Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Page Twenty PRESENCE I cannot see an autumn leaf of burnished gold, Unthinking of the gold that is your hairg My memories dispel not in November's boar cold- . . . .For you are there. I cannot see an azure sky disturbed by rain, Unthinking of your troubled eyes in their blue lair. Tranquillity, I try in dusty sunbeams to attain-- . . . .But you are there. Violets you kissed one day, and daisies trod upon- All colors. . as an antidote. .enchancing grayness of despair In this dejection colorless you will be gone. . . . .But you are there. Perchance if I should seek the alien solitude, The hush of dim cathedrals, unfamiliar prayer, Then you might leave me in this holiness to brood- . . . .But you are there. I stumble heedlessly o'er miles of barren earth. A joyless laugh rings hollow through the air. Perhaps you will take pity on my mirthless mirth? . . . .Still you are there. And now, life's ever-fleeting span relaxed to earth, And beauty, life and love no longer fair- In death a lonely grave fulfills my need- . . . .You are not there. Mignon Audrey Bushel, .48 ENVY A wind That beats the malice-foam On hearts of rock. A lash That whips the victim Into hate and fury. A goad To wreck the peace of Mind and heart. Jane Hastings, X6

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WTWISTVERSATIONM Much have we heard of conversation and of many folks well versed in that art. How little have we heard of Twistversation, one of the many unappreciated arts. Scientifically the first point to consider is: What is this utwistversa- tion? That is where the art comes ing it is so artistic that it defies defini- tion. Let us however do the best we can. Twistversation is the art of involuntarily speaking in a manner utterly unintelligible except to the initiate, i. e. to those afflicted with the same malady. There, have I called an art a malady? At that, it is rather unfortunate to ask your favorite member of the faculty if she minds racking bywarcls in the trains, when you mean riding backward. There is both definition and illustration of twist- versationf' Next in consideration are the acquisition and practice of said art. As to the first, it cannot be acquired. It is no less than a gift of the gods in capricious mood. By the same token, it cannot be practised consciously. It just comes out-and it runs in families. Mine is an authority on the subject. Now to take up what people say when they have spells of this,-mixing initial letters, tacking whole syllables elsewhere, and so on. In Lab my friend one day asked me what difference it would make if our experiments were not accepted. Very poetically I replied that our larks would be mower. Fix up m and l for yourself! Looking for rooms with a friend, I had occasion to ask a question of a tenant in a certain apartment house. When she informed us that all those apartments were lovely , my friend replied agreeably, c'Yes, we've just been halking through the walls! Of course there are the famous poets, Sheats and Kelley, and in the matter of poetry, the following gems: What made that runt frank ran fall down? -or, as Kipling actually wrote it: What made that front rank man fall down? And I remember quoting, all unsuspecting: Blessings on thee, little man, Barefaced boy with feet of tan- The result of Twistversation are manifold. Friends of the afflicted think her amusing, a little crazy, and certainly pitiable. But the artistic malady may make her famous overnight, if the night happens to be one on which it is at work. V Marion 0'Connor, B8 Page Nineteen

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THE LEGEND OF THE CLIFF-NEAREST-THE-STARS. lone traveler stood out against the dark blue sky, near the edge of a cliff. Far below him, in the valley, he could see lights flickering and dancing like fireflies. A bell tolled in the distance, softly, sweetly, gently as though ringing a lullabyg the echo answered, softer, sweeter, more gentle, fading in the distance. One by one the lights in the valley fluttered out until there remained only the light of the stars in the calm sky. Vaguely the dark outline of pines on a neighboring cliff swayed to and fro. From the edge of the farthest cliff the crescent moon rose, gliding up to point over the top of the mountain. As the traveler watched, the peace of the mountains stole over him, covering him, resting him. And all at once he felt at home here in the mountains of Italy. Resuming his upward path, he found almost at the top, what he sought. In the dim moonlight he regarded the building before him, of field stone, rough-hewn and untrimmed, it perched on the edge of the cliff. And as though not already high enough, it had been built on piles. Beneath the house lay dim forms of sheep. A small wooden sign suspended from a window proclaimed the building a hostelaria. Climbing the stone stairs at the side, the traveler heard-it. The long grass on the mountain side above his head rustled gently as if someone walked there. He looked up, but could see nothing. A black cloud hid the moon, plunging the whole region into darkness. A cold wind swept the valley. As the traveler continued to ascend the stairs, again he heard the sound, more plainly, as though nearer. Thinking that someone must be headed for the cliff, the traveler called out in the soft mountain dialect, Watch out! Cuardalv The steps paused, seemed to turn toward him. The wind rushed through the valley, moaned, returned, sobbing. Then all was still again. The traveler felt certain that someone was looking at him, watching him closely. Again the wind sobbed, more sadly now, as though there were no hope for peace and quiet. The footsteps kept on, passed him, the chill breeze made him draw his coat more tightly. Beneath the house the sheep 'stirred un- easily, and lambs bleated as though frightened. The footsteps now reached the cliff 's edgcffand were lost in a final shrill sob of the wind. F rightened, the traveler climbed to the top of the stairs, gained admit- tance to the inn, and invited the innkeeper to have a glass of warm wine with him. They spoke at first of affairs in the village, then the traveler said: I heard footsteps in the long'grass beside the stairs. I wonder who could be walking there? The innkeeper asked, his ruddy face paling, You heard it, too? Of course, I heard. What does it mean? F or the people-it bodes ill. We shall have a storm tonight. What is this-a legend or something-? A legend, signorf' And with considerable persuasion he was soon started upon the legend of the cliff-nearest-the-stars. :of wr 4: ak 1: 4: ar 4: Page Twenty-om