This is the twelfth issue of Montageto appear since the Fall semester of 1981. The staff this year has worked especially hard to promote the magazine, collect the manuscripts, evaluate them judiciously, and see them through publication. The student government has also been generous in its support of the efforts of the Montag拢 staff. And, of course, the Quinnipiac student writers -- both those published here as well as those who may one day be published -- are to be thanked for submitting their fine work for consideration.
On behalf of each of these groups -- the writers, the government, and the editorial staff -- I offer the hope that you will enjoy this issue of Montage.
Mark Johnston, Faculty Ad每,isor
Dear Quinnipiac, Montage is an expression of talent and ideas that lie within the body of the student life here at Quinnipiac College. I was thrilled to see the incredible amount of participation and interest towards the magazine in the form of submissions. I would like to thank all of those who took the time to share their works with the staff. I would also like to thank the staff of Montage for all of their time, energy, and support. We feel as though we took a few risks in choosing some of the pieces. We did so not for the sake of being risky, but with the hope in mind that we might convey some important messages to the student community. And what bet-
ter way than through the words of the students themselves? Just as I enjoyed working on Montage每 I hope that you will equally enjoy reading it. Sincerely,
Elizabeth Johnston Editor-bt-Ch ie[
The Montage Staff Editor-In-Chief Editors
......................................... ...................................... Advertising Manager Designing Editor
Table of Contents Page Spring, 1989, Contest Prize Winners Invisible Woman
Prize Winners Montage Poetry Contest
If I'd Read, I'd Know Potpourri
Spring, 1989 First Prize ..... Christine Bilello ..... Invisible Woman
Second Prize ..... Maya Poran .... . For My Country Stepping Stone
Michael Albert Martinez
Third Prize ..... Daniel Brown ..... The Music Never Stopped This Is My Mind
Honorable Mention ..... Anonymous ..... On Looking Into Two
Mirrors Directly Across From One Another Pins in the Sky
Honorable Mention ..... JKG ..... Untitled For My Country
The Music Never Stopped Untitled
My Grandmother Died and Went To the Moon
Gold From Gray
Images of Nicole
It Get's Better
On Looking Into Two Mirrors Directly Across From One Another Tryst
Cracks in Shatter-Proof Glass
Invisible Woman diet diet disappear into air society society you are what you wear genetic makeup nutrition environment proper attitude protein fat vitamin mineral variety of food minimize minimize be the perfect girl beautiful beautiful crimp straighten and curl exercise cutback aerobic out of breath caution obsession danger close to death escape escape revert back to childhood deviate deviate starvation feels so good therapy coaxing family lost control innocence vanity woman play your role
Christine Bilello Ma.每,s CommtzpHcatio每zs, 1989
If I Read, I'd Know
Acid smolders down nay face in the form of stinging
Into a book, though hard and confusing, Faulkner's words need to be attacked with strength. He gives us a challenge, predicate and verbs,
They leave a creviced pathway
"Where's the noun?" If I'd read, I'd know.
for the next stream of smokey rain.
Burning my skin, I ignore the flaming heat and the dark ashes they leave. Coke fills the crevices of raw skin making the acid taste only mild. When all is over, tiny jet streams of cocaine drenched acid tears.
The heads bowed down As if to worship the academic in front. But the ruffling of the pages indicate, "Where's the answer?" If I'd read, I'd know.
Glances toward the clock, dodging his eyes, Hoping that the answers will appear. But with such a novel, magic will not work. "Who killed Christmas?" If I'd read, I'd know. If one listens, the screeching chairs make sounds. The group is restless, thoughts of Math 270. The probability of being picked among thirty is slim. "William, what is it?" If I'd read, I'd know.
fall from my burning eyes. They sting in the sunlight. So I close them only to find my eyes gone when I open
Ht每mat每 Resources, 1989
My eyes, acid eyes, cocaine eyes,
Stinging, burning, itchy, red eyes are gone.
Jennifer Conners, Social Services. 1990
Potpourri Young roots plunging into the foundation of life, Probing and searching for the elements of truth and survival, Leaflets and buds reaching up and stretching; For the essence of warmth Only to blossom and blush in the midst of their love making, Releasing pockets of joy and rejuvenation in erotic bursts. With a protective force, driving them in for winter nestling.
