Sarah Lawrence College - Yearbook (Bronxville, NY)

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POETRY HOUR Who said something about Sarah Lawrence girls never sitting on chairs? Pag© s©venty-four

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March 10: For Women” deleted from our name. March 12: Work Program: The union of M.O.P. and R.A.G.” Sev- eral archeological objects discovered by moppers and sweepers in Dudley Lawrence basement . . . March 15: Spring Recess: Bermuda, Miami, Morris House and the Middle West. Apparently it was sunny everywhere. April 7: Leon Barzin and the National Orchestral Association played the compos of our music students. April 15: La Vie Parisienne,” Carmen,” Marriage of Figaro” made a quick change of Bates to the Met. April 30: Times Hall concert . . . Dancers and Chorus at their best. May 17: Another prom ... the Junior League in New York this time. May 28. 29. 30: HITS AND MISSES DO IT AGAIN. May 30: Can it be? We're off to the cold, cruel world Spring: Typewriters on the lawns: I'm going to begin my con- tract early this year... croci (that's classical background for spring flowers ) and forsythia pathing the cafeteria . . . someone discovered barbed wire on MacCracken's sunbathing roof . . . expecting Germans? . . . Nina hand- ing out two grapefruits at breakfast . . . the operetta singers practicing by painting scenery . . . I'm going to begin my contract early this year ... The Campus wrote a letter to Myra Cohn. Suzanne Shillington '49 Pag© seventy-three

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THREE POEMS BY JOSEPH PAPALEO WHILE ANTICIPATING SPRING I thought I heard the crickets In the winter in the city, Looking into glazed windows of apartment houses, Gaudy like red buttons on a prostitute's dress— What vain jewel stains on the nape of the night. I thought I heard the crickets In the shadows of the streetlight, As I passed the sides of hydrants In the city's steel thickets Of loneliness and evening, sight Of a rusty can, of a cavernous gutter. I thought I felt the wind abide About the tremulous trees. Growing through concrete tenuously, Blooming with agony in a thin attempt to please Or pacify the people in the street. I thought I heard the crickets In the winter in the city, In the spigot-happiness of short-lived Bright days, the gentle haughtiness Of slender tree boughs bowing to A fickle wind. Page sevenly-five