1the GRINNELL REVIEW
VOLUME FORTY | FALL 2010
Lorraine BlattJon Garrey
Abraham KohrmanKaitlin Loftur-Thun
Claire LoweShanna Nichols
Jennelle NystromDaniel Waite Penny
Rocio SafeMatthew Mertes
Leah RussellPaul Tavarez
James AnthoferTyler Banas
Lilith Ben-OrChristian Caminiti
Eileen DalyJakob Gowell
Tyrone GreenfieldAbraham KohrmanKaitlin Loftur-Thun
Clare MaoEmily Mester
Kelly Marie MusselmanShanna Nichols
Daniel Waite PennyRocio Safe
Sarah ShaughnessyJessica Rippel
Paloma VelazquezPaul Tavarez
WRITING SELECTION COMMITTEE
ARTS SELECTION COMMITTEE
4Copyright 2010 by the Student Publications and Radio Committee (SPARC) of Grinnell College.
The Grinnell Review is the colleges biannual undergraduate literary and fine arts journal.
Acknowledgements: The work and ideas published in The Grinnell Review belong to the individuals to whom such works and ideas are attributed and do not necessarily represent or express the opinions of SPARC or any other individuals associated with the publication of this journal.
2010 Poetry, prose, artwork and design rights return to the artists upon publication. No part of this publication may be duplicated without the permission of SPARC, individual artists or the editors.
The Grinnell Review is printed and bound by Acme Printing in Des Moines, IA. It was designed using Adobe InDesign CS5. The typeface for the body text is 12 pt. Minion Pro and the typeface for the titles is 48 pt. Minion Pro.
Cover art: Shadow Series #4 an original artwork by Lauren Teixeira.
Simultaneous submissions are acceptable during the Fall and Spring semesters but are limited to three per category (literature and art).
All editorial and business correspondence should be addressed to:
Grinnell Collegec/o Grinnell ReviewGrinnell, IA 50112
Letters to the editor are also welcome. Please send them to the address above or to firstname.lastname@example.org.
5C O N T E N T S
9 Letter From the Editors Mike Kleine & Mario Macas
10 Writing Section
12 High Definition James Anthofer
13 Midwest Weather James Anthofer
14 Olympia, Pt. ii James Anthofer
15 Any Given Weekend in Guatemala Tyler Banas
18 The Advice of Mr. Melpomene Benjamin Gregory Flebbe
19 applepicking Clare Mao
20 Coming Attraction Clare Mao
21 What Byron Did At the End of the World Emily Mester
22 Twiddling My Opposable Thumbs, or A Convoluted Answer to the Teachers Question of Why I Laughed When She Said Homo Erectus Emily Mester
24 Biped Love Song Emily Mester
25 Poem in Five Acts Daniel Waite Penny
30 No Looking Bacchus (For Isaac) Daniel Waite Penny
32 The Passion of Bear Grylls Daniel Waite Penny
39 Untitled Quinn Underriner
40 Lessons in Anatomy Clare Boerigter
41 Bike Megan Rupe
42 Romance Regifted Kelly Marie Musselman
43 Driving Force Kelly Marie Musselman
45 To Explain Her Status Kelly Marie Musselman
46 Art Section
48 deep bro i Nic Wilson
50 Untitled Lily Jamaludin
51 Untitled Liting Cong
52 Untitled Noah Delong
53 A Man With a Plan Jon Garrey
54 Untitled Greg Suryn
656 Drawing Danica Radoshevich
57 Untitled Marlu Carolina Abarca
58 Coney Island Fireworks Dodge Greenley
59 Tea Cats Liting Cong
60 Untitled Davis Hermann
62 Sunset Across the Innoko River, Western Interior Alaska Ben Schwamb
63 Namib Noah DeLong
64 Ethan Boat Club Daniel Waite Penny
65 Puke Daniel Waite Penny
66 Untitled Lorraine Blatt
68 Progression of Instability Lily Jamaludin
70 Untitled Alex Reich
71 Untitled Colin McCallum-Cook
72 Ode to Arbus Daniel Waite Penny
74 Girl and Tree Abraham Kohrman
75 pH Greg Suryn
76 Hose Sara Kay
78 Mykonos Maze Jon Garrey
80 North Bubble, Acadia National Park, Maine Ben Schwamb
82 PEC Dodge Greenley
83 Electro Scene Davis Hermann
84 Wet Jon Garrey
86 Shadow Series #1 Lauren Teixeira
88 Empty, Vibrant Tyler Banas
90 The Culvert Dodge Greenley
92 Nicks Diner Self Portrait Lauren Teixeira
93 Strange Fruit Mike Kleine
94 Ink Bubs Davis Hermann
C O N T E N T S
7Man Ray, Paris, May 1924
9Letter from the Editors
Welcome to the fortieth issue of The Grinnell Review. In ten years, the Review will be 50 and that makes it anxious. Jesus died when he was 33, and now, the Review is 40. Maybe the Review will get a motorcycle, for a changeit has always wanted a motorcycle. The Review remembers when it was young, when it dreamed of being a baseball player and, look, here it is now. How did this happen? Has it done anything yet, anything meaningful?
