Voices
Voices Volume 11
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Nina Rosenblum, oil
Convent of the Sacred Heart 1177 King Street Greenwich, CT 06831 Phone: (203) 531-6500 Fax: (203) 531-5206 voices2017@cshct.org cshgreenwich.org
Ava Vanech, mixed media
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VOICES Volume 11 May 2017 Statement of Philosophy The education of each student of Convent of the Sacred Heart is founded on the commitment to the Goals and Criteria of the Network of Sacred Heart Schools. One such principle encourages students to be "active and informed" in today's global world. Voices, a multilingual art and literary magazine, encourages each young woman to express her creative energy. It highlights student perspectives through prose and poetry om *6* different languages by selecting writing and artwork from their student body. Translation is an essential creative element of the magazine, and each foreign language piece faces and English version to broaden the understanding of the written works.
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Editorial Board Tatiana Lieberman, Co-Editor-In-Chief Ally Grusky, Co-Editor-In-Chief Staff Sofia Piriz Magdalena Dutkowska Elisabeth Hall Rachel Bellissimo Paolina Kovalenko-Baloup Hanna Sheehan Kaitlin Edwardson Faculty Advisors Montserrat Garcia Renee Rodriguez Special Thanks World Languages Department Paula Westcott Recognition Columbia Scholastic Press Association Gold Medalist 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2015, 2016 Columbia Scholastic Press Association Silver Medalist 2014
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Natty Pazos, colored pencil
Table of Contents Cover Emily Lencyk, graphite and watercolor Title Page Nina Rosenblum, oil Information Ava Vanech, mixed media Statement of Philosophy Editorial Board Natty Pazos, colored pencil Table of Contents Kate Gerstner, pencil
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3. 4.
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Arabic Ava Vanech, oil
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Excerpt from “The Days,� Taha Hussein Nina Rosenblum, ink
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English Translation, Lindsay Ofori & Anna-Luisa Brakman Mae Briody, pencil
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Ava Vanech, mixed media
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The Cord of Hope, Mikha’il Na’ima 20. Emily Lencyk, watercolor English Translation, Ellarie Talgo & Gabrielle Davitch 22. Natty Pazos, mixed media Chinese Nina Rosenblum, watercolor
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Winter Beauty, Zada Brown Arielle Uygur, pastel English Translation, Zada Brown Arielle Uygur, pastel Eiffel Tower, Tatiana Lieberman Tatiana Lieberman, digital photography English Translation, Tatiana Lieberman Nina Rosenblum, charcoal Winter and Spring, Julia Mattheisen Kate Gerstner, mixed media English Translation, Julia Mattheisen Kate Gerstner, mixed media Blossom, Mackenzie Jordan English Translation, Mackenzie Jordan Emily Lencyk, pencil
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Seasons of Giving, Emma Caruso 40. Emma Belmont, acrylic English Translation, Emma Caruso 42. Margo Butler, mixed media Fire Flower, AP Chinese Language & Culture Class 44. Daisy Steinthal, oil English Translation, AP Chinese Language & Culture Class 46. Ludnie Renee, ceramic Flamenco, Tatiana Lieberman 48. Margot Butler, digital art English Translation, Tatiana Lieberman 50. Nina Rosenblum, watercolor French 52. Bridget Murphy, oil A Metamorphosis, Paolina Kovalenko-Baloup 54. Nina Rosenblum, watercolor English Translation, Paolina Kovalenko-Baloup 56. Ava Vanech, mixed media Ava Vanech, mixed media 58. Inheritance, Lindsay Ofori 60. Julia Pogge, charcoal
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English Translation, Lindsay Ofori Lizzie Kupersmith, digital photography Teardrop, Sofia Piriz Tatiana Lieberman, oil English Translation, Sofia Piriz Nina Rosenblum, pastel Spanish Ava Vanech, mixed media My Home, Caroline Badagliacca Andy Bella, watercolor English Translation, Caroline Badagliacca Ava Vanech, oil Alicia, Hanna Sheehan Margot Butler, digital photography English Translation, Hanna Sheehan Recipe for a Better World, Charlie Clark English Translation, Ally Grusky Katherine Sepulveda, pastel The Man, Clare Keeney
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74. 76. 78. 80.
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Bridget Murphy, pastel English Translation, Clare Keeney Two Worlds, Andrea Bernal Grace Danahy, digital photography English Translation, Andrea Bernal Margot Butler, digital photography Mary and Marie, Sophia Brusco Tatiana Lieberman, Solarplate Spanish Translation, Ally Grusky Teaken Haggerty, colored pencil English Translation, Ally Grusky Andrea Bernal, digital photography under the palms of our feet, Christina Weiler Kate Gerstner, colored pencil and watercolor Miscellaneous Andy Bella, watercolor and ink Impactful Dreams, Magdalena Dutkowska Katherine Sepulveda, pencil English Translation, Magdalena Dutkowska Lizzie Kupersmith, digital photography
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84. 86. 88.
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Heather Rose, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 106. Julia Pogge, colored pencil English Translation, Anna von Guttenberg 108. Ava Vanech, colored pencil Thoughts of Mine, Thoughts of Mine, Taras Shevchenko 110. Emily Lencyk, mixed media English Translation, Zoryana Makarenko 112. Emily Lencyk, mixed media Editorial Policy Tatiana Lieberman, acrylic
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Kate Gerstner, mixed media
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Kate Gerstner, pencil
Ava Vanech, oil
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Arabic
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م )
ب ا
(
د إ ا
و
ر
ده
م وا
ر
ا
ة
ا
أ
ا
ف ا
و
،و
ر
ء ا
ن .و ن
ا
ح
ا
و
ا
ب ..وا
أ ذ ،
ً
ً
و ن ا ا
ت
ه رو ً ،و إذا ا
ء و
ا ا
ء
ت ا ي
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ا ا ا
وا ر ً .و ن و
ً
أ
أ ذ ذ و
،
ض
إ أن
أ ن
د ه ا
ت ا
ر
ر
ً و ا
أ ن
ح
ب إ
أن ن
ح إذا أ
،و
إ ا
ق
ب إ
ذن ا
أ
ون ،و إن ن ا ذ ا
و
وأ
،
أ ن ا
ت
،و
ا
ر إ
دئ
ا
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ر ا ي ا
إ ،و أ
،و
رأ
ه
ن .
