2019 Hippocrene

2019

Mrs Jensen Requested that the horizen be level.

- Originial cover is on next page.

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Hip po crene •

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- -) ( Hip• po• crene | \ hi-p -kre-ne e

noun In Greek mythology, Hippocrene was a spring on Mt. Helicon. It was sacred to the muses and formed by the hooves of Pegasus. It’s name translates as “Horse’s Fountain” and the water was suppsed to bring forth poetic inspiration.

Hippocrene 2018-2019

The Arts & Literary Magazine of Avon Old Farms School TABLE OF CONTENTS (red denotes seniors)

2019, shijie xie ’22 (p. 22)

OLD SCHOOL, stephen guglielmo ’15 (p. 9)

3:00 AM THOUGHTS, brian sappington ’21 (p. 3)

ON LOCATION, james wilborn ’21 (p. 6)

A GUST OF SPRING, shijie xie ’22 (p. 22)

PATIENCE+FISHING, davis coniff ’19 (p. 25)

A LIFE OF PURPOSE, michael leesfield ’19 (p. 32)

POEMA DE CAMBIO, preston runk ’21 (p. 36)

A ROAD BACK, peter du ’19 (p. 37)

PSYCHO, robert aughtry ’19 (p. 5)

AVON BROTHERHOOD, james morr ’22 (p. 6)

REECE IN SNOW, kristof proulx ’20 (p. 36)

BOI TOY, graham deckers ’20 (p. 33)

REFLECTION, noah matalon ’20 (p. 21)

CHURCH ON A HILL, dennis catrini ’20 (p. 44)

RELATIVELY SPEAKING, robert aughtry ’19 (p. 4)

BOY AT WORK, dennis catrini ’20 (p. 3)

SELF PORTRAIT, bon bhakdibhumi ’19 (p. 34)

CITY OF FIRE, cameron andrews ’19 (p. 37)

SELF PORTRAIT, chris zhang ’20 (p. 14)

COLOR, william scher ’20 (p. 2)

SELF PORTRAIT IN OIL, bon bhakdibhumi ’19 (p. 19)

DINER, yunha kim ’22 (p. 30)

SEVERED PROMISE, graham deckers ’20 (p. 13)

DEALING W/ DISABILITY, alex brezenoff ’19 (p. 38)

SHAME ON YOU, peiqi 'tony' liu ’19 (p. 23)

DREAM SERIES #4, matthew jensen ’19 (B. Cover)

SORRY, stepan budko ’21 (p. 21)

EMBEDDED POEM, maxwell gart ’20 (p. 28)

THANK YOU, kymani palmer ’17 (p. 8)

FRACTURED, matthew jensen ’19 (p. 39)

THE DINER, samantha jensen, F, P’17, ’19 (p. 31)

GOING NOWHERE, matthew jensen ’19 (p. 27)

THE FADING FALL, sinjie xie ’22 (p. 7)

GRATEFUL, david helsley ’20 (p. 42)

THE FIFTH WALL, peiqi 'tony' liu ’19 (p. 11)

HEADMASTER HAIKU, patrick hampton ’10 (p. 16)

THE INTRODUCTION, marshall taylor ’19 (p. 40)

HERO OF JUSTICE, po lam fung ’20 (p. 33)

THE RAIN, po lam fung ’20 (p. 15)

I REMEMBER, john monin ’20 (p. 29)

THE RIVER, pengyu si ’19 (p .41)

IDENTITY, ian blatchford ’19 (p. 10)

THE TIGER, eugene kim ’20 (p. 20)

IN A SINGLE MOMENT, john glaspey ’21 (p. 26)

TIME, peiqii 'tony' liu ’19 (p. 23)

INESCAPABLE DARKNESS, pengyu si ’19 (p. 35)

TIME STAND STILL, sean flanagan ’19 (p. 44)

IN THE MIRROR, matthew jensen ’19 (Cover)

TJ, tyler cox ’20 (p. 24)

INSIDE OUT, graham deckers ’20 (p. 17)

TO FORGET, po lam fung ’20 (p. 33)

JDRF FUN, stephen guglielmo ’15 (p. 16)

TRANSPARENT HEART, noah matalon ’20 (p. 18)

JUST A GAME, pj neal ’21 (p. 20)

TROUBLED, charles di bona ’19 (p. 12)

LA SEMILLA, john warner ’20 (p. 36)

UNTITLED, daichi ono ’19 (p. 33)

MASK, pengyu si ’19 (p. 29)

UP IN SMOKE, tyler pumper ’19 (p. 7)

MEMORIAL, jared hunter ’19 (p. 15)

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?, john morris ’19 (p. 17)

MY MATH TEACHER, boyang zhou ’21 (p. 14)

WINTER SCENE, marco pang ’21 (p. 2)

MYSTIC FALLS, dennis catrini ’20 (p. 22)

XIAN AT NIGHT, pengyu si ’19 (p. 35)

1

r 0 1 CO

The color of the trees begins to change The last of its bland and gloomy leaves will fall We are left with a blank slate Then an explosion of green expands from branch to branch As we walk down the wide stone paths we look The leaves fill what were once old branches These leaves will live a short yet critical life These leaves will represent the seasons change from the last Spring has its vibrant greens Fall has its browns and grey Winter leaves the tree with nothing except the spring to look forward to Yet with all of this change we feel at home As we walk down the stone path And the trees still have their vibrant green – William Scher ’20

