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From The President
In the poem “Quinnie,” alumna Rita Brady Kiefer ’53 celebrates the memory of Dr. Frances Quinlivan and the profound influence she had in shaping her students’ minds. The imagery of the poem paints a picture of students studying, learning and being challenged against the backdrop of “that Gothic campus.” She ends the poem with an almost wistful remembrance of a simple truth passed on by Dr. Quinlivan: “Know the genuine.”
As the current generation of Notre Dame’s leaders and students press on toward transforming the College into a premier liberal arts college, it is against that same backdrop that they too are learning to challenge contemporary fads and fashions. It seems fitting that upon the “mid-west green” where, for over 80 years, students have “walked with Marx and Aquinas,” a memorial circle now stands in remembrance of Dr. Quinlivan where today’s students can be inspired to contemplate their world, question today’s freely floating “truths,” and fashion their futures.
It is also fitting that as Notre Dame continues to grow, we remember the legacy of those who brought it to this place in its history. As it was aptly said at the dedication of the Legacy Walkway and Quinlivan Circle on October 16, 2005, “Each brick represents a promise written in stone that remembers those who have supported and guided this institution to its present state.”
In this special issue of Notre Dame Today, we present each of the construction projects completed this year. Notre Dame College is in a season of change. As we preserve the memories of our past, we honor those whose generosity allowed us to grow and commend the work of those who are leading us into the future.
Andrew P.Roth, Ph.D.
President
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QUINNIE
(for Frances Quinlivan)
Still her voice dangling late afternoon lines of
Shakespeare even the tired oaks lightened
at words fine as gold filigree against her
autumn tweeds, cashmere easy on her shoulders.
At nineteen we disputed all
truth. Squint, she said, and held out
counterfeits. On our mid-west green
we walked with Marx and Aquinas
that Gothic campus chilled
reading tragedies until our faces grew
into Greek masks, dead heroines traced
on frosted windows.
And the French writer: a last nickel
for hyacinths, not bread. Together we tracked
origins: a seed, a page soon whole folios of
shimmering flesh characters waiting to be
named under bark (think of Antigone
once in a tree or Caliban or that Russian
woman on the tracks).
We left her passionate to rescue words.
Now older than she was then
(Paganini on broken nights, young odors clinging)
My home shifts through boulders switch-
backs avalanche country the Great
Divide. In a chaos far from
that early campus Quinnie’s green word:
know the genuine.
Rita Brady Kiefer ’53 |
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