The Gleaner

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.EANER

"SPRING

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2010 with funding from

Lyrasis Members and Sloan Foundation

http://www.archive.org/details/gleaner76stud

GLEANER

Established 1901

DELAWARE VALLEY COLLEGE OF SCIENCE AND AGRICULTURE
DOYLESTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA 18901

SPRING 1976

Staff Artists

Lydia Berry
Jean Dimmler

STAFF

Co-Editors

BRIAN A. KAHN 76
JAMES FORSYTH 77

Layout Staff

Pete Northrop
Pat Wohlferth

Faculty Advisor

Dr. George Keys

Staff Typists

Paul Barrett
Keith Jordan

Faculty Contributor

Mr. John H. Standing

Andrew Apter
Lydia Berry
Jean Dimmler
James Forsyth
Laura Gleason

STUDENT CONTRIBUTORS

Deborah Grant
Joseph lasello
Brian A. Kahn
Deborah Kahn
Chris Main
Barbara Novak

Dianne Rodgers
Michael Schnatz
Glenn Sharko
Donna Truesdell
Pat Wohlferth

THE GLEANER is published during the scholastic year by the students of
Delaware Valley College of Science and Agriculture of Doylestown, Penna.
THE GLEANER is a student publication, and the opinions expressed within
are not necessarily those of the GLEANER staff or administration. Neither
the college nor staff will assume responsibility for plagiarism unknowingly
occurring within.

Cover photo: GLENN SHARKO

You who are weary —

Come to me and i shall give you

rest.
With a cooling, murmuring voice
I shall pour sleep over you.

You who carry burdens —

Come to me, and i shall bear them.

On my own back the weight

shall fall.
You need not work.

You who are hungry

Shall find nourishment with me,

Food for those who have not eaten.

I shall carry you to those you love,
A roadway for all who travel.
Open and cool.
Life, death, and love.

I am the River.

— B. Novak

Go wading through
the sea of solitude

But, don't venture in too far
The under-tow
is devastating.

— Dianne Rodgers

If - \

/1 : • i.

Cathedral Oak

What was the old cathedral oak
Is now but a much-turreted chapel
Brought down from its apparent grandeur
By a mighty blast of wind.

Soon this too will topple earthward
For within a deadly canker grows.
Yet might the roots, to the rock clinging
One day renew the soaring spires?

— Brian A. Kahn

THE LOST TREE

The sun was shining on me that first

spring day so long ago,
And the world was so beautiful that

it made me proud to think
That I was part of it.

We were all happy living and growing
together in my younger days,

Just swaying in the breeze and
hoping that life would go on

Forever, as it was back then so
many years ago.

But I guess the world, like the seasons,

must always change,
And things can never stay the same.
Everything must come to an end
As did my happiness in this world.

All my friends are gone now; the green

that was once around me
Has turned gray, and the soil that

was once my support, my strength,
And my food is now just a layer

of black tar.

I'm not as handsome as they say

I once was.
My complexion isn't as bright, my

limbs as strong and sturdy,
Nor my thoughts as fresh and

youthful.

You see I'm dying now.

Dying because the world that was

once mine is no longer,
The air that I breathe is less fresh,
And the water that I drink is not

as clean.

I cannot exist in this world any longer,
And the fate of all those I leave

behind is not up to me,
Nor God, but man. For he is

the one who created this new world
For he is the one that kills me.

— Joe lasello

f r • ' - i • .'.-2 ...

IT

We would all like to live

In the security of the past

As a care-and-trouble-free youth

But we're out on our own

And away from home

Forced into adult life

Full of changes and decisions

Searching for much needed

Love and affection

From someone you care about

And want to give your love to

As well as sharing all of

Your actions and feelings with

In a mutual affair that

Will last as long

As love,

The basic element of

Life is present.

— Glenn Sharko

Fire

Dancing wildly in the wind,

brightly lit an empty room

with deep cut shadows left untrimmed;

casting no light on outside gloom.

Gone forever, all that it was

(lost in the beauty that was nature's dawn)

flicker of light that had no cause,

with fire out all light is gone.

Yourself; seeing no wonder, doing no good,
lit then forgotten, in darkness you stood,
toiling a job that did no good.

The world needed love

if only you could.

