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A scatter plot depicting the number of poems and their page locations found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper. The values on the x-axis refer to the year each referenced issue was published, and the values on the y-axis indicate the number of poems found. The colors of the dots correspond with specific page numbers, as indicated in the legend at the bottom.
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A bubbleine graph depicting the locations and frequency of the top 5 words used in poems found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper. Each line represents the text from all 47 poems, and each circle indicates the locations and frequency of the color-corresponding word.
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A word cloud depicting the top 60 most commonly used words in poems found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper.
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A bar graph depicting the page locations by number of poems found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper. The values on the x-axis refer to the page numbers which contained poetry, and the values on the y-axis indicate the number of poems found.
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A disc graph depicting the two methods of publishing poems (quoted in a larger article or published as a standalone article) found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper.
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A pie graph depicting the demographics of authors who have submitted poems found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper. The demographics include authors who submitted poetry while they were students, alumni, poetry sourced to institutions with no known relationship to FSU, poetry sourced to individuals with no known relationship to FSU, poets who were guest speakers at FSU, and a mystery category which designates poetry with no attributed author or whose author may or may not have a relationship with FSU (further research is required).
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A line graph depicting the number of poems found in one issue per volume of the first 20 volumes of FSU's The Gatepost newspaper. The values on the x-axis refer to the volume and issue being referenced, and the values on the y-axis indicate the number of poems found.
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"POET’S CORNER
THE MYSTERY OF THE MIND
The mind of man is a mystery to me;
I dare not fathom its complexity;
For deep in the brain there is often found
A twisted tangle of things unsound.
He that delves in the forbidden recesses
Finds that which distresses, tangles, possesses.
He that treads these treacherous trails
Attempts understanding—to no avail.
Yet do not despair without further perception ;
Somewhere are imbedded the gems of exception;
Search if you dare—perhaps you may find
One shining soul steeped in peace of mind.
If you succeed where I may fail, Condemn me not, mark well the trail;
For bitterly I find in man of late Not the temple of love,—but the storehouse of hate!
Shir-Lee Crosby ’53"
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"“They will hug you and kiss you
And tell you more lies
Than the spikes in the railroad
Or the stars in the skies.”
—Old Smoky"
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“The last time I saw darlin’ Cory She was sittin’ on the bank of the sea, With a jug of liquor in her arm And a .45 across her knee.”
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"“The moon's a devil jester
Who makes himself too free.
The rascal is not always Where he appears to be!” The Traveler by Vachel Lindsay"
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"Secret Unspoken and Unseen
Outside this house upon this city hill
The coldest wind of winter pries at window, Fans out the snow from lawn and empty lot The way a mower fans out August hay.
Here from this window where I stand and watch And feel the slanted sun across my face, Is conjured up another, further scene Where winter dominates an island coast And locks it fast within a crusted bay.
Now does the cautious traveler on its shore Remember rocks the snow has camouflaged; Observe the nearer water: thickened; still; Froze hard to zig-zagged boulders, crystal spray. Now does he blink at dazzle just beyond Where ice smooths out to whiteness; thins to blue;
Becomes a moving sea, pierced by the sun.
Outside this house upon this city hill A snowplow vibrates slowly into view. And wind and man-made plow battle the snow Until it lies quite level, flat, and hard.
And high, neat mounds are margin to all walks. The wind that wrestled with the plow retreats. But not for long. With January whim It soon returns, and spins the new-piled snow Back to the street. And man’s conceit in taming Natural law dissolves again. The sun Shines down upon a brilliant world, Its secret still its own, and God’s.
—Bertha Carter Ruark ’37.
Courtesy of Deer Isle Messenger."
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"“Darling, what is that?
That, angel, is a hat.
Are you positive? Are you certain?
Are you sure it’s not a curtain?
Shall you really place your head in it? How’s for keeping cake or bread in it? ... . . . What was the matter
With the hatter?
Was he troubled? Was he ill?
Was he laughing fit to kill?
Oh, what was on his mind
As he designed?
Had he gone without his supper?
Was he dressing in an upper? . . .
Oh, may the Furies batter
That eleven-fingered hatter!
May doom and gloom enswaddle
The creator of this model 1
I hope he made a lot of them, That dozens he has got of them, I hope he has a harem, And all his spouses wear ’em."