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Nina Rosenblum, ink
Mae Briody, pencil
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Excerpt from “The Days” Taha Hussein Translated by Lindsay Ofori and Anna-Luisa Brakman Taken from the book “The Days” autobiography of one of modern Egypt’s greatest writers and thinkers Taha Hussein. Chapter 1, An Egyptian Childhood Frozen, he returned to his silence, in his corner where he was forced to stay. The day started to fade away and the sun began to set. And he felt a pale quiet feeling. Then the muezzin started calling for the sunset (Al-Magreb) prayer. And with that, the child knew that the night had come and the darkness took him. Then he thought to himself, “If they were here, in this room, a lamp could have been lit in order to expel this dense darkness." “But he is alone. He doesn’t need a lamp,” thought those who could see. Though he saw that that they were wrong in thinking this way. And it was at that time that he began to make an elusive distinction between darkness and light. The lit lamp was a companion and a friend to him. And in darkness, he found loneliness that perhaps could be coming from his developing mind or his troubled feelings. Darkness used to have a voice that filled his ears, a continuous yet bold voice that mimicked mosquitoes. The voice reaches the inside of his ears, and harms them. It goes inside his heart, and fills it with fear. Thus, he is forced to change his way of sitting. Now squatting, he puts his elbows on his knees and hides his head with his hands. Handing himself to this voice that takes him from every place.
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Ava Vanech, mixed media
ة
)
ا
(
نـتـمـــنـــى و فــي الـتـمـنـــي شـ ــــــــــــاُء و نُـنـــــادي يـــا لـيــت كــانــــوا و كُـنـــــا و نُـصــــلـــي فـي ســـــرنــا لـ مــــــانــــي و ا مــانــــي فـي الـ
ــر َ يـ
ـكــن مـنـــا
غـيــــر أنـــي ,و إن كـَــرهـــت الـتـمـنـــي ت أتـمـــنـــــــى أتـمـنـــــى لـــو ُكـــنـــــ ُ نـتــمــنـــى ومــا الـتـمـنــي ســـوى مـهـمـــاز دهـــــــــر َ يـ ـُــثـــنـــــا لـلـمـســــيــــــر
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Emily Lencyk, watercolor
Natty Pazos, mixed media
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The Cord of Hope Mikha’il Na’ima Translated by Ellarie Talgo and Gabrielle Davitch We hope and in hope there is hardship Yet we hope our hope endures We hope in the silence of our hearts While our hopes openly mock us Even if I did not desire to hope I still would Again we hope and the hope is a spur That keeps Time moving forward.
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Chinese
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冬天美 贝如君 冬天很冷 穿⽑⾐，喝茶，看电影 妈妈说，“回家” 可是，喜欢看下雪。 看朋友，跑得那么快 雪地⾥我们⼀起玩。 ⼿很冷 ⼼很热暖
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Arielle Uygur, pastel
Arielle Uygur, pastel
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Winter Beauty Zada Brown Winter is very cold Wearing sweaters, drinking tea, watching movies Mom says, “Come home� But, I like to watch the falling snow. I see my friends running fast Together we play. Hands are cold Heart is warm
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埃菲尔铁塔
李塔娜
天很蓝很蓝 塔很⾼很⾼
我在塔的下⾯看塔 他在塔的上⾯看我 我喜欢塔 他喜欢我
天很蓝很蓝 塔很⾼很⾼ 我很⼩ 他很⼤
我喜欢塔 他喜欢我
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Tatiana Lieberman, digital photography
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Nina Rosenblum, charcoal
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Eiffel Tower Tatiana Lieberman The sky is very blue, very blue The tower is very tall, very tall I look at the tower from below He looked at me above from the tower I like the tower He likes me The sky is very blue, very blue The tower is very tall, very tall I am very little He is very tall I like the tower He likes me
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冬天和春天 马汝珍 每个⼀⽉ 我看到很多云 我也看到下雪 每天多很冷 每个⼆⽉ 常常下⾬ 常常很冷 每个三⽉ 有时很冷 有时很热 每个四⽉ 我看到⼏点花 很多⾬ 但是常常很热 每个五⽉ 我很热 也很快乐
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Kate Gerstner, mixed media
Winter and Spring Julia Matthiesen Every January I see many clouds but I also see lots of snow and everyday is cold Every February it often rains and is often cold Every March it’s sometimes cold it’s sometimes hot Every April I see a little bit of flowers and also a lot of rain yet it’s often hot Every May it’s very hot and I am very happy
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Kate Gerstner, mixed media
花
周⽴梅
我称这棵粗壮的树为家 – 因为我靠他长⼤。
我的花瓣丝⼀样的⽩⾊。
春季的时候， ⾬淅沥淅沥地 落在我的花瓣上。 滋润着我。
我只是⼀个花蕾，
可是我象征新的⽣命 我叫梅…
Blossom Mackenzie Jordan I call the strong tree my home – it helps me grow. My petals are white as silk. In the spring, the rain patters down – it falls on my petals. The water quenches my thirst. I am just a bud, but I hold/symbolize the promise of new life. They call me the Plum Blossom.
