Echoes from the Hall
Poetry and Art Journal
Stuart Hall High School
20102011
The Machine of Expectation By Elliot Boschwitz ‘11 Every day is a pattern. We follow the script and never make the picks, we accept and never fix, we are subject to the Matrix that has predetermined our lives. And the machine goes on, without a break or hesitation, only prolongs. it’s like some sort of operation that’s only in fond of creating a place where voices are gone. It’s a pattern, you see, we truly are the phonies that failed to be saved by that cliff. We are the Noahs of the world, and not the Abrahams, because no one ever taught us to conceive the complexities and formalities of such a lost species. Old trumps new, dark envelops light, might translates to lost insight in the midst of the twilight that we fail to conquer. The plight of this flight has veered off course, into the depths of an abyss that not even Jesus Christ can save. Either it’s all right or all wrong. Where’s the in between? I don’t want to be a victim of this system of plagues, dismay, corruption and disarray, of injustice, inequality, intervention, insensitivity, indiscretion and of so many words that start with “in,” that inside, just make me twitch. And it’s all part of the pattern. The gears cannot be stopped—it’s just endless clatter, we continue with our lives, because it doesn’t matter whether we have vocal cords, it’s all just chatter. They just scold at us, and tell us to respect the system and its pains, we cannot circumvent the one-way street that respect has really spent in tedium and persistence that does not relent. To most of you, I recite a story that has no meaning. It’s probably too late for you anyway, Holden’s shift is over. If I have failed to converse the message of my work, then I shall summarize in this one, last verse: Do you dare disturb the universe? Or are you the oil that lubricates the gears of the machine?
I Shake the Universe (And I Dare You To Do The Same) by Cathal Dayton ‘11 I shake the universe, and dare you to do the same I dare you to shake the universe, as you know it now To relinquish all sense of self-doubt and inhibition To act boldly and selflessly For only in this way can you truly be free. This is the lesson I learned through storm and stress. Human flesh is not made of stone Yet many people act as if they were rocks And remain stationary for all their lives Instead of rising up for what they want. It is because they are afraid. Afraid of what may happen and what could go wrong. They let their fear drown out their sense of hope, That hope that there are greater things out there, Waiting to be discovered by those brave enough to take the road less traveled by You’d like to believe that you are one of these people, But deep down you uncover the plain and simple truth that you are not. So I challenge you to take up arms with me in this crusade, A crusade whose goal many have heard of but few understand. I am a soldier of this expedition And I will forever proudly champion this cause. Determination is my sword and with it I fend off life’s many dilemmas. Hope is my shield and it protects me when I am down. Tact is my helmet and from within it I see things others do not. Love is my battle standard- I would fight and die to protect it. And while the battle may never be won at least we can say we fought Because the only true defeat is felt by those who merely watched from the sidelines And sat and squandered their time here for mere pebbles. This life has more to offer than simple riches and power, Other treasures that, while intangible, are worth tenfold more than any trove or hoard. Respect, humor, and friendship make up the trifecta For once you learn to value these things you will never be poor. Because as you give these things you will receive them in return And just as with mundane money you should aim to spread this wealth far and wide Not just for yourself, but for others too, So that they may share in your wealth And their lives will be much improved. In this way you will be like a pebble that is thrown into a pond Though you are a small part of this world, your ripples will be felt by many. So what are you waiting for? You now know why I shake the universe Will you rise to the challenge and do as I do? Or are you one of those rock-people? We shall see.
