St Angela Hall Academy - Veritas Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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The Poetry of Catholicism HE gift of poetic genius, deeply imbedded in a few chosen mortals. is a boon for which humanity, on hended knees, should fervently thank its God. The ability to turn the worldly eyes of men toward beauty and truth, and the ability to lift worldly hearts nearer to the Infinite, is indeed a rare accomplishment. How much rarer, then, is the power to carry these things to the level of worldly eyes, to the depths of worldly hearts, not for a moment alone, but for the space of a deep and a lasting impression! There are few poets who can hare all the mystical beauty of the Catholic Church to the mind and heart with the idealism and sincerity of the German poet, Gertrude von Le Fort. ln Hymns of the Church, her inspiration is the Mystical Body of Christ Hseen as no poet has seen it for centuries, with all its mystery and magnificence and terrorf' Her poetry is powerful in its simplicity, simple in its power. Of the Church she writes: For a space of a silence I would lay my head on your knees. For a space of a hope I would rest in your arms. But you are no wayside inn., and your doors do not open outwards. He who lets go of you has never known you. Gertrude von Le Fort should appeal to men and Women in every walk of life, of every temperament, of every outlook. For each, her poetry about the grandeur of the Church has a separate message. The rebellious she advises: c:Where my feet refuse to take me, there will I kneel down. And where my hands fail me, there will I fold them. The worldly she admonishes wisely: For the nearness of men is like flowers withering on grass, and all comfort is like a voice from without. For t'he proud she has a word of caution: Kings must sleep and mighty men must lie down like little children. lt is true beauty of soul and mind and emotion that' makes the world a lit place to live in, and its occupants worthy associates. Poetry is one of the great sources of beauty in the world, and the life of men when void of the poetry of the spirit is dark and commonplace. ln Hymns to the Church, Gertrude von Le Fort voices that poetry of the spirit. How true are the words which she puts in the mouth of Mother Church: I HI will sing a Gloria that shall jill the top of my towers with the clangour of their bells. Praise the Lord all sorrow of the earth! MARY SCHMUCK, 542. stsglggtp..-

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Angela Bids Farewell to Her Uniform OU know, Uniform, I've been thinking a great deal about you lately. For four years you've been with me, and I actually dislike the idea of leaving you now. Remember the first day I wore you? I was so proud to think I was finally wearing a high-school uniform. I even stood up as much as I could, because I didn7t want you to get wrinkled. And remember that Friday afternoon when I spilt green ink on your jacket? I felt like the last rose of summer because the colors clashed fiercely. Then I sent you to the cleaners. Wfere you surprised to find yourself so clean again? I know I was, for I never expected you to be the same. Then came the spring, and I packed you away in camphor balls. Was I glad to get rid of youl I hated to take you out again in the fall. I even made the excuse that you didn7t' fit me anymore-but it didn't work. Then came a little harder work in my Sophomore year. I guess you remember those days all right. My elbows almost came through you from leaning all over the desk trying to make myself look studious. That didnit work either, because when exams came, you knew as well as I how studious I really had been. My ,Iunior days came then-and careless ones t'hey were. No more worrying about those wrinkles. I didn't care that year how crinkled or creased you were. It was then that you were either pushed into my gym locker or left draping the Hoor. You grew quite disreputable, but I didn't mind a bit. At last a Senior! And what I didn't do to you! Your snaps were taken off, and a new zipper put in their place. Your hem was taken up at least four inches. Your shoulder straps were torn off and used in times of necessity as patches. Your lost belt was hunted up, and then your buckle. Itis a wonder you were still a uniform. And now the time has come to tuck you away for good. Not just' for the summer, not just to be cleaned--but' just because theyire over-all over-my high school days. So goodbye now-and-you know-I think I'll really miss you! AGATHA STAMM. --I ' .- -.s,ij4i6

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irgil Describes a term at ea N I-HS masterpiece The Aeneicl, Virgil rivals Nordofl and Hall in his realistic pictures of the storm perpetrated by Juno in her mad rage against the Trojans. Aeolus, the god of winds, defying Neptune, lets out the winds Notus, Eurus, and Afrieus, to stir up the sea and ravage the torn fleet of the exiled Trojans. Virgil thus depicts the horrible work of the winds: HAnd saying thus he struck against the rock, The hollow mountains where the winds were heldg And just as when a battle line is drawn The mighty winds rush forth in fierce array. By frequent blasts, they overturn the sea: Fierce Africus, and stormy Eurus too, And Notus, roll vast billows toward the shore. Creaking of rigging joined with cries of men Are swallowed in the torrent of the stormfl ln these lines, translated by Mary Jo Freese, Virgil recounts vividly how 'the- winds scattered the ships and tossed them upon the rocks. In stirring verse he suggests the chilling fear which overtook the Trojans, and inspired Aeneas? prayer to the spirits: HThe Hash of the lightning and thunder Tore from the realms of the heavens, Threatening death to the heroes And chilling the limbs of Aeneas. Groaning he turns his face starward And pleads with the spirits of Hades: 'O ye who are thrice four times blessed, Allowed to meet death in its glory, Beneath the tall towers of Troia, Your ancestors watching as witness- O Tydides, bravest of Grecians, Who fought with the King Menelaus Why could not my spirit have fallen 9777 ln death by thy terrible power These lines, translated by Mary Jo Fieese, are particularly interesting because they show that the ancient heroes, far from being ashamed to express emotion, often- gave way to crying and groaning. -..sj.l6Qj.EaU.-