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Emily Lencyk, pencil
季节礼物 Emma Caruso 春天，夏天，秋天，冬天 四个季节 都不同 春天给地球很多⾬天 夏天给地球很多晴天 秋天给地球很多阴天 冬天给地球很多雪天 我给地球我的⽣命
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Emma Belmont, acrylic
Margot Butler, mixed media
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Seasons of Giving Emma Caruso Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter Four Seasons All Different Spring gives the earth rainy days Summer gives the earth sunny days Fall gives the earth cloudy days Winter gives the earth snowy days I give the earth my life
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⽕花 含春, 俞佳妍, 孔晓⽟, 包永恩, 周⽴梅, 和 李塔娜
⽕花在秋天的微风⾥跳舞 她的花瓣跟丝⼀样软
可是她燃烧起来像太阳⼀样耀眼
冬天的寒冷让她冬眠
冷雪覆盖她暂时的休眠地 她躺下并等待⾃由
世界苏醒了
她感觉到蜜蜂的脚步 春⾬打在她的花瓣上
夏季的太阳穿过云层
再⼀次，她燃烧得像太阳⼀样耀眼 凉爽的夜空，她看见星星
我⼩⼼地⽤⼿把她拿下来 她的花瓣跟丝⼀样软
可是她燃烧得像太阳⼀样耀眼
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Daisy Steinthal, oil
Ludniee Renee, ceramic
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Fire Flower Kendall Newman, Alexandra Yu, Jade Cohen, Anna-Luisa Brakman, Mackenzie Jordan, & Tatiana Lieberman She dances gently in the autumn breeze Her petals are soft as silk Yet she burns as bright as the sun Winter's spell lulls her to sleep Cold snow blankets her temporary prison She lies waiting to be free again The world is awake again She senses gentle honeybees’ footsteps The spring rain weighs down on her petals Clouds break through welcoming summer’s sun Burning light ignites her petals once again On cool summer nights, she stares at the stars I pick her up and hold her carefully in my hand Her petals are soft as silk Yet she burns as bright as the sun
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Flamenco 李塔娜
上个星期我去了西班⽛旅游。我的西班⽛朋友
请我去看了西班⽛的舞蹈。我的西班⽛朋友安排了特
别的舞蹈。这个舞蹈叫 Flamenco。Flamenco 是西班⽛ ⼈的⽂化艺术。
晚上在剧院⾥，三个舞蹈家表演了舞蹈，其中
有两个⼥舞者和⼀个男舞者。他们跟两个男⾳乐家⼀ 起表演。当三个舞者跳舞的时候，⼀个⾳乐家打⿎， ⼀个⾳乐家弹吉他。⼀个⼥舞者也是歌唱家。她跳舞 了以后，她还唱歌了。她唱了⼀⾸西班⽛的歌曲。两 个⼥舞者都穿着红⾊的连⾐裙，其中有⼀个⼥舞者的 红裙⼦上有⿊⾊的圆点。 ⼀个男舞者穿着⿊⾊的西
装，他的⿊领带上有⽩⾊的圆点。他们都穿着特别的 舞鞋。他们的舞蹈表演又漂亮又神奇。他们的⾳乐⾮ 常好地听。我最喜欢那个⼥舞者的唱歌表演，她的声 ⾳⾮常特别。
我在西班⽛学了很多的西班⽛的⽂化，我觉得
Flamenco 是⾮常美丽的舞蹈。我也很想学跳舞。
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Margot Butler, digital art
Nina Rosenblum, watercolor
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Flamenco Tatiana Lieberman Last week, I went to Spain to visit my close friend. She lives in AndalucĂa, where Flamenco originated. I am fascinated by Spanish culture, so my Spanish friend took me to see a Spanish dance. The special dance, called Flamenco is an amazing aspect Spanish culture and art. At night in a theater, three dancers performed dances: two female dancers and one male dancer. They performed with two male musicians. While the three dancers danced, a musician played on his drums, and another played the guitar. The female dancer was also a singer. She danced and then sang a Spanish song. Two of the female dancers wore red dresses, while the other wore a beautiful red dress with black polka dots. The male dancer dressed in a black suit, and black collar with a white dot. They all wore special shoes that tapped as they danced. Their performances were beautiful and magical, and the music was amazing. I particularly liked the singing of the female dancer; her voice was very special. I learned a lot of Spanish culture in Spain, and I think Flamenco is a very beautiful dance. Due to this visit, I was inspired to learn the art of dancing, and appreciate Spanish culture in my own life.
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French
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Bridget Murphy, oil
Une métamorphose Paolina Kovalenko-Baloup L'enthousiasme pour les petites choses: la division des grands et petits, une métamorphose de l'enfant à l'adulte. Alors que mon esprit me porte vers un temps plus simple, mon cerveau se contracte avec la détresse du présent. Je vois avec mon petit oeil un monde protégé, illuminé de couleurs et de possibilités -un air un peu plus chaud, un peu plus doux -pas un mauvais loup en vue pour écraser mon monde bleu. Jeux candides en tutus mauves, paysages en couleurs de soies et robes de princesse, ondulation des notes de piano et arcs en ciel de craies sur le ciment chaud ont lentement tissé la personne que j'allais devenir. Exaltation radieuse à la pensée de Noël, lumières furtives, rouges et vertes, à travers les fenêtres de la voiture, voyageant, explorant un monde inconnu, englouti par l'air chaud du Pacifique, nous laissons l'avion pour rentrer à la maison.
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J'ai un désir ardent de retourner dans cet endroit, mon lieu de naissance, gardien de ces précieux moments, le moule qui m'a façonnée. Alors que je réfléchis à ce qu'est la réussite, je dois avouer, il y a comme un malentendu à travers le regard de la société. Ce ne sont pas ceux qui ont sacrifîé pour un nombre qui s'épanouissent mais ceux qui sont capables de sauvegarder des bribes de cette magie qui est l'enfance.
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Nina Rosenblum, watercolor
A Metamorphosis Paolina Kovalenko-Baloup Excitement of little things: the divide between large and small beings, a metamorphosis child to adult. As my mind carries me to a simpler time, my brain shrinks along with present distress. I spy with my little eyes a sheltered world illuminated with color and possibility -an air a bit warmer, a bit sweeter -not a bad wolf in sight to crush my blue world. Candid plays in purple tutus, colorscapes of silks and gowns, rise and fall of piano notes and chalk rainbows on hot cement slowly spun who I was to become. Radiant exaltation from thoughts of Christmas, passing lights, red and green, through car windows, traveling, exploring an unknown world, engulfed by warm Pacific air, leaving the plane to go home.
