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

Page 38 text:

AFTERWARDS If it should be my lot to die in youth, With no ambition conquered or fulfilled, With nothing worthy I could leave behind, A memory of one who strove in vain To clamber o'er the stones of weary life, My prayer is this: that when I so depart, This soul-rent body be not marred, becoming Beautiful in death, etherial, may it not be Draped in shrouds dark-hued or black, But silken lace and golden cashmere soft. These eyes not closed by mortal fingers crude, But open wide to look on all about With steady gaze, tranquillity disturbed By nothing, now that all this life is done. . . And unashamed to stare at one Who pity now may give, not mocking smiles. . Lila Pollock A2 STORM A flash Of jagged gold, A rumbling darkened sky- The lashing rain! The trees Shaken by the wind, Bending distorted bodies- Terror! A cat Caught in the rain, Gingerly stepping in puddles Disdainful! lane Hastings X6 Page Twenty ezght

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ARTHUR GUITERMAN R. Guiterman's complete ease and charm dissembled any qualms we might have felt. With the help of surprisingly few questions, we learned quantities of interesting things, only the most important of which will appear here. Mr. Guiterman was born in 1871, in eight years he had already begun writing poetry. Altho his family ties were close, he received little encouragement concerning his poetry, due to reticence rather than indifference. His early poems were serious, the first important ones being The Call to Colorsl' and The Rush ofl the Oregon, both inspired by the Spanish American War. He was one of the first of the pioneer poets who dared to drop the unnatural forms set by the contemporary standards. In 1896, his protest against blasting the Palisades was copied from a local paper by the New York Times. Subsequent contributions of his founded the famous South East corner. An editorial in another paper encouraged contributions and in 1899 he had the thrill of his life when the Criterion accepted and paid for one of his poems. A few of the publications to which Mr. Quiterman has successfully contributed are Life , '6Century Magazine , Scribner's,', Harper's , The Youth's Companion , American Magazine , Saturday Evening Post , and The Outlook . He was an in- timate friend of the famous Joyce Kilmer and is well acquainted with all the best-known and most interesting writers of the times. During luncheon he disclosed many private opinions and fascinating stories. In case you are interested, he dislikes tea, typograhpical elisions, free verse of all sorts, and tardiness. He is fond' of talking, ballads, talking, originality, talking, and correct English. And oh yes, did I mention talking? He is Phi Beta Kappa, a good athlete, and an interesting companion. He does his writing in a medium sized room which is filled with typewriters, copy and blank paper. Its mural decoration is a neatly framed story, told by two letters and a card. The letters are polite rejections of a poem from two well- known magazine. The third is a copy of the poem as it has been decorated and gamished-it is now one of the most famous of its type! When we were leaving, Mr. Guiterman apologized for having talked too much. This is, at worst, a doubtful fault indeed, and we cannot help but wish it were one with which more famous people were afflicted. Mignon Audrey Bushel, A8 Page Twenty-seven

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I--DAWN Aurora wakes and stretches out her arms, And tears the veil of darkness in the actg And then she gently yawns, And rising, spills her garments, many-hued, On the transparent floor of heaven, And then we mortals looking at the sky, See the bright heralds of the dawn. II-EVENING The sun-god flees, and leaves across the skies, A trail of beauty, a master hand revealing, Such beauty as brings tears into our eyes, And to our hearts a peace and joy all-healing. Across the busy city, silence fallsg A silence in which man to his true mate speaks low In Godls sweet language only souls can hear. Wearily the world wraps 'round its tired self Its mantle dark, and soft night falls. Grace Inman, X8 DIDO'S DEATH Death came for the queen, Thrice raising glazed eyes Dulled by death's mist sheen She looked at the skies And remembered dreams- Pain, a city wall, Turrets, busy scenes And love--that was all. Weary, sad, forlorn, 'Her Majesty' yet- Ascending from earth-Mourn! Death and Beauty met .... Sarah Lederman, A8 Page Twenty-nine