Life, 1928-05-03 · page 15 of 46
Life — May 3, 1928 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Poetry: A Magazine of Verse* presents four poems by different authors, not political cartoons or satire. The poems include "The Witch-Girl from the Other Side of the Tracks" by Ernestine van Duzen Herp (depicting a working-class girl's defiant rejection of social expectations), "Mike Dorgan" by Robert Rising Stitch (a narrative about a town man and a lynching), "Self-Portrait" by Elsa Watson Calkins McSieeve (introspective verse about identity), and "Pagan Portrait" by Elizabeth Hornsby Sling (an April poem addressing Pan). These are literary works, not satirical commentary. The page showcases contemporary poetry from the early 20th century, focusing on character studies, social themes, and romantic or mythological subjects rather than political messaging.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
With Apologies to POETRY: A Magazine of Verse SEVERAL RATHER SIGNIFICANT BITS OF The Witch-Girl from the Other Side of the Tracks My father was a faery, My dam was much too old. Oh, never lads shall have my lips For silver or for gold! Too lazy for a wanton, Too silly for a shrew, Too wayward for a stevedore— What would you have me do But tend my bitter thistles, And steal my neighbors’ sheep, And count my thumbs and fingers Until I fall to sleep? —Ernestine van Duzen Berp. + Self-Portrait My thoughts go slipping, one by one, As tamarisks fall on silvered breasts. No twin am I, but born alone— A woman; kin to happier beasts. What is this hot, bejeweled blood That beats against my shuttered soul? My sterling sin and brummagem good Stamp me half nun, half nymph, half ghoul. —Elsa Watson Calkins McSieeve. NEW VERSE BX Mike Dorgan CHE: lived on Walnut Street—one-ninety-one— A wooden house, it was, with swinging blinds And railing round the porch, of which the eighth Rail from the end was busted all to hell From age—or weather, maybe. God, who knows What agencies have torn the living tripe Out of a rail? Anyways, Mike was known Over the town as one who kept his peace And lived his life, a good man and an Elk. So it was strange, that day against the bar, To hear Red Lem, the Widow Stetson’s son— Born fourteen months beyond poor Stetson’s death— ~ Say with a leer, “Hey, Mike, I want to know Who was that lady you was with last night?” I guess there’s not a one of us forgets The way Mike looked at Lem, and says to him, “That was no lady, either; that’s my wife.”.... We lynched Red Lem for speaking out of turn. —Robert Rising Slitch. * Pagan Portrait J swat float with you a little while Because it is April And the sun is so delicately dim, And I am not feeling so good myself. Take my heart, then,— For Pan still lives, still lives— Break it into prettily shaped bits— My heart, my heart,— Do what you will with it, And holler, “Fire!” —Elizabeth Hornsby Sling. comicbooks.com