I M p
R E
s s I 0 N
s
.
-=--
-- ---
Editor: Christie Street Assistant Editors: Nicole Hand Sarah Snavely The ideas and images expressed by individual authors and artists are not necessarily that of the impressions staff or Dickinson State University. All future rights to materials published in this journal belong to the individual authors and artists. Any reproduction or reprinting of this material may be done only with their permission. Special thanks to the DSU Publications Board and the DSU Art Faculty.
Cover Art: Sara Welk
THE CHILL
We stood near the shore Waves lapped at land's fringes Chilling sun and Battering wind Clutched my face, You were next to me Close enough to be far away I looked at you And felt No relief -Mary Margaret Mathers
THE ACCORDION MAN
The accordion man played With quick fingers A flawless tune. His knuckles swollen His fingertips calloused The lines in his face As deep as the years His eyes stared as he played His mouth a slight frown, The melody soothing His worn soul Like cool water On caked lips -Mary Margaret Mathers
*Third Place Literature
Soft Elegance II --Dave Berger (B & W photograph)
Justingsl --Shane Davis (color photograph) â&#x20AC;˘Third Place Artwor1<
THE LOOKING GLASS A moment ago I regarded my reflection and saw my image through two. But now when I gaze into the shining glass, it swallows me, enveloping my face. The cold unfeeling pane shows my countenance disfigured like spilled puzzle pieces. I appear as if I have become a figure in a Picasso painting. My internal upheaval is displayed outwardly, shadowed on my silver hell, exposed is my ugliness. My child within has aged too quickly and I can no longer sustain the illusion of my deepest beauty, as my heart has forgotten how to laugh. You have vanished and my distorted features are engulfed, swimming in a sea of swir1ing glass. My blood spills effortlessly as your soul has been tom from my grasp; your portrait has disappeared from my memory. I see only myself, my hideousness, your beauty no longer envelops me. And Picasso is losed swirling and dancing about my head. -Jessica Nelson
*Honorable Mention Literature
CHAO I would drown in that magic Fountain For one kiss Spiraling through pre-quenched fire Feeding my flesh with relief Orange exploding Blossoming soul Death and Betrayal Black Rose I love to make it suffer Pre-quenched fire Taking me higher Compulsive Fanatic Kamikaze Liar Only frayed ends of sanity remain TICK TICK TICKENING My Brain Screaming frenzied blood-lust Caring for motherly icon Protecting parasitic host Softly dimly dark And there's nothing Just nothing Nothing nothingness -Bryan Hamann
*Honorable Mention Literature
Untitled -- Robyn Babcock (oil painting)
THE RAILROAD MAN by Brian Matthews When I was six we lived in a rather unkept trailer court, but I didn't care. I was six and my whole world centered around my block--mostly because I was forbidden to go anywhere else. I would ride around this block again and again. I was familiar wnh every pothole and broken down Imperial on not only my block, but also on each facing us. I was no tenderfoot. I knew my way around. Living across from us were "the twins"--a pair of identical twin girls about four years my junior and their parents. Next to them was an empty lot. But next to that empty lot was a dark brown, beatup, old trailer that belonged to someone I didn't know. Who ever it belonged to left at dark and came back before light. I recall my mother saying something about how the person worked for the railroad. "He" did not keep up his yard which meant the grass would grow very tall. We often ventured over into the grass to play "war" only to be shoed away by this irate old man who lived in that brown trailer. He was balding and never clean shaven. I have no idea why he was so mad. We were just playing. But after a few incidents with Railroad man, we steered clear of anything to so with that place or that grumpy old man. One day we went grocery shopping at the local Super Valu. I can't remember exactly what we bought, but I do remember playing the gumball
machines and receiving a plastic whistle on a chain. When we got back, we unloaded the car and began putting the food away. All of a sudden there was a knock at the door. My father answered n and returned with the news that someone had "Left this one the porch." It was a tiny whne pig with dark patches, including one over his eye. "Somebody left him and all I saw was the back of this guy running toward the railroad tracks" which were just in back of our house. The pig was so cute and scrunched up. We instantly wanted to keep him. We named him wnhin minutes- Buddy. My mother, not amused at all by the obvious prank played upon us didn't want to keep Buddy. So she grabbed him and said, "Let's see if someone else will fall for this?" With that she ran out the door and across the street to the Railroad man's house, knocked and left Buddy on the doorstep. We hated to see Buddy go, but we were happy to see that the Railroad man had opened the door and let Buddy in. Maybe he would give buddy a good home, after all we knew nothing of this man--just that he didn't like us in his yard. Days had gone by with no sightings of enher the Railroad man or the pig. Mom had told us that he probably gave Buddy to a pig farm just outside of town. Wnh that we set about our playing of the hill behind our house. That night my brother and I went to