We think so. Youve come a long way, baby. Last spring, the Review was released as an anthology. This year, it is not. But that was great: the shape was oblong, the paper recycled, cake was eaten, a roman X was omitted, and so what would have been thirty is now sadly forty.
Gathered here, we are thus proud to present you with the best of what we feel is . . . well, the bestor, at least, the closest one could ever get to the very best:
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.Thats Dr. Seuss, everyone.
Let our regime rise toward perfection as it falls into self-destructionfor that, dear readers, is art.
That is why, with the most pretentious intentions, we now invite you to be a part of this boys club: for we are the brain drain in power, essayez de nous arrter.
Mike Kleine and Mario Macas Editors in Chief
POEM | JAMES ANTHOFER
Olympia, Pt. iiWhen Peter Puget reached the end,He turned back and killed some Indians.Today, in Olympia, they flood Capitol Lake(man-made) with salt to kill foreign slugs.
That didnt work, either. Not much does here.The buses run on time, the college hums along,Always green, deep in a forest without grades.Without hip-hop, too, since a riot in 2006.
Well, yes, fuck the police, but I didnt seeA single one when I was in Olympia.I guess thats why the evergreeners Go to Tacoma to dance at the rave bar:
To gawk at the animals in Fort Lewis, And in the morning, to blockShipments to Kabul.
My younger brother, sober, serious,Refuses the dances and the orgiesAnd dorm Z: attending class from a homeIn the trees. He farms instead, urbanely.
At nights we talk about his prison project And how sex isnt freedom. Drugs, either.It rains every day of my visit,And even during the day, We cannot see the forest For the trees.
POEM | JAMES ANTHOFER
Midwest WeatherSomething semi-miraculous in your care for me:the loose shingle falls,the rain rises in slow motiontowards the clouds.Can we be weird? Of course, my dear.Let me marvel againat your small hands and feet. They fitinside me.
Long-distance is simply derivative.Tensions resolve into curves.I draw the next graphon the calendar,as an arrow pointing off of the page,as a tree ring, as a pill with some sort of nameI take each day. Anti-Melancholy.
I wear the relationship suitlike Superman,and each night I fly back to Antarcticato sleep in my ice fortress.The steady falls of your feetin the snow echo on the plain. Five weeks!
POEM | JAMES ANTHOFER
High DefinitionIn fact, the wonders did not cease.The fad did not pass.The mid-term (elections) went on.
Long-distance relationship:we wrote for Lady Gaga,Beyonce, Ke$ha, Rihanna.Asalaam alaikum.
Over the phone and on the computer screen,I told her about my wonder.I told her I loved her.I wanted to become her,
Or something like that.She knows the way to laugh,To say I overcomplicate.Just skype, after all:
invent the way out, solve this without difficultylike the climax of a romantic comedy.
Forget your life,and it appears againWith twice the resolution.
ANY GIVEN WEEKEND IN GUATEMALA
July 6, 2010 Saturday
In the wake of a rose-hipped afternoon reading Kerouacs infamously manic and beat-driven prose, I attack this weekend passed with reflective irides. A swanky story I will compose.
Saturday morning, my first acculturated encounter with Guatemalan relaxation. Eggs, bread, and tead manifest with sun-raged sparks from the intricate hollows of my homes kitchen. The charged energy is supplanted into the night-dried bodies. Foreign words sling from mouth to ear in the foods meter-high skies, desperately hoping to be received. Yo voy alli con Esteban no se cuando regresar. I leave the table hoping for slimslender reception.
Dust-ridden concrete lies like an elongated snake between my destination and my condition. Fortunately, like-minded organisms called friends accompany me on the mission.
In a leap unprecedented by any gaze or outlook, we as three board bright bingy buses aimed toward the Devil in Xela City. Toward whatever hell were destined, at least we go in herds. They say the road there is paved with good intentions, but their claim is negated with searing sirens. The road to hell isnt paved at all. Nohell is beyond the unmarked purgatory of sharp bends and desolute-but-proud eyes, staring as if the light reflecting from your skin and clothes contains some solution. Were headed together is the only message conveye