CONVERGENCE
CONVERGENCE
ss
f
co
”
t a t e m e nt i s , o
y “Ever word i s
m e taph or .T
hi
a
ad de
Jorge Luis Borges cites L E OP OL D O LU G ON E S , The Metaphor
MANON BOGERD WADA
u rs
e , a m e t ap
h o r.
A
s I sat in the dimly lit room each week, I witnessed the convergence of two worlds. Sculptors, painters, architects read their poetry aloud, and I listened to their creative genius manifest itself in words. With my concentrated study in English and Latin, I felt a common ground emerge among us. Though their expression breathed a different form than familiar repertoire, beauty still abounded. The intricacies of life were still pursued, challenged, and then left delicately pending. As Professor Serena Perrone noted, “sometimes words can evoke images more effectively than an image can evoke words. Something visual can make one say, ‘I have no words for this,’ and thus the visual bypasses the verbal, words seem superfluous. Yet words with all their subtleties and layered meanings can evoke multitudes of images while carrying a beauty and musicality all their own.” Throughout this semester, I have admired my friends’ work from afar and marveled at our differences in communication. While I use words, they use art. But each Wednesday night, we explored a medium of art that blended my structure with their innovation, my consistency with their flexibility, my caution with their nerve, and our words with our images. As the semester seems to end without warning, our hearts are heavy. We leave behind breathtaking landscapes, revolutionary art, warm cappuccinos, and decadent lava cakes. We say goodbye to dear friends who have opened our minds to fresh perspectives and shared in a common appreciation for the often-unnoticed delicacies of life. But as Cortona gently nudges us home, we rest in the assurance of words: while we must depart, we take our words with us. And while gelato will always melt, words will always prevail.
ABBY JOHNSON
A CLUTTERED VOID A vacuum roars inside. Lazily, we abide. Caveats are ignored, Yet discernment gnaws our core. As we live day to day, We hardly think and pray. Distractions flood our eyes. Imagination cries. Sometimes we must be still, Those rumors won’t fulfill. Let nature teach unaided. Will memories be faded? Hopeless, we claw at time, Unless we heed this rhyme.
ABBY JOHNSON
LETTER TO A SOLDIER I’ve written letters that have traveled from glaciers and grasses to parched beaches and others, from jade lagoons to the desert expanses words describing water, vision green desire and the blackness of sea and sky I do not know any soldiers except those of us who transit worlds custodians of magic we carry it in fragments
SERENA PERRONE
COME, CHILD I admired my mothers dress and she showed me where it was torn, I asked the sailor of the sea and he spoke of only storms, I asked the wise man to speak of love and heard the heartache he spoke of As we arm the innocent with sword and shield to be afraid to fight and afraid to feel With preprogrammed navigation and numbed by the sum of stale sensations, We’ve got children dreaming behind their rudders without any purpose, their passions smothered.
sold As we medicate the pretty mind and teach the second hand to be on time, But this sinking ship gets claustrophobic and the hole is here but you can’t close it Cause not a thing they taught you back in school can patch this up with just these tools, But if we can’t conquer doubt and fear Where are we supposed to steer?
But come child, let me show you where to go, keep your address in your head and keep track of what you know when they say go child, grow up fast, your bones are getting brittle and your flesh will never last
So your mind may wander beyond the boat but they say the ocean will grab you by the throat to take your one and only breath and your heart will beat itself to death Beneath the surface where darkness lingers but that’s why God gave limbs and fingers Because pulses only start to race, not to be tongues that never taste.
