TYGR is the student art and literary magazine for Olivet Nazarene University.
[Historical Muse] The Tyger -- William Blakehttps://digitalcommons.olivet.edu/stud_tygr/1001/thumbnail.jp

Forrestal, Jill

Greiner, William

Mansfield, Kate

English

Olivet Nazarene University

Olivet Nazarene UniversityDigital Commons @ OlivetTYGR: Student Art and Literary Magazine Archives(1985-2017) Student Publications5-2011TYGR 2011: Student Art & Literary MagazineJill ForrestalOlivet Nazarene University, JForrest@olivet.eduWilliam GreinerOlivet Nazarene University, bgreiner@olivet.eduKate MansfieldOlivet Nazarene UniversityFollow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.olivet.edu/stud_tygrPart of the Fiction Commons, Graphic Design Commons, Illustration Commons, NonfictionCommons, Photography Commons, and the Poetry CommonsThis Book is brought to you for free and open access by the Student Publications at Digital Commons @ Olivet. It has been accepted for inclusion inTYGR: Student Art and Literary Magazine Archives (1985-2017) by an authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Olivet. For moreinformation, please contact digitalcommons@olivet.edu.Recommended CitationForrestal, Jill; Greiner, William; and Mansfield, Kate, "TYGR 2011: Student Art & Literary Magazine" (2011). TYGR: Student Art andLiterary Magazine Archives (1985-2017). 2.https://digitalcommons.olivet.edu/stud_tygr/2tygr student art &literary magazine2011tygrstudent art &literary magazine2011Olivet Nazarene UniversityOne University AveBourbonnais, IL 60914www.olivet.eduThe Department of English & Modern Languagesand The Department of Art & Digital MediaCover art by Maya Scott4 5Tygr Staff 2011 Executive Editor     Kate MansfieldArt & Layout Editor    Emily CheesemanAssistant Editor     McKenzie FritchPhoto Editor      Alyssa SaathoffReaders   Professor Andy Gibbs,  Emily Spunaugle,Ian Matthews, Katelyn Flynn, Elise Foley, Jadon Huddleston, Jeannette Kirchner, Heather MeadDepartment Advisors   Jill Forrestal, English & Bill Greiner, ArtThe TygerWilliam BlakeTyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, & what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? –1794Table of ContentsAbeyance Emily Spunaugle  Photograph by Tim StephansenUninspired Morgan McCririe Milky Way Skin Erica JenkinsPhotograph by Nick GarciaArtwork by Alina EllisArt of Leaving Nikki LambArtwork by Erica KimmelAshes to Ashes Natalie BursztynskyHalona Sarah JensenPhotograph by McKenzie FritchSometimes the Rain is Enough Alex GreenArtwork by Maya ScottFour to One Tim StephansenArtwork by Maya ScottWords of Silence Emily ArnoldPhotograph by Kaitlin CarlsonVeil Jeannette KirchnerArtwork by Samantha AllenWind Fairies Ashli MarrierBurned Out Lauren FinneyPhotographs by Matthew Reynolds091113151719212325272931333537394143454749Cotton Jillian CarrickArtwork by Hayley ForrestalOverheard Ian MatthewsArtwork by Emily Roselineand Chris BottariLovesick Kate MansfieldArtwork by Alyssa CramerThat Gal of Mine Emily SpunaugleArtwork by Carolyn GoettschOde to a Cliché Lauren FinneyArtwork by Hayley ForrestalAbeyance iii Emily SpunaugleArtwork by Erica KimmelRipples Tabitha EckertPhotograph by Erin BluckerThe World Breathes Bethany AbbotArtwork by Josh StoneWhirlwind Tabitha EckertPhotograph by Tim StephansenDusk, Burying Jack Ian MatthewsPhotograph by Jake RattinFirst Flight Sara MarrsPhotograph by Alyssa SaathoffWrite in Light Kate MansfieldArtwork by Emily Cheeseman8 9Photograph byTim StephansenAbeyance Emily Spunauglewaiting for the saturday evening post expectingblackmail or red letters i don’t know whichexorcisms howling from the catholic congregants yesoh yes the hands glued to sides and mouths clampedtightly on the eucharist.  