201
4
P
AN
R
OL i v
TH
OG
Y
er
The Pine River Anthology is an annual publication by
Alma College which is created by the collaboration between the departments of Art and Design and English. This
magazine showcases creative works of fine art and writing and serves as a way for our college to take part in a
campus-wide involvement in the visual and literary arts.
Alloy
Our design process this year was fueled by the word
which is an intimate fusion of multiple elements to create a
singular harmonious and homogeneous mixture. Alloy can
also be defined as a standard quality or fineness. The blending process is usually done with metals, but we felt that this
mixing intertwined nicely with our notion of joining the literary
and visual art realms into one cohesive entity. We also felt that
one can find unity within any juxtaposition, including industrial, harsh metals and the organic matter of nature. By blending these different ideas and realms we have created our
own completely harmonious work of art, and we welcome
you to enjoy the work as you dive deeper within our Alloy.
special thanks
The Pine River Anthology staff would like to thank all
those who submitted creative work for their continuing contribution to the Alma College community. Special thanks to McKay Press, especially Scott McDonald,
for all of his professional printing guidance. Also, thanks to
the Art and English departments, our wonderful advisors,
as well as Student Congress, for their monetary support.
1
table of contents
written work
4
7
8
11
12
15
16
20-21
22-23
24
27
28
31
32
35
36
39
40
43
44
47
48
51
childhood poem................................... amber johannes
circling at your feet................................ rebecca blasius
(my) heart................................................. isabelle moore
dream drift to cycles...............................jacob hammer
electric chair............................................. taylor swanson
i will give it feathers.................................abigail delaney
teach the lake to remember...................... karli henning
i remember..................................................carson crabill
why do we fear death?...............................tyler george
swan.............................................................carson crabill
let downs..................................................kamryn kurtzner
for the love of words.............................chelsea radgens
josh............................................................... david maniez
my mother knows my name..............................molly sell
brothers.................................................... nicholas arnold
shade in the window................................... haley parker
last stop, the top.......................................... haley parker
in the almost dark................................. amy socolovitch
summer blushes......................................andrea aguilera
flyers............................................................... jesse cornea
canto #6....................................... santino dalla vecchia
overcoming odds..............................................travis long
sunset bathouse and
the didgeridoo man.................. santino dalla vecchia
artwork
5
6
9
10
13
14
17
18-19
23
25
26
29
30
33
34
37
38
41
42
45
46
49
50
lonely...........................................................taylor mclane
organic order.........................................meghan cheyne
michelangelo sculpture study........................... holly ross
pastels in madrid.......................................... katie keaton
trapped...................................................... ashley esselink
hatching.................................................... lynzee brenner
that moment................................................ katie keaton
unbalance symmetry.............................mary chambers
reliquia............................................................joshua gove
mermaid tail................................................meghan kelly
objective reality.................................. savannah ferman
emerge.....................................................mary chambers
broken.............................................................. irene ward
going tribal......................................................blair secord
desert scene...............................................taylor mclane
glass trees...................................................... katie keaton
the wanderer.........................................meghan cheyne
isolated........................................................taylor mclane
ersatz bloom..................................................joshua gove
parede de gaudí....................................mary chambers
sacred treetops............................................ katie keaton
footprints.............................................................erin chon
figure...................................................annamarie williams
childhood poem
by amber johannes
I long for those days when love was abundant
ignorance was bliss
family your heroes
friends like the dockhands aboard your ship
the only ones understanding your mentality
happiness radiating through every cell in your body
sadness only temporary and always short lived
playtime, and riding on thoughts that soar through your imagination was your career
you owed nothing to no one, just satisfaction to yourself
pure exhaustion setting with the sun every summer night
excitement from the thoughts in your imagination glistening in
your eyes
never a filter when speaking your mind, only a waterfall of truth
pouring out
discovery is a daily occurrence, craving more and more as you
realize this
love is all needed or wanted, and all you had to give
Those were the best days
lonely
4
taylor mclane
conté crayon
circling of your feet
by rebecca blasius
I press my ear to the world
I hear the rubbing of a ballet slipper
Against the dirt of the pine forest
And the extending of your tree branch limb to the motion of
the swing note wind.
I hear the laughing of a girl with
The grace that could make grass blades form music.