bed, but we were still awake just content to sit and listen to our parents talk about bills and relatives. Then, just before I was about to go to sleep, there was a loud knock at the door. My mother put on her robe and trudged over to the door and opened it. She suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream and yelled for my father. He ran to the door along with my brother and I. There on the front steps was Buddy-all quivering and curled up in a bloody cardboard box. He couldn't squeal because his voice box had been removed, alone with his tongue, eyes. and most of his skin. He was still alive, but there was nothing we could do to help the little guy. I instantly burst into tears as my father yelled at us to go back to bed. He went outside and picked up the box. My father returned about thirty minutes later and went straight to bed without a word. The next morning, it was as if nothing had ever happened--as if there was never a Buddy the pig. Even my brother seemed oblivious to the shock that apparently only I felt. Over the period of the next few weeks I repeatedly asked about what had happened. At first I had gotten, "Buddy wasn't well and he had to go away." Later they told me, "You don't need to know." And that was the end of the conversation, no matter how I persisted.
To this day, any talk of what happened that night is strictly prohibited. No pig, no Railroad man, no scream, and no Buddy. But I will always know that there was indeed a pig named Buddy. He wasn't a dream as everyone would like me to think. He did exist. Even though I may have only known him for a few minutes, I will love him forever.
¡second Place Literature
Death has no time --Dave Berger (B & W photograph}
Unt~led
--Sue Leibel (B & W Photograph)
Time doesn't heal all -Lu Ann Robinson (oil painting) â&#x20AC;˘First Place Artwork
SLENDER REVISITED
Candle light softens almost everything, I stand before myself, rebelling, in my own nakedness, as a judge and in judgment. The scars left from my ultraviolet childhood melt into soft shadows that dance in my vanilla room. The line of my body: curved and full. My ribs unseen, but present. No longer do they cage unspoken fears of acceptance. The deep carved pockets where hipbones once protruded and cut into flesh, no longer bruise into bloated circles rimmed in red. They are softly tucked away, no more pain to render. I stand before a mirror, the eyes that stare back no longer drain and purge me, but look on, reveling, as the shadows of my body dance in my vanilla room. -Mary Gookin
*First Place Literature
NOTHING IS EVER WHAT IT SEEMS
As I sat in the unfamiliar room with all faces astare I noticed in the comer there was an empty chair
He made my life perfect with each and every thing I smile at the joy that his memory brings
I adjusted to my position and I held the strongest will I sat among the strangers until the comer chair was filled
We'd built our dreams up to the sky and no one else had mattered we were to live a happy life filled with smiles and laughter
I relaxed a little as I glanced around the place Hoping to come across a warm and friendly face
Together forever at least for a while until he teamed my secret of how I bared his child
Time slowly went by not so long as to call it a while the only hello I got was from the boy in the corner who smiled
Everything seemed so perfect but nothing's ever as it seems now I'm picking up what's left of all our shattered dreams
He never looked at me nor did he look away I smiled to myself he'll be mine someday
Happiness for always it just happened too soon why did I ever go into that unfamiliar room?
His eyes were full of wonder and his smile stole my heart within a couple days we'd really made a start
His life will go on mine too, I say with a smile no thanks to love and dreams but I thank you for my child -Mamie McCormick
He was all I ever dreamed of and I don't know why but from that moment on I knew true love was no lie
Untitled -Elizabeth Hamann {B & W Photograph)
!111N 10515
VI£&-'
Po~~~t~
r
~
,....
loMi'llt;e>_,~.,-
I~
ALL.
A
C."Ot<.E:
•Honorable Mention Literature
Flight of the Dragon --Lu Ann Robinson (B & W photograph)
TOO MUCH IMAGINATION By A. Helen Knapkewicz "Amhhhl Snar11 Gulpl" The giant tyrannosaurus rips the newly killed flesh from his victim. ·Alex I Are you listening to me? Stop
way to escape. "Okay, Slime Cadets, listen up. We're gonna break out of this ectoplasmic slime wasteland tonight. Who's with me? Alright!
playing with your food,· said Alexes mother
Man the slime catapults and the slimeglobbers.
when she noticed he had half a steak bone
Hold your fire until I say so. We have to wait
hanging out of his mouth.
until the guard comes by. Quiet now. Ready!