waving a dry bubble wand, it’slike seeking recourse of course in the subtletiesof language - is it “ahh-men” or “a-men” i guess we’llnever know10 11Uninspired Morgan McCririeSunlight bursts forth from behind a cloudAs if throwing off her burial shroud.Dew on the grass glistens in the lightSaying, “Here I am; I survived the night.”The splendor of the morning demands to be admired,Yet, these little miracles leave us uninspired.We despise the sunlight for waking us from our sleep,And curse the dew on the grass for wetting our feet.Milky Way Skin Erica Jenkins Freckles explode like popcorn on my cheeksAngel kiss, sunshine lick, polka dotted trickYou cause them to clump together in constellationsFilling the void the empty sky has given usThis place is bare, this place is thinJust you, just meAnd my milky way skinPhotograph by Nick GarciaArtwork by Alina Ellis12Artwork byErica KimmelArt of LeavingNikki Lamb Reaching, gnarled branchesclasp onto leavesred as the scarlet letter.They snap as they leave the branchbut make no noisewhen they hit the ground −a nearly inaudible gasp of pain.The forest floor is now littered with ache.Planks on the footbridgeclap and tap underfoot.The sound of stepsechoes below –a hollow sound disturbs the quiet.The wood, once rough, is now smooth –worn from years of wind and rain.Where does it go?Where does it lead?This bridge of fire tempts: follow meinto the mystery and freedomof what you do not know.Span an arch of timefrom point A, where you Areto the point you want to Be.14 15Ashes to Ashes Natalie Bursztynsky Freely fall, freely flyCross my heart and hope to dieIf I should die before I wakeI pray the Lord my soul to takeStumbling, bumbling, running ‘roundBefore I lie beneath the groundSilent sleep and silent wakeNow, instead, this world I shakeIn muted silence, make a soundThen ashes, ashes, I fall downHalona Sarah JensenMesas rise above the surfaceMesmerizing swirls demonstrateMasterful skill – we are the central anthillEarth surrounds usFull of mysteriesWe labor to understandEarth surrounds usOnly our vessels remainDust to dustPhotograph byMcKenzie Fritch16Sometimes theRain is Enough Alex GreenSometimes the rain is enoughto bring life into the cracked earth;to wash away the debris.Sometimes the rain is enoughto stop a famine or at leastgive a thirsty traveler a drink.Sometimes the rain is enoughto drown the sorrowsand mask the tears.Sometimes the rain is enoughand sometimes it’s not.Artwork byMaya Scott18Four to One Tim Stephansen Pancake batter chortleson the griddle in itsbest impression of its neighbor, bacon.She makes the last forme and her.  The kidsthree and four race outside, done.Planet Venus and hermany star-friends vibrateoverhead as I driveup the gravel road, passingthree wooden crosses:one big, two small.Today, cereal.Artwork byMaya Scott20Words of SilenceEmily Arnold Speak the wordsAnd feel the gap insideWhere those lettersUsed to beJumbled and unformedThey swirled beneath skinReaching for a chanceTo become wholeMy fingers jerkAcross the keysSearchingFor the perfect combinationTo stretch this distanceof silence and trepidationTo fold our hands togetherAnd heal usTear this veilOf perfected pretensionsWith quiet lipsBreathing sounds of hopeInto the inclined earAcross miles of asphaltCynicismAnd hesitationOur words twineAnd freezeUpon our hope-parched tonguesWe grasp desperatelyAt invisible threads of controlTo realignThese traitorousAnd exposed woundsBut thoughts revealWhat we believed unseenAnd we blurtOur misshapen heartsInto creationWithout censoringThe real formationOf the letters of our livesPhotograph by Kaitlin Carlson22Artwork bySamantha AllenVeilJeannette Kirchner A religious symbol.A shield.A choice − fought over.A protection.A status.A mock of gender.An opaque symbol.A child’s protection from the “bad.”A person’s inner reflection of goodness.Identity determined through fabric and textile.24Wind FairiesAshli MarrierCotton, at dusk, rests so peacefully until the wild summer wind blowsWhen the moon shines down and makes them danceWhere the wind fairies will fly to, no one really knowsLittle children chasing wind fairies around the cottonweedAt dusk there’s a sparkle in their eye as they giggleOne wish is all they get, one fairy to catch with greedWhen the wind fairies are finally at rest the children go to sleepTheir dreams will be filled with blues and whitesThrough children’s dreams the wind fairies creepUntil again the wild summer winds sweepBurned OutLauren Finney When I was a kidliving in the O.C.I would take my skateboardafter schooland fly in the drained-out, stainedswimming pools of the fortunatewho didn’t live with my familyPhotographs byMatthew ReynoldsArtwork byHayley ForrestalCottonJillian KarrickShe can’t be more than ten,for the purity in her skin is unmatched.Her long chestnut hair untouched by society’s cruel pen,dried by earth’s winds.The lake has no beginning.no end.The white water reflects the morning