Your pencil still scratches in the breeze
Forming words out of broken branches
Or bending limbs to make angles of hints to the pathway
Of your upcoming performance with the breeze.
I hear the maple syrup pouring out of the tree
Trying to give the tone of your voice back to the world.
I wake up one icy morning
And I hear the mourning of your loved ones.
I listen closely to the spinning of your screeching tires,
And the spinning movements of your car in graceful circles.
You take that last spin, ready to give your final performance,
And your car spins into the tree branches, arms ready for you
to come home.
I listen closely to the breeze
And I still hear the car’s radio whispering a graceful melody.
organic order
meghan cheyne
oil on canvas
6
7
(MY) heart
by isabelle moore
I believe it to be a million
places and not all mine
I think it was hers & his & theirs
and I think I left pieces in Ukraine
in the mountains where I held a sobbing child
and I’m certain he stole a few
straight from my chest last July
when he called and opened the door (again)
and I hope to gather bits of her in Santa Fe
that dangle from the sculptures on Canyon Road
and I hope to hide slices in between pages of the books that
they will read
And I hope that somewhere along your journey,
you will crouch down, near to the earth
and take a bit of mine to add to yours.
michelangelo sculpture study
8
holly ross
conté crayon
dream drift to cycles
by jacob hammer
Pull the heron
from the silver box
Neither remaining
nor rushing out
Wake up with the feeling
of feathers
and a chill breeze
in the sheets
The river is always calling
A rush of wings
across bleeding pastels
cast through canvas
calling through the sun’s last tomes
Rest now below
tree shadows
Opener of paths
Breath back
to dream music
pastels in madrid
katie keaton
digital photograph
10
11
electric chair
by taylor swanson
My metal mouth is moistened
And prepares to steal from the
Man bound to me.
I am the greatest thief
And I can’t express the remorse I feel
For the pain I have caused.
I take from man
What cannot be
Replaced.
I promise I’m not a murderer—
Just doing my job.
But before I can whisper I’m sorry,
The body is pulled away.
Soon, the lights are turned off
And I’m left alone.
Until I am required for the next job.
trapped
12
ashley esselink
digital photograph
i will give it feathers
by abigail delaney
This heart
It is broken
And so it ends its purpose
And begins anew
I will take this piece
And give it feathers.
Feathers made of pride
Of strength – of sheer will
I will rip apart this muscle
And stitch it back together with new ones.
It will beat stronger
And harder for the one who finds it.
This broken heart will grow new wings
And they will fly away.
One will fly to another
And they will take it in open arms.
But the other one
That is the more important.
Because that is the heart that will fly
Fly, fly away.
hatching
It will go through pain,
And hurt,
And will want to turn back
To stop the torture it will have to endure.
lynzee brenner
porcelain ceramic bowl
But that is the piece
Of the Broken Heart
That escapes it all
And comes back to me.
14
teach the lake to remember
by karli henning
Go in toes first, with pants rolled
once neck deep, invite your eyes to close
kick up sand, unclench your fists
purse your lips for a dark wet kiss
Welcome the current, it tugs your hair
cools your skin, steals your air
Swim to the bottom, unplug the drain
Swirl back to a world that was without pain
The water steers you, so follow its demand
You’ll find only pieces, like your father’s beer can
and a chewed dog collar, you’ll laugh at the sight
Wandering further you’ll see a broken pink kite
A silver dollar is next, caked in green
then a baseball cap, your favorite team
your mother’s earring, a coffee cup
A painted seashell that’s facing up
A fishing rod, missing line and hook,
You don’t want to breath now, so continue to look
keep scouring for those memory bones
uproot them from their sunken home.
that moment
16
katie keaton
digital photograph
unbalanced symmetry
mary chambers
paint marker
i remember
by carson crabill
I remember burying the dinosaurs. They had nothing more
than weeds as the headstone, but the stones were remarkably
well-polished.
I remember when you shipped out. I told you I would travel to
the lakes, after all I’m nearby. I take for granted that you’re still
safely within our border.
I remember the times where I drove for hours upstate. We lived
together. We slept together. We cooked together. We got over
our hangovers together. We weren’t apart.
I remember the last time I dove in. When I thought there would
be another year. When I didn’t feel the ache of years of putting my head down and going.