Stepping Stone Creeping through darkness into the void where confusing depression opens my wounds.
Again I lay in middleground -free to labor forward, or slip back. as scars on my mind and body penetrate deeper,
A basket of the vibrant, moist colors of growth, Each in its own right, petal, bud, and stem A reflection of the intricacies of nature Chosen and plucked from their mother's breast. Her colors have bled themselves into dryness and solidarity -Her freshness is constricted and preserved with dry hopes.
love and success hide further each day. oh how I lusi to move, to be in unision again with you. Michael Albert Martinez Psycho-Biolog3每, 1992
Young selves, pounding into the blood of love Discovering the elements of truth and survival, Limbs and faces experiencing the essence of warmth -Releasing tears of joy and rejuvenation in sporadic bursts With a driving force, protecting them from despair. An armful of the vibrant moist colors of growth, Each in its own right, trust, strength and purity A reflection of the facets of life Rising and falling from their own breasts, Their colors have bled themselves into depth and solidarity -Their freshness is constricted and preserved with dry hopes. Ingrid Johnston Ps3每clto-Biolog3每, 1990
This Is My Mind This is my mind. Come walk with me through its
Caged Innocence I have seen innocence today.
He sat in an ice-cold black cage.
and doorways, and walls. Cover your eyes when the bright light appears. It'll draw you in so you'll be trapped and there you'll stay to rot in its crevises.
He had committed a crime -- a bad one.
But I still call him innocence. You see, he grew up on a tight rope of a line between good and bad. So that his chances to say "No, this is wrong"
Don't pick the flowers
were very few.
because their roots are deep.
They'll scream, and bleed, and fight for their lives. Don't yell too loud or the spirits will hear you, and tease your soul,
and make you cry, and cripple you.
Innocence is a young boy with a small body that would never hurt anyone.
He has dusty brown skin that is scarred from his non-understanding environment.
Innocence is a young boy with big brown eyes that have seen a side of the world they shouldn't have.
Cover your weaknessess
or your fears will be prey for the vultures to feed on your willingness to die. Don't breath the air. Its stench is so stale and foul that it will encompass your skin and leave you to decay ...
Jennifer Conners Social Se每垄,ices, 1990
He has dark, satiny, hair that wisps around his face and neck in an innocently savage way -- his way.
Innocence is a young boy behind black bars of horror and corruption. Contained as an animal with dark creatures who have killed and maimed. He is not an animal, nor is he one of these dark creatures. He is different because his heart is huge. It is an organ so filled with love, compassion and hope that with no outlet bursts into crime. It is an organ that beats in exact synchronicity with its world. The only speed that innocence knows. Caged innocence is a horrific sight. It is so beautiful, yet so hopeless. It can not be freed and should be contained. I have seen innocence today in an unsympathetic black box of a cage -- and I wanted to free it.
Elizabeth Johnston English, 1990
Pins in the Sky Rain falling falling on a clear day. Broken connections
frayed to a stub of what was yesterday. Feel the heat rise from the ground, steam with no form,
except the input from my brain.
Following footsteps down a rocky shore that lead nowhere and never began. Geometry doesn't exist.
Careful planning never was.
Birds in the sky fly at night, crying out in pain as they hit the trees. A dull whump is heard across the plains, as tons of wheat
"The trees talk you know," cried he, "they walk and eat little children too." A leaf flutters to the ground, jumping and twitching, reaching for one last hope of life, but no arms could ever help the layers of dust folded in upon it, drowning out its pleas of want, ever wanting, ever changing.
Veins filled with blood flow over rocks, through time like a hangnail growing from nothing. Pull it out, pull it out, before the skin envelops me. The pain, the pain, rip it from the source. But the root lies deep within.
Julie Brodeur English, 1990
hit the ground. Once graceful and billowy, the separate kernels lump together and form a bomb to destroy the earth.
Inward goes time and folds upon itself, retracting all knowledge in an unusable form.