— James Forsyth

Facade

The dawn abruptly casts off
the night and all that
is held by it.
The feelings we dare to feel,

and the persons we dare to be
during the dark of night,

are suffocated when the sun comes out.
We revolve around the sun,
and inhale the daytime,
Then exhale our fantasies
which flare up in dreams
of the night.
At daytime we wear our faces,

and hide our eyes from everyone

but ourselves.

— Dianne Rodgers

I was making a

Sculpture of

A nude when a little

Old man came by

And shook his head,

So I threw out the

Sculpture of the nude

That I liked so much.

I was making a sculpture

Of a horse when

A lady came by and shook her

Head, so I threw out the

Sculpture of the horse

Which was a part of me.

I was making an abstract

Sculpture that looked

Like nothing creative at

All and wasn't the least

Bit part of me, when a

Mob of people came along

And smiled approvingly

Through their abstract faces.

— Glenn Sharko

Life wasn't easy for anybody. The Depression had hit
everyone very hard, and most of our fathers were out of
work, our families living on only God knows what money.
My friends and I were lucky in that our parents somehow
could afford to let us go to the college (tuition free, of
course) instead of having us work full time. "Get an edu-
cation," said the parents' hopeful faces. "Maybe you
can avoid this hardship when you get an education and
then a job befitting your education." Many of our parents
had "come over on the boat" and had no family ties in
this country. But they had left worse economic situations
in the "Old Country" and were thankful to be here. We
were the first generation born here, ready and eager to
make ourselves fit into the rhythm of our society surround-
ing us. If by going to college we could get a decent job,
we would be able to afford the most splendid luxuries, like
the outfit Lavonne wore.

Lavonne had herself only recently come to this country
as her English was strongly injected with a French accent.
She was a good-looking girl, there was no doubt about
that, but none of us were particularly jealous of that since
everyone was more concerned with getting enough money
to eat rather than with dating. People were fighting to stay
financially solvent, and very few had the time for a ro-
mantic encounter.

Despite the hard times and tight money, we young
women would get together during class breaks and talk
wistfully about clothes and new fashions. We all knew we
could not at this point afford any of the latest styles, and
made up for it by becoming rather proficient at altering
clothes from seasons past. But, as we sat in our many
times re-done outfits, Lavonne would always come up in
our conversations.

We all knew Lavonne to say hello, but we never could
talk long to her because she always looks so NICE. It
was uncomfortable to be seen with her for any length of
time. She wasn't pushy about her looks, but she made us
feel downright scruffy. Whenever we saw her, she was
wearing a black skirt, flawlessly, pressed, a white blouse
with a black sweater over it, and a string of pearls.
Pearls! Could you imagine! And the air she put on! We
all felt vastly inferior to her whenever she was around.
It wasn't fair, we thought. Why should she have it easier
than any of us? As a result, Lavonne never became a
very good friend of any of us.

Years went by. After college, the Depression was
over, and many of us got our decent jobs and could
afford our nice clothes. But the image of Lavonne and
her impeccable looks was an unattainable goal set by
many of us to reach.

I saw Lavonne one day. She had moved to the next
town, and was in the area visiting her parents, who re-
mained here after she was married. We talked more easily
than was ever possible in college. She was still precisely
dressed; the difference was my outfit, which was now up
to date and new, not remade. Finally, in an unbearable
moment of curiosity, I blurted out the question, how was
she able to afford expensive outfits in a time when every-
one was so poor?

She looked at me, trying to decide whether I was
kidding or not. She relaxed, and laughed a small laugh.

"I was no better off than any of you. That was my only
nice outfit! Mom and Dad always told me that no matter
what I wear, wear it as if it was straight from the high
fashion designer's table; with a flair!"

We parted, and I couldn't help but remember in our
envy, we never checked to see if the pearls were real, or
if the skirt wasn't just a bit worn. It was Lavonne, and the
flair she wore that outfit. It was hard to believe an attitude
could so impress all of us.

I went home, silently laughing to myself.

— P. Wohlferth

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SMOKE

The smokestack, proudly standing

Tall and narrow, straight and tapered,

A stately magnificence amid cold gray buildings,

Sends its smoke up into the blue;

Billowing, swirling, wispy,

Like long bent fingers

Penetrating the ethereal void,

The vanguard of a great white army

Emerges from its funnel-birthplace,

Writes into graceful forms and sizes,

Then dissipates in lazy splendor.