Will Campbell ‘12 - The Map is not the Territory
Peter Melling ‘12 - The Temple
Lucid by Joseph Lam ‘13 They said you were a wanderer, Falling through the clouds from your mother ship. You came running to me from far away, Bouncing off of water drops, Your eyes glistened like diamond on the soft, wet, ground. I caught you in a daze, not hearing anything you said, Will you be my friend? You looked worried so you grabbed my arm and started running. I flew past flower puddles and trees of butterflies, The molten sky dripping from the faucet, Ticking like a metronome. You ran as if you never ran before, Like the first flight of a baby bird. But I had not a clue where we were going, Winding into a chasm of your mind. We separated and I fell behind, Watching as you disappeared around a corner. I stood at the foot of a spiral staircase that stretched endlessly into the clear blue sky, Looking up, I could see a shadow, drifting and gliding up at a blinding pace. I went up that winding staircase, into nothingness‌ Light wrapping around me like liquid sun, No longer feeling each step, speeding up faster and faster. Nearing the end, I could see a lone window, Only clouds for as far as the eye could see. No latches or hinges so I turned away,
Where were you? I stood at a balcony looking down; so high up there was no ground, It was a dead end; there was no other way you could’ve gone. My mind overcame my body as I felt a rush, I climbed up on the rail and jumped fearlessly into the abyss, Life clinging onto my collar from behind like a long lost song, I could no longer feel the wind. I cuddled my thoughts and wishes with a soft white blanket, Everything was coming to an end and right before I hit the ground, That cold, hard, wretched ground, I felt my bed move from a gust of gold and silver light. My eyes still closed, trapped in that window frame, I stopped and thought, maybe it was all just a… But I swear I heard your voice.
Alex Asdourian ‘12 - Soul Shore
Untitled By Elio Casinelli ‘14 whose steel machine have i just found who’s blackened nails are in the ground the furnace meek and lit to dim With head thats stout but eyes are thin has eyes of wandring heart is sound but taken down in Satan’s fight So glistening Emmanuel has brought your soul from all that fell and when he touched your body wake my friend is found alive, awake so listen you to whom i tell god saves the good from depths of hell
Joey Jweniat ‘13 - San Francisco Print
The Only Place I Want to be Welcomed by Connor Bottum ‘11 Riding on a train. Silent except for the sanctuary drawn from the music: Just the way it should be. Tunnels to landscape and back. Entering the darkness, I shut my eyes. Black—nothingness, yet ironically everything; Black—my phone—the only thing that can make me smile While I remain constrained here by everything keeping me from you; Golden black thread running through my fingers; In the darkness, anything is possible; A train can hop tracks, taking me directly southwest: The one place I want to be. The hunk of metal emerges from above riding on an even slope, My eyes open while my prayers become obsolete. But I never feel truly lonely in the light; For on my wrist lies a pass Given to me by the hand of the thread. It has taught me That while I may be here, Held by the light, I am always a part of The Darkness.
Harry Conrad ‘12 - Skeletons
Writing Lucas Chan ‘14 Words may make a man compete They are a lie and mean deceit They twist you in unknown ways As if you were made up of clay I do not know how to write It draws me into its fistfight I struggle like a falling kite I cannot be a word knight Then it became really easy Like the flight of a bee Writing became a breeze to me God finally has heard my plea
Joseph Lam ‘13 - Jumper
Lions Never Die by Camron Tarassoly ‘11 Rendezvous beneath the gray clouds of her precipitant skies. No stars gaze at the doleful people of this city. With eyes closed, her crestfallen children depart from the cliffs of her mountains. With eyes closed, they retire, making their blankets from the flurry of snowflakes that unwittingly bury their beautiful bodies with unprejudiced cold love. I lived, ephemerally, in that realm of forgotten love. And no one would know how I lived, No one would know how I died. No one would acknowledge my heinous words. No one would see otherwise, For if there is no love, may my body be vanquished. After all, lions never die.
Adam Schutz ’11 - Dramatic Black Sky; April 2010 Photoshop
Work Must Be Done Colin Shepard ‘13
We have enclosed ourselves into a shell of our own perception, a padded room were we have substituted discovery for comfort. A room locked with heavy bolts forged of sloth and the sub-conscious defeat that grips the fallen souls of this world. These walls are made of the intolerable daily routine of our minds.
Break free.
Let in this bitter world we inhabit, swell your chest with the frostbitten air and allow your hands to callus for work must be done.
There is still much work to be done.
Take up hammers and picks and the flaming instruments of creation. Strike your mettle while it is white-hot and sharpen your mind to a fine point. We must not stumble.
For much work must be done.
Scrape your rusty eyes and squint into the wind and salt and love and the victory of liberation. Heat your heart and dirty your hands.
For much work must be done.
