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April 19, 2003
The Art of Sigs: Poetry of Iota Sig Published in Mag
One might recall from his days of pledging that Sigma Chi finds its roots in the Erodelphian Literary Society. Though at Valparaiso we do not stem from such lofty a background (all apologies to the days of DTP), many of our brothers have shared some of those same literary interests upon which Sigma Chi was founded.
In the most recent issue of The Magazine of Sigma Chi, one of Iota Sigma's own was featured in the special section dedicated to "The Art of Sigs". The poetry of brother Steven Zittergruen ('02) was originally composed while he was an undergraduate, however can presently be found on page 34 of the Magazine.
Steve graduated in 2002 from Valpo, majoring in Theology and completing work in Christ College. Currently he is enrolled as a first year seminary student at Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina.
A MEDITATION ON FROST
by Steven Zittergruen ('02)
A lazy road less traveled calls
that I might venture down its way.
"It's made the difference" some proclaim
but there before the fork I stall.
I neither know nor care to say
what merit runs with little use.
Although one path's seen more abuse
what good is wear to judge my way?
So here I stand in sweet reprieve
from saunters deep through snowy wood,
refusing use to judge the good,
I idly kick at the frosty leaves.
Beneath the poplars I discern
what's popular is often right.
Since many students brave the plight
suppose that I refused to learn!
So use and wear we'd best ignore -
but beauty, truth, and justice seek -
lest others on our conscience breach
as we stare at the forest floor.
But also know it's rather rash
to limit choice to just two paths.
If others' ways are not for me
I"ll gladly through the forest crash.
Upon further investigation, Steve also has another poem at SigmaChi.org
ON HASTE
by Steven Zittergruen ('02)
A lone tree towers on a hill
Stands perched as one alone, although
It stands within a forest still;
the other trees lie far below
Withered and dead it harshly stands
like a dagger above the rest
void of branches, as if a brand
plunged into Nature’s very breast.
It quickly grew and fast did leave
The canopy where it was weaned
But then it could find no reprieve
From wild sun that harshly beamed
For in its haste to leave the ground
It did not slow and recognize
It needed other trees around
To shield it from the bitter sky
And in the same way men do err
By vainly lusting after power
But quickly fall into despair.
When over others they do tower.
Still, high above the zenith peaks
The tree, a testament to see
Loud shouting ‘blessed are the meek’
And dead and damned will others be