The Key 2014 The Key 2014
The Key 2014
The Student Literary and Arts Magazine of the Rudolf Steiner School
the rudolf steiner school new york, new york michĂŚl editors
Contents To Us 8 Clara Dietz ’15 / Chloe Agar ’15
Acá estamos ahora 11 Andreina Himy ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
Evening (Innocence) 12 Carolyn Newmark ’15 / Eva Crawford ’15
Evening (Experience) 14 Carolyn Newmark ’15 / Eva Crawford ’15
I’m Sitting on a Hill 16 Montana Thomas ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
Three Haiku 18 Sasha Pinto ’16
Drained 19 Ella Prince ’15 / Isaac Scheinfeld ’16
The Ugly Maiden 20 Leah Chin ’14 / Sasha Pinto ’16
A Blue, Blue Wave 24 Oscar Panaretto ’15
I prefer 25 Vita Taurke ’14
Losing it 26 Carola Dixon ’15 / Annabel Berusch ’15
Digestive Systems of Monsters in Beowulf 28 Carolyn Newmark ’15 / Indira Mohabeer ’16
High School
Ella Prince ’15 / Leah Chin ’14
30 5
My Soul
31
Slum of Hope
32
Annabelle Vaës ’15 Sasha Pinto ’16
Lente 34 Andreina Himy ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
Suspended in Air / Natural Selection / Absolution 35 Shelsey Jimenez ’16
She Comes to Me 36 Andreina Himy ’15
Sin título 37 Angela Figueroa ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
Oh Comet—A Poem in the Style of Robert Burns
39
Tired Reticence
40
Carola Dixon ’15
Isaac Scheinfeld ’16
My Summer Revelation 41 Noah Kahan ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
Pop!
42
Ich will chinesisches Essen
44
Vita Taurke ’14 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15 Annabelle Vaës ’15
Survival 46 Sasha Pinto ’16
Poem in the Style of William Wordsworth 48 Shavasp Quillen ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
6
Fall / Spring / Winter 50 Anna Grimm ’16
Grime 51 Carolyn Newmark ’15 / Sebastian Rodriguez ’15
Wordsworth Poem 52 Carola Dixon ’15
Salaam
Manuel Smith ’15
back flap
7
Clara Dietz / Chloe Agar
To Us I squeeze myself between all this human flesh In the last wagon of the train, because thats where there is most space. How can I be so alone in between so many people? If I could, I would hold my breath until I’m outside again. But I can’t, so I breath in recycled air. The train moves. And stops. Moves. And stops . . . I feel like seaweed moving with the ocean’s flow. The ocean, that smashes against exhausted rocks. Like that we once were. Bluer, than blue itself. That is what we were. We were tangled, Knotted in twisted obsession. There was no thinking, just motion. It was sweet, but dark emotion. We shared the pureness of a first love. We ate packaged pudding And you played the guitar. I was always jealous of your guitar, It was a sick obsession. 8
We would talk about New York, It was unknown to us then, and it seemed so far away. But naturally, time would rush by, And I would realize too late, that our Berlin, had slipped through my fingers.
Once, you said you loved me, But I asked you why, I was always a “why?” child. I wish we had someone to blame for the end of our love, Someone who isn’t us. Love, that after a while became a chore, Tired of being the ocean I was, Smashing into you, A firm rock.
9
I just wanted you to care, I just wanted you to be on time. I never meant to be that ocean, I never meant to make us cry. The train moves. And stops. Moves. And stops . . . As it crashes into the demons that we once were. You were the stone, and I the wave.
10
Andreina Himy / Sebastian Rodriguez
Ac谩 estamos ahora Ahora: Aca estamos, y estamos viviendo. Somos los que somos y somos nosotros dos o tres o cuatro. Tu mano es mi mano y mi mano la puerta, no hay tiempo en la arena. Dunas de desolaci贸n. Altas, elegantes, vivian, miran. Nos miran. Somos ellas, somos todo. Mientras construyen relojes en mi, Todo se mueve. Sea mejor quedarnos quietos?
11
Carolyn Newmark / Eva Crawford
Evening (Innocence) The setting sun liquid glue Gracefully seeping its Lurex body in between the cracks of the plastic table draped in freezer dust— A bleached expanse of hammered popsicles.
*
I took the folding chair Of your hand and stretched my fingers As you opened your mouth and filled it with lettuce It was iceberg, I think; The wood deck was warm like stomachs, And the popcorn insects Roasted in the setting rays.
