an opinion on TRP and HJ

[Robin Landseadel]

On Jul 23, 2009, at 9:58 AM, Michael Bailey wrote:

> (twas the prose style, we thought was, his o-o-own?)

Word, dude.

	You come in—just hit town, here in the heart of downtown
	Peenemunde, hey, whatcha do for fun around here? hauling
	your provincial valise with a few shirts, a copy of the Handbuch,
	perhaps Cranz's Lehrbuch der Ballistik. You have memorized
	Ackeret, Busemann, von Karman and Moore, some Volta
	Congress papers. But the terror will not go away. This is faster
	than sound, than the words she spoke across the room so full of
	sunlight, the jazz band on the radio when you could not sleep,
	the hoarse Heils among the pale generators and from the
	executive-crammed galleries overhead . . . the Gomerians
	whistling from the high ravines (terrific falls, steepness,
	whistling straight down the precipice to a toy village lying
	centuries, miles below ... ) as you sat out on the counter of the
	KdF ship alone, apart from the maypole dancing on the white
	deck, the tanned bodies full of beer and song, paunches in
	sunsuits, and you listened to Ur-Spanish, whistled not voiced,
	from the mountains around Chipuda ... Gomera was the last
	piece of land Columbus touched before America. Did he hear
	them too, that last night? Did they have a message for him? A
	warning? Could he understand the prescient goatherds in the
	dark, up in the Canarian holly and the faya, gone dead green in
	the last sunset of Europe?
	GR, P 460