Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

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12 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR On the poetry page this year we hope to set before our readers many good poems which are worthy of attention and which will make this section one to look forward to each month. We expect many new contributors. “Clouds,” by John Pierce, is beautiful for the picture which it unfolds. “Ego,” by Monica Cotter, is an example of free verse in an un- usual style. Beatrice Bates’ poem, “Come Away!” with its natural appeal, and “Where the Poplars Kiss the Sky,” with its colorful imagination, are in direct contrast to one an- other. Francis McCarthy. WHERE THE POPLARS KISS THE SKY I will meet you bye and bye Where the poplars kiss the sky. We shall be alone again Far from hastening hordes of men, Men who grasp and turn and go Leaving blood-stains on the snow— Men who lie and steal and hate Crushing love-bands in their wake. We shall see God’s tender solace Written in dear Nature’s face. It may be hard to wait, I know, For the years creep, oh, so slow And you—you have gone before! But I will meet you bye and bye Where the poplars kiss the sky. Beatrice O. Bates, 1926 COME AWAY! Come away from city streets, From the toil and pain and anguish Of a million struggling men, Slaving yesterday, today, ever and again. Come to where the blue lake sparkles, Come to where the sunshine calls As it falls upon the waters And blinks upward at the blue! Come awav from citv streets. E’er the chains and bits and halters Of a million struggling men, Slaving yesterday, today, ever and again, Grip you with their craving fingers And you lose the game. Oh, come away! away! away! Come to where the blue lake sparkles! Come to where the sunshine calls As it falls upon the waters And blinks upward at the blue. Beatrice 0. Bates, 1926. EGO “What is this self of mine?” I ask. I know it not. Yet others know it. And I know the ego of others. Strange, oh, so strange! It seems to me. Still, I know not why. A something not to me as others are. Has it the faults I so readily detect in others? Has it any of the charms, the attractions? I know not. No mirror can reflect this self to us, No words of others tell us true The barefaced facts of what we are. Who can tell me why The one I know most I know least? Ah! God, God alone, can tell us true Of the Ego, the soul, so deep within the self. We mortals cannot see. And this God, so mighty, so strange Wills not so, until his own time When each shall know his own true naked Ego. Monica Cotter. CLOUDS O’er yon dusky pine tree’s lofty head, Above the bank of leaden hued mist, Upon the crags themselves they seem to tread, Clouds with hill-tops haste to keep their tryst. Clouds, gleaming snow-white ’gainst the blue Billowing mystic shapes for our delight, Gliding past our gaze as if they knew Their glory showed our great Creator’s might. John E. Pierce, 1927.