*
Remember when we used to Eat cantaloupe and figure out the puns.
*
At night when he came home, Car lights dousing the glow in the dark basketball Who we thought, hatched from God.
12
you running upstairs with cricket’s breath all over your cheeks into my room to turn up the air conditioner because it was an hour before sleep and Nighttime took us back to the womb.
*
Sometimes when the rain Tapped its fingernails on the glass Like the lady from the dry cleaners I would scurry into your humid microwave Bedroom, And slip into the unoccupied 30 seconds left and when the alarm went Your stuffed animal in my armpit And my hair in your face Mother’s voice calling for breakfast As she sung “waffles!”
13
Carolyn Newmark / Eva Crawford
Evening (Experience) The table where we sat was molting You were picking its skin of the brittle bones of leftover dinner
*
I don’t understand why I didn’t cry when my skull seeped into the cracks of the granite floor, right by the sink, with that squeaky faucet. I still turn that knob as if we still lived in IKEA.
*
Your lips smacking on those chicken wings, as they turned over in their own mush, and flew away never to come home.
*
Remember when we used to curl up together your breath, my mind, paralyzed in the hum of the air conditioner My room was always colder. An ice bunny without its overcoat
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*
The night when God went on a permanent business trip we threw all those toy trucks at each other; a storm of gleaming red bodies and rubber wheels. You told me that lightening couldn’t strike them, as they blended into our foreheads
*
Before the house took its nightly Tylenol, it whispered in my ear, creaking softly and I could hear the carpet crackle outside my open door Can you hear it too? There was a baby on the steps in the American Girl story I read just the night before all wrapped up in a cushy bag of blooming tears
*
Time had 30 seconds left to jolt, And I could hear you across the floor, Knocking your knees against the wooden drawers As Mother’s voice called 10 seconds early “Wake up!”
15
Montana Thomas / Sebastian Rodriguez
I’m Sitting on a Hill I’m sitting on a hill. The hill is far away from that little minded town, that small minded town, with star-shaped cookies baked by moms with short curly hair and eaten by teenagers dads other moms teachers and other humans with an appetite for altered echoes. In this little, small minded town there are shirts with tropical flowers on them but there are few flowers on the ground. However, there are rare occasions when a lamb from a distant field will meander accidentally and tragically into the town with a daisy or a buttercup in its mouth and for a second the humans feel free.
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But, no, no more of that tiny, small minded, little town that once seemed so big. I want to read icy words under the warm sun on a moist hill and when I see a lamb now its gonna laugh and probably even spit on me and steal a flower from our grassy smile factory. but thats whatever because we will grow more flowers (i hope) on the hill.
17
Sasha Pinto
Three Haiku Soft sweet pattering Warm rain in running rivers Waters my garden Tall thick growing grass Levelled by the rolling blade Smelling oh so green The rustle of wing . . . My eye catches sight of the High flying bluebird
18
Ella Prince / Isaac Scheinfeld
Drained My love is like the bubbling sap, It rises and wells and flows. And he, who hath the magic tap, Doth drain my heart like so. Doth drain my heart like so, like so, Like nectar drawn by the bee And I, the wilted flower of woe Am cursed eternally. Am cursed eternally, am I, By his frosted, frigid heart. That erupts no more, nor does it cry; For our love that fell apart. My love that fell apart, it cracked! Like lightning striking the sky. Heavenly dreams it doth lack, Fantasies perished, utterly dry! Perished and utterly dry, I’m left Like the thirsting brooks and trees, Who weep with sorrow, as if cleft By the remorse that encumbers me.