Cause they can call you an enigma, call you broken, call you whole, or write you a prescription until every bottles
So if you dream of jumping from the bow just to prove that you know how to live beyond this sinking ship
and drop the oar where they carved you grip for the fairytale of paradise because hope is not the parasite but fear of water, air, and storm cause in craving comfort we all conform While the sparkling light from the morning sun can rise, ignite, and flood your lungs. So swim hard, swim fast from fluorescent sails till you receive your notice in the mail, calling you back to report for duty, born to row, not search for beauty Return to sender, to the mother ship cause I trained and played and chose to quit and now your letters can never reach me because you have nothing left to teach me For my head it not a mirror, though my mind is clay, but still, I see no reason to give my life away. SARAH PEYTON
We found the universe and then asked why we caught it can it be unwound can we be unbound from this book of life we found left for us to leaf through and undo or do it again and again Can you begin from something intense that changes tenses makes a new frame of senses Forget it we walk everyday a new picture M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A
LIFE LAUGHS Life is throwing shapes to me to see if I can catch them Are you paying attention? SERENA PERRONE
FOCAL POINT The rain falls down and hides my tears. They appear to be both the same in color and shape yet my tears are warm and salty while the rain is cool and minerally. As I fall to my knees the cold rain perches my clothes and chills my body. My hands are warm from my face and now smell of salt. I try to hide but my face tells all. My mascara runs and my skin turns blotchy. My green eyes are illuminated by a glassy glaze of fresh tears. I try to be quiet and sit in the shadows but I find myself the focal point of the room. As people wonder they whisper. I here the quiet hymns of concern some try to talk some try to touch but it only makes it worse.
As my body shakes from the cold I want to be held yet the comfort of being held brings the cold of my clothes closer. The wind starts to sore and my feet start to go num. As I sit the numbness spreads to my ears and my nose. As my face followers my tears feel hotter almost like steam roaring off my face. I sit and freeze as I freeze while I sit. No strength to stand and no want to survive. I slowly break down till there’s nothing left inside. SAMANTHA ANDERSON
ALIGN Your voice sits on top of your spine and crawls from your throat in perfect time Perhaps it’s your words that wove your leash and maybe that’s why you were brought to me And you say you swear we’ve met before, swapping poems on your bedroom floor But then I feel you watch me sleep, writing a song to have something to keep Because my life without you has you scared so you address my dreams to meet me there Cause my toes are cold and they’ll go numb soon while your broken heart will curse the moon Cause you kept me warm but you fit like lead as you tried to take apart my head But when I saw the luster of your bones I knew that you’d heal on your own
You see, you were a cage and I was afraid that it’s all so simple after all We love just to learn, not to last but to serve, Oh I think we only rise to fall. And then on our way down we ask ourselves, how? How will I ever be happy again? But when you can answer that question you will meet the exception in knowing the cycle will end.
It took me twelve whole months of time to meet the one that changed my mind So I lit his name on fire and every color took a turn through the depths of my desire, an entire spectrum burned Then I wrote his name in cursive just to feel it in a line, it was the sum of all sensations, shaped like wings within his spine. It was the sum of all sensations and I won’t run away this time. SARAH PEYTON
THE DREAM KEEPER Bring me all of your dreams, You dreamer, Bring me all your heart melodies That I may wrap them In a blue cloud-cloth Away from the too-rough fingers Of the world. LANGSTON HUGHES, The Dream Keeper CARLISLE KRAMER
SLEEP IN THE MOJAVE DESERT Out here there are no hearthstones, Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry. And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly On the mind’s eye erecting a line Of poplars in the middle distance, the only Object beside the mad, straight road One can remember men and houses by. A cool wind should inhabit these leaves And a dew collect on them, dearer than money, In the blue hour before sunup. Yet they recede, untouchable as tomorrow, Or those glittery fictions of spilt water That glide ahead of the very thirsty. I think of the lizards airing their tongues In the crevice of an extremely small shadow And the toad guarding his heart’s droplet. The desert is white as a blind man’s eye, Comfortless as salt. Snake and bird Doze behind the old maskss of fury. We swelter like firedogs in the wind. The sun puts its cinder out. Where we lie The heat-cracked crickets congregate In their black armorplate and cry. The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother, And the crickets come creeping into our hair To fiddle the short night away. S Y LV I A P L A T H , Crossing The Water
SARAH TRUETT
NOMAD I can see it rise before me, but I do not close my eyes. I can hear the water’s whispers fill my earsa massive tidal wave racing from the horizon. It climbs to the sky as it runs towards me, yet I stand still. Time floats down the stream as the water begins to fill the space around my feet. Rising. Slowly. Not a single part of my body fleeing the scene, I invite my fate to take over. I do not stand still because I am afraid. I do not stand still because I don’t know where to run.
because I had given up. I was waiting for it. The water becomes a vast ocean and I earn to ride its stellar waves of openness. Openness to the world, to ideas, to difference. At the world’s start, there were no categories. There was the earth and the water. Before human life, stereotypes were an unthought thought floating through time, waiting for someone to catch them. Before human life, boxes did not exist. People created boxes. The boxes line shelves of assumption built by society, created then consumed,
There is a lot that I don’t know. A vacuum of possibilities weaken me for I am aware of the power that knowledge has versus the unknown. Because all exists somewhere between what we know and what we do not. So I wander aimlessly through the void of the in-between.
limiting capacity of thought and difference.
