South Side High School - Optimist Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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MELODY FLoRENCE C. BAZELON Silently he made his way through the lonely night. Before him dimly shone the lights of a distant town. Of course Mibs was happy, she was free. At the moment her attention was entirely focussed upon the all-important subject of what gown to wear. He stumbled, but by straining every muscle, ex ery nerve, he man aged to save himself from falling and continued on his way. The dim lights shone brighter. Mibs chanted a popular tune. Her heart was lighter than air: her voice, a terrible one for tone, sounded sweet with happiness. She took a pale orchid mussoline de soie creation, that billowed and ruffled in a most becoming manner, from its hanger. She held it up to her and was quite pleased with the effect. She continued to hum. A transparent melody shimmered above his head. It entered his consciousness and entangled itself about his senses. Dazed. he listened. Awed, he memorized its beauty, while his heart sang the words, the wordless words. How bright the lights were. “Goodnight, Mom, Pm taking the car and calling for Byrdie. Don’t expect me for breakfast.” The melody grew louder, the lights dazzled, slowly he climbed the worn porch steps. Mibs slammed the car door shut and rushed up the worn porch steps three at a time, almost colliding with the figure huddled at the top of the steps. “Hello, what's this? Who are you? Мі fairly screamed with fright and breathlessness. The figure was humming a strange haunting tune that sounded sweet yet hollow to Mibs' ears. The man scarcely noticed the girl as he continued to hum his melody. It swam through her mind; its wantonness, like some beautiful image, hypnotized her, until even her voice was enslaved. and she too began to hum. Their voices, scarcely audible, clung together, blend ing, while the hollow tone vanished and a new fullness sounded. The stranger turned to her and smiled a slow deliberate smile, that tore at her heart, suffocating her. Then, after rising, gripping her shoulders and looking deep into Mibs’ eyes, he disappeared. Eight years later, a woman, matured beyond her years took her place in the Mayor's Box at the Grand Music Hall. With her was her husband, the Mayor. People pointed them out as the perfect couple, for none could see inside of her heart. The leader raised his baton, the lights dimmed, the overture began. The melody seethed through her brain, haunting her, hypnotizing her, enslaving her voice and once again she began to hum a tune that

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You're in a hurry to get somewhere, aren't you? The man did not answer. Suddenly the customer burst out: Have to be in Midlan as soon as possible. My wife's having a baby! She's pretty sick, I hear. Couldn't let her see me as I was . Іп spite of himself the barber was sympathetic. » “Must have loved his wife,” he reasoned, to come back to see her with all the police in the state looking for him. Hard on the poor fellow, but still he's wanted by the law, and I need the money! As the barber was thus torn between his conscience and his pocket- book, he heard from upstairs a baby beginning to cry. He listened and soon he heard the low, soothing voice of his wife quieting the child. Then silence— The setness of the barber's lips softened, the struggle within him subsided and swiftly and surely he finished shaving his customer. The man arose quickly, straightened his necktie, and donned his coat. He handed a half-dollar to the barber and as he opened the door he heard the barber call cheerily, “Good luck!” The barber put the coin in the cash register, bolted the door, picked up his Plato, extinguished the light, and walked slowly up the stairs. PROFUNDITY Words, Interlopers of thought, Idiots’ coın. Ah, would that you were not, And all expression Found in music, In poetry, In lovely contemplation. You say words are beautiful? No, Only a poet’s dream, Only a composer’s fantasy Is verbal beauty. REFLECTION Eyes, the still waters of the sou wherein the heart is seen as a shadow deep in the pool; and dropped pebbles, make unceasing patterns of prismatic life. Mary LITWIN FLORENCE C. BAZELON But dreams are bred in silence; And silence Is the wise man’s god. Would too, All peoples of the world were mute And only birds Could utter sound. Then music And poetry And all things wonderful on this earth Would live. REQUIEM Weep not for babes who breathe but once and die Nor at the closing of an age- dimmed eye, But for the young, with glowing eyes, who say: “When I am grown” and never reach that day. MARLENE URBACH

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her heart had memorized long before. Her husband turned to look at ier and to his understanding eye came the vision ОЇ his wite... Tree, I SEEK THE CRYSTAL STREAM | seek the crystal stream, Where on soft whispers The ev enıng W ind comes to cool itself... For I would bathe in diamond water, nd would drink of liquid like the morning dew Limpidly it runs over smooth white pebbles, In a far-away land where the sun sets a wondrous purple, nd birds who shame the flaming peacock, O'erflow with so divine a rain of melody He stills his lyre, does Israfel, to listen in despair . . . And when the last violet tinge has left the sky, And the harmony diurnal has slow ly thinned to silence. Stoops the evening W ind over a my stic paradise l'o sway in utter tranquility, E'er departing on pulsating wings To cool the night of other lands... Ah yes [ seek the crystal stream, Where on soft whispers, The evening wind comes to cool itself ç Re Davip SANDUSKY ETERNAL QUESTION The child’s round eyes were | turned оп me: Returning later with troubled Oh, what is beyond the sky? face, | she asked: What is beyond the space? Space, I answered, stroking her asked she, J I head. І found myself answering hol- “Oh!”—and she skipped off hap- lowly, pily. Space, I whispered, Space— space—space!” MARLENE URBACH