19
Leah Chin / Sasha Pinto
The Ugly Maiden Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen who had three sons. Although all three sons were very handsome, strong and learned, only one was a humble son. One day the King, who was deathly ill, had gotten another fever; he immediately called for all three sons to gather into his chambers so that he might speak with them before he passed. When all three had gathered around the King’s bedside, the King said, “My sons, sadly I shall soon die, which means one of you shall become King. Instead of appointing my eldest son as my heir, I have devised a contest that will give all three of you an equal chance of becoming King. He who finds the most beautiful maiden in all the land, he shall win my throne.” The princes were excited about their new task since they each believed that they could easily find the most beautiful maiden in all the land. On the morning after, they eagerly set off on their journey. The first son came upon a hut. Out of curiosity, he slowed down his horse to see if anyone was inside. When he realized that no one was there, he kicked the sides of his horse to continue on his way. Suddenly, he heard a soft sweet voice say, “ My prince, my prince come to me. Take me to your King For I am your bride to be.” When the prince looked down to see where the voice was coming from, the sight of an ugly maiden with dried hair, wrinkled skin, crooked teeth and tattered clothing frightened him. The noble prince spontaneously burst out into laughter. He said to her, “You? You? You could never be my bride. I want someone who is gorgeous, not a horrid creature like you. Be gone! For I have better things to do.” He again motioned for the horse to pick up 20
speed and rode away. The poor, ugly maiden walked back into her hut and cried herself to sleep. The next morning the second eldest prince came upon the same small hut that had been previously visited by his older brother. He, too slowed down his horse so that he might see if anyone was inside. This time, the prince got off of his horse and walked around the property. Just as he was about to mount back onto his horse, he heard the same soft sweet voice say, “ My prince, my prince come to me. Take me to your King For I am your bride to be.” When the prince looked down to where the attractive voice was coming from, the sight of the same ugly maiden frightened him. The second prince giggled a little but said to the maiden, “Poor maiden, I am sorry, but you are not the one whom I seek.” And with that, the second prince rode away. As before, the ugly maiden’s feelings were crushed again. On the third morning, as youngest prince set off in search of his future bride, he too came across the same hut as his older brothers. Like them, he was curious and decided to see if anyone was inside. This time, the young prince got off his horse and knocked on the door three times, but there was no answer. As he began to mount back onto his horse, he too heard the same soft sweet voice coming from behind him that said, “ My prince, my prince come to me. Take me to your King For I am your bride to be.” When he turned around, the same ugly maiden greeted him. He, too, was frightened by her appearance, but rather than laughing, the prince just stared at her. He wondered how it was possible for an ugly person to be the most beautiful person as well. The maiden’s feelings were hurt for a third time, and she began to cry. The confused prince was about to leave, but then he began to hear a beautiful voice singing. When he looked back, he realized that it was the maiden who was singing about 21
a spell that had been cast on a young maiden. The young prince immediately went back to the ugly maiden. He had heard the beauty in her voice, and he saw the kindness in her eyes. There was something about her that had intrigued him. Although it was hard, the prince tried to see past her appearance and focus on her beauty within. The prince did not take the ugly maiden back to the castle, but he visited her the next day and the next day and so on. After a week of visitations, the young prince and the maiden became quite good friends. On the seven day, the prince decided to fulfill her request and take her to the King. Despite the fact that she was nothing close to what the King had asked for, the prince decided to take a chance. When the young prince arrived at the palace, his older brothers, who had also brought back women they considered to be the most beautiful maidens, greeted him. The women were covered and were not to be revealed until they were presented to the King. All three princes, with the cloaked maidens, gathered in the court of their father, the King. The eldest prince was the first to reveal his maiden. Although she was pretty, the King did not consider her to be the most beautiful in the land. This conclusion upset the eldest son, but at the same time, gave hope to his younger brothers. The middle prince was the second to reveal his maiden, but, again, was not able to fulfill what the King had requested. The youngest son was the last to present his finding. He knew that he had not found a physically pretty girl, but the one thing the young prince was certain about was the ugly maiden’s beauty from within. When he removed the cloth, he and the rest of the people in the court were in awe of the beauty of the maiden; her beauty was that of Helen of Troy. At that moment, the prince immediately fell in love with the maiden. Although she was indeed gorgeous, the King, just like his youngest son, saw the kindness in her eyes. The King was then certain that the woman before him was the most beautiful maiden in the world. 22
The older princes were puzzled about where their younger brother had managed to
find such a treasure. Then, the maiden said, “I am the ugly maiden who appeared before all three of you when you came upon my hut. A spell had been put on me by a Queen who was jealous of my beauty, and the only way the spell could be broken was for a prince was able to see past my outward appearance and see my beauty from within.� The older princes were disgusted by their superficiality and lack of humility. The King and the two older princes then knew that the young prince deserved to be the heir to the throne. Later that year, the King passed away, and the young prince with his new bride lived happily ever after as King and Queen of the kingdom.
