32 33 Sag Donovan Morrow ‘24 Analyzation of Beneatha ; Character from “Raisin In The Sun”. Beneatha Is distraught when her broth er Walter, gives away her nursing school fund. She struggles with this new information, the recent death of her father, and her family’s relationship with God in comparison to her own. My dream sagged. It didn’t explode, It didn’t have a sugar coat. It just sagged. But God can help me right? That’s what Mama says. Can God help me? Who’s God? Who is this great beloved God to just fix my problems? Can he fix my problems? Can he materialize all the money I lost? Can he make all the money in the world take shape? Can this money take shape? Can he make my dead daddy’s spirit take shape? Or would it just sag? It would sag. Oh God, fix me. Heal me, Kinderly to the way I want to heal the world. The way I want to heal my family, The way I want to heal, The way I want to heal myself. Heal me. God heal me. Before I, Like my dream, Sag. Un Froid de Canard Hannah Johnson ‘22 This poem plays on the French expression “Il fait un froid de canard,” meaning literally “It’s a duck-like cold,” or “It’s freezing”. Original French version: Pas un seul son, Sauf pour mes bottes sur la neige, Le confort du silence. Scroutch… scroutch… scroutch… Fais juste un pas à la fois Sur la route sinueuse, Des rebondissements sans fin. La neige tombe doucement, Flottant dans le ciel gris, Éviter son sort sur le terrain. Je respire l’air frais, Froid et aigu, Brûlant le fond de ma gorge. Puis il s’échappe À la liberté, Comment j’aimerais pouvoir. Devant moi, Un étang s’approche, Givré par le froid mordant. Et sur la glace, un seul canard perdu qui n’est pas parti à temps. Maintenant il est emprisonné, Alors il commence à marcher, Une marche triste et lente. Scroutch… scroutch… scroutch… Pour toujours ici, Dans le froid de l’hiver, Parce qu’il fait trop froid pour voler. English translation: Not a single sound, Except for my boots on the snow. The comfort of silence. Crunch… crunch.. crunch… Just taking one step at a time As the path winds around. Never ending, unexpected turns. Snow slowly drifts down, Floating through the grey sky, Avoiding its fate on the ground. I breathe in the crisp air, Sharp and fresh, Burning my throat with the cold. Then it escapes Out to freedom, Like I wish I could. Up ahead A pond approaches, Frosted over from the bitter cold. And on the ice, A single lost duck Who didn’t leave in time. Now he is stuck, So he begins to walk, A sad, slow walk. Crunch… crunch… crunch… Forever here In the cold of winter, For it is too cold to fly.
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