– Marco Pang ’21 2

– Dennis Catrini ’20

3:00AM THOUGHTS To grant something your all in anything Is daunting Energy is as restricted as time But time is not replenishable as energy Having something to wake up to Is a feeling you only grasp until it is gone The ability to appreciate can not be taught Just as one’s drive to their aspirations – Brian Sappington ’21

Perspective is a unique blessing Just as hardships could be too

Assumptions are shots in the dark The type of guesses that derive from a prenotion of belief Letting go of something you grow so accustomed to Can be as hurtful as never having it to start How does one cope?

Sleep consumes the mind as much as thoughts dictate one’s mood Becoming reliant on dangerous escapes becomes a habit Trying to break free from something that makes you so at ease for once They say everything will get better And that things take time But what else is a kid supposed to think about when he is all up in his mind?

3

Relatively Speaking RELATIVELY SPEAKING Everything is not as it seems yet perception is reality; But we still use words such as "everything" Even though it is inconceivable to make a statement about everything; A blessing for you could be my downfall; A friend of mine could be your foe; A beginning for one is the end for another; Heaven and hell are what you make them; For both only exist to the extent to which they are understood; If they are truly understood they are no longer confined to a name Labels are far too impersonal to accompany knowledge.

Knowledge is as vast and vague as the water within the sea; Everyone is aware of “the sea” What is the sea to you?

Is it a highlight of the view from an abode of luxury?

Or perhaps it’s but an obstacle between point A and point B; The truth that must be grasped is it is both and neither; It is more than what you think, and less than what you know.

No one person is familiar with the sea, but it is kin to mankind.

It has never ceased to exist, We have.

“The sea” is not alone in the world of subjectivity, The only lonely entity is yourself.You know yourself, you feel yourself.

You grasp nothing better than you know yourself, yet you can still learn new bounds.

The moment you free yourself from the solitary confinement of understanding is the moment life becomes living Just as the sea, you know the parameters of which it is not But it is impossible to say exactly what it is for anyone other than yourself Tell someone what you are, who you are, everything.

When you cannot, realize sometimes knowing what you are not is the best way to know what you are.

Just as the sea.

The key to knowing is accepting what is not known.

As the latter list if far longer than the former.

This ensures the mind is unlocked and the hubris is shut, The quicker the downfall the closer the cause is to the effect; The cause of so many people’s is within Yet their finger is pointed out And they still wonder why the world slapped them; When they fall they will grab at your neck and you will fall with them if you let them.

Always sustain your humility and you may withstand the ferocious tug of ignorance And if a finger must be pointed, direct it at the pointer.

– Robert Aughtry ’19 4

5

– Robert Aughtry ’19

– James Wilborn ’21

A bond that’s stronger than no other, To your left and right is a brother.

Looking around at the classes going by, Four years go by in the blink of an eye.

Best friends and brothers are what I see, While the boys walk around the oak trees.

Going to each class, walking through nature, Side by side, with nothing but a stranger.

A stranger who turns to a friend,

Avon Brotherhood

A friend who you will love to the end.

Each classroom, filled with passion and hardwork, All brothers working together like clockwork.

I’d like to thank each and every brother, Because I am not myself without us together.

– James Morr ’22 6

\The fading fall \

– Tyler Pumper ’19

– Shijie Xie ’22

A gentle breeze brushes the falling leaves, With fiery veins they flutter, dance in scene.

In the lake the ripples flip long-lasting peace, Heavenly view reflects in deep serene.

The setting sun behind the branches fades, Remaining beams penetrate through the sky, Against the rising eve their brightness glazes,\ Have sapphire sea of clouds byzantine dyed.

Ethereal stillness spreads across the field, Which soothing chant of nightingale transcend.

As dusking woods at horizon reveal, Breathtaking postlude of the season’s end.

Silently autumn in the dark departs, The hymn of holy night rebounds at far.\

7

Thank you Some people come into your life as a reason, a season, or a lifetime...

Mr. L aRocque came into my life for all of those things and much more. He helped me grow and develop as a more confident and hardw orking young man, to shape, encourage, and teach me how to excel academically. Most importantly, Mr. L aRocque came into my life for a lifetime. He made sure I w as heading in the right direction.

He leaves his legacy in my heart as w ell as the in hearts of other young men like me, and for that I am forever grateful. He has imprinted love and everlasting respect in the hearts of all those who came in contact w ith him and each one of us is a better person because of him. I w ill alw ays remember during the summer I w ould go out to lunch w ith him and his w ife and have conversations about becoming a better student and more importantly, a better man.

He helped me as a freshman struggling w ith my academics and stayed by my side until I w as a senior who w as more comfortable w ith challenging myself.