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Oscar Panaretto
A Blue, Blue Wave Life is like a big, blue wave, Crashing on the shore; Tearing down all in its path, Knocking on your door. With strength and power, really tall, Right at you in a flash; It will swiftly rise and fall, Creating a big splash. Take a chance and make a friend, See where that ocean takes you; Looking forward to the end, Love all that you will do.
24
Vita Taurke
I Prefer I prefer sunny porches. I prefer cotton. I prefer the grey of the sky before rain to the grey of the pavement. I prefer brownstone. I prefer clucking chickens. I prefer the potential that an idea holds to the process of the execution. I prefer waistcoats and pocket-watches. I prefer learning for the sake of curiosity to learning for the sake of knowledge. I prefer spectacles. I prefer hot food on a cold day to cold food on a hot day. I prefer the loneliness of solitude to the loneliness of a crowd. I prefer tangled woods to structured gardened paths. I prefer the empty glances of strangers to the empty glances of friends. I prefer the yellow sock poking through the hole in a worn-out white canvas sneaker. I prefer the suffocation of laughter. I prefer running too fast.
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Carola Dixon / Annabel Berusch
Losing It Don’t you just wish you were mad? To step out of your canvas shoes and just be absolutely, colorfully, hypnotically, mad? Don’t you envy those with seeded minds? Minds that flower in the spring, a kaleidoscope of moments with budding dreams and blooming thoughts. Pink and blue in the summer. The wind moving their being, where the ocean meets the heavens to a tune you can’t perceive. Then the moment is over and the heavens are swept away by the cosmic tides And left behind are only the twinkling stars, like sea shells on a beach. Don’t you wish you were mad; awesome in the autumn, fire and gold and just too too much? Too much to be, too much to understand, Just infinitely insane but no one sees because the leaves are red and so are you and you just disappear into something maybe even madder than yourself. Then the leaves reach the earth And like the trees you stand barren and consumed, because this life is exhausting and one soul can only give so much. So there you are, naked, Waiting for the movement to end and the city to see the crystal being in the park. 26
Only it’s not a statue, it’s you.
Covered in a million flakes of frozen star dust, waiting for everyone, waiting for everything, to decide they want to live again. Because you never stop living. Never stop living your crazy, insane, beautiful, pointless, stupid, life. Don’t you just wish you were mad?
27
Carolyn Newmark / Indira Mohabeer
Digestive Systems of Monsters in Beowulf
28
Gravely grunting,
the monsters paddle
Through the bubbling phlegm,
the blubbery film
Which stifles their songs,
as they groan with hunger
Their furnace waits
for those who tumble,
Down their dark
and deathly gut
The powder of limbs
coats their acid-maker
As an inflating heart
pumps chewed ore,
Through tired tissue
of bursting veins
And marrow-straws
heavy with oil
Drip onto organs
whose slabs contract
And the tone-outlet
buzzes and moans
From Asgard on high,
the powerful heavens.
29
Ella Prince / Leah Chin
High School High School. The words cascade through my mind, dripping with fear. It’s midnight, then, one, two, three, four in the morning and insomnia has slowly nestled her way beside me in bed. The feigned alarm clock tolls and it’s already seven a.m.? So I inject lethal caffeine into my juvenile body, trembling with satisfaction. I crash. And drool seeps out of my mouth only to wash away the vandalism on the desk. So I wriggle back into bed twelve hours later, amazed that darkness has returned. But I turn on the light switch in my head, illuminating my thoughts— The thoughts I have concocted during my reveries. So it’s midnight, then, one, two, three, four in the morning and insomnia has yet again slowly nestled her way beside me in bed. The cycle repeats, And high school is eternal.
30
Annabelle VaĂŤs
My Soul Ah, my feet are like the roots my dear, The roots of a wise old tree. Ah, my body is like the trunk my dear, As sturdy as one can be. Ah, my arms are like the branches my dear, That give to all they see. But where oh, is my soul my dear? For it is not with me. For it is not with me my dear, I know where it has gone. For lad, you are my soul my dear, Oh why have you withdrawn? It was so dark and fell my dear, The minute you hurried on. And I was cold and wet my dear, Until the break of dawn! Oh for you are like the sun my dear, That shares its warmth and glow. And you come ever back my dear, Which I should trust and know. Which I should trust and know my dear, As time does always show. Ah yes, for I love you so my dear, My beau, my heart, my soul.