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I have an urge to go to this place, my birth place, keeper of these precious moments, the mold that made me. So, as I reflect upon success, I must confess, there is a miscommunication through society’s gaze. It is not those who sacrificed for a number who are thriving but those able to salvage bits and pieces of magic childhood.
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Ava Vanech, mixed media
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Ava Vanech, mixed media
Inheritance Lindsay Ofori On December 17, 2010, Mohamed Bouazizi, a fruit vendor, set himself on fire in front of a government building. This action sparked the Jasmine Revolution in Tunisia. This poem is written from the point of view of the fictionalized character (inspired by Mohamed’s story) in Tahar Ben Jelloun’s novel “Par Le Feu”. Here, Mohamed speaks to his dead father about his afflictions in a world without him. Why did you leave me here? Everyday that goes by I grow farther and farther from you. Loneliness continues to destroy my hope. I understand that the Eldest child has responsibilities in our culture I am not ready to fill your shoes. I know that life was difficult for your as well, Filled with suffering, injustice, and violence. Police officers disguised in civilian clothes troubled you like the mosquitoes outside and yet you continued your life for us, your family. Did you ever feel like me? Alone and unrecognized by everyone? Like a body who walks aimless and without a purpose?
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I wish I had your patience. But we differ because religion, successfully, consoled you. I inherited your life and the same troubles and afflictions. But where is my God? The symbol of consolation For the marginalized, the rejected and the forgotten?
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Julia Pogee, charcoal
L’Héritage Lindsay Ofori Le 17 décembre 2010, Mohamed Bouazizi, vendeur de fruits, s'est immolé par le feu devant la mairie de la ville. Cette action a provoqué la Révolution de Jasmin en Tunisie. Le poème ci-dessous est écrit du point de vue de Mohamed le personnage principal du roman « Par Le Feu » de Tahar Ben Jelloun qui était inspiré par l’histoire de ce jeune homme. Ici, Mohamed parle à son père mort au sujet de ses ennuis sans lui. Mon père bien-aimé, Pourquoi vous m’avez quitté ici ? Chaque jour qui passe je me sens de plus en plus loin de vous. La solitude continue de détruire mon espoir. Je comprends que L’aîné a des responsabilités dans notre culture. Mais je ne suis pas prêt à prendre votre place. Je sais que la vie était difficile pour vous aussi, Était pleine de souffrance, d’injustice, et de violence. Les agents en civil vous dérangeaient comme les moustiques dehors et cependant vous continuiez votre vie pour nous, votre famille.
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Vous êtes-vous senti comme moi ? Seul et inconnu par tout le monde? Comme un corps qui marche sans but ? J’espère qu’un jour je serai patient comme vous. Mais nous sommes différents parce que la religion, a réussi à vous consoler. J’ai hérité votre vie et les mêmes épreuves et ennuis. Mais où est mon Dieu, Le symbole de la consolation Pour les personnes marginalisées, rejetées et oubliées ?
Lizzie Kupersmith, digital photography 63
Tombé dans une mare de réalité Sofia Piriz Oh Peut-être Juste peut-être Il n'existerait pas juste peut-être il pourrait être faux. Quelque chose qui était si difficile à comprendre. J’ai refusé chaque pensée qui me venait à l'esprit ça ne pouvait pas être réel et jusqu'à ce que je puisse me faire croire, il me revenait toujours avec une seule larme; La seule larme qui mène à toutes les émotions. Cachées et non cachées, tout était là, finalement, tout le monde le saurait, tout le monde connaîtra la raison de cette larme très malheureuse; C'était plus effrayant que ne le pouvaient imaginer. Je ne l'ai pas demandé, Je ne l'ai pas voulu, rien de tout cela. Les émotions, l'événement ou une larme. Il est apparu là-bas, glissant sur mon visage comme s'il tombait une énorme cascade de sentiments; Immuable et non autorisé ou interrogé. Tout le monde verrait comment je me sentais réellement. Tous avec une seule larme, une larme qui montrerait à tous ma vulnérabilité, ma faiblesse. Exprimant le sentiment sans mots. En réalité, c'est une grosse bulle pleine de confusion et d'anticipation. J'ai manqué le sentiment, où rien n'allait. La vie changeait et je ne pouvais pas arrêtez-le plus longtemps. Le temps ne tournait plus lentement, il se déplaçait aussi vite qu'un train qui n'avait pas de but. Une larme tombe imitant la pluie dans le ciel. Une goutte remplie au maximum avec peur. Je souhaitais que cela disparaisse pour que personne ne sache que j'avais tellement peur. Tout cela parce que cette larme a révélé toute la réalité.
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Tatiana Lieberman, oil
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Dropped Into a Pool of Reality Sofia Piriz Oh Maybe Just maybe It could not exist Just maybe, it could be fake. Something that was so hard to comprehend. Denying every thought that came into my mind It could not possibly be real and until I got myself to think that it was not, it always came right back to me, with a single teardrop; The one teardrop that lead to all the emotions. Hidden and unhidden it was all there, eventually everyone would know, know the reason of that one very unlucky teardrop; it was scarier than anyone could imagine; I did not ask for it, I did not want it, any of it. The emotions, the event or that one teardrop. It just appeared there, sliding on my face as if it were falling down a huge waterfall of feelings; unchangeable and unauthorized or questioned. Everyone would see how I truly felt. All with a single teardrop, a teardrop that would show everyone my vulnerability, my weakness. Expressing feeling without words. In reality, it is a big bubble full of confusion and anticipation. I missed the feeling, where nothing was wrong. Life was changing and I could no longer stop it. Time was no longer ticking slowly, it was moving as fast as a train that had no stops. A teardrop falls imitating the rain in the sky. A drop filled to the max with fear. I wished it would go away so that no one would know I was so too scared. All because that one teardrop brought back all reality.