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"Oh lead us ever on to Thee, Our God whose way is love;
Help us to teach as Thou hast taught, And strive toward Thee above.
May we in truth and wisdom And in kindness ever grow, And teaching well Thy children Thus serve Thee here below."
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"Soliloquy-Saturday Night
Here we are; the evening drags past.
How much longer must this ennui last!
I don’t like you at all.
You tend to be short; I like my men tall.
Your eyes are brown; I much prefer blue;
And my dream man has hair of much darker hue. Dick is much smoother; Jack’s more my type, Or that ex of Sis’—the one with the pipe!
You’re really impossible; your humor is vile;
But I sit here and say, “Darling, how droll you are!”—and smile.
You can’t see Symphony, Saroyan, or Stein— Your ideas never coincide with mine.
You glower at me when I tune in a crooner— If I ever see you again, it’ll be later, not sooner! How can you be so terrifically boring?
Your repartee’ll soon have me snoring.
Woman, scuttle those thoughts ! Come out 'of that trance.
He’s the only man left you can drag to the danqe!
Evelyn Kirkpatrick, ’45."
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"Twelve gathered round the table, with Rita at the head,
And Mr. Taylor at the foot. A brave man it was said,
To face so many schoolma’ams, but quite at ease was he;
He's used to them and understands—he married one, you see.
First came the task of choosing, 'twixt chicken, ham or fish.
No matter what we ordered, it was a savory dish, With soup and rolls and coffee that warmed us through and through,
Then cake, ice cream or sherbet—what silly things we do I
We chose 'twixt all the sauces, and some did then partake
Of Kirkshire’s extra special delectable rum cake.
So after more hot coffee and cream mints for a treat
We paid the bill, declaring our dinner most comj plete.
We heard reports and motions and talked, as mortals do;
We voted in our officers to serve the New Year through,
And pledged again our efforts to help as best we could
The urgent need of Framinghaih, as loyal daughters should.
We shivered, we’ll admit it, but when our work was done,
We gathered round the Brickett fire and had a little fun
In bidding at the auction of luscious things to eat—
Cream puffs, date squares, and brownies, it was a treat!
And there were jars of pickles, and handwork for the home.
These added up together to make a tidy sum.
Thus one more page is written in our Club’s history,
Which proves we have the spirit of Framingham, you see,
That burns so strong within us, no matter what the weather,
We’ll carry on for Framingham forever and FOREVER.
Elizabeth Cushing Taylor, 1906."
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"Oh, these awful, awful teachers, Such stern and frosty creatures, Whose cross and frigid features Bespeak our woes to come.
All so stiff and n'er unbending, Not a whit of kindness lending, With assignments long unending, For us poor mortals dumb.”
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"Twelve Things to Remember
The Value of Time The Success of Working The Dignity of Simplicity The Worth of Character The Power of Kindness The Influence of Example The Obligation of Duty The Wisdom of Economy The Virtue of Patience The Improvement of Talent The Joy of Originating
Marshall Field."
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"A SAD TALE WITH A HAPPY ENDING
A muscular mussel
Was having a tussle
With a lobster most annoying.
"You cur, sir I
Infer, sir,
That the tactics you’re employing
Arc vicious,
Most officious,
And your claws I find too cloying I” “Cur, sir?
Defer, sir,
Your bitter accusation.
A claw (I find)
Is (to my mind)
The thing in disputation.
It cuts so clean and quick
With one decisive lick!
But on your hide, You chowder’s-pride, It will not work, I’ve found!" "Aba,” the clever clam replied, “It's ’cause I’m mussel-bound I”
Anne Moynahan, ’43."
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"LONDON 1941
The bombs fall over London, over London, over London.
The bombs fall over London, and Death rides in the sky.
Whoever walks in London when silver streaks fly by
Shall hear Death’s whispered calling, and the droning siren’s cry.
The bombs fall over London, over London, over London.
The bombs fall over London, an Empire hears Death's tread.
The bombs fall over London, a nation mourns her dead.
When quiet comes to London, and children play in streets,
The rain shall fall on London, on London.
The rain shall fall on London, the quiet rain and peace.
Barbara A. Egan, ’42."
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"Oh, the Class of ’39 has traveled far since graduating,
Tho whether ’tis ahead or not is matter for debating.