31
Sasha Pinto
Slum of Hope I never imagined I could be so spellbound and awestruck by heaps of garbage, piles of corrugated shacks, hordes of people, and miles of filthy dirt roads. But that is exactly what happened to me four years ago when I visited the remarkable Mukuru slum outside Nairobi, Kenya. At first I was horrified, but after my senses re-calibrated, I realized it was the most amazing place I had ever seen. The streets were buzzing with energy, enterprise and dogged determination. The shacks are home to butchers, tailors, barbers, people hawking battery charging stations, pirated dvds, mattresses, plastic wash buckets . . . everything and anything! Despite the deplorable conditions, an aura of hope and optimism filled the air—along with the smell of cooking fires and roasted corn and nuts that were being sold at many of the shops. There was another smell that was not as pleasant. It was the stench of open sewers lining the streets because these shacks did not have toilets and often housed several generations of families crammed into one room. The roads were deeply rutted and as we drove at a snail’s pace, I was thrown from side to side in the vehicle. A cacophony of sounds assaulted my ears: blaring Kenyan pop music, horns from other cars, peddlers bargaining loudly, and most of all, the sound of children. And not just a few children but hundreds of them streaming from everywhere, surrounding the car. It was very rare they received visitors in the slum. “Hello! Hello! Hello!” “How are you? How are you? How are you?” The little children shoved their hands, blackened by dirt, through the car window and tried to shake my hand, which was now grimy and filthy too. They reached out to grab my arms as well, because my arms seemed so odd and white to them. Children streamed out of the houses and muscled their way through the crowd to the car. They pressed their faces 32
against the windows to get a better look at my family and me. Looking at their tattered
apparel, I felt silly in my smart-casual New York City sports clothing. All these children were beautiful and beaming with happiness. They seemed not to have a care in the world. But their faces were filthy and flies stuck to the corners of their eyes and to the sores and open cuts on their faces. My eyes teared looking at them, and I had to resist the temptation to brush the flies off of their faces. All around us, life continued as normal. People were put together meticulously in suits, dresses and high heels, greeting each other cordially as they picked their way around the heaps of garbage and open sewers to catch the city bus out of the slum to work. It is amazing that these people, whose houses are dilapidated without electricity or running water, could look so tidy and keep their clothes so pristine. One would never detect that these people came from a slum. But this is not a slum, nor the sort of poverty that we understand. This one is filled with hope.
33
Andreina Himy / Sebastian Rodriguez
Lente Saber quien decir, a quien mirar, a quien sentir. Entender: que del ojo nace el mundo, y del mundo uno vive, y de la vida nace uno, y uno es luz. Creciendo nunca paro, conosco y me asusta. El hombre crece y se asusta, el hombre conoce y nunca para. Entender: Que del ojo nace el mundo, y del mundo uno vive, y de la vida nace uno, y uno es luz. Saber: que por esto uno muere.
34
Shelsey Jimenez
Suspended in Air As the fog rolls down Like a wave of air crashing... Reality fades.
Natural Selection The plant cons the fly It’s nature’s double agent Snap close, then it goes.
Absolution The leaf shimmers now Having been washed From heavenly sky.
35
Andreina Himy / Sebastian Rodriguez
She Comes to Me Tonight the sky is pale, And the air moves slow and cold, like a spirit. A squirrel scurries for warmth, And she comes to me. I can feel her stillness this evening, As she reposes in this young Moon, Her small feet dangling As she giggles. She comes to me in the hollow branches, Which so vulnerably sway, Like the tall Pampas Grass in our treasured South American lands, Where once we together played. She comes to me in the crack of moon light which bounces From her, To a window, To my cold face. She comes to me when I catch the sound of a creature’s step. And when my eyelids close, she comes to me: As our fingers caress the cotton of our grandmother’s nightgown. She is with me tonight, in all the life that blooms.
36
And when her tale is over, And we both have shared a smile, She says goodbye, she says she’s tired. After all, she’s just a child. And in a simple instant, she returns to her eternal rest. From my sight she has faded once again. Where does she go? Where has she been? I’ll never know. She has left me, but not alone, For tonight, amongst the beaming stars, She has adorned the moon, which we’ll forever share. And I will wake and rest under its flare, Cradled by whispers which only my heart can hear. The softest light I see, She will forever be with me. The night is now golden, And the air moves slow and tender, Like love. For her laugh remains with me.
37
Angela Figueroa / Sebastian Rodriguez
Sin tĂtulo La lluvia de Madrid, dulce. Tu mirada, ausente. Tu beso, amargo. El sol, brillante. Nuestro amor muerte Madrid, vivo.