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Ava Vanech, mixed media
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Spanish
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Mi hogar “Inspirado por Antonio Machado” Caroline Badagliacca Anoche cuando dormía soñé ¡bendita ilusión! Que un dorado lugar brillaba dentro de mi corazón. Las cataratas fluían, en las montañas y en el mar, con castillos en las colinas y árboles que tocaban al cielo Anoche cuando dormía soñé ¡bendita ilusión! Que una tierra de rocas rojas vivía dentro de mi corazón. Los profundos cañones susurraban, a cielos claros y agua azúl, con águilas altísimas en los árboles y lagartos pequeños en la seca tierra. Anoche cuando dormía soñé ¡bendita ilusión! Que era mi hogar lo que tenía dentro de mi corazón.
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Andy Bella, watercolor
Ava Vanech, oil
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My Home “Inspired by Antonio Machado� Caroline Badagliacca Last night while I was dreaming I dreamed a blessed illusion! That a gold land shines inside my heart. The waterfalls flow in the mountain and the ocean with castles on the hills and trees that touched the sky. Last night while I was dreaming I dreamed a blessed illusion! That a land of red rocks lived inside my heart. The deep canyons whispered to the clear skies and blue water with towering eagles in the trees and small lizards in the dry land. Last night while I was dreaming I dreamed a blessed illusion! That it was my home that I had inside of my heart.
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Alicia Hanna Sheehan
¡Hola! Me llamo Nico y voy a explicar lo que cambió mi vida para siempre. El impacto de una persona puede ser enorme. No todos tienen la suerte de conocer una persona así, pero yo sí. No sé si mi vida cambió para el mejor o el peor; nunca será la misma. Espero que estéis listos y dejéis vuestras mentes abiertas. Me mudé con mi familia cuando tenía diez años a Madrid de un pueblo pequeño en el campo. Era un cambio grande pero necesitábamos un cambio después de la muerte de mi hermano y mi mejor amigo. No tenía muchos amigos en el colegio y con la ausencia de mi hermano, mi mamá podía oír los gritos de los campos por la noche. No podía hacer nada que pudiera parar sus lágrimas. Mi mamá y yo queríamos la distracción de la ciudad. Nos mudamos a un apartamento pequeño en el centro de Madrid. El primer día del colegio, caminé veinte minutos hasta que llegara al edificio alto. Me dio mucho miedo cuando mi profesor Paco me introdujo a la clase. Sentí todos los ojos en mí como si fueran cuchillos. Me senté al lado de una chica que se llamaba Alicia. Después de poco tiempo de conocerla, noté que Alicia era diferente de los otros niños. No parecía tener amigos porque cuando nos conocimos dijo, “Hola soy Alicia. Quiero que juegues conmigo después del colegio.” No era una pregunta. Estaba muy segura. Era independiente. Teníamos que llevar un uniforme estricto sin joyas. Alicia siempre encontraba una manera para
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rebelarse sin mucho menoscabo. A Alicia nunca le importaba que era el niño nuevo. Todavía les echo de menos nuestros aventuras después del colegio. Siempre estaba sonriendo; era una luz en esto tiempo muy oscuro de mi vida. Mi excursión favorita era nuestro día en el parque retiro. Imaginamos que éramos pájaros, corriendo por los caminos del parque. Fuimos en un bote y remamos en el agua. Cantamos como si estuviéramos solos. Podía sentir el viento en mi cara. Estábamos libres. Después, caminé muy despacio para capturar el momento para siempre. Teníamos muchas aventuras increíbles pero Alicia nunca quería invitarme a su casa y tampoco no quería ir a mi casa. Pasamos mucho tiempo en las calles de la ciudad. Por fin estaba feliz pero podía ver que mi mamá todavía tenía tristeza en su corazón. Una noche, de repente, mi mamá me dijo que conoció a una amiga que tenía una hija que se murió. Encontró a alguien que podía compartir el dolor de perder un hijo. Ella nos invitó a la cena. Cuando llegamos tenía una sensación del calor en mi alma. Pensaba que era porque mi mamá estaba contenta finalmente. Después de la cena la amiga de mi madre me dijo que la hubiera querido a su hija y que ella quería mostrarme una foto. Vino a la mesa con una foto pero, ¡BOOM! ¡Se cayó! Recogí la foto y la miré. No podía entenderlo. Era Alicia.
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Margot Butler, digital photography 77
Alicia Hanna Sheehan
Hi! My name is Nico and I am going to explain what changed my life forever. The impact of one person can be huge. Not everyone has the luck to know someone like this, but I was. I don’t know if my life change for the better or the worse; it will never be the same. I hope that you are ready and keep an open mind. I moved with my family when I was ten years old to Madrid from a small town in the field. It was a big change but we needed a change after the death of my brother and my best friend. I didn't have many friends in school and with the absence of my brother my mom could hear the screams of the fields at night. I couldn't do anything that could stop my tears. My mom and I wanted the distraction of the city. We moved to a small apartment in the center of the Madrid. On the first day of school I walked twenty minutes until I arrived at the tall building. I was very scared when my teacher Paco introduced me to the class. I felt all of their eyes on my as if they were knives. I sat next to a girl named Alicia. After some of getting to know her, I noticed that Alicia was different from the other kids. She didn't seem to have friends because when we met she said. “Hi I am Alicia. I want you to play with me after school.” It wasn't a question. She was confident. She was independent. We had to wear a strict uniform without jewelry. Alicia always found a harmless way to rebel.
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Alicia never cared that I was a new kid. I still miss our adventures after school. She was always smiling; she was a light in this dark time of my life. My favorite excursion was our day in el parque retiro. We imagined that we were birds, running through the paths of the park. We went on a boat and rowed in the water. We sang as if we were alone. I could feel the wind on my face. We were free. After, I walked very slowly to capture this moment forever. We had many incredible adventures but Alicia never wanted to invite me to her house. We spent a lot of time together in the streets of the city. Finally, I was happy but I could see that my mom still had sadness in her heart. One night, suddenly, my mom told me that she met a friend that also had a daughter that died. She found someone that she could share the the pain of losing a child with. She invited us to dinner. When we arrived I had a warm sensation in my soul. I thought that it was because my mom was finally happy. After dinner with the friend my mom told me that I would have loved her daughter and she wanted to show me a photo. She came the table with a picture but BOOM! It fell! I picked up the photo and looked at it. I couldn’t understand. It was Alicia.
