Dominican College of San Rafael - Firebrand Yearbook (San Rafael, CA)

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POETRY CLUB ON DAY, five o ' clock in the afternoon. The fire splutters on the hearth in the green room, then burns brightly. The sun shines in the bay window on the round walnut table. The Muses are astir. Six heads bend towards a ruddy-cheeked Scottish woman, her Highland green eyes darker by contrast with her shining white hair. Listen to this, she says, and then she reads a stanza from one of the latest war poems. It is Kate Rennie Archer who is presiding over the Poetry Club, which has continued with even greater interest than that of last year. Now, girls, remember this. You must have clear thought behind what you say, and your expression must be natural, not strained or old-fashioned. No ' tises, no inversions, no cliches. Now, what have you brought me this week? Forth come the manuscripts; Mrs. Archer listens. This is good, she exclaims, as the first verses are read. If you keep on you will go to town, you can publish. But now, let us see. Here ' s an inversion. Where was that spear of grass? How did it grow at this particular place? You must have an idea or a clear impression behind what you say. Now, everybody, think. And forthwith comes a revision. What do you think of this phrase, girls? Someone 133

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After this enjoyable event, interclass competition once again prevailed. Even on the spicier days the more vigorous of the girls could be seen racing to and fro on the hockey field. In spite of delays caused by heavy California dew , the hockey season was com- pleted in time for a short session of volleyball before the tension of finals and the forthcoming holidays became too great. Once again, with the coming of the new year, the quiet and peace of the holidays was broken by gay hellos , banging of books, and rippling laughter. Yes, the spring semester had begun. Basketball, like- wise, began fast and fvirious. As the months rolled by, swimming, tennis, badminton, archery, horseback riding, baseball, and golf each held its own. Under the able direction of Mrs. Morgan, the athletic department ventured into a new field. Instead of the usual fight, fight, fight, it was now kick, one, two, and the folk dancing classes were started. Amid the fragrance of flowers and the swirl of gay peasant skirts the first day of Spring was greeted with schottishes and polkas, jigs and reels— all to the melodious tunes of old. Indeed something gay, lively, and different! And thus the curtain is drawn upon another year, well filled for future reminiscing. Mary Helen Power ' 48 132

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offers a criticism. Then out of the fog comes light. Mrs. Archer ' s enthusiasm, her poetic gift, her critical sense, the flame of her love for poetry kindles the slightest poetic spark in those who are fortunate enough, and faithful enough, to attend her sessions. That she has not used her powers in vain is evident from the fact that five poems written by members of the club were accepted for publication in the National Anthology of College Poetry. We are publishing a selection that pleases us especially from the best that has come out of the Poetry Club. POPCORN TOWN White-fltiffed seed-clouds. Dancing balls in a marble-veined sky! Who would pass through the Janus-portal And view the grease and salt Of rutted streets; Calliope and brass-buttoned monkey Tooting a whistle-dance; Or search for love in two hands Movie-clasped? Marjorie Hansen ' 50 134