associated with Burke and Hare).

He followed his "Birds of America" up with a companion work, Ornithological Biographies, life histories of each species written with Scottish ornithologist William MacGillivray. Both the books of paintings and the biographies were published between 1827 and 1839.

During that time, Audubon continued making expeditions in North America and bought an estate on the Hudson river, now Audubon Park. In 1842 he published a popular edition of Birds of America in the United States. His final work was on mammals, the Viviparous Quadrupeds of North America, which was written in collaboration with his good friend Rev. John Bachman (of Charleston, South Carolina) who supplied much of the scientific text. It was completed by his sons and son-in-law and published posthumously.

He is buried in the Trinity Churchyard Cemetery at 155th Street and Broadway in Manhattan, New York.

The National Audubon Society was incorporated and named in his honor in 1905. Several towns and one county (in Iowa) also bear his name.

He started a General Store in Louisville, Kentucky, lived in Henderson, Kentucky, and witnessed the 1811-1812 earthquakes. He had two sons: Victor Gifford (b. June 12, 1809) and John Woodhouse (b. November 30, 1812), and two daughters: Lucy (1815-1817) and Rose (1819).

Today in Henderson, Kentucky, Audubon is remembered by a 692-acre State Park and Museum, which bears his name. The Audubon Museum houses many of Audubon's original watercolors, oils, engravings and personal memorabilia. The Nature Center features a wildlife observatory, which nurtures Audubon's own love for nature and the great outdoors. The Park offers facilities for camping, hiking, fishing, swimming, golf and tennis.


Notes

Note 1: Since Audubon was born illegitimate, he was at first named Jean Rabine (his mother was called Jeanne Rabine). She died six months later and in August 1788 his father took him to France to be raised by his wife, Anne Moynet. He was formally adopted in March 1789 and named Jean-Jacques Fougère Audubon, which he later americanized.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_James_Audubon
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:46 am
Well, there's our Raggedy. Yes, PA and Boston sad news, but I think his wife had been ill for some time.

However, listeners, Carol always made us smile, right?

Well, I read something interesting in the news today. (oh, boy!)



Irish rocker-activist Geldof takes aim at corruption in Africa Tue Apr 25, 12:06 PM ET



JOHANNESBURG (AFP) - Billions of dollars in aid will achieve "zero" in Africa unless governments on the continent are serious about fighting corruption and poverty, Irish rocker and humanitarian Bob Geldof said.


The 54-year-old political activist, who will be performing in Johannesburg and Cape Town this week, said he saw "many, many optimistic signs and just as many crap signs" that African governments were cleaning up their act.

"The rich world can pour endless billions into the continent of Africa but none of this will work unless African governments are serious," Geldof told a news conference in Johannesburg.

"Corruption is a byproduct of poverty. We have corruption in France, Germany and Ireland. ... We are rich enough so that it doesn't kill us.

"In sub-Saharan Africa, it kills people.

From the Boomtown Rats:

Indifference Lyrics




I don't mind if you go
I don't mind if you take it slow
I don't mind if you say yes or no
I don't mind at all

I don't care if you live or die
Couldn't care less if you laugh or cry
I don't mind if you crash or fly
I don't mind at all

I don't mind if you come or go
I don't mind if you say no
Couldn't care less baby let it flow
'Cause I don't care at all

Na na na, etc.

I don't care if you sink or swim
Lock me out or let me in
Where I'm going or where I've been
I don't mind at all

I don't mind if the government falls
Implements more futile laws
I don't care if the nation stalls
And I don't care at all

I don't care if they tear down trees
I don't feel the hotter breeze
Sink in dust in dying sees
And I don't care at all

Na na na etc.

I don't mind if culture crumbles
I don't mind if religion stumbles
I can't hear the speakers mumble
And I don't mind at all

I don't care if the Third World fries
It's hotter there I'm not surprised
Baby I can watch whole nations die
And I don't care at all

I don't mind I don't mind I don't mind I don't mind
I don't mind I don't mind
I don't mind at all

Na na na etc.