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Receta para un mundo mejor Charlie Clark Siempre, el mundo tiene una dosis de tristeza, Una tajada fina de enojo, O una cucharadita de desesperación. Pero….si tú tomas una taza de simpatía, Y la mezclas con optimismo, Si tú cocinas libertad en el horno, O cortas el hambre, Si tú salteas la injusticia, O espolvoreas esperanza, Tú encontrarás la receta para la alegría.
Katherine Sepulveda, pastel
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Recipe for a Better World Translated by Ally Grusky The world always has a dose of sadness A sliver of anger, Or a teaspoon of desperation. But‌.if you take a cup of sympathy, And mix it with optimism, If you cook freedom in an oven, Or cut out hunger, If you fry injustice, Or sprinkle hope, You will find the recipe to happiness
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El hombre Clare Keeney
Allí estaba. El hombre a quien veía cada día, sin conocerlo. Él no tenía más de treinta años, con una esposa maravillosa. Toda la gran ciudad lo conocía y envidiaban su éxito. Yo también. Mi apartamento estaba al otro lado de la calle, justo enfrente de su apartamento. Podía verlo a través de mis ventanas grandes. Nunca le había hablado, pero sabía por otros que tenía una buena infancia y que provenía de una familia afortunada y comprensiva. No sabía por qué, pero siempre había deseado ser su amigo. Era una atracción irresistible y difícil de explicar. Sin embargo y a pesar de que trataba de conocerlo, nunca podía encontrarlo. Pensaba que tenía una vida perfecta. Era fácil reconocer el amor que existía en su casa, que se percibía por todas partes. Era más evidente en su nuevo bebé. Vi cómo cuidó de su mujer durante nueve meses y después, veía cómo se enorgullecía con su papel de padre. Su bebé era el más amado del mundo. Algunos días pensaba: “podría dejar de ir al trabajo para poder contemplarlo todo el día”. Pero siempre me daba cuenta de que esto era ridículo. Esperaba que el día de poder conocerlo, llegara y en realidad me asustaba que no hubiera nadie que tuviera tanta influencia en mi vida como él. Para decir la verdad, era una obsesión: una obsesión que pensaba nunca iba a entender.
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Cuando el día llegó, no podía imaginarme qué o cómo iba a ocurrir. Recibí una invitación de alguien en mi oficina para una fiesta en un barco. Si hubiera sido cualquier otro día, no habría ido porque no me gustan las fiestas, pero sabía que el hombre trabajaba en una empresa que compartía mi edificio de oficina y pensaba que sería una oportunidad para verlo. Esa noche, me vestí con mi ropa favorita y fui al muelle para subir en el barco. Vi a muchos de los amigos que trabajaban conmigo y me divertí mucho, pero nunca vi al hombre. Después de hablar, comer y beber mucho, busqué un lugar que fuera tranquilo y callado para relajarme. El barco era una jungla y las personas eran animales. Necesitaba escapar por unos minutos. Cuando subí a la proa del barco lo vi. Estaba bebiendo, allí, solo. No podía creer que el momento en que por fin iba a hablar con él, había llegado. Empecé a acercarme, pero de repente se cayó al mar. Al ver esto, me paralicé y no pude moverme. Después, corrí al borde del barco y lo vi ahogándose. Otra vez, fui incapaz de moverme. No pude gritar. No pude hacer ningún ruido, De repente, sentí que estaba girando y ahogándome. Otra vez. Todo el mundo gritaba también. No pude sentir mi cuerpo. Sentí mi aliento y mi alma dejar mi cuerpo. Ahora sé donde estoy. Todo tiene sentido. Es la hora de salir del purgatorio y finalmente dejar mi vida en el pasado. Ahora he terminado de ver mi vida de nuevo. Ahora voy al cielo.
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Bridget Murphy, pastel
The Man Clare Keeney There he was. A man whom I saw every day, but did not know. He was not older than 30 years, with a wonderful wife. All of the big city knew him and envied his success. I, too. My apartment was on the other side of the street, across from his. I could see him through my large windows. I had never talked to him but I knew from others that he had a good childhood and came from a fortunate and supportive family. I don't know why but I had always desired to be his friend. It was an irresistible and difficult attraction, like the attraction between a magnet and a refrigerator. But, despite the fact that I tried to meet him, I never found him. In my opinion, he had the perfect life. It was easy to see how much love existed in their house, almost as if it danced all around it. But it was the most evident with his new baby. I watched him take care of his wife for nine months and after, I saw him take the role of being a father. His baby was the most loved baby in the world. Some days I thought, "I could skip work so that I could watch them all day", but I always realized that this was ridiculous. I hoped the day would come when I would finally meet him. It scared me truly, there hadn't been anyone in my life who had an impact like he did. In truth, it was an obsession: one that I thought I would never understand. But, when the day arrived, I did not know how it was going to unfold. I received an invitation from someone
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in my office for a party on a boat. If it has been any other day, I would not have gone because I didn't like parties, but I knew that the man worked in a company that shared my office building, and thought it would be an opportunity to see him. That night, I dressed in my favorite clothes and went to the dock to board the boat. I saw many of my friends that work with me and I was having a lot of fun, but I never saw the man. After talking, eating, and drinking a lot, I found a place that was quiet and calm to relax a little. The boat was a jungle and the people were animals, and I needed to escape for a couple minutes. When I went up to the prow of the ship, I saw him. He was drinking there, alone. I couldn't believe that the moment arrived in which I was going to speak with him. I began to approach him but suddenly, he fell off the boat into the ocean. Upon seeing this, I froze and I couldn't move. Then, I ran to the edge of the boat and I saw him drowning. Again, I couldn't move. I couldn't yell. I couldn't make any noise. Suddenly, I felt myself spinning and drowning. Again. The whole world was spinning too. I couldn't feel my body. I felt my breath and my soul leave my body. Now I know where I am. Everything makes sense. It is now time to leave purgatory and finally leave my life in the past. Now I have finished watching my life over again. Now I am going to heaven.