"Geez Mom, I was just having fun,· Alex defended as he handed part the the steak bone down to his dog, Rex. "Well finish your dinner and then you can play." "Okay, okay." The Head Prison Keeper has
Aim! Firet• "Alex! You clean up those finger paints right now and get ready for your bath.· Alexes mother said shaking her head. "Why are there finger paints all over his room and covering his favorite monster poster and look at poor Rex?
once again crushed the plans for escape. Who
What could he have been doing?" she thought
would have known that she could use the left
to herself.
over mush to block the tunnel. But this didn't
"Geez Mom, I'm not that dirty. You can still
stop our heros. Nothing could withstand Tubby
see my belly button.· Captain Clean to the
the Fart King. The Fart King fired away and in
rescue. No monster is too big, no mud puddle
no time the tunnel was again cleared.
is too dirty. They are no match for Captain
"Aiexl You go to your room right nowl And you had better learn some manners. Fast!" his
Clean and the Soap Brigade. "Man the soap guns! Smearo the paint
mother yelled as she cleaned up the mashed
monster is coming this way. Stand back while I
potatoes he had splattered all over the table.
signal for the anti-monster net. Alright, we're
And then opened a window to get rid of the last
ready. Wait for my command. We'll drive it
trace of Tubby the Fart King.
into the ocean. Ready! Charge!" Our heros
"Geez Mom, it didn't smell that bad." Our
pushed forward with a contant stream of Super
hero was banished to the Slime Pit again. But
Clean Bubble Soap and Smearo moved closer
no one could keep him there. He would find a
and closer to the oceans edge.
"Now we've got him menl Keep moving!" "SPLASH!" Smearo made such a huge
dash for a shadow. Our hero slips into a basket and searches
splash in the ocean that it caused a tidal wave
for something suitable. At last he finds the
that threatened to destroy all of California!
perfect disguise. No one would suspect another
"Aiexl Look at this mess. You've got more water on the floor than in the tub with you, and it's dripping from everything in the bathroom,
guard. He makes his way back to his cell but just before he gets there ... "Aiexl What are you doing sneaking around
and bubbles are overflowing the tub. And what
like that and why are you wearing your fathers
is Rex doing in there with you? Just what do
shirt?"
you think you were doing?" his mother asked. "Geez Mom, it was a really big tidal wave." "Yes, Yes. And what about your dog? "She was the monster," said Alex proudly and cutely.
"Okay, you win. Now get dried
"Geez Mom, it's not dad's shirt. It's a disguise." "Alright, but is your imagination working overtime today or what? "Geez Mom, I'm just playing."
off and get ready for bed." "Okay, but the tidal wave just about wiped out California!" "I know dear. I'll be in in a few minutes to
Well, it's time for bed. Let's go. Imaginations need rest too. "Goodnight, Alex. Goodnight Rex." "Goodnight, Mom.¡ Far off in a corner our
tuck you in." It was smart of the prison guard to
hero hears the breathing of a gi-huge-ous,
take our heros clothes. Now he would have to
man-eating tyrannosaurus. "Here we go
wait and steal some before he could escape.
again I"
Otherwise he would freeze when he reached the outside. His only chance would be to find his way to the laundry bin. But he would have to be careful, the guards were everywhere. Our hero slowly makes his way to the laundry bin. Twice he is almost caught but manages to find a shadow in the nick of time. "Why is Alex sneaking around naked?" Alexes mother wonders when she sees him
CAT Four paws padding along Tail twitching Gliding between shadows, His muffled steps Loud like a feather He creeps Without knowing he 's creeping, He sits Upon sun-warmed sills Eyes half closed Tail twitching, Smirking at the world -Mary Margaret Mathers
Untitled --Kathie Fix-Boulanger (drawing) *Second Place Artwor1<
El Dia de los Muertos -Brian Matthews (oil painting)
Phish --A. He Ien Knapkewicz (tern.Pera a nd newsprint)
LITTLE BOY Playing games, The little boy digs and digs Using his hands Extending his fingers He digs and digs For the unearthed treasure He digs.