I remember when we were married without rings. We valued
words and vows more than something that could be pawned.
I remember the friends I had, the ones I said I’d never stop
talking to. I wake up in a frenzied mix of fear and unsheathed
pillows and realize that I’m over halfway done with school.
I remember when you had never tried pub cheese. When we
went to the store and tried on everything as if it were to be
worn like a hat. When you asked me if I would fly with you to
the place you were born.
I remember my grandfather teaching me to fire a gun. I
learned the same ritual that he learned. Never point at anything you don’t want to kill.
I remember, that somehow, you confide in me. I’m a prescription you’ve not managed after years of self-medication. I’m a
stain on the back of your shirt that you won’t notice unless you
look in the mirror.
I remember burying us. There was no minister. There wasn’t a
service. No one even knows. Only I know. I know nothing more
than two letters. One sent. One addressed with no stamp.
I remember I should spend time with my grandparents before
mortality wins again. I should learn from their old photographs
and I should ask my father how to get his good looks from his
younger days.
I remember holding the hand of some other girl in some other
place that doesn’t seem to be revered by many. I still haven’t
let open the shutters in my head and let out the moths that eat
my hemispheres.
21
WHY DO WE FEAR DEATH?
by tyler goerge
When the eyes close for the final time
And darkness swirls around inside
We realize that the black isn’t cold, like we thought,
But warm and sleepy, how we were seconds before falling asleep.
We stay like this.
For a while.
Because death is not rushed. It’s a lullaby.
It does not want to disturb us from our beds,
because we are comfortable to be there, surrounded by nothing.
Eventually the darkness begins to thin
It doesn’t get brighter, because that would wake us up.
And we’re happy.
But the black isn’t black anymore, more of a warm gray,
Which is good, because we can now see
The people coming to join us.
The Lamb can lead them,
But he doesn’t always.
It doesn’t matter here, in death.
And we begin to cry, because how could we not
When we see those whom we’ve been longing to see for so
many years?
They take us by the hand
And we go, with them at last,
Home.
We all begin to climb, because the stairs are how they came
to bring us back,
But our legs don’t grow tired, and neither do the long-awaited
conversations.
The staircase ends after a distance,
Because a door blocks its path.
They smile, and so do we, knowing the beginning is near;
The door opens, and through it we go.
We can’t see what we stand on now, but we’re standing
nonetheless,
And we’re outside now.
It’s bright out, but not blinding, and warm.
Or it’s raining gold, lightly,
Or it could be snowing softly, beautifully, but it’s not cold.
Those around us are now birds that soar into the open sky
above,
And though we don’t know how, we’re not worried,
Because then we’re with them, soaring through the heavens,
As free as possible.
Reliquia
22
joshua gove
intaglio print
swan
by carson crabill
Dive down once more into the depths
Thrust wings to propel the sea’s blues
Azure, the irises compliment blank color
Feathers from the dive fall bluer
Hold close, be still, Swan
Gourd still holds on to something vital
Memories of a sapphire I drink from
Dropping the weight of my own anchor
Stop, rest for the night because
I do believe that the sea’s hue is kind
Play waves softly, blue like the jazz
Waves will pass my tidal down time
I wonder as smooth as your legs unwind.
mermaid tail
24
meghan kelly
glazed ceramic earthenware
let downs
by kamryn kurtzner
she eats stardust
thinking it will make
her better than
everyone else but
she’s wrong
it has
left her alone
to banging thoughts
she keeps treating
with headache
medicine that will
never be
strong enough
I’ve found her
staring at the
insides of her
eyelids too
many times but
i cant wake
her up
objective reality
savannah ferman
gelatin silver print photograph
floating above everyone
out of reach
refusing to let an
arm dangle for fear
of someone holding
on or being
let in
only
to
be
let
down
27
for the love of words
by chelsea radgens
For the love of words,
flush your skin and risk electric nerves,
before hearts roast on a fire-skewer
kindled by the owners’ own minds.
Already the time has ripened
like the soft-hardness of fruit: momentary.
Temperateness has been thrown carelessly,
with the hope that mock bravery rewards itself.
But this temperateness is tied on a string,
and I am not detached enough to cut it.