But I do not seek boxes
Lines were created to divide us, a linear network to break us down. Rules were created to build us I allow the water to consume me. To fill every nook back together in an inorganic unity. Brains were and cranny until the vacuum around me is filled filled without promise, no room for change or to the brim. My heels once planted in the earth, acceptance. release. I allow my self to be lifted, to be carried, For we are not free tossed and turned. The water is warm, filling the void that was once around me. It becomes part of me as we dance letting it lead me. I drown, swim and float all at the same time. For my body is what I do know. The water is composed of what I do not. I did not stand still because I was scared of the wave. I knew it was coming. I did not stand still
is light.With every wave, another one falls, releasing what is inside. The wave collapses the structures until there are no lines, no boxes, nothing holding all of the beauty inside. Nothing trapped.
Freedom does not exist in a world where boxes exist. But people created those boxes. They know they are there, but they can’t see them. They’re scared of what is inside. So they can’t destroy them.
I will not walk in lines I hunt waves But never in one place Because I am not from one place I am not from one idea, one identity Because I am not from a box It cant hold me Because I am a wave I am a child of this earth I am a nomad
The wave lets you see, but only if you allow it. The wave lets you eliminate the boxes- one after another until beyond the wall, all you can see
B R O O K E M C G O WA N
PONTE VEDRA BEACH I see more life in the surf than I do in the eyes of the sleepwalking. While we all draw different line of sense, none compare to that of our breathing shorelines, uneven and perfectly imperfect. I watch as waves roll and crash in sets of three, of course, because what other set is there? Like chards of a braid weaving mind, body, and spirit in the uninhibited curls of time, the wave barrels and I realize that nothing is linear; not the thinnest peak caught by the light, not the arrival of three crumbling waves, and not the sound of each fresh pull returning to the oceans and cycle of tide. We feel in waves, not hills. We act in patterns, not phases. We live in layers, not lines. No life can be defined like a strand of hair. Even when skin in shed and the moon gleams grey as I watch the calloused softly age, Beneath the surface in stagnate water where god said get up, go wake your daughter Because there is nothing like a desperate lung to corner yourself with the song you’ve sung As I look not at, but only through these dark and muted shades of blue to focus on internal vibrance that’s born and raised in simple silence. SARAH PEYTON
AGONIA Morire come le allodole assetate sul miraggio O come la quaglia passato il mare nei primi cespugli perchè di volare non ha più voglia Ma non vivere di lament come un cardellino accecato G I U S E P P E U N G A R E T T I , L’Allegria
SERENA PERRONE
TOO LONG IN THE WRONG LOVE I anger as my heart is weak For you are my highest peak, I shutter and run away For the hope of you someday, As I toss and turn I lay alone I may as well be a stone, As I do not fight and I do not thrive Can I even say I'm alive, My blood courses threw my veins Yet my heart does not beat, Why do I persistently wait for you When it makes me weak. SAMANTHA ANDERSON
THE LANYARD The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the blue walls of this room, moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano, from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor, when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard. No cookie nibbled by a French novelist could send one into the past more suddenly— a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake learning how to braid long thin plastic strips into a lanyard, a gift for my mother. I had never seen anyone use a lanyard or wear one, if that's what you did with them, but that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand again and again until I had made a boxy red and
white lanyard for my mother. She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard. She nursed me in many a sick room, lifted spoons of medicine to my lips, laid cold face-cloths on my forehead, and then led me out into the airy light and taught me to walk and swim, and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard. Here are thousands of meals, she said, and here is clothing and a good education. And here is your lanyard, I replied, which I made with a little help from a counselor. Here is a breathing body and a beating