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Dos Mundos Andrea Bernal Entró en la casa- Llena del olor de mango, y música de tango. Mis papás riendo, A veces no entiendo. Hablan de otro modo. Ellos me traducen y se me encienden las luces. Cuando estoy afuera, es de otra manera. No hay olor de mango, No hay música de tango. No hay esfuerzo y puedo expresarme. Mis palabras vuelan. Entiendo todo. No hay traducción, siento emoción. Regreso a mis raíces. El olor me envuelve y el sol me cobija. Las inmensas montañas, besan el cielo. El mar azul,
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me invita a nadar. La arena blanca y suave, me cubre con alegría. Estas son mis raíces, donde pertenezco. Regreso a mi hogar, todo es diferente. Las estaciones diferentes, cambios maravillosos. Un frío intenso, Un calor sofocante. Un extensa planicie, Edificios muy altos, Árboles sin hojas, Hojas verdes que nacen, y hojas coloradas. Este es mi hogar, donde pertenezco también. Dos vidas diferentes. Se estrellan y se juntan. Se funden en mi cuerpo, Se funden en mi alma. Estoy en dos mundos ¡Que siempre están juntos!
Margot Butler, digital photography
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Two Worlds Andrea Bernal I enter the house– filled with the scent of mangos, and the music of the tango. My parents laugh, words I don’t understand. They talk differently. They translate to me and my world is illuminated. When I am outside, It is different. No smell of mangos, No music of tango. There is no effort. I can express myself And my words fly. I understand everything. No translation, I feel excitement. I return to my roots. The smell surrounds me And the sun blankets over me. The immense mountains, They kiss the sky The blue sea, It invites me to swim
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The soft white sand, It covers me with joy. These are my roots, Where I belong. I return to my home, everything is different. Different seasons, Wonderful changes An intense cold, A stifling heat. An extensive plain, Very high buildings, Trees without leaves, Green leaves, And colored leaves. This is my home, Where I belong. Two different lives They crash and unite They merge in by body, They merge in my soul I'm in two worlds They are always united!
Grace Danahy, digital photography 91
Mary y Marie Sophia Brusco Las dos nacieron en la misma tierra, de mentes similares, estrictas, con listones altos. Con diferentes razones para salir, las dos llevaron sus tradiciones al país joven. Mary huyó de las bombas de los alemanas cenizas en su piel y terror pintado en su cara. Me contó todo sobre su hogar, que se derrumbó como su sueño de tener éxito en Italia. Marie huyó con su corazón, para perseguir a su Romeo. Cuando se casó con John, se casó con América, con sus oportunidades y todo lo demás. En su vida nueva, Mary dependía de los libros, la biblia y libros de textos. Cuatro lenguas y cuatros títulos, si el dinero se midiera en conocimiento, ella tendría una fortuna, pero su corazón era de hielo.
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Para Marie, su cabeza y corazón eran uno. Vender fruta en las esquinas, era el sueño americano para ella. Ella irradiaba una conmovedora desinterés, y si el dinero se midiera en conocimiento, ella sería pobre, pero con un corazón de oro. Sus hijos las connectaban Mary y Marie, a pesar de sus diferencias, se hicieron amigas. Veo a las dos en mi hermano, en su ánimo y en su determinación. Él es un recordatorio que las venas en nuestros cuerpos realmente son las raíces de nuestros antepasados.
Tatiana Lieberman, solarplate etching
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Mary and Marie Translated by Ally Grusky The two were born in the same land, of similar minds, strict, with high expectations. With different reasons for leaving, the two carried their traditions to the young country. Mary fled the bombs of the Germans ashes on her skin and terror painted on her face. She told me all about her home, which collapsed like her dreams to succeed in Italy. Marie fled with her heart, to pursue her Romeo. When she married John, She was married to America, with their opportunities and everything else. In her new life, Mary relied on books, the Bible and textbooks. Four languages and four titles, If money is measured in knowledge, she would have a fortune, but her heart was ice.
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For Marie, her head and heart were one. Selling fruit on street corners, was the American dream for her. She radiated a poignant disinterest, and if money is measured in knowledge, she would be poor, but with a heart of gold. Their children connect them Mary and Marie, despite their differences, became friends. I see the two in my brother, in his spirit and his determination. He is a reminder that the veins in our bodies really are the roots of our ancestors.
Andrea Bernal, digital photography 95
bajo las palmas de los pies Christina Weiler Spanish Translation by Ally Grusky verde turbio hasta la cintura, en gris aceitoso, piscardos pican nuestros dedos de los pies por horas y horas haciendo un hábito de tiempo malentendimiento. chapoteando en el licor de sirenas cuesta un poco acostumbrarse sombras con piel de plata nuestras y suyas, nunca parecía tan ansioso. después de que los lanzaron lejos, nuestros relojes nos observan más allá de la costa-despojado a cambio del océano sin límites. y los recuerdos están derechos debajo de las las palmas de los pies como los piscardos alimentando en el mapa de carreteras de talón callosas
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no podíamos adelantar el sol ni siquiera cuando dormía debajo de las copas. continuamos pensando cómo familiarizar esto todo parece mil millas desde el momento en que aguantábamos en el reloj.
97Teaken Haggerty, colored pencil
under the palms of our feet Christina Weiler waist deep in murky green, in oily gray, minnows nibble our toes for hours and hours making a habit of misunderstanding time. sloshing in mermaid’s liquor takes some getting used to. silver skinned shadows, ours and theirs, never looked so eager. after we toss them away, our watches watch us from beyond the shoreline -stripped in exchange for boundless ocean. and the memories were right there under the palms of our feet as the minnows nourished themselves on calloused heel road map. we couldn’t get over the sun
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even as it slept beneath treetops. we kept thinking how familiar this would all seem a thousand miles from the point where we stood on the clock.