Gums and plastic coats the earth, eating up water and drinking up time. "Why," cries a rock,
"is there no time?" See the watch folded in upon itself, broken forever in a world with no mechanics. "Fix me," it cries,
but no one hears and it eventually dies. A bush in the rain, collecting bugs and spiders, peacefully eats the sun, swallowing every last ray of hope to enter the wilderness.
For My Country I crept through the bushes I burrowed through the muddy terrain The silence overtook me One noise - I think I'd go insane Theÿ sweat on my body flows like a river on my flesh And though I fear the dying, onward I move towards death Crawling through this wasteland for want it seems an eternity An entire land of bloodshed is all my tired eyes can see But I stay alert and cautious, for the enemy is nearby I know death is closer now, it's just a question of him or I This game lasts forever
There is no deciding bell
The Music Never Stopped In the Beginning the tribe gathered and the music played. The young and old alike danced and loved one another. And all was well. But the times changed and unfamiliar faces appeared in the crowd• Soon the tribe was so large that the festival was held in massive coliseums in the middle of huge, sprawling cities. Now the people are nomads wandering from one city to the next, dodging police, and other unfriendly forces lurking in the concrete jungle• But each time the music begins the young and old alike dance and love one another. And all is well.
I live inside this nightmare In a cold, camouflaged hell.
P, s ychology, 1990
For my country I will withstand
I will kill I will be an animal For my country I will protect I will live in a nightmare I will hurt my brother For my country I will cry I will lose my sanity
I will die •.. For my Country...
Maya Poran Psychology, 1992
Sunlight rains upon my naked flesh the sparse clouds hide my body temporary shelter from a sheltered world.
(seven thirty-four pm) waiting to leave escape
(who would ever think of escaping chocolate) tired of "no i cannot sell twenty five cents worth of gummy bears" how much longer "please don't bang on the glass"
Carefree inthis asylum It is a feeling which many fail to participate in. Nothing lies between me and their eyes as nothing rests between me and Mother Earth For Nature is what I am. And I laugh at the ones who fail to see that beneath their clothes they are also bare
(dumb little kid) i wonder
(seven thirty-five pm)
oh K. Martinez Ulldecided, 1992
Although my pores may be soiled My flesh wearing the dust and dirt of earth I am cleansed while they remain corrupted. I may bathe in rivers and springs as they wash in chemical residue. Free of chains Bound in freedom It is only wonder in which I am captured.
Maya Poran Psycholog% 1992
in bits and pieces my former life molds green uncovered
in the fridge drying waiting to be discarded in old milk containers K. Martinez
I am of the Earth. I am your brother, and your sister. You call me a beast; a carnivore.
I kill only to feed myself. You kill for no reason I can see. I eat my kill. You let yours rot.
You destroy the Earth which I make my home. Our mother is kind: there is room and food for all her children. You selfishly take the Earth and do not share it with your brothers and sisters. I starve because of you, brother.
I am forced to invade your ranches and take prey in order to survive. Brother, you come after me
and either shoot me or poison me. You say, I have taken what is yours. How can life be owned?
You have caused the ANNIHILATION of many of our brothers and sisters. You shoot our brothers and sisters because you like to watch them die. Please tell me why you do this; I do not understand. All of my other brothers and sisters
I am still breathing air that is bad for me. I am getting sick from the poison you put in the water.
Brother, you say it is not economical feasible to make a rapid change. I ask you brothers and sisters, 'is it feasible to destroy our Mother?' As with many of my brothers and sisters, I was once common. Now I am rare.
You ask which one of your relatives is speaking. Do you ask so you can kill me? It does not matter, I will tell you who I am. I am powerful. But I am also silent. I watch closely. But I do not make a sound. I am swift in motion. I am a ghost of the Earth.
I am a MOUNTAIN LION. I am a MOUNTAIN LION. Storm Anthropology, 1991
respect our Mother. You do not.
You take our Mother and you rape her. You butcher her with fences and imaginary boundaries, separating her into parcels and acres for
EXPLOITATION Then, after you have dissected her into owned parts, you further molest her. I have seen the great forests that have been demolished so you can make your money.
You throw your garbage on our mother to spite her. Your garbage kills us. You dump your shit in the rivers and oceans and then complain about the water not being as good as it used to be. And now, now that you know what harm you are doing to the entity that created us and supports us, what are you doing?
