St Johnsbury Academy - Lamp Yearbook (St Johnsbury, VT)

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THE ACADEMY STUDENT 13 “Walking barefoot on a dirt road, rustling through Crisp autumn leaves—hearing the wind Whistling through the tall swaying pines; A bird’s song—gay and hopeful; A bubbling brook winding through the woods.” These are familiar things. Man has loved them Since the beginning of time. “Mountains—towering, lofty, powerful, When they become alive at sunset Burning with gold and orange. Mountains and pines burdened with snow, A storm moving over their peaks, A threatening gloom—inevitable.” Some folks like grandeur and gold ; Others like warmth and friendliness. Powerful high mountains for some. But for others little rolling hills: “A white hill under a blue heaven, Breezes blowing your hair so that It whips around your eves and mouth. Slender birches on the hilltop, bending, Yielding to the wind ; A blue sparkling lake secure Between two broad green hills, The long valley lined with trees— Tall elms, broad oaks, friendly birches.” The seasons following each other, A vast cycle. Beauty is in them all: The freshness of spring, the dazzling brightness of winter— “The skier, graceful, sweeps down the slope Making a spray of snow. The 4 o’clock hush under a gray sky, Huge flakes falling silently—you linger, Hesitant, skiing down the trail once more. Snow falling in the deep quiet woods; Rabbits hopping among the trees. Quick, elusive; the bark of the hound, Running close on the tracks. And, then, on Christmas Eve, The tree with soft lights,

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12 THE ACADEMY STUDENT SALUTATORY ESSAY “LIFE HAS LOVELINESS TO SELL” “The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” This beautiful and familiar psalm is one example of the rhythm which sixteenth century translators carried over from the Hebrew writers. Hebrew poetry is based on balance, repetition and the strophaic measure. The strophe, in Greek drama, “was the full circle made by the chorus while walking about the altar, chanting the ode.” In verse the strophe means one completed round or cadence. It would seem that ancient Hebrew writers anticipated the modern poets, for their psalms and prayers achieve their effects through the medium of so-called free verse. Walt Whitman, with Leaves of Grass,” blazed the trail for free verse in America. Many of Amy Lowell’s colorful and vivid poems are written in this form. Free verse is much like natural speech. Its rhythm depends on the emotional pause. Life is rooted in rhythm and therefore the ear must be far more specialized to appreciate the deep feeling of the free verse form. As D. H. Lawrence said, “I think more of a bird with broad wings flying and lapsing through space than anything when I think of metre. It all depends on the pause—the natural pause, the natural lingering of the voice according to the feeling—it is the hidden emotional pattern that makes poetry, not the obvious form. It doesn’t depend on the ear, particularly, but on the sensitive soul. And the ear gets a habit and becomes master when the ebbing and lifting emotion should be master and the ear the transmitter.” When I was asked to make a poem from a long list of word-pictures. I decided to use free verse. The material was a list of beautiful things which members of our class had compiled. Beauty gives rise to emotion in some way or other; and therefore the most effective presentation of the ideas would be in a natural emotional pattern. A love of beauty—something deep within That stirs when you see the sunset Or hear the bird’s evening call, Something that responds to familiar, friendly things. I know—you know—that a love of beauty is inborn. Youth finds beauty everywhere.

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14 THE ACADEMY STUDENT Sweet voices singing ‘Holy Night’— ‘The Savior is born’—the tinkle of sleigh bells Merry and bright; the huge silent snow drifts, Evenings, walking home—cold mornings— And gray smoke rising from the chimneys.” A memory is a lovely thing, A vision that stirs. The beauty That is love makes a precious, Eternal memory to brighten sad hours: “Recall the lingering loveliness of Mother’s smile, Of a child lying asleep in his warm bed; The vision of incense curling around the candles At Benediction—soft organ music Swelling, lifting to the heavens— In praise of God ; The gay laugh of friends together, And best of all, the smile of the stranger who looks at you.” The finer things in life: “The touch of soft satin—candlelight And flowers—the delicate rose— The smouldering loveliness of the orchid. The mystic glow of soft lights through the stained glass windows.” What man has not felt the inward glow, 'This sense of satisfaction that comes From beauty and love. It can be mountains or yawning canyons Elaborate Gothic towers—Woolworth’s mighty monument Pointing heavenward—or little things— “Cool summer breezes at evening, Ocean waves washing the sand, Warm red apples lying in the September sun, Homecoming footsteps on the front porch.” Youth finds beauty everywhere. —Anita Tegu This poem originated from lists of “My Beautiful Things” prepared as an assignment in senior English. The form of the poem is entirely the work of Anita Tegu.