I am proud to call myself a Man of Avon because he decided what w as best for me since day one. He alw ays made an effort to see how I w as doing, and to check in on how I w as w orking tow ard my goals. The lessons he taught me at a young age helped the boy who arrived as a freshman leave as a man. It’s not only the love and care he show ed me and the rest of his advisor groups, but the w ay he cared for everyone in the AOF community. Not too many people can call Mr. L aRocque a mentor, but I am honored and grateful to say that I can. The moments that I spent w ith him w ill live w ith me forever.

To Mr. L arocque, you’ve left an endless impact on everyone and I hope that you enjoy retirement and beyond.

Thank you, Kymani Palmer '17 8

– Stephen Guglielmo ’15

9

Identity I look into the mirror every morning, But what’s the meaning?

Why must I obsess over, The creature staring back at me?

It’s baffling The way they judge, The way they hate, The way they make you feel for being different.

My inflated ego slowly Makes its way back to ground zero, The bottom level.

Starting over is scary.

A new id entity is scary.

A new person with whom You associate yourself.

Your business, your own personal journey Must be turned into public news.

And then it really starts.

Rid icule, looks of disgust, discomfort, Surround me.

I sink down even further only to find, The only thing that’s left.

My heart, my soul, my mind.

I begin to rise up, I begin to embrace, My truest self.

Because I am amazing, We all are.

It doesn’t matter, What we look like, Who we love, What we believe in, Our id entities are our own.

– Ian Blatchford ’19 10

– Peiqi ‘Tony’ Liu ’19 11

Troubled

Nice to meet you, I’m Troubled.

Or Challenged or Delinquent or Ungrateful or Messed Up, depending on who you are.

They’ve all been used by the various counselors and police officers and teachers and wannabe father figures that have faded in and out of life as I’ve bounced from school to school and office to office. I can generally tell how an interaction is going to go based on which term is used. If I’m Troubled or Challenged I can expect a sympathetic look and maybe some more medication.

If I’m Delinquent or Messed Up I can expect some less pleasant meds, definitely a lecture and maybe a lonely bed under bright lights until they can figure out what my diagnosis is this time.

If I’m Ungrateful, it means my mom is crying in the next room and whoever it is will be gone by the next day. I don’t know which one is true. Maybe I’m all of them, maybe I’m none of them. It depends on that particular moment.

Sometimes I don’t think I’m anything on my own. I’m a bundle of Expectations, Rules and Disorders that somehow took form and function and decided to start careening around on their own. I’m fleshed out by stifled ambitions and my mother’s sighs and the look on the police officers’ faces when they see me at the station again. My clothes are made from endless pages of therapists’ notes and counselors’ files. I wear them around wherever I go, so everyone on the street or in the cafeteria can see my life reduced to sterile lines of ink. Whatever I’m made of, I’m not like them. I don’t drive a Jeep. I don’t wear Vineyard Vines. I don’t sit at the same table every day, I don’t go home to the same house every night. People who don’t know what they’re talking about say Troubled kids are “invisible.” We’re not. Everyone can see us. They just pretend they don’t. You’ve probably seen me too, on my way to a special ed class or in the hallway or on the track during gym. You probably took a look at me and decided it was better not to. I’ve lost the race already. I’m not like you. Maybe you’re right.

When I’m in class or at lunch, I’m not Troubled. I wish I was Troubled. Instead, I’m Sped.

I’m Loser, I’m Failure, I’m Druggie, I’m Shooter. Don’t say you haven’t named me that. You have, even if you’ve never said it. I can tell by the looks on your face as I pass by and you huddle together the next split second. It doesn’t even need to be a word. You begin to grimace, then you catch yourself and twist it into pity. That says more than all the whispers in the world.

My mother used to use different names, before it got really bad. Now, she just sighs when I come in the door after school. She sighs as I toss my backpack on the table and grab whatever’s in the fridge. She sighs as she puts on her uniform and goes to work and leaves me in whatever rental or halfway house it is this time. If I’m lucky, I’m alone. If not, we have roomates or she has a boyfriend and I need to test the waters all over again, pressing myself into shadows and turning my music down until I know what their deal is. If I’m Kid, it’s ok. If I’m Punk or Asshole it’s not. Usually if it’s like that I leave the house and wander around whatever neighborhood we’re in. If my friends have anything on them I go pop or smoke it and come back around dinnertime for the pills the counselor said were different and ok because I’m Troubled.

Maybe there’s KFC my mom swiped from work, too. She sighs when I take some. But you don’t think about that. You go hit the beach or the mall with your friends, then get some Chipotle with your dad’s credit card. You come back to meet with your SAT tutor and go to bed at 11:00, unless you’re sneaking out to do something rebellious and risky like have a warm beer and a half your friend stole from his brother up at college. You’re not Troubled for that.

12

– Graham Deckers ’20 Sometimes I wonder what went wrong, and when exactly some magical judge banged his gavel and decided that you were Bright and I was Troubled. Maybe it was in elementary school when I wouldn’t talk like the other kids. Maybe it was in 5th grade when my mom couldn’t handle me running around anymore and took me to the doctor and told him I couldn’t focus and got me my first pills. Maybe it was during that emo phase in middle school when I started to cut class because it was so big that the teacher didn’t notice. Maybe it was in 7th grade when I smoked my first blunt under the bleachers to impress that 8th grade girl who’s dropped out now. Maybe it was when I got my first new name, At-Risk, from a guidance counselor the day after. And maybe it was my fault, after all that, when I decided that I just wasn’t going to win the game you were playing and started collecting the names that you gave me.