My Grandmother Died and Went To the Moon
We come together to cleanse ourselves,
to empty all thefrustration fear helplessness hurt that we've stored while apart
Did you peer out of the fullness of the moon to watch the laundry pulse like the vein on the forehead of the widower who in his ashamed way has hired his daughter-in-law
We come together looking for strength waiting to be weak and fluctuate From Oak tree to river reed
to this menial
task which baffles
the brain of he who was raised in a chauvinistic society and is now praying [or the knowledge of you, a woman,
my grandmother who has died and gone to the moon.
Becky Russakov Marketi每g, 1989
Gold From Gray When leaves were gold, we said hello. By noon we started laughing. We met and rambled after class. Time scattered like dry ashes. By finals week a mutual trust, gray skies so far away. Our sun would shine through good or bad, who wrote that gold can't stay? But somehow clouds eclipsed the light, and friendship ebbed away. We need some gray to prize the gold.
Both dark and light are blinding.
Images of Nicole Partners in crime - (or so we thought)...
Madly dancing at the party. Drunk. Trying to ditch the "scarymen"...
Running down the isles of Toys R Us... Looking for enough lost pennies. For matching cap guns...
At the beach - living on the boardwalk... For three sleepless days. Posing as psuedo-vagrants.
Cruising in the red Subaru... Without destination. Our great escape...
I saw a ray and dove for it but can't look back again. I'll greet the future with a smile. I learned from us my friend.
Susan Martinez Psychology, 1991
Beth Williams Marketing, 1990
It Get's Better She knew it was safe to leave now. He was asleep. He was done. She crept from the bed making sure not to wake him. She began to get dressed. Her underpants had been badly torn. She didn't care. She just desperately needed to be covered. Slowly she pulled them up. The remaining elastic hung on the edge of her right hip just long enough for her to put on her pants. She began to buckle her beh. He started to move. Nervously maneuvering the belt, she pinched a piece of her stomach that poked out of her pants where a button had previously been. She took no time to remedy the situation. Instead she threw on her shirt and jacket, and quickly stuffed her bra into her back pocket. She headed for the door. He spoke. "You leaving babe? I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" "Sure," she said and continued for the door. "You know, once I fucked my girlfriend so hard she cried." He roiled
Around five o'clock she walked dutifully downstairs to wish him a happy Valentine's Day. She stood on the exact spot where earlier that very day she had collapsed. She knocked on the door. "Who is it?" "It's me." "It's open."
She opened the door and her feet froze. He was lying naked on his bed; smiling and waiting. "Well come in!"
over and went back to sleep. She opened the door, walked out, turned around, and fell back on it. She squirmed down to the floor of the dormitory hallway. She sat with her legs crossed Indian style, her head buried in her hands, and a silent fall of tears rushed down her face. For a moment she was completely oblivious to her surroundings. "Was this sex?" she thought. Using the doorknob as a prop, she pulled herself up from the tiles. She walked down the sterile hallway and up the stairs to her room. Her key was shaking as it worked the lock. She walked inside, pulled herself up to her top bunk, and grabbed her legs into a fetal position. Her roommate was up studying for some sort of exam "So, did you and he...?" "Yeah, I guess."
"What do you mean you guess?"
"Yes! Alright? Yes!" "Fine. I'm sorry I asked."
The roommate went back to her studies. The girl uncurled and started down from her bed to shed her clothing. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened the door. With her roommate's view blocked she began to take off her clothing. She pulled her bra from her pocket and tossed it into her hamper. She took off her coat, and for a moment stood and hugged it. The she continued. Eventually she came to the shredded underwear; blood-stained and tattered. She had no idea what to make of everything that had happened. "I don't mind that you asked. Tell me, did he hurt you the first time?" "You mean, was it painful? Sort of." "Did you enjoy it?" "It was alright. It was kind of awkward. But it gets better." "I hope so," she thought as she placed a panty shield in a fresh pair
Her arms grabbed hold of the bedposts as he worked his way inside. Two weeks had passed since she had learned what sex was. For fourteen nights she had layed there passively; telling herself that one day she'd enjoy it. He gave a sigh, rolled off of her, and began to go to sleep. She sat up, massaged her wrists, and after a few minutes got up to get dressed. It was all mechanical now. Her hands no longer shook as she dressed. The belt was not a problem; at his request she no longer wore one每 "I'll see you tomorrow babe." "Sure," she numbly said, and then headed for the door. "You know, once I fucked my girlfriend so hard she cried." She opened the door, walked into the hallway, and stared down at the tiles. "Yes, l know."