sungrazing her face.One hand clutches the white cotton dressfrom the ripples behind her thighs.The other skims over the first layer.A toast made.Floating in a bath tub, delicately concealed in bubbles.Diaper clad, her first wobbling stepsClichés flashed across the screenUntil this.Her father gaspswith the 200 other attendees.His glassy eyes weep at the innocent image of his little girl, in a cotton white dressThen.His eyes scan to his little girlWho is still tenBut wears a differentwhitedress.28 29Overheard Ian Matthews on the grimy tile wallabove the urinalin the gas station bathroom arethe words ‘for a good time call alicia’and a phone numberwhich i assume belongs to aliciaso i dial this numbercause i could use a good timebuta man’s voice answersand i hang upArtwork byChris BottariArtwork byEmily Roseline30LovesickKate MansfieldI can’t open my mouth to speakfor fear I will wretch up everythought of you.My own heart will be a messon the floorfor every friend and enemy to witness.I close my eyes to delaythe sickness, but flashes of repressed daydreamsmeet dwindling delusionsof sameness.Deep breath afterdeep, deep breathbring words so closeto the surfacethat I pausebefore an exhale betrays me.You rest a palmon my white cheekand grasp my clammy hand.I avoid your gaze as you lift my chin.Too late.You’re going to know.I love  you.Artwork byAlyssa Cramer33That Gal of MineEmily Spunaugle She’s aplatinum bombshell blondefully loaded with plastic and metal −a regular LZ for deadlytubular vehicles deliveringcrimped tresses, blood-red lips, anddarkened eyes      she’s a stiffdrink of charged waterthat gal of mine.a real drop-dead heartstopper she’ll give ya the time(within an inch) of your life.She’s five foot eleven inchesover out andunder.Artwork byCarolyn Goettsch34Ode to a ClichéLauren Finney Two hundred years of overuseand this poor, battered,worn-out similehas run a hundred marathonsfought a thousand battlesbeen used a million different timeson a million different linesWhy must people constantlyreach for the same metaphors,abuse the ancient phrases,until they mean no more than shadows?Let me swaddle you softSet you by the fireRest — And I will let you sleep.Artwork byHayley Forrestal37Artwork byErica KimmelAbeyance iiiEmily Spunaugle todayit makes two weeksthat she sent her dear johnto dear henry signed intea and cream and blood flowing fromchina cups and paper cuts −Unthinkable −to live beyond polishing bothtilegrouttile and image, smoothingfittedsheettopsheetthecomforterand caretaker of children contemplatingdoor-window-doorsuspendedbetween here and the not-here, betweencornflakes and fruitloops and life andliving somewhere beyond thispostmark purgatory.39And though our paths converged,inside me I drew back:all détente, all hesitant,humble swami prostrate – at before behind below beside beyond –altar of encounter.Namaste between our eyes, flicker in the water.Like the morning traffic,like ripples in the river,you swished by on time’s crosswalkand submerged within my past.And still you emerge, submerge –rising sun on crosswalk,lamplight in my kitchen;flow through my alertness,jolt my deep unknown –Gangster-on-the-crosswalk,Ripple-in-the-river-of-me.Ripples Tabitha Eckert Your Nikes scuffed, scudded, scraped,still somehow,missed the sidewalk cracks.Like the morning traffic,braking at the red light,missing white lines barely,but still stopping just beyond.And I couldn’t even fathom how you flowed the way you did,without stop or staticswinging jean-cased leg – about across after against along around –jean-cased swinging other,ceaselessly, and stillscuff, scud, scrape.Like ripples in the river,twisting twirling round each other,flickering, flowing, fluttering,swift and smooth and sputtering.Photograph byErin Blucker40 41The World BreathesBethany Abbott The air is stillThe world, it seems,has taken a collective breath,a nervous inhaleThe silence screams to be filledI am drawn to obeyFear fills me as I reach outto place my fingers on the keysThey are smoothI know this touch, this feeling,I remind myselfI inhale with the worldI begin to play,something beautiful,something I know all too well,But it seems something newThe air is filledand the world breathesArtwork byJosh Stone43Photograph byTim StephansenWhirlwindTabitha Eckert Cresting wave of rushing sand, wind out of a