Archive for Thursday, June 4, 1998


June 4, 1998


These poems were inspired by the student-writers' response to a work of art. The writers were challenged to select a work of art that ``spoke'' to them on an imaginative or emotional level and to interpret that art through free verse or rhymed poetry. They were written by students in Joy Clumsky's creative writing class at Lawrence High School.

The Graveyard at Dusk

The river rushing,

The cool tombs,

All glisten

In the soft moonlight.

The ghostly fog drifts,

Little by little,

Into the graveyard,

And blankets the river rushing

And the cool tombs.

In the distance,

A wolf howls,

Shattering the silence.

The eerie wind blows

Through the old oaks,

Singing a mournful melody.

It sings,

Sings for people

Parted long ago.

-- Laura Neeley, inspired by ``The Jewish Graveyard,'' by Jacob van Ruisdael

Once There I Sat

Once there I sat upon those beaten hills.

The wind and its chill and the sun with its warmth.

Cast upon my face with all the vigor that they might.

And without a retreat, I stood forward,

And cast my gaze onward over the spreading valley.

Eastward whence the sun had come,

I saw a great ribbon of jeweled sapphire

Down which flowed the waters of the north.

Far beyond, the undulating horizon revealed yet more.

The distant cousins of the those ancient mounds lay silent.

For now, the ice of old had passed,

As had the feet of many men.

Lightly upon this earth these feet had tread,

Yet, I see their prints still, in those of the deer,

And their voices I hear in the racing wind.

Gone they are not, for in these mountains they live.

Once there I sat,

And there they still do.

-- Lucas Adin, inspired from ``Last of the Mohicans''


Before the structuring of language

And the wallpapering of time,

From day to night to day

On this flat plane,

The hooves, paws, and feet

Pushed life into a sleeping world.

Ancient man

Ran with the beasts

With no voice,

No knowledge.

To know the live beast,

Running and screaming,

One must his own heart know.

To keep one's heart beating,

One must kill the beast.

In caves,

The burning fire

Entices the eyes.

Ancient man makes the beast

With man-made devices,

Scratching into earthen walls.

The marks,

The marks resemble life.

The dead beast returns

Into the heart of a hunter.

-- Isa Kretschmer, inspired by a reindeer painting by a caveman in Font-de-Gaume in France

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