Adam Schutz ‘11 - Great Ocean Road
Skyler Dayton ‘12 - The Map is not the Territory
Un Chance by Will Campbell ‘12 Me llamo Jesus Hidalgo, Dicen que soy el hijo de algo.
Yo quiero llevarte ayi, al desierto Yo quiero llevarte donde la arena esta fria y el aire siente como los respiros del diablo Yo quiero llevarte a un pais nuevo donde personas no te ayudan Yo queiro llevarte con mi.
Me llamo Jesus Hidalgo, Dicen que soy el hijo de algo. I want to take you there, to the desert I want to take you where the sand is cold and the air feels like the breaths of the devil I want to take you there to a new country where people don’t help you I want to take you with me. Me llamo Jesus Hidalgo, Dicen que soy el hijo de algo. Orale! Vamos a la playa guey! Orale! Días contentos con mis amigos son súper buenos Pero hoy dia, no tengo muchos de esos; Corrupción, Violencia, y Pobreza Yo vivo con estos cada dia Y estoy terminado con la miseria; Mi amigo y yo vamos a escapar, Y hemos oído de un perfecto lugar.
Vamos Nadamos Corremos Escondemos Necesitamos llegar! Me llamo Jesus Hidalgo, Dicen que soy el hijo de algo. What’s amazing is that I got here, Not easy believe it or not…so open your ears The air smells different, tangy almost, clean It turns out that I miss the family and the Mexican scene. Prespective Perspective Perspective…. I go from being a successful villager to a supposed criminal And this place was supposed to be biblical Me llamo Jesus Hidalgo, Dicen que soy el hijo de algo. El Enrique Iglesias, el Pitbul, El Daddy Yankee… Ellos que representan la cultura de los hispanos Yo trabajo y yo solo quiero suceder Pero es difícil cuando nadie me ayuda. Ay Dios, Yo quiero mi Mejico. Me llamo Jesus Hidalgo, Dicen que soy el hijo de algo.
Grant Kawahatsu ‘12 - Masacres, Asesinatos y Desapariciones
Dominic Cheung ‘13 - Aura of Space
Ode to a Teapot by Brandan La ‘12
I’ve known you since I was a child, that song says something about you: short and stout with a handle and spout but that’s too shallow, I would say. You’re deeper than that, although you might hold only a cups-worth of tea. You’ve poured for the queen, the raja, the emperor, the sultan, and the Earl of Grey but you also serve the poor and the destitute. You’re blind and mute and take many forms: glass, porcelain, clay, even metal but it just further proves you don’t discriminate. You don’t mind your neighbors, the jam and the biscuit from dim sum to crumpet. They’re all fine with you, sharing that tray. And although you’re lid may be closed, you’re open to any friend whether it be packaged in leaf, brick, or bag. You hold white, red, green, yellow, black, chai, butter, oolong, and mint. The list could go on but since you’re so humble I won’t embarrass you further. You’re an airport souvenir maybe just one decoration of an entire set, but you’re also a welcome mat, an ambassador, a hero to millions. You bring them together, provide warmth to hands but also their hearts, and reside over their meeting, transforming stranger to friend as they sip and reap the benefits of your work But I realize you really can’t hear me, as you sit unassumingly, silently steaming away on that coaster.
Special Thanks to the Artists •
Peter Melling
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Alex Asdourian
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Skyler Dayton
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Adam Schutz
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Joey Jweinat
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Grant Kawahatsu
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Will Campbell
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Harry Conrad
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Dominic Cheung
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Joseph Lam
Special Thanks to the Winning Poets of the CHS/SHHS Poetry Festival • Lucas Chan
• Will Campbell
• Colin Shepard
• Elio Casinelli
• Camron Tarassoly
• Hiro Imaizumi
• Joseph Lam
• Elliott Boschwitz
• Brandan La
• Connor Bottum
Joseph Lam ‘13
Dedication to our wonderful staff members who will not be returning to us next year. Mr. Jones Ms. Makovec Ms. Nardizzi Mrs. Pollak
Echoes in the Hall
Echoes in the Hall produced by: Daniel Monsour
Dominic Cheung
Lori Saltveit
Peter Melling
Patter Hellstrom