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR II A Visit to the Polar Caves, Rumney, New Hampshire HE advertisement of the Polar Caves reads in somewhat this way: “A Flace of Chills and Thrills. Don’t fail to see the wonder spot of New Hampshire.” For weeks I had been waiting for a party of people who would go south from North Conway. Everyone who came wanted to see Lost River and the Notches. But at last a group of people was as eager as I to see this newly advertised wonder. When we arrived at the reservation and were preparing for the trip through the caves, I was given the largest sized pair of maroon- colored overalls from the pile and a bright blue jumper for my outfit. A flash-light was fastened by a cord to the wrist of each member of the party. I was of course the butt of all the jokes, for the rest were all dressed in the regular knickers. One forgot, however, the minor detail of one’s appearance, when the work of climbing up and descending into the caves began. We entered first the cave which gives the name to the place. It was so low that one had to crawl in and crouch down to see the ice in the form of miniature stalactites clinging to the top. Then we went on to the “Needle’s Eye,” a very narrow entrance to another cave. Above this was a rock, shaped like the head and shoulders of a polar bear. Leaving this cave we climbed to a rock from which the huge figure of a reclining giant could be seen. We next crawled down over steep rocks into a dungeon-like cave—the Indian Council Cham- ber—large enough to hold sixty persons, where the guide told us that a .mass of two hundred and fifty feet of rock was over us. Then we came back to the light by a narrow, tortuous passage called “The Corkscrew.” At this point we saw high on the cliff a perfect form of the Masonic emblem, which we were told was not carved there, but was a natural rock formation. We followed the guide on into another deep cave where the thrill was “The Fat Man’s Slide.” One sat on a smooth rock and let one's self go down into the blackness, not knowing what the end might be. It seemed to be ex- pected that one would shriek all the way. After that, we felt that there could be no greater test of our nerves and courage. But there was still the “Lemon Squeezer,” so diffi- cult to pull one’s self through that the well- known one at Lost River pales into insignifi- cance beside it. All this, which is so brief in the telling, took a full hour to do, for besides these special stunts there was the working of one’s way in and out of the other dark caves over slippery rocks, and the climbing of many ladders. Besides the rock figures which I have men- tioned, were several others- two heads of dogs and one of a sheep, and as we left the caves, at the top of the cliff a full-length figure of a soldier. These were all as amazingly real as the Old Man of the Mountains, or the Indian Chief or the Martha Washington head at Dix- ville Notch. Our guide proposed that we climb the seven- hundred foot cliff up almost perpendicular lad- ders as a pleasant addition to our cave experi- ence, but we said: “Another day and another summer.” FLAYERS’ CLUB Friday, October 2, saw the inauguration of the fourth active season of the Somerville High School Players’ Club under the leadership of Miss Harriet Bell. The meeting was comprised of club business and a discussion of the first play to be presented this year. The club has been the recipient of many interesting dona- tions, which include a framed group of auto- graphs of the “Saint Joan” Company and a pro- gram of plays produced at the Boston Museum in 1866. Also a portrait copy of Mrs. Siddons, presented through the courtesy of Mrs. Top- liff. For the benefit of members, Miss Bell has furnished the club with a small library com- posed of books dealing with plays and play producing and current issues of the Theatre Magazine. The destinies of the Players’ Club are to be guided this year by the co-operative efforts of the new officers: President, Alden Edkins; vice- president, Pauline Baptista; secretary, Grace Sullivan: treasurer, J. Miles White; librarian,. Frances Hanson. Grace Sullivan, Secretary. IPSAS'

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SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR Vi THE LIBRARY DEPARTMENT By Beatrice Ulen Perhaps you will wonder when you read this article why the Library Department is not de- voted to library notes and I will tell you. Very few of us really notice the many works of art about the buildings, or if we do notice them, we do not know whom or what they represent. We are going to bring to your attention the pictures and pieces of statuary and try to in- terest you in them. It is a great privilege to be able to see these celebrated works even if they are only copies, and it is worth your while to know them, and some day you may go to Europe, where you will find most of the origi- nals. Nor frequent does the bright oar break The darkening mirror of the lake, Until the rocky isle they reach, And moor their shallop on the beach. But where is that rocky isle? It would be difficult indeed to see if we had to travel to Scotland for it, but there is an easier way to see that same isle that Scott made the trysting place of Ellen and Malcolm in his narrative poem, “The Lady of the Lake.” We can view Ellen’s Isle, as Scott saw it, and drink in its beauty, and perhaps recall and live again that romance of courtly chivalry in its true setting. It would be a difficult task to picture that enchanting place in words, but Hunnewell de- scribes it well in his “Land of Scott.” He writes: “It is rather high, and irregularly pyramidal. It is mostly composed of dark gray rocks, mottled with pale and gray lichens, peeping out here and there amid trees that mantle them,—chiefly light graceful birches, intermingled with red-berried mountain ashes and dark-green spiny pines. The landing is beneath an aged oak; and as did the Lady and the Knight, the traveler now ascends ‘a clambering unsuspected road,’ to the small ir- regular summit of the island. A more poetic, romantic retreat could hardly be imagined, it is unique.” Why not find this isle for yourself and see if Hunnewell exaggerated its beauty or did not do it justice. It can be found in Room 110. How have you pictured Scott as you have been reading his works? Perhaps you have pictured him entirely different from what he really was, so why not make sure how he really looked so you’ll always recognize him when you see his picture. If you take the trouble to go to Room 110 you will find his picture, and you will probably be surprised. You will see a man to whom your heart goes out. You can seem to read health, courage, and good nature writ- ten upon his kindly face, and somehow you seem to feel a little sad to think he is not liv- ing now so you can catch a glimpse of the liv- ing Sir Walter Scott. What is as dear to a Scotchman as heather? The poets all sing of it and authors write of it, yet many of us have no idea of how truly beautiful it is. In Room 110, also, there is a pleasing colored picture of heather, which will give you an idea of what beautiful scenes there must be on the hills of Scotland when they are covered with these exquisite purple flowers.