heart, strong legs, bones and teeth, and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered, and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp. And here, I wish to say to her now, is a smaller gift—not the worn truth that you can never repay your mother, but the rueful admission that when she took the twotone lanyard from my hand, I was as sure as a boy could be that this useless, worthless thing I wove out of boredom would be enough to make us even. B I L LY C O L L I N S , The Trouble with Poetry
ABBY JOHNSON
THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying of the sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. FR ANCIS WILLIAM B OURDILLON, Light SAMANTHA ANDERSON
DARKNESS In these days all seems contingent on light: its intensity, luminosity, duration the way it gives us blues of every hue and splashes the green of water into my eyes This lght glances, blazes, leaks, radiates reveals and obliterates But what we truly seek is contingent on the dark of which we can not get enough SERENA PERRONE
M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Roman Ruins
MANON BOGERD WADA Roman Ruins
M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Crept in The Dark
M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Found Art
M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Together Apart
RECURRING DREAM I’m walking down A lonely road A road I do not know With every step I lose a tooth A part of me Left behind My biggest fear Is losing my teeth So I don’t want to take another step But I have to see what’s on the other side B R O O K E T H O R N M C G O WA N
MASKS She had blue skin And so did he He kept it hid And so did she They searched for blue Their whole life through Then passed right by— And never knew S H E L S I LV E R S T E I N , Where The Sidewalk Ends BROOKE THORN MCGOWAN
for every pill thats applied to a beautiful mind And they say to nourish yourself with the food on your plate and that constant craving for their consumer bait Get hooked on these products of food imitation then brain washed by labels and the greed of our nation. It is the danger of visceral adipose tissue and all the minds too tied up in political issues Cause it's the third planet with the third eye where we spray paint on over with TV and lies, Run by the media and the art of deceiving cause there's no one to trust and I can feel my brain bleeding.
EXTENDED RELEASE It's in the air and the food, now its in all the water, infecting our babies and it's in my dads daughter It's Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, it's the long term effects of these pills when I'm older It's a split personality that starts with psychosis while prescribing a bridge to the next diagnosis So cooperate pharmacists can keep counting dimes
There is a war going on for your mind but they keep you distracted, disarmed, and on time As they say what they want because they know that you will believe, but I awoke by prognosis to my own infertility We are all being poisoned, your organs, inflamed but perhaps you won't notice till you have nothing to name.
SARAH PEYTON
SUSSURO Pallida lina che s'affaccia tra i rami discreta battito d'ala di gabbiano che s'alza verso il cielo brezza che profuma d'azzurro oblio tremula stella della sera nata dall'attesa cerco per il mio cuore. A D R I A N A M O S C A , Soluzione aperta SERENA PERRONE
LADY BUG The thunder roles my mind roars For the rain is my tears hitting the floor. I can't be there for you like you were for me So I will cry so you can see. Open your eyes and let your heart pound deep For your mind has been as quiet as the highest peak I know it's hard but so many care For with out you some would not be here. Open your eyes my sweet lady bug For they can wait for you above. SAMANTHA ANDERSON
[Per Alessandro, Valentina e Dario] nello spartito è un taglio l’inizio noi sappiamo tu e tu che non c’è logo ma dialogo e solo i ma e le e che ci rinviano a noi tu e tu senz’ordine parole gestuate corpi parlanti che s’avvitano e si slacciano a trovare il ritmo noi fra tu e tu i compiti per la scuola abbiamo giocato ai pronomi indice in resta mirando ai petti e prima che Dario li scrivesse c’eravamo solo tu e tu e noi sulla punta delle dita nella cucina stanza della ballata
M A R C O PA C C I O N I
ILYA KAMINSKY I met a poet today A kind of poet that uses words In the most spectacular way
Some people regurgitate words Like a river with a busted dam With no end to its vapid rush
While he is hard of hearing He still manages to speak Yet only of gratitude and kindness
Some struggle to let them out Afraid that they will be contradicted With other pernicious words
Through him I know that words Hold great meaning If only their owners spent them well
Some stand on opposing sides Lingering on eachother’s last word Seeking an opportunity of the blind
In a lifetime so short There are only so many words to be said So many ways to use them
Some hold onto every last syllable As if another would be too much to ask.