Kate Gertsner, colored pencil and watercolor
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Andy Bella, watercolor and ink
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Miscellaneous
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Wpływowe sny Magdalena Dutkowska Była kiedyś mała dziewczynka, która żyła w tym wielkim świecie i miała dużą potrzebę, żeby zrobić coś wielkiego zamiast żyć zwykłym życiem, które nie ma sensu. Inni próbowali ją powstrzymać: mówili jej nie, nie potrafisz, nie próbuj nawet tego. To ją złościło, że inni wierzyli i ulżyło im, kiedy ktoś poddał się swoim marzeniom. Ona wiedziała, że życie nie jest łatwe, jest wadliwe, ludzie są chciwi. Marzyła o przyszłości, gdzie wojen, bezdomnych i głodujących byłoby jak najmniej; w którym wszyscy mają szansę. Myśląc o przeszłości, zaczęła zastanawiać i się pytać jak ona mogłaby zmienić świat — czasami zastanawiała się, czy to nie za dużo.
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Czy to w ogóle było możliwe? Odniosła się do swoich moralności i ideałów podczas ciężkich czasów wątpienia szukając dobrej i sprawiedliwej drogi. Wiedziała, że będzie taki czas, ze szczęściem i znakami ostrzegawczymi. Ale przez to wszystko, wytrwała z sercem— nic nie mogło ją oddzielić od jej marzenia.
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Katherine Sepulveda, pencil
Impactful Dreams Magdalena Dutkowska There was a young girl who lived in this big world. who felt a strong need to do a greater deed than live an ineffective life — a purpose no greater than a dull knife. People tried to prohibit by telling her no, you can't, don't even try it. This angered her so that some did believe and actually felt relieved when one gave up his dreams. She knew that life wasn’t easy; it was imperfect, people were greedy. She looked toward the future in which the number of wars, homeless, and hungry was fewer; in which there were more open doors. Reflecting upon the past, she began to wonder and ask how could she change the world as such — sometimes she questioned if it was too much.
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If it was even possible to occur? To her morals and idols she did refer during troubling times of doubt in search of the right and just route. She knew that there would be times, both with good luck and warning signs. But through it all, she persevered with heart — nothing could pull her and her dream apart
Lizzie Kupersmith, digital phtography
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Heidenröslein Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn, Röslein auf der Heiden, War so jung und morgenschön, Lief er schnell es nah zu sehn, Sah's mit vielen Freuden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden. Knabe sprach: "Ich breche dich, Röslein auf der Heiden." Röslein sprach: "Ich steche dich, Daß du ewig denkst an mich, Und ich will's nicht leiden." Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden. Und der wilde Knabe brach 's Röslein auf der Heiden; Röslein wehrte sich und stach, Half ihm doch kein Weh und Ach, Mußt' es eben leiden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden.
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Julia Pogge, colored pencil
Ava Vanech, colored pencil
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Heather Rose Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Translated by Anna von Guttenberg
A boy once spied a little rosebud, Rosebud on the heath, So young and delicate, He ran quick to see it near, Saw it with extreme delight. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Rosebud on the heath. Boy spoke: “I’ll break you, Rosebud on the heath.” Rosebud spoke: “I’ll prick you, so that you’ll always remember me, and I don’t want to suffer.” Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Rosebud on the heath. And the wild little boy broke the Rosebud on the heath; The rosebud guarded itself and pricked, Yet the wild boy was unaffected, Thus it had to suffer. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Rosebud on the heath.
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Думи мої, думи мої Taras Shevchenko Думи мої, думи мої, Лихо мені з вами! Нащо стали на папері Сумними рядами?.. Чом вас вітер не розвіяв В степу, як пилину? Чом вас лихо не приспало, Як свою дитину?.. Бо вас лихо на світ на сміх породило, Поливали сльози... чом не затопили, Не винесли в море, не розмили в полі?. Не питали б люде, що в мене болить, Не питали б, за що проклинаю долю, Чого нуджу світом? «Нічого робить»,— Не сказали б на сміх… Квіти мої, діти! Нащо ж вас кохав я, нащо доглядав? Чи заплаче серце одно на всім світі, Як я з вами плакав?.. Може, і вгадав... Може, найдеться дівоче Серце, карі очі,
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Що заплачуть на сі думи,— Я більше не хочу. Одну сльозу з очей карих — І пан над панами! Думи мої, думи мої, Лихо мені з вами!
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Emily Lencyk, mixed media
Thoughts of mine, thoughts of mine Taras Shevchenko English Translation by Zoryana Makarenko Thoughts of mine, thoughts of mine, Your presence is troubling! Why have you arranged yourself on my paper, In sorrowful rows?.. Why hasn’t the wind blown you away Like dust in a meadow? Why hasn’t trouble put you to sleep, Like the sleep of a baby child?.. Because trouble bore you for laughter in this world, And shed tears… but why did they not drown you, Not take you out into the ocean, not sweep you into the plains?. People do not ask what ails me, Nor do they ask why I sacrifice my fate, What I do in this world? “He does nothing,”- They sneer in mockery… My flowers, my children! What have I loved you for, why did I care for you? Will the world's heart weep for you, Like I cried with you?.. Maybe, I have guessed it…
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Maybe, there will be found a woman's Heart, hazel eyes, That will cry for all the thoughtsI want nothing more. A single empathetic tear from those dark eyesAnd my spirits will rise! Thoughts of mine, thoughts of mine, Your presence is troubling!
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Emily Lencyk, mixed media
Tatiana Lieberman, oil
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Editorial Policy Voices is published annually by a group of high school students at Convent of the Sacred Heart in Greenwich, Connecticut. The magazine receives many submissions of student’s writing, which the Editorial Board then compiles, edits, and then pairs with student artwork and photography. Led by two faculty advisors, a group of dedicated students meets during and after school and collaborates with the writers and foreign language teachers to select as many pieces as possible that demonstrate the range of creative talents of the student body, Once finished, 140 copies are printed and distributed to the school community at the end of the academic year. Since 2015, we have launched the production of digital copies. Students format the layout and artwork using Blurb BookWright on Mac OS X computers. The typeface is set in Times New Roman font size 11.
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Kate Gertsner, mixed media