38
Carola Dixon
Oh Comet: A Poem in the Style of Robert Burns Falling star, your passion is the reddest of all heaven, You outshine the holy stars and are a woman’s venom Just like my boy, you dance your way into my mind I have but to look up, to see you leaping ‘cross the sky Just like him, you arrive unannounced. Radiating light Splashing the sky with shades that cancel the night, Oh comet, you are the wild lover of the moon Promising love in the evening and gone by noon Oh comet, what pulls your soul to the wild wild fall? The need, for a moment, the whole world enthrall? Your light glazes my eye; your love doth burn my soul For I know you’ll burn out, leaving cosmic debris at my feet.
39
Isaac Scheinfeld
Tired Reticence A hurricane of stagnant breath tears limb from limb my mortal soul as winds repressed by fear of death lay waste to all that life should hold I prepare to meet my doom by hurling forth the furious storm I devise myself a heavenly tomb where but the winds me upward bore In my despair at what should bear unwelcome through the gates of my own dismal thoughts, I cry aloud then weep for selfish solitude What next will chance I cannot tell, yet somehow feel the game will end For that one player whose move is set Moves not and may not move again I sit and stare before me cold The lifeless figurines grow old As I my life before me fold What’s left shall end as I foretold
40
Noah Kahan / Sebastian Rodriguez
My Summer Revelation In the rocky lands of the Golan Heights, looking out into Syria, I heard what no sixteen year-old, nor kid should ever hear in their lifetime. I heard the explosions of rockets and saw white smoke rising from the ground, as if I were actually on the battlefield. I didn’t feel any angst, why? I was safe, yet someone 40 miles from me might have been hiding in a bomb shelter maybe dodging death. Ironically two minutes after I saw the white smoke, my friends and I were laughing, feeling safe and secure. Yet walking away I felt a rock in my stomach, a heavy one that many countries weighed down. In Syria, we have seen many people die, yet no one has made drastic changes to stop it. I felt world politics in my stomach, churning, stuck, trying to get out, but not before setting me ablaze and the world along with it.
41
Vita Taurke / Sebastian Rodriguez
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pow! Pow! Kazaam! Zap! Explosions of light popping through the air Like fireworks! Fireworks that explode and scream and cry and explode and laugh and dance until you don’t know what it is any longer other than light and light and light and light and light and light and do you want to try a piece of liver Today I found a cockroach in my bed it scared me Friendly pennies turn around An empty box of caramels sits in my desk And slowly fills up with coins Stories are told and re-told with bigger beginnings and smaller endings every time The delicacy of mashed potatoes is astounding to me Another living breathing being in my room A living breathing blaring siren Blaring what is it that opens and closes but doesn’t affect my toes but drills my head with hopelessness And light fills me And love that is too big to express with a word So I remain silent Until the silence is ended and ended and ended and ended it doesn’t stop ending you see Crackling like the aftermath of an explosion It is not beautiful 42
I don’t want it to be.
Loud bursts of light and calm waves of sound Looking through the fireworks of the night to find the brilliance of the light and then go as fast as you can as fast as you can as fast as you can as fast as you can as fast as you can POP!