breathless land,Whipping, twining, flaming bright with the coral-blue twilight,Unexpected, unprojected − unprotected I meet you.My footing gone in flying spray, turned to dust and swept away, Or lodged in clothing, lashes, hair and rasping skin the wind lays bare −Touch of ages, voice that rages your rampage is deep voodoo.Breathe your myths of ne’er-will-be, undefined divinity:All the yearnings of my soul for more-than-full and more-than whole.Limit-breaking, sureness-shaking, trance-like waking − promise me.Shimmer, flicker, fiery light; hide the sun, obscure my sight.Snatching jealous loneliness consumes the air, leaves me breathless.Empty hands, fiery demands − these I withstand, false entity.Just one instant, and you’re gone, faceless, traceless, and moved on.I’m here ragged, raw, but live.  Each time, whirlwind, I survive.O Goguwan, O Harmatan, Soul Saharan − try again.44 45DuskIan Matthews so it’s me and jackon the edge of the nightframed againstalarming, stunning brilliance −this in-between timewhen the day is dying andthe night is reborn:orange smeared intored smeared intostarry, infinite black −an oil-painted post-sunsetsecond, frozen just long enoughto be on purpose,posed for nobody to photograph,dancing to a symphony of silence − the lush, heady sound ofnothing.and for a second, i think − this must be what eternity isand then the sun divesall the way over the horizonand the world goes darkand me and jack go back inside.Burying Jack Ian Matthews their shovels sing in the soggy dirt,cutting last spring’s grass asa congregation of three crowsand a grey sky on the verge of tearslooks on from the power linesacross the road.Father and son carry the 120-pound bundle (he’d been on a diet)wrapped in a blue tarpall the way across the yard. That dog’s going to give me a heart attack − says the father.They flatten the ground over the bundle,then toss the shovels in the garage.The crows fly away, remarking −  what a lovely service.The sky concurs.Photograph byJake Rattin47First FlightSara MarrsGrasping the matted hair of a dollwith one handand ruffling her dresswith the other.She stood.Looking downshe shiftedback and forthfrom the fifth to sixth stair.On the fifthshe crouched setting the doll on the carpetas if in a chair.Her eyes, then, fixed aheadlooking into the horizon.She jumped.Suspended.Poised in the airhands above her headwith fingers spread wide.She landed on her feet,her arms smacked down to her sides.Marching back up the stairs again,she contemplated her next jump.Published previously in The Write PlacePhotograph byAlyssa SaathoffWrite in LightKate Mansfield The new moon swindles heaven of its glowAs night breezes gallop over the sill carryingA critical melody from the sleepless sparrow.Lamplight dissolves in a harmony of splintered glass.The clock burns the empty book below my pen.Hours ago, a falling sun inhaled each drop of ink.Graphite ashes grant no reprieve to myHands that rest on a desk of unetchable stone.Falling volumes interrupt dim dreamsAnd dawn prays for inspiration.Morning answers with a rising star.Its rays spring past soiled panes of glass.I can see ink stains feathered on the pageAnd watch them slowly gather into blotted script.The sparrow flies away His song grows faintAnd a chorus of my own words fills the silence.Artwork byEmily Cheeseman50A Letter fromthe EditorsOur goal for the 2011 Tygr was to showcase the quality and creativity of the work by students at Olivet Nazarene University.  We worked to compile a publication that both students and faculty can proudly claim as a product of their community.This magazine could not have been completed without the dedication and enthusiasm of Olivet students and faculty; we would like to offer excessive thanks to Professor Forrestal and Dr. Greiner for providing sound advice, guidance, and encouragement.  We also thank our staff and, of course, we thank all our readers for taking the time to peruse the pages of this publication.  Our hope is that Tygr will always serve as a reflection of the talents and capabilities of the community of Olivet as a whole.Kate Mansfield & Emily CheesemanEditors of the 2011 Tygr

TYGR 2011:  Student Art & Literary Magazine

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TYGR 2011: Student Art & Literary Magazine

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