So this is me. This is the view from inside whatever crack I fell through. And even though you try not to think of me, I’m not going anywhere. Sure, I’ll change a little bit. I’ll be Failed instead of Failing, Mentally Ill instead of Struggling, but I’ll be there. You’ll see me your whole life, as shadows in alleyways or under bridges or wandering around whatever neighborhood I’m in now. You might even take the time to feel sorry for me, to give me the same look from inside your Lexus as you did next to the lockers and on the bus. But that won’t change anything.

After all, I’m still Troubled.

– Charles Di Bona ’19 13

My

H T A M

r e h c a e T

My math teacher is an unusual man with the mind of a runaway freight train, with a scalp of the Mediterranean Sea, with wrinkles the depth of the Grand Canyon, with a smile like a tornado as it strikes without warning, with the mustache of a pair of wings that can’t wait to fly away, and of the humor of a sixteen-year-old trapped in his aging body.

– Boyang Zhou ’21

14

– Chris Zhang ’20

T H E R A I N I look up to the bright blue sky, Rain seems like a faraway dream.

Boots slowly thud across the grassy fields, As if any sound will break what is most sacred.

The maiden stands, Clasping the sacred banner of the Amestris in her shaking hands.

As the blares of the arms of war thunders in the sky, And the passage to Hades is sealed, The shrill cry of a dove rings through the air, Screeching why... why... why.

The maiden silently holds the dove,

– Jared Hunter ’19

Whispering Elicia… Elicia… Elicia.

– Po Lam Fung ’20

I look down at the stone that is my lost joy.

What was supposed to help me rise, Has now risen beyond me into the heavens above.

Could I defy Truth and break the laws of my creed?

For the pain that was once unknown to me, Has become as clear as the sky above me.

Yet as a droplet streaks down my cheek, Perhaps it is raining after all.

15

, e c n o d a e h y m "He shaved eptember of ’09. in S ." t u c ir a h d a b a T'w as – Patrick Hampton ’10

16 12

– Stephen Guglielmo ’15

– Graham Deckers ’20

W h at i s H a p p e n i n g to M e?

My heart starts pumping Faster Faster Faster A rosy-red rush fills my cheeks and forehead A feeling of undefined heat follows, seeming to spill out of my chest Then comes the detachment, It is like I am a ghost floating above my still stoic self My hand reaches out, Trying to gain control again.

– John Morris ’19 17

Transparent Heart Dear C, I write you this poem before it has happened This is something you may never pardon, We are flowers who grow To stretch toward the sun But will no longer be sharing a garden.

The year was ’63 when our story began It happened quite out of the blue, I laid eyes on a girl That I’d seen before But this time she saw me too.

A moment gone frozen, But with a warm summer feel, I was dreaming, It had to be fake, But when you walked in my direction, There was a flourishing connection, Oh my heart how it eased and it ached.

How could a girl like you See a boy like me And be smitten with a thing called love.

I couldn’t believe How our summer unfolded It was pure like the calls from a dove.

We built a new bridge, Made for just you and me It was love and we walked right across it, I was becoming a man Truly finding myself No more posters of Macpherson or Fawcett.

I look back at our time Summer days led to nights New adventures arose like the sun, But it hurts to look back For I felt it so true, that our summer had only begun.

Planning picnics for you Bringing food for just two We laid out until daylight gave way, Lying under the stars made me feel so secure.

18

– Noah Matalon ’20

– Bon Bhakdibhumi ’19

19 15

– Eugene Kim ’20

Just a Game It was just a game when we would stay up late, Texting back and forth, far past our bedtimes.

Nicknames, like Izzy and Koochykoochykoo Filled my home screen with a buzz Later than ideal, but I make time For those I love.

But were those early times truly late?

With so much time left in our lives, Together, yet separate in our own worlds, I pray for it be the same world again one day.

Because, if you remember back in seventh grade, You wouldn’t even hug me...

I bet you wanted to; now my ego’s taking over.

I was a stud back then, slip my arm around your shoulder.

Yet as the days count down, until I move away I pray to God there is a chance That Izzy wants me to stay.

But you can’t really stay, when you have to move away.

20

– PJ Neal ’21

Sorry Back in the day, when we were in middle school, by saying “we” I mean me, my friends, and my girlfriend, we were pretty much bullying her. I knew she loved me and she wouldn’t leave me. I guess I just used that. And I felt the same for her, but still was making jokes about her and so my friends did too. Every time we were alone I was a different person. I showed her my feelings, though not in the most open way. Every time she would say, “Why are you like that only when we are alone?” And every time I said that I don’t know and promised to her that I would stop. Probably I actually didn’t know.

Kids my age don’t always understand their feelings. Or maybe I was too shy to show her my feelings. Perhaps I wanted to look cool and tough in the eyes of my friends.

Now I understand that I just looked stupid.

Nowadays, I blame myself constantly for that. For being the person I was. We are still dating and I say “Sorry,” and she says “Don’t worry about it.” What’s funny, I sometimes feel offended, because I care about it more than she does!