And therefore not use them
Others use words to empower the bodies that use them Or speak for those who don’t have any at all. B R O O K E T H O R N M C G O WA N
amo il tuo corpo di gazzella di giovane maschio ferito dalle mie voglie fuggito è il mio desiderio su te stanco sono della vita eppure vivo gioco con il tuo sesso ed è carnevale M A R I O S T E FA N I , Una quieta disperazione
SERENA PERRONE
THE KITCHEN Find me in the kitchen Early in the morning alone The cold night around my neck Like a jewel The sunrise around your hips Like an armor Don’t ask for coffee but for soul For grains of us that rise and fall For me and you standing in the day Find me in the kitchen And bodily again in the night we’ll lay
ALESSANDRO CELANI, Una lingua in esilio MARCO PACCIONI
IL SOGNO Quando aprirò quella porta, senza voltarmi, per non guardare in faccia il mio nemico sarà già assopita la luce. Allora prendimi per mano e fa correre le vie sotto di me. Portami in mezzo ai campi che profumano di giacinto tra la fresca ombre delle selve nel cuore delle sorgenti là dove il sole è più caldo e la notte si veste di stelle. Isegnami a salire fino a dove scoppia l'azzurro e scorrono fiumi di neve. Fammi accogliere dal seno dei mari e dal sorriso umano nelle case della mia gente. Pregala di parlare con me, di toccare i bicchieri in nome mio: che mi trovi felice il nuovo giorno.
A D R I A N A M O S C A , Soluzione aperta SERENA PERRONE
SUN THE FIRST, PART II Time has gone since the last rain was heard Over the ants and the lizards Now sky burns without end Fruit paint their mouth Earth's pores open slowly slowly And next to the water that dripps syllabically A huge plant looks the sun eye-to-eye! Who is it lies on the high beaches On his back toking silversmoked olive leaves The cicadas are warmed in his ears Ants work in his chest Lizards slide in the grass of underarm And from his feet's kelp a wave lightly passing Sent by the young siren who sang: O body of summer nude burnt Eaten by oil and by salt
Body of boulder and shiver of heart Large windblown of the hair tree-graceful Basilbreath over the curly pubes Full of small stars and fir needles Body deep sailship of the day! Slow rains come rapid hailstorms Land slinks by whipped in the nails of the snow That bruises in the depths with savage waves The hills plunge in the clouds' thick teats And yet behind it all you smile without care And find again your immortal hour As the sun on the beaches finds you again As in your naked health the sun. O D Y S S E A S E L Y T I S , Eros, Eros, Eros
SERENA PERRONE
O MORTAL MIND Sometimes you are a cavern on the edge of the sea, infiltrated by water and I, in a tiny rowboat, lay back to watch the hallucinatory play of light on your dark and craggy heights or I turn, leaning over the edge to peer into your endless aqueous blue over which I am suspended Sometimes you are a darkened room whose corners shift with passing light angles bow and flatten as you breathe and sigh rhythmically with the traffic below I, silent in your midst, unnoticed, observant, tracing the shadows you toss from one plane to the next across the hours of night Sometimes you are an orto incluso populated by fig trees and oleander, loquat your walls bordered by cyprus humming with bees and I pace quietly in the shade of your canopy of palms Sometimes I steer my boat back into the choppy waves, open your shutters a bit too wide, leave your tranquil confines and step into the street I see flickers of your mortality, my own undoing and I return to dip my hands in your depths, weave shadows on your wall, plant seeds in your earth SERENA PERRONE
which lost discourse tries to align again the verse to who you are answering now that you didn’t know how on time? now you write the voice before frightened in your throat it is the echo that still buzzes the sense of a word in front of your eyes a begging arm passes the worn flesh of the word is the gesture
M A R C O PA C C I O N I
still pronouns et ora pro nobis deals among the ‘you’ the begging for the present toward futures already forebode of nostalgia to deceive that ‘we’ separate from ‘they’ in the while the umpteenth bonus sidetracks the riverbed of lives to the survival that finds hard to progress and brakes into delta it is the salt of sea that reaches the waters of the river M A R C O PA C C I O N I
LYRICS A decade goes by without a warning. Life is but a vision in a window that we’re peeking through. My roots are grown, but I don’t know where they are. Stop this train. I can’t take the speed it’s moving in. Will you walk with me before the morning fades? Cause I love the way you say good morning. It’s like putting on my favorite pair of shoes. You took my soul and wiped it clean. You saw no faults no cracks in my heart. Help me tie up the ends of a dream. And I'll stay and I'll grow gray with you. There was nothing worth sharing, like the love that let us share our name. But empty words make broken homes.
