New Utrecht High School - Comet Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

Page 14 text:

Oh, ML Nash, What T rash! If there's anything that annoys your reporter More than these intellectual guys anci gais who write poetry, then itis the fact that they oughter Stop immeciiateiy, hut cionyt. It may he hecause they stuhhorniy just wonit, Ami then again, perhaps they just canyt hear To get those terrificaiiy profound thoughts out of their coiiective hair. But anyway, As I starteci out to say, ltis perfectly incomprehensihie That such weii-meaning taciies and gents can possihty turn out stuff that resemhies oniy a very reprehensihie Mess, I must confess. For instance, tahe the long-haireci iittie guy Who praises Shostahovich to the shy. fNow mind you, aii this is perfectiy O. K. hy me, I stiii can,t teii a rhumha from a rhapsoclyj But when he tries to rhyme Crescendo with anything hut innuencio, which as Giihert and Suiiivan once saici, has .nothing to cio with the case, then 1 see itis time ' For me to quit Before I throw a fit. Anci then, of course, white shimming through a hooh Of something that might he verse fno pun intenciecij tinnocentiy chance to tooh At some monstrosity written hy a citizen nameci Browning. tneecin't go much further. Everyhociy hnows that for a hundred years his 'so- caiiezi poetry has heen the crowning Glory of the H ,Twas hriiiig, and-the-siithy-tuvs-gyreci-anoi-gimhieci-in-the-wahe.U school. At any rate, it souncis iihe ciouhie taih to me, hut then again tim just a common foot Wizo speahs ye ianguage English as she shoutci he spohe Anci that, my friends, is most assureciiy no johe. But iet's resume. In previous ravings I have had no room To treat with the un-nohiest Roman of them ati,-I The caoi who ricies his unsuspecting readers for a fait. ' I refer, of course, to that ciiahoiicai menace of the iiterary worici, The varmint who writes that stuff caiied free verse, in which the miiiion worois he uses couici he herieci Down to practicaiiy nothing, hut which insteaci he uses to compose Poetry that shouici he prose Anci very haci prose, at that. Page Twelve CQMET

Page 13 text:

This was too much. Xve could stand no more. Xve grahhed our coats and ran out of the house. Surely there were others who felt the same way! But no, the faces of the passers-hy reiiected no sympathy. They rushed past, either carrying food supplies for expected guests or ali dressed up to devour some of the same food. There was no consolation to he found here. Deject- ediy we were strolling down the street, when a dog fman's hest friend, the dog? came over to us. Not seeing the gleam in his eye, we thought, Here, at last. is a friendf' But no, even this dumb animal scorned us. As we walked along, our spirits were low. Xvhat was wrong with us? Even our ioest friends wouldnt teii us. Xve tried to tell ourselves that we were spending a safe and sane New Years Eve. hut what fun is it? Afraid that we might meet a friend, we decided that thereis no place like home. Home can he very attractive at times, hut not on New Yearis Eve. After we had counted all the Howers in the wallpaper, we settled down to a fast game of Chinese checkers. At the end of the twelfth game, we opened -!'99Qf'0-...fx 2 our eyes only to find that it was eleven oiciocio-still one hour to go. Feeiing very virtuous hy this time, we decided that the hour for New Years resolutions had come. We prohahiy wouidnit keep them, hut it would waste time, any- how. And it did. But of all the resolutions there is one that we solemnly pledge ourselves to keep. VVe hereby vow that we shall never again spend New Yearis Eve at home, even if we have to hire escortsf, Suddenly, the twelfth hour struck. Horns hiared, firecracicers popped, hells chimed-it was 1Q41 at iast. But it didnyt feel any different. We looked at each other, hewiidered. was this what we had spent the long evening waiting for? Over the radio we heard joyous crowds singing the words of Auld Lang Synef, but our hearts were not in it. For we happened to rememher that someone once said, UVVhatever you are doing on New Yearys Eve, you will do for the rest of the yearf' CQMET Page Eleven

Page 15 text:

It has the outward semblance of poetry, but 1 migtlt as welt tell you now, keys just written clown a, few sentences, anct chopped them up into lines, and ness talking through his hat. As for me, if anyone cares, ltike a poet who trims his hairs And his sentences, too. Give me the Bards Who write those jingles on the Clll'iSfVYlClS cards. Anct rhyme sensible worcts like june and moon With rational things like tune and prune. S0 in conclusion, Letss enct this confusion. To wit, roses are rect, violets Hue. The thought is simple, the worcls are few And most important, Because it,s true, I understand it, and so do you. HARMON KALLMAN PRIZE- WINNING PHOTO g MILT ROSENBERG CQMET Page Thirteen