We were talking the other day, and she told me that she was reading her personal diary. She had it for a while, but rarely added anything. I never understood why people have those things. I believe that you don’t need a diary to remember a nice day or a strong emotional burst. At least I don’t need it. I always remember - especially bad stuff. It is awful. I hate that about myself. I feel like I can’t start living in the present moment! I always either dwell in the past or fear the future.

– Noah Matalon ’20

– Stepan Budko ’21

21

2019

A gust of Spring Thinking back to sunset over brittle frost, sun breaks across my narrow window panes.

Hoping to catch the scent of winter plumblossoms, is it there?

A gust of Spring breeze stirs the snow up onto the wind.

My heart stirs under the calm Winter moonlight, a New Year to start afresh.

I look West with a heart tangled up, a mass of fog.

Aspirations fill my breast to bursting!

– Shijie Xie ’22 – Shijie Xie ’22

22

– Dennis Catrini ’20

– Peiqi ‘Tony’ Liu ’19 If I were to know the truth in the morning, I wouldn’t regret dying at night; The ancient saying goes, As Hamlet spoke the line: “Oh, I die!”

After knowing the cold, cruel truth, Without regret, but contentment.

Sometimes we argue about important things, Is the government evil; Is this stock worthy of holding; Trivial.

What the history — Of our short lives, Of humanity, Of the universe — really is, Is just tiny particles moving — In time, In space, In the universe.

Every person is but many tiny particles, That can be easily defined knowing their place and speed.

We are just a function of time.

We are just an f(t).

Gertrude drinking the poisoned wine, Old people dying on the ground, Just f(t).

TIME

– Peiqi ‘Tony’ Liu ’19

23

– Tyler Cox ’20 24

Patience+ Fishing Patience is hard to learn as a six-year-old, especially for one who only wants to make dinosaur noises and sink leaf ships with rocks. I zoned out looking through the water to the rocks on the bed of the stream when my father's voice broke through stating I was up. I gingerly plunged my feet into the stream, wincing as it shot icicles up my legs. Dad handed me the rod. I had failed to cast it countless times before, which led to my hands shaking from frustration and nervousness. My father noticed this and told me to breathe.

I took a deep breath and rehearsed the steps in my head murmuring, "ten and two, ten and two." I let out a few feet of line and dropped the fly two yards away from me. I lifted the line up out of the water and swung it back to two o'clock feeling the fly fully extend behind me. I flicked the rod to ten o'clock letting out more line then pulling it back to two. I flung the fly into the stream, and I watched it float down the current. No fish took it, yet I wasn't mad. I then realized nothing good comes from rushing.

I started this journey of learning patience and finding my passion for fishing in the secluded town of Eagles Mere, Pennsylvania. Before I was able to try my hand at lures and flies I started off with a bobber, small hook, and worms. Accompanied by my father, cousin, and uncle, we drove to the lake early in the morning to catch the bane of my existence, sunfish. I cast my bobber a few feet in front of me fully capable of seeing the fish glide under the water to my worm. I could see every slight adjustment they made with their fins, lining themselves up for the perfect shot at my bait. I could always feel them pulling at it, and jerked the rod back thinking I had just set the hook into one, but my hook always came back empty, splashing me with lake water. Every time it got to the point where I didn't even want to go anymore. I felt overwhelmingly frustrated and ready to quit.

I wanted to jump into the water to fight the fish; my father took me aside and calmed my six-year-old rage.

With his mellow demeanor with an undertone of aggravation, he soothed my frustration and just told me to wait a little longer before trying to set the hook, to be patient. I didn't exactly know what that word meant but I thought it meant something close to wait a little while longer. When I stopped fussing, I picked up the rod with a new worm on it and cast it next to a sailboat. Instantly, they shot out from underneath the boat, and as they circled it one lunged at it and swam away. I waited for a split second then pulled the rod toward me, this time with a red-bellied demon on the hook. I reeled until the fish that tortured me was flopping around on the wood slats of the dock.

I came back from that moment and looked at my hand wrapped around the cork handle. My hands were still, and my mind was clear. I started the flicking and pulling motions again until I was casting enough line. I let it curl into the water and waited for the fly to drift. I followed it until it was sucked under. I saw droplets hit the stream where my fly just was and felt the tug of the trout, I knew I was on.

My anxious thoughts can get like tangled fishing line, not knowing where they begin or end, but thinking of fly fishing's simple steps and breathing allows me to remain calm and focused on the current problem. – Davis Coniff ’19

25

In A Single Moment Mr. Cantello searches for a copy of 1984 from his desk, all the while people around the campus of Avon Old Farms accomplish a multitude of tasks. Mr. Reller pushes a worn broom, and as he sweeps the floors of the field house his mind wanders from his former police career to his son’s recent relocation to UConn. He pictures the simple job he wanted for his retirement, yet here he is running the facilities of an entire building. It was a challenge, but not one to turn down.

On the other side of the Village Green Mr. Crocker is in his office completing his daily tasks. He sips his coffee while examining the Common Apps of his advisees. The boys he oversees have promise; enough promise to compete for the school of their dreams. Pleased with what he was reading, he leans back in his chair before taking another sip of the bitter liquid.