The key slipped with ease into the lock, and she walked into her room. The lights were out. Her roommate was asleep. Quietly the girl began to undress. Once unclothed, she fumbled around looking for a nightshirt. A light clicked on. She hoped she would not completed wake her roommate who was now fidgeting about; occasionall每 opening an eye. "'What did he do to you?" The bleeding had stopped after the first week. Now bruises lined her thighs and chest.
"what do you mean?" "I mean those marks are not normal."
"I just have to get used to it. It will get better. You said so yourself." Her voice shook, and she prayed for an affirmation from her roommate, who was now out of bed and taking a closer look. "I thought you were asking if the first time was uncomfortable, not brutal." "Oh."
Dressed for the night she climbed back to bed. From the top bunk, she could see the alarm clock: 4:00. She needed to get to sleep. She reached on top of the wardrobe next to her, took off a bottle of sleeping pills, and dry swallowed two. When she woke up everything seemed so much dearer. She had thought about what her roommate said and came to the conclusion that she would have to get used to it. And she would.
On Looking Into Two Mirrors Directly Across From One Another
A loud cleansing scream came from the showers as the girl scrubbed herself. She felt dirty. "How could I let him...she told me it was normal...why didn't I see it?" Her nails dug into the palms of her hands until her' knuckles turned red. She loosened her fingers and stared at the
I pass between the juxtaposed mirrors and am, For a brief but shining extra-dimensional moment, Endlessly reflected out of sight, So that a million of me exist, And are gone in a step.
indentations they had made. "How can I face him...face anyone? I can't stay here...I've got to get out." She could not cry. She turned off the water, put on her robe, and walked back to her room. Her roommate was
waiting for her. "Do you want to call the police?" "No."
"Listen, I'm sorry if my advise misled you. I didn't know what was going on." Now the tears came. The roommate offered a tissue.
"It's all right. It wasn't your fault. I asked for the advice. I asked for it."
The roommate tried to stay up with the girl, but around 5:30 she fell asleep. At noon she awoke, and looked up on the top bunk to see how the girl was doing. The bottle on top of the wardrobe was empty. The note
said, 'Tm sorry."
"Damn you? Damn him?
Becky Russakov Marketi每Tg, 1989
In a field of scarlet sage we lay With nothing beneath us but the whole world And sweet, crushed leaves the scent of mint and honey. Under the blue of deepest summer We made love slowly, As cracks form in cliff walls. We made love as silence sings And as a hawk soars high on the wind. While a swirling fabric of bees hovered above us, We made love, And their shadows landed on us in the sun. All the sage's whispered warnings Were echoed that day By the soft breath of the air. We caught none of it throught the lovely mesh Of flesh against flesh.
Cracks in Shatter-Proof Glass My emotions in the cup disappear, As they do soon after they arrive. But are they always with me? The pleasant and the unpleasant? They must be. What is insane and who defines it. What defines it. Anything we say, As a work,
Or think, As an idea,
Is defined by the society Which created it.
Philosophy? Sociology? I have no patience for these.
PATIENCE. CALM. COOL. It's too hot.
COOL. COLD, RUNNING, WATER. It's warm.
FEEL THE WATER, IT'S COLD. It's, it's still warm.
Pour the water in a glass. See the small, wet droplets Adhering to the surface Of the hard, slick glass. It's, it's less warm.
Maybe, maybe even a little cool. The surface of glass isn't so hard. It's fragile. It breaks. Just like my spirit. But I won't allow it to be broken. So it remains empty. Nothing can spill from it There is nothing left to spill. It contained something once. But I have learned better of it. It will not shatter.
I WON'T ALLOW IT. Julie Brodeur EnglL每h, 1990