Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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SEMINARIA 1944 Eveninq PRIZE POEM 'Mid sylvan shades in amber light The myriad insects of the night Lie waiting in obscurity. The silvery sheets of water play Wrenching the light of dying day To forms no living object e'er could be. The multitude of warblers trill their song Down through the convex branches and along To the patient cliff, to the eifervescent creek. From concealed haunts in the low entangled reeds Vibration of music, sweet and soft, proceeds, And oft in the hush of twilight crickets speak. The sluggard river, in neverfending stream Catches the shimmering light of a transient beam, Tosses it back and goes on its lazy way Under the willow trees where the turtles lie, Out in the open air 'neath the evening sky, To the dark of the forest glen that knows no day. In the hush of the evening air the shepherd's call, Echoed threefold by the cave near the tumbling fall Pierces the air and dies in the solitude. The silence grows as the cool cloak of night, Veiled in a whispering breeze, speeds on its flight, Envelops the world in a deeper quietude. --Aucn Rooms, '47

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18 SEMINARIA I944 Bob's eyes narrowed, What will mine be? What will yours be? She's had her life. Perhaps what it is is what she has made it. Mary's eyes flashed a warning. She's had a hard time. Go to Mexico and perhaps when you come back- Her voice trailed off. Bob's mouth set in a stubborn line. There'll be nocompromise. I see your duty to your mother and I respect you more for seeing it. But you also owe a responf sibility to the future and a duty to yourself. What about that? Mary's small feet were planted firmly on the ground. Her eyes darted like caged things from Bob's face to the winter scene around her and back to Bob's face. A little time to think this thing out, she begged. Look, hon, he whispered, 'Tm sorry there's not too much time, but that's the way things are. Think this thing out for yourself. It's five now. I'll wait in my room until sixfthirty. Phone me if you'll go. Then I'l1 ask permission to wait a week and we'll go together. But if there are doubts and your responsibilities weigh heavier than your love, he shrugged his shoulders helplessly, then there's no point in my waiting, is there? Mary's throat tightened, her eyes answered where her voice could not. Bob rose quickly. She watched his tall figure disappear through the falling snow. She sat quite still. Her head fought with her heart, and like sand that regretfully slips through her Hngers, she knew that moments were passing and with them her happiness. '..Mary walked home slowly. She opened the door and her mother's petulant voice quickly followed the click of the latch. Late again, Mary! You would be today, because I especially wanted you to be early. Sorry, Mother. She was hanging her coat in the closet and her voice seemed muffled. Well, come on back. I have some news for you. 'Mary walked back to her mother's room. Mrs. Madden was nervously powder' ing her already overfpowdered face. This may surprise you. Mr. Hatter, a friend of your father's, came to call this afternoon and we had a very pleasant time. I'Ie's been coming'quite frequently. You know I'm alone so much while you work. We've always enjoyed one another. He's lonely and so am I. You're a quiet mouse and seem happy enough with your work and so you won't mind when I tell you that we've decided to be married. Mary felt suddenly cold as though the snow was still on her face and the fog was still around her. There were no tears but the feel of them as she heard the clock strike seven. --FRANCES SAPnRs'roN, '45

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20 SEMINARIA 1944 The Stranger and Mr. lllzkley LOWER CLASS PRIZE STORY The wail of the siren pierced the cool early spring air. Once again the inhabif tants of the village lifted apprehensive faces skyward as trembling fingers extinguished the numerous lamps. Soon all was in darkness as the families retired to their various places of shelter-some to that special room in the cellar, others to the sandbagfreinforced corrugated huts that had sprung up like mushrooms after that first raid that had caught them so unprepared. Those who were traversing the small village streets were guided to the public shelter by a small middlefaged man wearing an oflicial raincoat and a dented helmet. The street was dark and empty now, although the siren still echoed in the night air. The warden stood at one corner. He glanced up at the starfstudded sky and then down at the small watch he had extracted from a vest pocket. He muttered . . ought to be 'ere soon. He walked the length of the street he knew so well. Now this village happened to be quite old and was purposely made to look much older for the benefit of the American tourists who were quite en' chanted by its quaint charm. The streets had kept their old cobblestones, but were now dotted by huge craters. It seemed odd to see the old and the new worlds thus represented. Some of the now dark lamp posts were excellent copies of the originals with their tall black shafts and carved arms from which hung high' powered electric bulbs encased in heavy glass covers adorned with iron trim' mings. The house fronts were old too. Mrs. Murphy's Sweete Shoppe was idenf tilied by a suspended wooden slab over the entrance that announced in quaint Old English her trade. There were other spaces for stores on the street, but they were coffms now-cofiins for masses of entwined steel girders and splintered beams with only red bricks for a collin cover. This was the case also of Jerningf ham's Department Store, which had suffered a direct hit. Ockley paused before the former store site and removed his dented helmet. The dent was a battle scar signifying his closest call yet. Under his helmet was the tight navy blue beanie that Edith had knit to keep his head and ears warm on these lonely vigils. She had knitted the last stitch barely a day before she died. He put the helmet on his head and walked back to his original post. Suddenly, from nowhere, a stranger appeared dressed in a somber gray suit and black gloves. Ockley, who prided himself on knowing everyone round about, was sure he had never seen this man before. He was rather undescribable. A gentleman, of course, and one whose disarming manner immediately broke Ockley's reserve.