Others working around campus include Mr. Kassel, who is teaching freshmen basic safety. Freshmen are naive—you tell them to keep the goggles on, watch them put the goggles on, yet the goggles always manage to come off. The constant supervision needed when teaching introductory courses is unheard of, but he couldn’t imagine returning to his previous job. Working as the head of maintenance had its benefits, however he prefers the work he does now.

Teaching boys to work with their hands and solve problems in itself makes him thankful for the opportunity to teach.

The maintenance staff works behind the scenes as the campus sleeps, upkeeping the school’s beautiful grounds. Though they rarely are sighted, evidence of their efforts are found throughout the campus. However daunting their task, their mission is always accomplished without hesitation.

Chef Hector and his staff are also hard at work. As the chef cooks, he relies on his staff to put their best efforts toward feeding the students and staff.

Once again, their hidden work goes largely unnoticed. They do an unbelievable amount of work throughout the week, the unsung heroes of the school.

– John Glaspey ’21 26

– Matthew Jensen ’19

27

– John Smith ’18 28

– Maxwell Gart ’20

I Rememb er

I Remember, all the ones who used to laugh at me

I Remember, the ones who used to say I’m worthless I Remember, the long nights on my own

I Remember, the long hard days of work I’ve put in I Remember, the ones who said I can’t do it I Remember, proving them all wrong

– John Monin ’20

– Pengyu Si ’19 29

D I N Theodate’s income is high, not just because her caring children send a huge amount of money every other month, but because Theodate works hard every day as a businesswoman. She lives in an expensive house and enjoys wearing expensive clothes. However, she never thought of herself as successful before.

Moving from one part of New York City to the

other, Theodate thinks to herself where her life is. Every time she walks along the streets with people from different places, she only can imagine her precious sons are two of the only successful people in the crowds. Letters from Theodate’s children come every other week, but she still can not be sure if her children are living the life they set out to live when they decided to leave the city.

When her work is done, she sits in the same cafe, every day, to eat foods that fit whatever mood she is in. She realized she’s living the routines over and over again, also while knowing that she can’t break such a loop. If the loop is broken, then the balance in her life WILL be broken.

The balance gives Theodate the ability to know and understand what she has to do every day.

Then she dreams. She dreams the same vision every day, that one day, she will get to see her children again. Somehow, she’ll find a way to get out of her job–one that is seen by others as great, and one that has given her a fortune. It has, however, also been giving her a hard time focusing on her dreams. The choice to give up on her job, Theodate realizes, means she’s giving up on great opportunities to seek something that she wants. With so much burden being stacked against her, Theodate realizes she has to ignore the causes that will be generated if she chooses to follow her dreams. She doesn’t want anything that she has right now, she thinks. She never did. Everything to her seems white, it’s extremely clear and crystal looking, but empty.

She decides, she’ll finally do something. She can finally say goodbye to her good job. She can stop believing in her faulty system. This was it, Theodate finally will be free from her troublesome issues, as she thinks while looking into the white-creamed cake. She stands up, willing to get out of the cafe to make a difference.

She goes out through the door, thinking something – a nh Yu

in her life will change. Then she is reminded,

im K 2 ’2

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she has an appointment in 7 o’clock.

Screw it, she says.

E R

– Samantha Jensen F, P ’17, ’19

31

A life of purpose My biological father was a heavy substance abuser and a violent man. We have an estranged relationship and the last time I saw him, I was eight years old. When I was in elementary and middle school and friends asked about my father, I said, “I don’t have one!” I never paid much attention to the things he said to me in my early childhood, but one thing that stuck out in my mind was when he told me, “You will end up like me one day.” This statement really hit me hard and it is something I will never forget.

My parents were never married and my mother brought me up as a single parent, with tremendous help and support from my maternal grandparents. I saw my biological father sporadically when I was young, and the memories I have of him are not pleasant. I remember going to his house and sitting in front of the TV to entertain myself, as he was often in the next room doing drugs. Other times, he would bring me to his mother’s house where she would babysit for me. I have fond memories of her and still remember the smell of her Dominican cooking. There were times when my biological father would go on drug and alcohol binges, and became physically aggressive toward me. I was ashamed and afraid to tell my mother about it as I believed that I must have done something wrong to deserve the beating and neglect. More importantly, I was afraid she would never let me see him again.

To have my father tell me I would end up becoming a drug user, with no empathy or compassion for others, helped me come to the clear realization who he is – a selfish, cruel, and callous man. I may not know much about life yet, or what I want to be, but I know that I am determined NOT to be like him! Instead, I have tried to embrace a different approach to life, one that encompasses the qualities and values my mother and grandparents instilled in me–compassion, kindness, loyalty, hard work, and honesty.

My grandfather, who also grew up with a single mother and very limited means, received scholarships to attend a college he could not otherwise afford. This led him to start a successful law firm, and eventually establish our family foundation, which has supported many charities and is aimed at giving back to the community that supported him and helped propel his career.

My grandfather has instilled in me the same sense of altruism that he has led his life by.

