Ram Magazine and BSU present...
Atop The Mountain
Elevating Black Arts and Letters at Saint Ann’s
“We younger Negro artists who create now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame. If white people are pleased we are glad. If they are not, it doesn’t matter. We know we are beautiful. And ugly too. The tom-tom cries and the tom-tom laughs. If colored people are pleased we are glad. If they are not, their displeasure doesn’t matter either. We build our temples for tomorrow, strong as we know how, and we stand on top of the mountain, free within ourselves.”
- Langston Hughes, The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain
When decid g ival of Ram Magazine, I spent many hours considering the role this literary collection could play in our beloved school’s culture and community. Ultimately, I hope, that in its continued publication in the coming months and years, Ram Magazine can reflect the importance of authentic and honest art by and for any community.
The talented members of BSU have bravely helped to further free and equitable expression at Saint Ann’s by contributing to this magazine, and Ram Magazine and BSU will continue to support every Saint Ann’s student as they scale and stand atop any mountain, and use their art to express their individual selves.
- Nuala M., Editor
Stills From Short Film Fluorescence
KyaN.
“Desdemona
is a young teenage girl who lacks confidence due to her rocky relationship with her mother. It isn’t until Des meets a young photographer that she learns to stand up to her mother.”
- The Hollywood Reporter
Away From All This
Ren B.
They came cloaked
Without face
Just space
And they promised to take me
Away from this place
They promised I’d be suspended Above the earth
Without pain
Without sorrow
Without depression Or hopelessness
And tomorrow
I’d be away
Away away away
Away from all of this
Away from war
Away from death
Away from anger
And you
They promised me that all the pain
That I’ve ever felt
Would vanish
Into thin air
That it wouldn’t matter That I wouldn’t hurt
That I would be engulfed in blue
A new
Light
That I would be reborn
And my life would finally start
And as I sit here
Contemplating my decision
I remember you
You
The one I loved
The one I held so close
I remembered/when they asked me
To join them/
I remembered
The way I felt
When I was with you
Before it all changed
My pain went beyond my body and I felt as if I could fly
Forever
But I couldn’t fly
And no
I didn’t feel like I was flying
Because if I was flying/ And if I felt
As if I were flying/ I didn’t feel
As if I would have to land/ I would of course have to land
Because wings
Get tired
But when I was with you
That day
I was suspended
Suspended in the middle of our galaxy
Engulfed in blue
Embodying new
I was forever
I had breathed life
And it made me cry
Cry for the very first time
In forever
But of course
That was just how I felt
Because in reality
I had been letting my tears flow
For years
They flowed for me
For my family
For my people
For my story
For the earth
Looking back on it
On us
Yes
I felt something new
And yes my pain shot out of me
And turned the particles in the air
On the walls
Beneath your skin
Blue
Yes I felt alive
But it was fleeting
It was just a moment
A moment
Before the chaos
Before the pain
Before the tears of blood and crushed essence
And when that moment was over I came back to the world
we live in
A world of
Horror
Destruction
And agony
You don’t feel it as I do
And you never will
So As I sit here
In the ship
That is headed to my new home
Amongst the stars
Contemplating my decision
To leave earth
And leave you
I think of the future
A future without pain
Without sorrow
Without depression
Or hopelessness
And tomorrow
I’ll be away
Away away away
Away from all this
by
“One Way” Niesha
Ode to Envy
I envy the sound of the ticking clock, Some wish it would stop, but I do not.
I envy the drips of the coffee machine, one after another Some in unison
I envy the whooshes of the air conditioning, each of a different pitch and key.
I envy the sounds of people’s squeaking shoes. For I have memorized each one
Including Dr. Lu’s
I envy the sounds of my father’s mumbles, my brother’s sobs, and my baby sister’s grumbles.
I envy the sound of my mother’s cries, it was so loud yet so insufferably quiet.
I envy the beeps of the heart machine a slowing of tempo to put me to sleep.
Sam B.
“Fed” Lina R.
Like Nightfall of The Past
Maxine P-E.
Like nightfall of the past, A twilight of memories I can no longer recall, A sea of people I wish I knew. The pain visible in their eyes, When they tell me to try and remember. But I know not of them or of myself. I crumble from the stress of the unknown. How can I long for something I do not know? I plummet, further and further, Like nightfall of the past. But, this time I do not rise like the sun.
The Water and Me
Maxine P-E.
I feel the cool blue water against my feet. The water slowly climbs up my back and flows through my hair. Suspended in the deep, Gravity gone from my frame, Just the water and me. My body moves and drifts, Draped in liquid sheets, water fills me. This is where I go to escape from reality, Where I feel alive. Just the water and me.
Cooking
Helena A-K.
I see lights your lights yellow tinted half on half off glaring and pitch black I peek into your life the streetlights from the opposite block I see my pores in the reflection of your window
I stare into your glass your kitchen counter your tomato shaped timer that screams when it’s time to take the blueberry muffins out of the oven it’s your mothers secret recipe but she passed it onto you once you turned 16 the timer lays next to the knife you cut your hand on when you were 7 you swore you’d never cook again but I stare and stare as you continue to cook without me
“The Flute Player”
Eleanor B. Why I Don’t Do
The act of not doing And yes it is an act Makes me dizzy in the best way Makes me feel alive.