For the love of words,
Assure me with caress-whispers.
I am daft and
I am thrashing in a waveless sea,
foolishly.
For the love of words,
love your words.
Roll your tongue in fondness,
if it be so.
Salivate: anticipating recitation,
if it be so.
Expect reciprocation
if it be so and you be so bold—
it will soothe like sugar.
emerge
mary chambers
paint marker
28
josh
by david maniez
Sitting in the passenger seat
His girlfriend driving his Jeep
A snowy day
No seatbelt on
Not in four wheel drive
But there was black ice
Going off the road
And across the deep ditch
Into the trees
He fell out
As the Jeep rolled
And crushed
His pelvis
Just twelve hours
Since I had talked to him
My friend was gone.
broken
irene ward
gelatin silver print photograph
30
31
my mother knows my name
by molly sell
My mother never really knew my name.
She’d been ill since I was three.
And although she named me,
I was never sure she knew my name.
To her I was always
The one who cost her the life she wanted,
The only life she knew.
To her I was always
The reason she was,
The way she was.
And to her I was always
Never enough.
As the sickness spread,
The anger and resentment
Consumed her body.
Her memory faded
And I was more positive than ever before that
My mother never knew my name.
She was buried in the ground
With her many versions of me.
I sifted through her belongings
And between the mattress pad and the bed frame
Was her journal…
Although I shouldn’t have read it, I did.
For twenty or so pages was my mother’s shaky, uneven handwriting,
Laced with sickness and love.
Spelling out the words, “My daughter’s name is Abigail.”
As I sit here now,
I grieve her passing.
Yet, I smile…
For my whole life,
My mother knew my name!
going tribal
blair secord
oil on canvas
33
brothers
by nicholas arnold
On a little ranch in Texas
Two brothers sit side by side
One stoic and reserved
One with tears in his eyes
The younger says “It’s beautiful,
And who’d have thought it so
That we’d have been out there playing
Naught fifteen years ago.”
In quiet agreement
The eldest nods his head.
“I know I’m sure to miss it
When I am finally dead.”
“Stop saying that!” the other cries
“you act like it’s okay
To know your end is coming
No matter what you do or say.
It’s not fair you have to die
Why does life have to be so cruel?
Better for us to die together
Than to keep me here without you.”
The oldest holds his brother
As he breaks down into tears.
He whispers “I’ll tell you something
That should alleviate your fears
There’s a reason God made two of us
So that when one of us moved on
The other one would be right there
To keep the memory going strong
desert scene
taylor mclane
oil on canvas
So keep your chin up, brother,
Don’t be sad for too long.
You think I won’t be watching out for you
Even after my body’s gone?”
shade in the window
by haley parker
She has those skeletal eyes,
Sunken into the quicksand of her face.
She has those skeletal eyes,
Yet they glow like firelight
Pulses with death.
She has those skeletal eyes.
Neither skin nor bone
Her face emits steel
Like apple cores emit cyanide.
Like frost-flowers at midnight
Emit cold.
Her face is neither skin nor bone.
It is glass…
Haunts the night,
Like effervescent starlight,
She is glass.
Lost in the abyss of glass.
Numb to everything,
Until it shatters…
glass trees
katie keaton
digital photograph
She is my reflection
36
37
last stop, the top
by haley parker
Shining in St. Louis
A hungry Guillotine,
Severing the
Head off the sky.
Silver monument to a country’s pain,
Manifest Destiny
Visitors descend into the
Bunker of stone packed
With human dill pickles,
Dripping with the brine of sweat.
A sacrifice to the
Great god of history,
God of the victors…
God of bloody injustice.
Weight of groaning
Metal sashays
Above,
Blasted bridge to the Pacific
Who wants to walk it?
A pitiful throng of people.
Shoved in great white eggs,
Closing around them,
A single window for the view inside.
Shuddering movement,
Backwards coaster,
As they watch labyrinths of rusted stair.
the wanderer
Eyes closed,
Eggshell closing in,
Smell of sweat
Bodies that don’t belong to you.
Acid worm
Inching up the throat.
meghan cheyne
bronze
38
Breathe.
In and out.
Terror.
in the almost dark
by amy socolovitch
It is almost dark all around us,
But a brilliant light leaks from my pores.