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Annabelle Vaës
Ich will chinesisches Essen Ich habe eine solche Sehnsucht nach chinesischem Essen. Ich habe wirklich Hunger! Ich fahre jetzt mit meinem Auto zu einem chinesischen Restaurant, um chinesisches Essen zu kaufen. Ich biege links ab und fahre auf eine Straße durch einen Wald. Ganz plötzlich beginnt mein Auto zu schrumpfen. Ich auch! AHHHH!!! Was passiert denn hier?!? Mein Auto hört auf zu schrumpfen und ich stehe von meinem Auto auf. O Gott! Der Rosenbusch beim Auto ist groß wie ein Baum und die Bäume sind groß wie Berge! Ich bin klein! Was soll ich machen? Ich fange an zu weinen. Wer hat das gemacht? Wie kann ich wieder groß werden? Während ich klein bin, kann ich spazieren gehen. Ich kann nichts anderes machen. Vielleicht finde ich jemanden im Wald, der mir helfen kann. Als ich laufe, erinnere ich mich, dass ich gestern hier in diesem Wald spaziert bin und eine Apfelsine hier gelassen habe. Dort drüben sehe ich etwas Oranges und ich freue mich! Ich renne zum Baum und da sehe ich ein Mädchen mit orangen Haaren, einen alten Mann mit einem weißen Bart, einen Jungen mit einem Tannzapfen-Hut, ein Eichhörnchen, zwei Kröten, einen Faulpelz und eine Eidechse bei meiner Apfelsine. Sie sagen plötzlich: „Hallo!“ Ich kann nichts sagen, weil ich so schockiert bin. Endlich sage ich: „Ummm.... Hallo.“ „Woher kommen Sie?“ fragt das Mädchen. Ich erzähle dann meine Geschichte und zum Schluss frage ich: „Wissen Sie, wie ich wieder groß werden kann?“ „Ja wir wissen es! Sie müssen einen Keks von der Schwanen-Elfe bekommen. Sie wohnt beim Teich auf der anderen Seite dieses Waldes,“ sagt das Mädchen. „Ich kann mit Ihnen gehen,“ sagt der Junge mit dem Tannzapfen-Hut. Ich sage danke und dann fangen wir an zu laufen und laufen, bis es Nacht ist. Plötzlich sehe ich Elfen und zwei Jungen spielen mit blauweißen Lichtern. Die Jungen haben graue Kleidung und Pilzhüte. Die Elfen singen wie Engel und der Klang ist so schön. Zwei kleine Mädchen mit gleicher Kleidung und Pilzhüten wie ihre Brüder beobachten die Elfen. Sie sind erstaunt über die Elfen! Hinter den Elfen sind Felsen, die lebendig sind. Sie lächeln und sind sehr ruhig. Der Junge mit dem 44
Tannzapfen-Hut bringt mich zum Felsen und da sehe ich einen Eingang zu einer Höhle.
„Wir werden da drin schlafen,“ sagt der Junge und er geht hinein. „Wir müssen morgen den ganzen Tag laufen. Sie müssen jetzt schlafen. Gute Nacht,“ sagt der Junge. „Gute Nacht,“ sage ich. Diese Nacht träume ich von Katherine Hepburn und Audrey Hepburn. Sie sprechen mit mir und sie beraten mich. Am Morgen stehen wir früh auf und fangen an zu laufen. Wir laufen den ganzen Tag und jetzt ist es Nacht. Ganz plötzlich sagt der Junge, dass wir hier beim Teich sind. Der Teich ist still und ruhig. Das Licht des Mondes scheint auf den Teich. Es ist so schön! Dann sehe ich eine Schwanen-Elfe die auf einem großen Schlüssel beim Teich tanzt. Während sie tanzt, sagt sie, dass ich mit ihr tanzen muss, um einen Keks zu bekommen. Ich fange an zu tanzen und ich werde plötzlich ruhig und glücklich! Nach fünf Minuten sagt sie, dass ich in Übereinstimmung mit der Nature lebe, und dass ich einen Keks nehmen könne. Ich nehme einen und danken beiden für ihre Hilfe. Ich esse den Keks und ich wachse. Ich wachse und wachse. Ich wachse bis ich meine normale Größe wieder erreicht habe. Die Schwanen-Elfe gibt mir auch eine Makrone für meine Reise zurück. Ich bedanke mich herzlich, nehme die Jungen auf meine Schulter und sage: „Bitte, führt mich zurück.“
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Sasha Pinto
Survival Mighty and tall, with my brothers, I see the world below me. This land, this forest and others, We rule by natural decree. I am the tallest of the oak, And the king of the wood: Ancient forest of all hope— I stand for everything that is good. Hundreds of years, I’ve been passing My brothers have been felled; Invaded by machines, surpassing The forests gone; our songs quelled Now in a garden I’m admired, Pruned and trimmed to a perfect state; Never wild, no less inspired; Restrained inside by a metal gate— I am welcome shade and autumn tones, Amusements only for a privileged few; Who rest below me and toss stones, Carving initials, then saying adieu.
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Many changes have struck my land, Where once I stood a timeless wonder; Within a wood so green and grand, But it’s gone, my forest asunder. One day I spot new birds in flight And watch the setting sun; I marvel at the children’s delight To stay with me when day is done. Hope has sprung, and its face is this child, Who loves my trunk, my leaves and boughs, Scampering over my limbs so beguiled— Yes, we’ll survive, brothers, and I smiled.