From the time I was 10 years old, I accompanied my cousins and family to distribute meals to homeless shelters for the holidays, I have worked with migrant workers, teaching them English in the summer, and helped to organize Special Olympics events at my school.

Through this work, I have come to realize how many people lack the means to make ends meet, or the language to gain employment, or the support to realize their dreams. It has also led me to think about my own privilege and the ability, and responsibility, I have to impact change.

Given the history with my biological father, my life could have very easily taken a very different path. Fortunately, I have been surrounded by amazing role models who have inspired me to develop and strive for precisely the qualities that my biological father lacks trust, kindness, heart, and soul. I am stronger for all that I have experienced, both good and bad, and I know that as I end my high school career and begin college, I am ready to use those experiences to keep me living a life of purpose.

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– Michael Leesfield ’19

To snatch to share For it be lost

To fight to run

t o

Thine Scarlett Letter.

To love to hate

Destined to part

– Graham Deckers ’20

To ignite to extinguish

f o r g e t

Thine Cain mark Now be gone

Thy hallow of peace Be gone be gone

Thine hatred thought Be there without

For when not now Be tallow be fair Humble in one

Since home be gone Harrow around United in that

Things I am not

HERO OF JUSTICE I am the bone of my sword, I devote my body to the steels of glory, And my blood to the fires of war.

Feared by life and revered by death.

Unaware of loss, Nor aware of gain.

I am the judgment that smites the unholy, As tyrants cower in their castles, And widows cry out into the night.

These bloodied hands hold the sins of humanity, They have withstood the pain of the few, For the sake of the many.

There are no regrets, For this is the path I was birthed upon.

So to Gaia I pray, Let me be a hero of justice.

– Po Lam Fung ’20

– Daichi Ono ’19

– Po Lam Fung ’20 Inspired by the character Shirou Emiya in the Japanese show, Fate/Stay Night

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– Bon Bhakdibhumi ’19 34

INESCAPABLE DARKNESS Though I’m your ostentatious, Relentless chamber of Loosely attached organs, I’m not loveless. And For this, love me.

I worship people around me as gods, Be they athletic or Artistic, playful or genteel, Uncomplicated or Introspective, egocentric Or altruistic — for Their gestures, their doctrines, Their sentiments, their pride, I worship them. But in so lofty An alcove I’ve placed them, So lofty that my own being Has sunken into the void At the bottom. Into the void They stared, but nothing they found, Nothing, no one, and they went on To their own lives, their memory Obscured. But I’ve always been there, In the dark, staring up At the halo surrounding the rest Of the world, mouthing words That are muffled by the void, That kept bouncing back from the walls Of the inescapable darkness — I’ve always been there!

Stare Harder through the mists, The streams, the glass into The void! And Fetch me — Love me.

– Pengyu Si ’19 35

Poema de Cambio,

` y Crecimiento EvolucION Puedo sentirlo entre mi Crecimiento, algo que no puedes ver pasando hasta que ya pasó ¿Cómo sabemos que pasó si no lo vemos pasando?

En realidad no sé, es algo que nuestra sociedad ha aceptado Es como la evolución, ¿cómo sabemos qué pasó?

No puedes verlo hasta que ya ha pasado Sabes que, es porque toma tiempo poco a poco Suficiente tiempo que mis ojos jóvenes serán viejos – Preston Runk ’21

La Semilla La Semilla Llena de potencial, Que se entierra no donde se encuentra Hasta que un pequeño tallo verde, Emerge de la tierra rica y oscura.

Luchando para alcanzar La luz del sol Nace la vida El capullo Las brotas, Una flor Emerge, Llena de Color – John Warner ’20

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– Kristof Proulx ’20

– Cameron Andrews ’19

A Road Back They created me, without listening to my opinion.

I came to this world with a rope.

It ties me to my home.

Cry, cry, a scissor cut it off.

From that moment, I am free but alone.

For the rest of my life,

I am just seeking a road to go back.

– Peter Du ’19 37

Dealing with Disability Many children have learning challenges. It may be that they do not understand the lesson being taught or they may have difficulty focusing on the material. This was certainly the case for me.

Going to school was the worst part of being a kid. I never understood anything. Writing was a struggle for me, and even when I could write, I couldn’t read what I had just written. Reading was even more challenging for me. Any time I was expected to read in class, I would become nervous. It was not a fear of speaking in front of people; it was the fact that I could not read anything. I would see letters in words that didn’t belong in those words. I simply could not understand some words. When I was asked to read out loud, it would take me a long time to get through my part and kids would laugh because I would say the wrong things. This made me shut down, and I would not want to read again.

In school, before I learned what my disabilities were, my teachers were unwilling to help me.

My parents always reached out to the school administration and requested help because they believed I had a disability. The teachers and guidance counselors at the school would always say that there was nothing wrong with me and that I just needed more time to develop. I had to go through two more years without help. I struggled because teachers thought I wasn’t working hard enough. They kept saying that I needed to “try harder” and “do better.”

When I was in 7th grade I had an evaluation done to see if I had any learning disabilities. My parents had always been concerned that I may have some sort of learning issue because they knew I struggled in school and I showed signs of someone that has learning issues. When I went to middle school, the learning specialists finally agreed with my parents that it was a good idea to have an evaluation done to see if I had and learning issues. The results of those tests I showed that I had dysgraphia and a mild form of dyslexia.