Do you know what it feels like to just not? Do you get that burst of vitality? Do you also get nervous? Do you feel like you’re never going to get it done?
Do you live for that feeling too?
For Me
(After Ella Fitzgerald’s version of George and Ira Gershwin’s But Not For Me)
Ash P.
Following downstream, I hear the weeping cry, the dragon’s beard of a violin in the distance. So high above the orchestra: mass melancholy.
The love songs—They speak of— a memory or a fantasy; the other side of a coin well lived; copper, before it oxidizes seaweed green; shiny and new like the stories.
I leave footsteps in the water bank so that They might see the horizon where I came from.
How will I know when I’ve found my lucky star? Will it look like those jazz singers, with their eyes twinkling in black and white? Or a sparkly blue dress, its hem scraping against the cobblestone streets of a shadowed city? Or a head of pincurls that remain unbothered by the final dance?
A pleasant sickness buzzes within as I remember the closest i’ve come to the fairytale: the gentle tap of the drum brush that outlines the common time waltz of verse I can’t dance to alone.
I’m almost there. Though I can’t quite hear the words. It’s a resolve, isn’t it? Where she leads me, to the dream described in so many retellings. And finally the words, “For me.”
-A Black Femininity
Durete M.
Forged in the air breathed by beauty
Combed by the intertwining ribbons of emotion
Accused, abused, objectifies, Idolized Worshiped.
An Idea coated in judgment yet, we, in our excellence preserved by self worth yet, us, a Creation of pure incredibility
Blessed by our love
Must earn the momentary respect
Must Conclude Ourselves to fit under Indifference
To be Ourselves Expressed–a gift.
Our Trauma not allowed
Our being— proved by followers- no loyalty- to our chosen expression
Mental Depth dominated by inescapable -weaponsCriticized–humerized–discarded-overlooked-underseen-Shit-
Sweat-filled tears collected by mothers, given to sisters that nourish our flesh with— - - Hunger Hunger- we cradle as our bodies root in pride as our bodies embellish the earth.
“A Busy Day on Blank
Maxine P-E.
I can’t continue playing piano now My fingers will never play the same The notes look distant and strange Like a foreign language on a page
All I do is sit and stare at the lonely piano
As the dust continues to grow On the keys I no longer know
I wonder If I had only tried when I still had the chance Would it make people stand up and dance Would I be happier Would piano still be in my life
The more time passes it seems to disappear Cobwebs climb up the keys like doubt into my mind No one is there to keep it alive
As I grow old the piano will too People will begin to forget it was even there It will die isolated, alone, and empty
Just like me
Piano
“Costumes”
“Blue People”
“The Boxer”
Colin B-S.
A Bit About
As Saint Ann’s BSU (Black Students’ Union), our goal is to uplift the Black community and create a safe space for the Black students of Saint Ann’s School. This pursuit entails...
Enriching our community through programs and events
Partnering with the school for curriculum improvements such as:
Teaching Black excellence, not exclusively Black suffering
Including an informed Black narrative
Incorporating African/Caribbean history into the canon
Teaching post-Civil War African American history
Constructively critiquing administration responses to racial issues
Creating a comfortable space for incoming Black high school students and their opinions/ideas
Positively impacting the future of our Black student body and administration
Fall 2024: BSU Helps the High School Costume Crew with hairstyling for a production of Sense and Sensibility
Fall 2024: BSU coordinates an informative and creative Kwanzaa project for fourth graders
Winter 2023: BSU hosts a Black History Month reading for kindergarten students
Spring 2023: Eighth Grade and High School BSU
Viewing of The Little Mermaid
Fall 2023: First BSU Meeting and Poster Making
On Imagination
Phillis Wheatley (1753 - 1784)
Thy various works, imperial queen, we see, How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee!
Thy wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand, And all attest how potent is thine hand.
From Helicon's refulgent heights attend, Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend: To tell her glories with a faithful tongue, Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes, Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, And soft captivity involves the mind.
Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course? Soaring through air to find the bright abode, Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God, We on thy pinions can surpass the wind, And leave the rolling universe behind: From star to star the mental optics rove, Measure the skies, and range the realms above. There in one view we grasp the mighty whole, Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise; The frozen deeps may break their iron bands, And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands. Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign, And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain; Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round, And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd: Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose, And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain, O thou the leader of the mental train: In full perfection all thy works are wrought, And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought. Before thy throne the subject-passions bow, Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou; At thy command joy rushes on the heart, And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
Fancy might now her silken pinions try To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high: From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise, Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies, While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies. The monarch of the day I might behold, And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold, But I reluctant leave the pleasing views, Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse; Winter austere forbids me to aspire, And northern tempests damp the rising fire; They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea, Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.
Acknowledgements
Ram Magazine would like to offer our heartfelt thanks to all those who made this special issue possible.
Kevin Anderson, Mino Capossela, Alex Darrow, Michael F., Nadia Harmsen, Sherrish Holloman, Jack L., Ashley Mathis, Jojo M., Kya N., Chinyere Odim, Kenyatte Reid, Taja R., Matthew Stephens, Vince Tompkins, and the entire membership of BSU.
Thank you for all of your support and hard work.