But anyhow, regardless, you have got to give them credit,
Tho I go down in history the only one that said it.
We haven’t written many books or married any midgits,
But you couldn’t count the kind remarks to every kid that figets.
We are not shapely models, widely famous for our poses,
But you should see us on the job, blowing kiddies’ noses.
“For this we went to college,” is our day by day lament,
When zippers stick and clothes go on in ways that were not meant,
When rubbers get themselves mixed up and little Johnny cries,
“Ma said if I lose those, again, she’ll put the teacher wise!”
The dears are so original, especially as cooks, The recipes that they create would make a set of books.
Their manners for invited guests are marvelous to watch,
And yet in spite of undue care, the meal they’re sure to botch.
The ones who sew with gusto have the longest seams to rip,
And there are those who can confuse the waist line with the hip.
Oh, rural schools and city ones won’t leave you standing still,
For if a blizzard doesn’t come a supervisor will. In teaching lies the world’s great hope, I’ve often heard it said;
For some of us our only hope is that we’ll soon be wed!"
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"It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and .sear:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night,—
It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be.”
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"Spring Vacation
April twenty-fourth to twenty-eighth, inclusive New Spring suits.
India Wharf, Atlantic Avenue, Boston—
Off to Washington via New York!
Sunrise on the Atlantic.
Express to Washington.
Brown and white saddles:
Cherry blossoms in bloom.
White House, Lincoln Memorial, the mint;
Sore feet.
Sunset on the Potomac.
7 A. M.—time to get up.
Brown and whites.
Mount Vernon, Congressional Library, Congress, Supreme Court.
Free evening!
All aboard for Philadelphia!
More brown and whites:
Liberty bell, Independence Hall, Fairmont Park.
Back to the Big City, Pennsylvania Station
34th Street—Look at Macy’s!
Rush for boat on West Street.
Sunset on the Atlantic
Sunrise in Boston Harbor.
Epilogue
Why don’t you take advantage
Of this glorious trip.
See America first.
See Marguerite Eagan second for further information.
Price—for all this—only $35
Why don’t YOU take advantage
Of this glorious trip!
Theresa Caruso ’42."
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Part 1: "PRAYER
God, though this life is but a wraith.
Although we know not what we use, zUthough we grope with little faith, Give me the heart to fight—and lose.
Ever insurgent let me be,
Make me more daring than devout;
From sleek contentment keep me free, And fill me with a buoyant doubt.
Open my eyes to visions girt
With beauty, and with wonder lit— But let me always see the dirt, And al! that spawn and die in it.
Open my ears to music; let
Me thrill with Spring’s first flutes and drums— (Continued on page six, column three)"
Part 2: "PRAYER
(Continued from page one)
But never let me dare forget
The bitter ballads of the slums.
From compromise and things half done,
Keep me, with stern and stubborn pride;
And when, at last, the fight is won, God, keep me stilt unsatisfied.
—Louis Untermeyer."
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Part 1: "STRANGE HOLINESS
There is a strange holiness around Our common days on common ground.
I have heard it in the birds Whose voices reach above all words, Going upward, bars on bars
Until they sound as high as stars.
I have seen it in the snake, A flowing jewel in the brake.
It has sparkled in my eyes In luminous breath of fireflies.
I have come upon its track
Where trilliums curled their petals back.
1 have seen it flash in under
The towers of the midnight thunder.
Once, 1 met it face to face In a fox pressed by the chase,
He came down the road on feet, Quiet and fragile, light as heat.
He had a fish still wet and bright In his slender jaws held tight.
His ears were conscious whetted darts
His eyes had small flames in their hearts.
The preciotisness of life and breath Glowed through him as he outran death.
Strangeness and secrecy and pride Ran rippling down his golden hide.
His beauty was not meant for me With my dull eyes so close to see.
Unconscious of me rapt, alone,
He came and then stopped still as stone."
Part 2:
"(Continued on page four, column one)
ON ROBERT P. TRISTRAM COFFIN
(Continued front page three)
His eyes went out as in a gust, His beauty crumbled into dust.
There was but a ruin there, A hunted creature, stripped and bare.
Then he faded at one stroke
Like a dingy, melting smoke.
But there his fish lay like a key To the bright, lost mystery.
—Robert P. Tristram Coffin.
(Courtesy of the author)
—Hope Hathaway."