Free, And high flew love. Our... Patiently watched, Cupid. Knelt... He as, Arrows with.
A green jellybean, The little boy has found Way up inside his nose Content and sound. -Shane Davis
Beheld ... Eyes, My feelings. -Shane Davis
PARANOIA I can't go outside, the trees are watching me. I can't open a can of olives because they stare at me. (I don't even like olives anyway). I don't answer the phone because it is the IRS calling to repossess My dog hates me, he only sticks around because I feed him. But now I can'1 go to the store because I'll get mugged. And my dog, named Insanity will leave and I will be alone. I am afraid of being alone. People sometimes come knock on my door but I can't open it. They may be murderers or even the postman carrying death threats. So I will just stay inside where I feel safe with all my friends. Friends? you ask. Yes, Bob Barker and Pat Sajack they are my Companions. But are they watching me too? -Jessica Nelson
Soft Elegance I --Dave Berger (B & W photograph} â&#x20AC;˘Honorable Mention Artwol1<
MY LOVE My love for you is so sincere it is forever and true. My love for you is everlasting, the love I feel for you. I hope that your love is sincere for forever and true. I hope your love is everlasting, like the love I feel for you. -Renee NeW1on
REFLECTIONS For our president a poem was written Of water and stone and tree. Then it was softly spoken for the world to hear. The intricacy of her words bind us together as threads woven into cloth. The need for us all to work in conjunction in the saving of our earth. And likened to the reflections we see if we look into a clear pool of water in the shadow of a tree. The solution to pollution begins in who we see. The world will know we've understood And we're willing to do our part If in generations to come The stone is not alone. -Joyce J. Myers
Nature Ghost --Sue Leibel (monoprint) *Honorable Mention Artwork
PEBBLE You irritate me. You make me think. What you say is like a pebble in my shoe. I tried to take it off and shake it out. No dice. My master taught me that form follows function. And so, like the ancient Greeks before me, I churned out endless rows of perfect pots . Ideal. Real. Now mindless and unreal. What fates brought me to this place that I might know you? Or that I might know myself? When did you become the master and I the student? And what was the lesson to be learned? I don't want to know. It's easier to wear a mask. Your hand is strong. Your foot is sure. Did you know that you lead me to a dangerous precipice? I let go and let you lead. I didn't know it. I didn't want to know. I pulled back. You held on. Safe. I felt safe. No threat. No walls. Baby steps. I thought you were teaching me about guns and hunting, and I was teaching you about art. Boy child, when did you become this man? Wise. Philosopher and master. The student asks the master what to do with his life. The master asks, "What is your passion?" But when the question is turned back on the master, what is the answer? Teaching. Art. Masks. All of it. Now the student is the master. Unrelenting. "What is your one true passion?" Damn pebble.
Pebble that leaves an indelible mark upon my soul. Pebble that leads me to reveal my soul to others. Or to myself? "But what is your one true passion?" I faltered. You steadied me. Waiting. Patient. Form. I thought it was clay. painting. Drawing. Figure study. "But what is your one true passion?"
I had been evasive, wearing my mask. Love of form. My brain and mouth worked as one, and I heard words in my voice that were new to my ears. Raw truth. Love of the male form. There. I said it. All these years I knew it. When my master taught me to love form. I did not know the lesson I had teamed. When my eye touches form, and my pencil touches paper, I am connected. Glorification of the male nude, my artistic sensibility. My passion. What lesson did i learn from this master I call student? I thought it was a lesson about trusting others. It was not. Baby steps. You pushed, poked, prodded, goaded--gently. You became the footbridge. You illuminated the way. Across a terror filled chasm of self-doubt, panic stricken, I took a blind leap of faith. And I understood the lesson. Danger and courage. Fear and trust. When skies of Dakota slate fall, I will remember. And I will have the courage to trust myself. -Lily H.J. Pomeroy
Broken Images from a Forgot1en Past --Katrina Callahan Dolcater (mixed media)
COMPANY
In the strangest of company I sit and sip a smoking cigarette. My company whispers. In the presence of the strange I see through the darkling glass And my eye drinks up the wine of traveled roads. When in their stupor They never find the way to go home. And so, In the strangest of company I sit alone, and comfort reels in terror seeing what company I keep. -C. Pulliam
DRIBBLES