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Shavasp Quillen / Sebastian Rodriguez
Poem in the Style of William Wordsworth The trees covered with snow Drift in the breeze swaying; The distant howl of a wolf, Eerie, resounding, it echoes; A stream nearby gushing Over frozen rocks and twigs, through forests veiled in white; A hare, camouflaged, Hides from its predators: A remembrance: The bright full moon Drifted over the land The hare scampered. Through brush it rushed, Its pursuers followed close; A pack full of hungry males Now inches behind; A wolf lunged forward, Clamped its jaws deep: Deep into the warm flesh. Bones broke and snapped; Life came to a sudden halt. A survivor watched From a distance unseen, Dashed out of sight. 48
Night became day,
Day became night. The dead hare gone would ne’er return. The survivor recalls that night’s memories; harsh and sudden; One error: life ends. His friend’s death, His continuation. Its life is mourned: This hare wanders on; Now more silent; More careful.
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Anna Grimm
Fall A blanket of gold, across endless hills of green fades as summer ends.
Spring Hushed, sunny evening warm, humid breeze tickles me with the smell of spring.
Winter A chill in the air, bitter and violent winds send shivers up my spine
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Carolyn Newmark / Sebastian Rodriguez
Grime
The man on the gravelly subway platform was eating his jacket as the dog waddled too close to the edge the weighty grey puffs of building’s cigars squeeze their way through the holes in the grates and turned to excrement flavored mouthwash at the bottom of the tracks the girl was smacking on pink lemonade starbursts because all the other ones don’t matter they are like biting into fresh rubber covered monkey bars on a sunny day when your mom is trying to feed you foam peanuts that are disguised as bees and when the train comes like your uncle who has eaten too much of his ego on thanksgiving it rocks back and forth while the people look down plugged in and unaware of the whole they are a part of unaware that a thin layer of clothing separates their genitals because if they were aware aware of the shoes the small feet aware of the lady who mutters to god aware of the comfort of the lack of air between their neck and someone’s work boots they might realize that the subway doors close centimeters from our faces and the lady who mutters to god is really muttering to her slurped dreams
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Carola Dixon
Wordsworth Poem Grey steps in a grey city on grey pavement Where withered by the thirst for passion the city turns to chalk And all I see are bones without a body As I place step after step, after step, after step Along the path, on the subway, around the gutter Where ants crawl around and around and there is movement but no connection I am walking in a suffocated city, and everything is just gray. On my finger tips I still feel the dry blood of a nation far away. A nation where a rainbow serpent once etched the creeks and rivers And his soul brought so much color to the land That bleeding land The land who cried so many tears that now their blueness surrounds her And wild dangers live trapped between the green grass and the green forest canopy The land full of wild pain and sorrow, of punishing anger and death But in the eve, the sun can’t help but give one last smile to she, the wild country So it sets the sky afire in pink and purple, one last kiss before it says goodnight. With every easy footstep on the pavement Of the cold calculating city that will not budge from grey, Reaction is the same. And all feeling shifts between varying shades of black 52
And her tears are the murky waters of the hudson
That roll along untempered by any new sadness Surrounded by clanks and horns and buzzing and speaking But all I hear is the kookaburra laugh. For how daring the night of the grey city may be The eye that has seen the color of my land, That saw life through a saturated lens, Is blind in the dark. And in the land of dreaming Two lovers may be separated by a vastness that is hard to understand And still see the same setting sun and bleeding land Yet where does the sun set in the grey city? I walk through the grey city and I cry Because my love is elsewhere And in the darkness all I wish to see is the cross hang low over the ocean As I wait for the sun to rise again; to shine its rays and shed light on the bleeding, crying, dangerous land My land.
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Staff Elisha Andrade ’14 Carola Dixon ’15 Anna Grimm ’16 Carolyn Newmark ’15 Sasha Pinto ’16 Ella Prince ’15 Emily Rentrop ’14 Danielle Sang ’14 Meg Schaeffer ’14 Anna Sweeney ’14 Vita Taurke ’14 Annabelle Vaës ’15 Co-Editors in Chief
Elisha Andrade ’14 / Carolyn Newmark ’15
Art Editors
Andreina Himy ’15 / Ella Prince ’15
Layout & Design
Carolyn Newmark ’15
Faculty Advisors
Carol Bärtges, Alexander Yagupsky
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The Rudolf Steiner School New York, New York
The Rudolf Steiner School New York, New York