I don't mind about people's fears
Authority no longer hears
Send a social engineer
And I don't mind at all.

Too true, folks.
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:50 am
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:54 am
A. E. van Vogt
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


Alfred Elton van Vogt (April 26, 1912 - January 26, 2000) was a Canadian-born science fiction author who was one of the most prolific, yet complex, writers of the mid-twentieth century 'Golden Age' of the genre. Many fans of that era would have named van Vogt, Robert A. Heinlein, and Isaac Asimov as the three greatest science fiction writers.


Science Fiction's Golden Age

Born in Winnipeg, Canada, Van Vogt was one of the most popular and highly esteemed science fiction writers of the 1940s, during what is frequently referred to as the genre's Golden Age. After starting his writing career by writing for 'true confession' style pulp magazines like True Story, van Vogt decided to switch to writing something he enjoyed, science fiction.

Van Vogt's first published SF story, "Black Destroyer" (Astounding Science Fiction, July 1939), was inspired by The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. The story depicted a fierce, carnivorous alien stalking the crew of an exploration spaceship. It was the cover story of the issue of Astounding which ushered in the Golden Age of science fiction. The story became an instant classic and eventually served as the inspiration for a number of science fiction movies. In 1950 it was combined with "War of Nerves" (1950), "Discord in Scarlet" (1939) and "M33 in Andromeda" (1943) to form the novel The Voyage of the Space Beagle (1950)

In 1941 van Vogt decided to become a full time writer, quitting his job at the Canadian Department of National Defence. Extremely prolific for a few years, van Vogt wrote a large number of short stories. In the 1950s, many of them were retrospectively patched together into novels, or "fixups" as he called them, a term which entered the vocabulary of science fiction criticism. Sometimes this was successful (The War against the Rull) while other times the disparate stories thrown together made for a less coherent plot (Quest for the Future).

One of van Vogt's best-known novels of this period is Slan, which appeared in Astounding Science Fiction in 1940. Using what became one of van Vogt's recurring themes, it told the story of a 9-year-old superman living in a world in which his kind are slain by Homo sapiens.


A post-war philosopher

In 1944, van Vogt moved to Hollywood, California, where his writing took on new dimensions after World War II. Van Vogt was always interested in the idea of all-encompassing systems of knowledge (akin to modern meta-systems), the characters in his very first story used a system called 'Nexialism' to analyze the alien's behaviour, and he became interested in the General Semantics of Alfred Korzybski. And he was profoundly affected by revelations of totalitarian police states that emerged after World War II. He wrote a mainstream novel that was set in Communist China, The Angry Man (1962); he said that to research this book he had read 100 books about China.

He subsequently wrote three novels merging these overarching themes, The World of Null-A and The Pawns of Null-A in the late 1940s, and Null-A Three in the early 1980s. Null-A, or non-Aristotelian logic, refers to the capacity for, and practice of, using intuitive, inductive reasoning (fuzzy logic), rather than reflexive, or conditioned, deductive logic.


Van Vogt systematized his writing method, using scenes of 800 words or so where a new complication was added or something resolved. Several of his stories hinge upon temporal conundrums, a favorite theme. He stated that he acquired many of his writing techniques from books on writing by Thomas Uzzell.

He said many of his ideas came from dreams, and indeed his stories at times had the incoherence of dreams, but at their best, as in the fantasy novel The Book of Ptath, his works had all the vision and power a dream can impart. Throughout his writing life he arranged to be awakened every 90 minutes during his sleep period so he could write down his dreams.

In the 1950s, van Vogt briefly became involved in L. Ron Hubbard's Dianetics. Van Vogt operated a storefront, for the secular precursor to Hubbard's Scientology sect, in the Los Angeles area for a time, before winding up at odds with Hubbard and his methods. His writing more or less stopped for some years, a period in which he bitterly claimed to have been harassed and intimidated by Hubbard's followers. In this period he was limited to collecting old short stories to form notable fixups like: The Mixed Men (1952), The War Against the Rull (1959), The Beast (1963) and the two novels of the "Linn" cyle, which were inspired (like Asimov's Foundation series) by the fall of the Roman Empire. He resumed writing again in the 1960s, mainly through Frederik Pohl's invitation, while remaining in Hollywood with his second wife, Lydia Bereginsky, who cared for him through his declining years. In this later period, his novels were conceived and written as unitary works but, in general, show van Vogt's difficulties in keeping pace with the evolution of science fiction.