There is a weight around my shoulders
That stretches my mouth wide.
There is a clasp on my hand
That I want to guard obsession.
I wish to bury the weight and the clasp in a pool of dreams
So deep that even God couldn’t find them, and keep them for
myself.
There is a scent in the air playing catch
And it bounces to me like a red rubber ball.
The smell enters me, and that too I want to guard with fervor
and obsession.
There are two diamonds floating in the almost dark- they shine.
They shine like a whistle in a lifeguard’s mouth.
I test drive those diamonds like an expensive car.
The gems should have been wrapped in caution tapeThey go too fast and the brakes don’t work.
isolated
40
taylor mclane
charcoal & conté crayon
summer blushes
by andrea aguilera
behind the house
we sit
legs crossed
on the damp
crumbling path
coolness seeps
through small
denim shorts
as we watch
the ants
frantic beads
of onyx
crawl in
and out
of dripping peonies
heavy with perfume
and rainwater
lithe stems succumb
to sky
sweet blossoms bow
virgin petals graze the earth
ersatz bloom
joshua gove
oil on canvas
43
flyers
by jesse cornea
I spill out across walls like
Blood spills out from an open wound
Slowly, then becoming a rising torrent
My writing is all different shades from blood red to
Rainbow: its shades and patterns shifting across my many faces.
I speak a thousand different languages
Courier, Comic Sans, Sanscript
Times New Roman
Wingdings.
I watch day in and day out
As people march past me
Depressed, happy, angry,
Their moods like my colors
They pay little attention
To me, more concerned with life than the parade
Of rectangular
Soldiers on white paper.
I see them but
They hardly see
Me.
parede de gaudí
44
mary chambers
digital photograph
canto #6
by santonio dalla vecchia
The stars in their crowns throughout space.
The galaxies the enormous jewels fixed to the circles and the music.
Whether or not you’ve found the demon or the demon will be
revealed once you’ve come to the perilous city and find
it swathed in light or riotous undress.
Which is once and which demands eternity?
Ask your prince.
Have you divinity on your brow, sentinel of the western shore?
–The universe moves down:
I stand here to stop what’s coming from There, from Not, but the
serpent defends beneath, and I can’t stop the little
victories that keep killing the trees.
Poisoning the rivers.
Making the infant stars weep throughout the crown.
sacred treetops
I cannot answer to which pantheon you belong, but if you
ask the snake whose coils hold the universe together–
katie keaton
digital photograph
Then watch with your eyes, prince, in their deepening opaque–
46
47
overcoming odds
by travis long
Carry on bearing a bulwark
let that which stirs stupor
find cause against beguiling wings
of desolation, and those who beat
them allowed no loft, else you be
part of the daily requiem.
That which has come to pass
has done just that
the most robust of minds let not
the common-folk diminish their
luminescence, no they alight
with what astronomers seek.
Overthrowing giants is not
so impressive if you assist
beating those wings, and allow
your youth to find no satisfaction
shelter that light against
the barrier you raise,
and allow your steps to deafen
as you saunter by.
footprints
48
erin chon
digital photograph
SUNSET BATHHOUSE and
the Didgeridoo Man
by santino dalla vecchia
We’re all abstractions throughout infinite motion
Amen, the children cried out, amen, and
under our window I’ve softly begun to probe with
small words, for what is the
Night if not our vastest child?
Who can ascribe motivation once twilight falls?
We can only look into the mantle of one another’s
hair and the dreams of our eyes
Can I undress your shoulders,
Moratorium,
Ellipses,
Violets floating over the beautiful face of the deep?
The fox with his infinite mane calls out of the fires to us in our
tall grass plain and this last house by the whispering trees
“This is like a cave painting”
figure
annamarie williams
charcoal & conté crayon
51
artistic staff
art director
Josh Gove ’14
cover design
Mary Chambers ’15
layout coordinator
& web designer
Katie Keaton ’14
photographer
Erin Chon ’15
art staff
Ashley Esselink ’14
Mallory Otten ’14
Joshua Spratt ’14
Carolyn Kujawa ’14
Irene Ward ’15
english editor
Caroline Croom ’17
faculty sponsors
C. Sandy Lopez-Isnardi, Art
Robert Vivian, English