— John H. Standing

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"The Everyday Man"

I'm all alone,

with a million people around me.
I'm feeling low,

and no one will turn and see.

I feel like a grain of sand,
sitting on a beach of an abandoned island,
or a pebble rolling in a clear blue stream,
or a wisp of smoke in a cloud of steam,

For I'm a common everyday man,

with no great achievements,

or great discoveries,

So I'm forgotten amidst

the ever moving mass of people.

— Michael Schnatz

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Look at me.

What I am you cannot change.
Red flannel shirts
And patchwork jeans.
Hair tossed against the wind,
Free to fly as I must be.
You may show me new ways,
But I must choose to make
them part of me.

I change

Not because of what people say,
But what they show me,
What happens to me.
A gentle touch and a warm smile
Will do more than all the force
in the universe.

For force causes only rebellion
And an opposition to the change.
But love offers acceptance,
And giving to the new ways
With returning love
And a good feeling of still
being me.

— B. Novak

As we were walking

Arm in arm

We came to a fork

In the path and

You took one path and

I took the other

Looking for new experiences

And our paths have

Crossed many times

But now I sit

By myself in

The dessert that my path

Has led me to,

Wondering what paradise

Your path has led you to.

— Glenn Sharko

Wandering the back roads, as I stop

to rest I find
In every little flower, all the good I've

left behind.
The hopes of our tomorrows, the

tears of yesterday.
But I know now it's all over, and I've

started on my way.

You've lost yourself in fantasies of words

and minds and schemes,
Of other people's failures and other people's

dreams.
I cannot bring you closer, no matter what

I say,
To the realness of my world, so I must

be on my way.

The warmth of night brings silence —
Our fears are almost gone.
But I cannot stay beside you
When the restless morning comes.

The story can't be found in any book

or any poem.
My world is a reality, and my time

is all my own.
I cannot live my life out by what

other people say,
And though my love remains here, I

must be on my way.

— B. Novak

mellow yellow
sun
slipped
softly
silently
behind the trees
and gently
sank
out
ot
sight . . .

. blue night
rolled in

obscuring all
cold wet tears

on naked breast —

bare earth

now grows cold

— Debbie Kahn

Separated and alone

A 24-hour stand

And once again

Separated and alone

Isolation is broken

By two thirty-minute calls

Putting us into

Our own beautiful world

But to be abruptly

Brought back to

Ugly reality

By the click of the receiver

That we are isolated islands

In a sea of sad and confused populations

With an invisible strength

To keep us afloat.

— Glenn Sharko

Esthetics of a Slob

(or Ode to my room)

I love a mess

That natural Blend of

Tumult and Entropy

That is Man's constant coMPanloN

OH lovely the hEEp

how colorful the trash pile

with Soda Can like X-mas ball

amidst the cellophane
coat and books take chairs so as not
miss the show

while by a tent under a thatch roof
Desk
a shark swims IN formaldehyde
and upon a B.V.D. Banner

march weapons from wars past
ThE inDoors out the ouTdoors in
and bicycles walk by
and socks stuffed in my
Bedside plot my roommate's
F
A
L
L

It is a strange feeling sitting alone with no one
but the darkness as company. It seems as though time just
doesn't move as I sit engulfed by the dead quiet.
I keep searching for the small noises we take
for granted each day, but it is useless. My mind,
in vain, will create a noise, but upon listening more
intently to hear just what it was, the darkness closes
in tighter and becomes less audible than silence. It
is a cruel silence that mocks and pokes at
all my parts. In terror I grab to take hold
of it, but why, it only laughs that much more quietly.
Swallowed in the stillness I relax
with the thought that death shall bring a much
louder silence.

— C. Main

The Clock

Clock says seven

it's been there for weeks,
Time refuses to stop

it never stops to speak.
The hands don't care to move
Time still passes on.
Discoveries are made daily

but they'll never know
not wishing more than their wooden case
when they could have a gold and jeweled face
so sit still my lowly one
if you don't care then why should we?
Should the hour hand pass you on the way
Don't stop and say
you weren't given the chance
'Cause instead of letting precious seconds pass
you let irreplaceable hours slip by.

— Michael Schnatz

How sad it is to watch a clock,
and see each second
die upon the instant
of its birth.

■ Dianne Rodgers