On January 26, 2000, van Vogt died in Los Angeles, USA from Alzheimer's Disease.


Recognition

In 1946, van Vogt and his first wife, Edna Mayne Hull, were co-Guests of Honor at the fourth World Science Fiction Convention,

In 1980, van Vogt received a "Casper Award" (precursor to the Canadian Aurora Awards) for Lifetime Achievement. In 1995 he was awarded the Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award. In 1996, van Vogt was recognized on two occasions: the World Science Fiction Convention presented him with a Special Award for six decades of golden age science fiction, and the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame included him among its initial four inductees.

Critical praise

Famous science fiction author Philip K. Dick has said that van Vogt's stories spurred his interest in science fiction with their strange sense of the unexplained, that something more was going on than the protagonists realized.

In a review of Transfinite: The Essential A.E. van Vogt, science fiction writer Paul Di Filippo said:

Van Vogt knew precisely what he was doing in all areas of his fiction writing. There's hardly a wasted word in his stories... His plots are marvels of interlocking pieces, often ending in real surprises and shocks, genuine paradigm shifts, which are among the hardest conceptions to depict. And the intellectual material of his fictions, the conceits and tossed-off observations on culture and human and alien behavior, reflect a probing mind...Each tale contains a new angle, a unique slant, that makes it stand out.


Criticism

Writer and critic Damon Knight wrote in 1945 that "van Vogt is not a giant as often maintained. He's only a pygmy using a giant typewriter".

Most science fiction/space opera authors in van Vogt's day did not strive to be absolutely flawless scientifically, preferring storytelling over accuracy. Despite this, van Vogt has been singled out by some critics for it. Examples:

* In Cosmic Encounter, one result of the crash of an alien spaceship is the generation of a temperature of minus 50,000 degrees, well below absolute zero.
* The title of his story collection M33 in Andromeda is incorrect; M33 is in Triangulum, M31 (the Andromeda Galaxy) is in Andromeda.
* The popular short story Vault of the Beast hinges on the concept of the largest prime number; it was demonstrated as far back as Ancient Greece that the series of primes is infinite.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A._E._van_Vogt
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 10:58 am
Morris West
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


Morris Langlo West (April 26, 1916 - October 9, 1999) was an Australian writer. West was born in St Kilda, Victoria and attended Christian Brothers' College, East St Kilda. He graduated from the University of Melbourne in 1937, and worked as a teacher in New South Wales and Tasmania.

He spent 12 years in a monastery of the Christian Brothers, taking annual vows, but left without taking final vows. After leaving Australia in 1955 he lived in Austria, Italy, England and the United States, finally returning to Australia in 1980.

His works often were focused on international politics and the role of the Roman Catholic Church in international affairs. One of his most famous works, The Shoes of the Fisherman, envisioned the election and career of a Slavic Pope, 15 years before the ascension of Karol Wojtyła to his historical role of becoming Pope John Paul II.

Morris West died while working at his desk on the final chapters of his novel The Last Confession about the trials and imprisonment of Giordano Bruno, who was burned at the stake for heresy in 1600. Bruno was a figure with whom West had long sympathized and even identified. In 1969 he had published a play The Heretic on the same subject.

A major theme in much of West's work was a question: when so many organizations use extreme violence towards evil ends, when and under what circumstances is it morally acceptable for their opponents to respond with violence?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morris_West
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Wed 26 Apr, 2006 11:01 am
0 Replies
 
 

Related Topics

WA2K Radio is now on the air, Part 3 - Discussion by edgarblythe
 
Copyright © 2024 MadLab, LLC :: Terms of Service :: Privacy Policy :: Page generated in 0.64 seconds on 11/15/2024 at 08:38:53