Graphite rivers of gray Coursing from the matter of my brain, Down my arm And into my pencil, Filling it with the same nonsense That fills my mind And often spills out onto the paper I hover over. -C. Pulliam
UPON TWO GIANT CAPPUCCINOS I feel like a wildman with a shaking hand. I won't sleep much tonight bit then caffeine has never kept me awake but it has afeffekinfected my spelling. it's hard to tell, i spell so near1ywell. I CAN FEEL MY BLOODI "That's strange" you say. "you never felt it on cafe au lait." The buzz that I have gotten hear will go down in history i fere. Why should I fear it? I should only fear a worse one ... one that I should need a nurse on. -C. Pulliam
THE ACCIDENT The smoking gun in my hand? Did I pull the trigger? Did I see the flash and hear the roar? Is that my friend on the floor? Not anymore. -C. Pulliam
Kathie Waiting -Lily H. J. Pomeroy (drawing)
My Loves --Christie Street (watercolor painting)
Naked Heart -Sarah Snavely (B & W photograph)
Primary Pastel -Nicole Hand (pastel drawing)
Lu Ann --Nicole Hand (pastel drawing)
A HOLIDAY WITH GRANDMA by Sarah R. Snavely "She died last night. About 5 o'clock.· 1 could barely hear my mother over the crackling bacon grease. Mom always made eggs, bacon, and toast on Sunday morntngs. "Th1s Christmas will be very different without her. She always liked Christmas.· "I suppose we will have to go to the funeral.· I said, "Where will it be 1n Mott or Melstone?" "I'm not sure, but there will be no casket. Your father phoned this morning, Grandfather has arranged to have her cremated --your father's family usually cremates.· Mother slapped bacon onto a plate and handed me breakfast. "Eat this before the eggs get cold · My grandmother liked Christmas. But she loved the presents. As soon as the relatives and guests arrived, she began eyeing those packages under the tree. "We'll open those presents after we eat: she'd tnform. Soon the family would feast on the traditional Christmas Eve oyster stew. And she would hurry the meal. She pressed the adults to eat quickly, to avoid second helpings, and to save room for dessert, which would be served after the presents were opened She never saved the wrapping paper like other grandmas. "I guess they' ll cremate her at the F.J. Jolley :=uneral Home somewhere in South Dakota. Don't you JUSt hate that name?" Mother set the salt and pepper onto the table as I bit tnto an overly-crispy, black bacon stnp. "I really can't believe she is dead," Mother said. "She just went into the hospital two days ago, and the doctor said she would recover." Seven years before her death Grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer. After chemotherapy treatments, a mastectomy, and a conscious effort to change her lifestyle, she surv~ved. Then four years later. the doctors found a small tumor in her left lung. Within a week she had undergone surgery to remove the cancerous cells. Her prognosis was good. However the next doctor's visit was negative. Her health worsened. 1 saw my grandmother lose her hair, but she was determined to beat the cancer utilizing every treatment option. Everyone said it was her positive attitude that led her body to again be cancer-free. "What exactly happened?" I grumbled as 1 got up from my chair and retrieved the strawberry jelly from the refrigerator. Mom had burned the toast as well. "I thought they couldn't find any more cancer· 1 said as I sat back in my chair. ' "Well her lungs were very weak--remember
how she couldn't go outside in the cold weather--and 1 guess she caught pneumonia. That's what killed her. I guess I'll have to return the toaster oven I got her for Chnstmas.· My grandmother had an ongoing Christmas appliance battle with my mother. One Christmas, grandma gave Mom a Braun handblender. My mother rebutted this g1ft with a set of designer ginsu kmves. Next Christmas a new Oskar food processor was wrapped under the tree for Mother. Hoping my grandmother would take the hint, Mom bought grandma a gold-plated Seiko watch. But next Christmas. Mom acquired a Salad Shooter from her mother-in-law. My mother admitted defeat, and the appliance battle continued. "Your Grandfather probably won't have a funeral for her untd later. You know how he Is--that family doesn't like to deal with anything,· mother was still babbling and by now I had fimshed my breakfast. I started loading the dishwasher with the morning dishes as Mom continued, "Don't you think it's time we put up that Christmas tree?· This Christmas will mark the fourth year since her death. And still my grandmother has never had a funeral. There is no grave. There are no tangible traces of her in my grandparenrs home-g~andfather gave her clothes to the Salvation Army, d1sposed of the photographs, and remodeled most of the house. As though she never existed, no one mentions her even on Christmas Eve.