And I just got broken…broken into two. Bad news never had good timing. My weakness I feel I must finally show. Dumbed down and numb by time and age, My heart pumps out old red paint. Nobody knows I’m a lonely girl. The more you take, the less you have, cause it’s you in the mirror staring back. Instead of love we’re spreading animosity. I wish this was vertigo...it just feels like I’m falling slow. Maybe you’re gonna come back to me. The grass you walk on gives way, saying “please, please come back this way!” Most times I feel just like a sailboat. And sometimes it seems you gain less than you lose,
cause the very thing that makes you could be the thing that breaks you. Heaviness is only temporary, the daylight will soon break in. I'll search if you don’t see it. Some people say faith is a childish game. But life’s more than fame and rock and roll. If you don’t know what to make of this, then we will not relate. Maybe we’ve been living with our eyes half-open. But we will overcome the apathy that has made us. And we’ll be left here pondering on the things which we can depend. Don’t ever forget, you’re never alone.
ABBY JOHNSON
ED È SUBITO SERA Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terra trafitto da un raggio di sole: ed è subito sera.
S A LVA T O R E Q UA S I M O D O , Tutte le poesie SERENA PERRONE
you don’t see your lives in life among them you have closed your eyes but every night hopes constellations with a few lights stars that nobody knows how to track starts already started fugues of ends M A R C O PA C C I O N I
MY SEVEN MENDED CHAKRAS I am what all the breaking people let go of just before they break, I am the knot in the rope, tied with childish hope, that’s not to be severed and never to fray Cause I feel for all the breaking people that were made to give but taught to take And I’ll be for any broken person the lens that shows them what’s at stake. I’d love all the breaking people if my love alone could change their fate For the sake of the future, if my heart could sew sutures, I’d save this world in a day But I speak for all the breaking people when I say I see no escape As I watch all these broken people choosing to die before they wake. I know so many broken people who don’t understand that we’re free to create. To fold up in a cubical on a day that’s this beautiful, Oh how I wish I could change their fate. SARAH PEYTON
THE OVERLOOK Sounds swarm my ears: Tools shave, bells sing, artists laugh. This mountain lives: Its trees nod with the wind. Bees whisper in agreement. But the overlook sleeps. Its peace perplexes. Its splendor demands something beyond us. The mountains guard its tranquility. Sunsets shelter from the mundane. Houses stare back at me, wondering who I am. Perspective dims reality. I stand detached. And this distance provokes. ABBY JOHNSON
EN ROUTE The trip of a lifetime this journey of living tripping on time passage these winding pathways all that could've been would've been but it’s not it’s this, the type rope you walk the one shot you got you can take it with a grain of salt or sugar if it makes you feel better or you can bite the bullet take it straight, honest it can taste a little bitter but honey it’s just this one picture, continuous shifting, shedding, adjusting to capture that one landscape you’re after so, what do you wait for? Just pull the trigger M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A
CONVERGENCE, 2014 Contributors: Samantha Anderson Carlisle Kramer Abby Johnson Brooke McGowan Marco Paccioni
Serena Perrone Sarah Peyton Sarah Truett Manon Bogerd Wada
Preface: Abby Johnson Images: Manon Bogerd Wada Book Design and Production: Brooke McGowan Editing and Binding: Serena Perrone Front Cover Design and Image: Serena Perrone Back Cover Design and Image: Serena Perrone Adobe Photoshop CS6 Adobe InDesign CS6 Type is Minion Pro
Edition _____ of _____ Cortona, Italy
Un ive rs it y of G e org i a Stu d i e s Abro a d Pro g r am C or tona, It a ly Fall 2014