When I was in high school, I changed schools. I went to Avon Old Farms School. This school has a Learning Support Center for kids who have learning disabilities. My parents and I hoped that I would get some help while I was attending school here. What I did not realize is that this place would completely change how I viewed school. I realized that school was a place where learning was actually possible for me.

The Learning Center is a quiet place on campus where I have an “Academic Coach.” She works with me one-on-one to provide tools and strategies to help me get organized, study, take notes, and learn how to take tests. I also receive testing accommodations which means I allotted extra time on tests and quizzes.

Avon Old Farms School and the Learning Center have single-handedly made school much easier for me. They have helped me realize that there is nothing wrong with me and they have given me the tools I needed to overcome my disabilities. This does not mean that school is easy for me or that I can breeze through it, I have to work very hard, but I am grateful that I no longer hate going to school the same way that I did before I came to Avon Old Farms School.

– Alex Brezenoff ’19 38

– Matthew Jensen ’19 39

on

r o t n d I uct e h T i

I stumble on thee Now clutching my friend Begging for assistance We walk near.

Gut tightens Mouth dries Feeling nervous Speechless The beauty in her eyes.

A whiff of perfection Brushes off on me Am I worthy?

Am I dreaming?

Brush of wind blows her hair Nerves increase.

Her smile Laugh Hair Perfect.

I am as frozen as a photograph.

Is this real?

Introduction. – Marshall Taylor ’19 36 40

– Pengyu Si ’19

– Pengyu Si ’19

41

Grateful

I know I don’t show my appreciation enough.

I know you worry what I’m up to and how I’m doing, still I don’t call enough because you showed me the value Of a resource as scarce as time, and because my time is thanks to you.

I can’t let myself waste it.

I don’t show my appreciation enough because You taught me to make my actions speak louder than words and I let you worry because of the tunnel vision, A vision not meant to exclude, but To give necessary attention to the seed aforementioned.

I can’t show my appreciation enough because There isn’t a store-bought card or handwritten letter That can thank you for everything you have done, And repay every investment you have made in me.

I can’t let myself waste it.

– David Helsley ’20

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43

– Dennis Catrini ’20

Time Stand Summer’s going fast– Nights growing colder Children growing up Old friends growing older Experience slips away…

Still

– Homage to Neil Pert

I let my skin get too thin.

I turn my back to the wind Before I start off again Driven on Without a moment to spend Time stand still – I’m not looking back But I want to look around me now See more of the people And the places that surround me now Freeze this moment A little bit longer Make each sensation A little bit stronger Experience slips away…

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– Sean Flanagan ’19

H

I

P

P

O

C

R

E

N

E

This book has been a labor of love for a great many

needed the recommendation of two editors and

people in this community, and my first words should

then approved by the faculty advisor. Students

be of thanks to all of the students who submitted

whose works appear in the previous pages should

pieces, the editors who curated them, and the

know that the process was extremely competitive

many faculty and staff in the Communications

and should take great pride in their achievement.

Department who pushed this project forward.

Without them this project would be a shadow of itself, and it was a tremendous pleasure and honor to work with them all over the past year.

Finally, on behalf of the entire editorial team I would like to thank the entire Avon community, especially those who read and submit to the Hippocrene. As I, along with Matthew and Jake, prepare to leave

The theme for this issue is Evolution: “the gradual

Avon in May, I am left with an immense sense

development of something, especially from a simple

of pride in the literary spirit of the school. I look

to a more complex form.” We found this choice

forward to seeing the new directions the Men of

especially fitting in light of the impending departure

Avon will take their work as they carry on our

of our longtime headmaster, Kenneth LaRocque.

tradition of ceaseless growth.

A great change is a time for reflection and remembrance, but also for renewal and growth.

Aspiranando et Perseverando,

In selecting and organizing the pieces for this year, we tried to capture the wide range of emotions that comes with change, as well as the the determination of the school and the community.

Editor-in-Chief Charles Di Bona ’19

Pieces, both visual and literary, were selected by

EDITORS

a committee of editors who determined which

Matthew Jensen ’19 John Morris ’19 David Helsley ’20 Graham Deckers ’20 Dennis Catrini ’20

ones would fit with our theme while also being of exceptional quality. To be selected, each piece

Colophon For Starters: Academic Advisor: Samantha Jensen Creative Director: Bob Dully, Designed by Dennis Catrini ’20 Editorial Manager: Evan Sayles Photography: Artist submissions Printing: The book was printed by Marketing Solutions, West Hartford, CT Marketing Solutions Representative: Stacey Remes Press Run: 800 copies / Trim size is 7x10 / 44 pages plus Cover Cover paper stock: 120# Silk Cover / 4/4 plus overall 1.5M matte laminate & spot gloss UV Text pages: 100# Endurance gloss text with perfect binding Design: Cover was designed by Dennis Catrini ’20, with art from Matthew Jensen ’19 Digital aspect: Two iMacs used to produce the book 3 deadlines, all submitted digitally online Software used: Adobe InDesign, Photoshop & Illustrator / Fonts vary throughout

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