The Goddess I smiled at the president of the alumni association and told a Norwegian joke. I smiled at the dean of the college and thanked him for this honor. I smiled at the alumnus who had come the farthest distance and told him I had cousins in Pigscomer, Maine. They loved me of course.... Show moreThe Goddess I smiled at the president of the alumni association and told a Norwegian joke. I smiled at the dean of the college and thanked him for this honor. I smiled at the alumnus who had come the farthest distance and told him I had cousins in Pigscomer, Maine. They loved me of course. Everybody did, because I smiled a lot and said the right things and wore sensible grey plaid suits and tiny cross earrings. Nothing too gaudy for me (I was one of those girls who wore cross earrings every day of the week, a different color for each day, white for Sunday, black for funerals). They loved me because I campaigned for mandatory chapel and didn't drink. I was the kind of girl they prayed their daughters would be. My roommate hated me. I didn't care. Who was going to graduate magna cum laude? Who was engaged to a second year seminary student? Who had been invited to speak at the Luther College Alumni Banquet? Me me me. My roommate would probably end up on Hennepin Avenue, flirting with drunk, greasy haired men from the suburbs. I didn’t care. I sat at the head table thanking God for making me Diane Rasmussen. while two hundred alumni thanked him for their meatballs and mashed potatoes. Maybe I ate too fast or maybe one of the cooks had dirty hands, because halfway through Dean Carlson's welcome speech I suddenly felt like vomiting. I quietly walked out a side door. then ran down the hall, looking for a bathroom. I opened my eyes and saw nothing. My fingers felt cold wet tile beneath them. My head felt fuzzy. There were people here with me. I could hear breathing and some sort of scratching sound. “She thinks she's God,” a voice snarled. “She is,” replied another sarcastically. It was a woman’s voice. “Kick her,” commanded the first voice. Page 16 I knew someone was kicking me, but I didn't feel anything. It was like in dreams you have when the bullet goes through your heart and you know you are supposed to be dead. so you lie down on the ground and close your eyes even though you feel normal. A door slammed and a light went on. I had been lying on the floor of the men’s bathroom. Iwas alone. The pain became real as I tried to stand up. I looked in the mirror and saw a purple bruise starting to grow around my left eye. Part of me wanted to lie back down on that cold floor and wait for the owners of those voices I had heard to return and let them beat me blind. But I knew there was somewhere I was supposed to be. Martin Luther! My speech. I remembered. straightened my suit, and ran down the hall to the banquet room. Think about this later, I told myself. Martin Luther was the founder . . . I rehearsed my beginning as I ran. As I sat down. the Dean whispered. “Just in time. Diane. you're next. Good luck." The well-fed faces of the alumni smiled as I walked over to the podium and picked up a microphone. I was their all-American girl, their Virgin Mary, their angel of mercy. I had a curious feeling of absolute power as I stood before them. preparing to fill them with truth and knowledge. Truth? I never told the truth. I looked at the faces and each was a square of cold white tile staring at me, hating me. I began. Or rather, Itried to begin, but Martin Luther was crawling like an angry worm into a dark cave in my mind. I begged him to come out but he refused. “You’re not God," he spat at me. “I-‘ool. Hypocrite." I was so confused that I started to speak. saying whatever came to mind. I spoke in Spanish. “Buenas noches. senores y mujeres. Bienvenido a] Colegio de Luther. Este noches, quiero hablar de algo mas importante . . . ."I saw the Norwegian flags at the side of the stage and became inspired. My voice denounced Norway. Murphy Square Show less
Madman At The Window-sill Look the rising of the moon that raving babbles its light— to strike the silence of the dark to kindle facets in the ice red and blue to prick my mind and splinter in my eyes— Look the raging of the stars against the steel and stone— They sing with keaning voices to snap... Show moreMadman At The Window-sill Look the rising of the moon that raving babbles its light— to strike the silence of the dark to kindle facets in the ice red and blue to prick my mind and splinter in my eyes— Look the raging of the stars against the steel and stone— They sing with keaning voices to snap the brittle air and burn a brightly savage joy that bends to pierce my head. — john popham Murphy Square Opening Up Parched— a drought stricken River basin with crusty. scummed Bottom whose cracked, peeling Banks Struggle to form precious Sounds and squeeze out the Words I ache to say Hiding Deep inside the cavern —theresa sturm Page 25 Show less
Their eyes shift to the front of the church. The music has ended. The shadow is still. The farmer packs the flute safely in its case, puts on an old coat that smells like a dusty pick-up truck and walks down the aisle into the warm winter night. —kim morken Page 6‘ Murphy Square
Day Care Center Limp children dream on plastic cots of the things that once conceived them hands always jerking hurry up I'm parked illegally a glassy eyed woman rolls her bruised son in and out ignoring his squareness white uniforms with grey underarms slumping daughters in at 6:30 every morning... Show moreDay Care Center Limp children dream on plastic cots of the things that once conceived them hands always jerking hurry up I'm parked illegally a glassy eyed woman rolls her bruised son in and out ignoring his squareness white uniforms with grey underarms slumping daughters in at 6:30 every morning These children dream of being aborted and celebrating with ice cream and red balloons. —kim morken Murphy Square Page 13 Show less
No More Overnight Cigarette Breath After tight highschool kisses In separate bucket seats Of your once new car (over the stick shift) You accepted a friendly venture For grapefruit juice in the morning And a nostalgic visit in between (it had been six years) Naked—from the knees down We soaked... Show moreNo More Overnight Cigarette Breath After tight highschool kisses In separate bucket seats Of your once new car (over the stick shift) You accepted a friendly venture For grapefruit juice in the morning And a nostalgic visit in between (it had been six years) Naked—from the knees down We soaked our feet in the bath-tub Half filled with dishsoap water (I was out of bubble-bath) We played all night Like giggling girls At a slumber party (but we didn’t whisper) In the morning I apologized For messy hair and Overnight cigarette breath (I brushed my teeth) You laughed and Called in late for work While I made instant coffee (we hugged good-bye) Today we had tea together And in front of everyone You winked (don’t we look different with our clothes on?) —marie me call Page 24 Murphy Square Show less
All selections submitted for Murphy Square were judged anonymously by the editorial board. Names of authors were not revealed until the selection process was completed. Page 4 Murphy Square
Whirlpools The water is to me as compelling as a man, teasing you with its tranquillity, its gentleness, tempting you to open and allow it to enter you, smother you, and then forget you. And the water as with the man is indifferent to your tears. —laurie halvorson Surprise Grinding with gusto... Show moreWhirlpools The water is to me as compelling as a man, teasing you with its tranquillity, its gentleness, tempting you to open and allow it to enter you, smother you, and then forget you. And the water as with the man is indifferent to your tears. —laurie halvorson Surprise Grinding with gusto their pig-pink toes, It gnaws at the peachy flawlessness of innocent babes, Leaving only brittle bones of chalk. Then, swishing a spiny, spiked tail It strikes, swinging lead-filled rump to maim, And twists a muscular neck to see. Chubby, freckled cheeks smile and leer At the lifeless carcass, crumbling into dust. —kathy yakal Page 28 Murphy Square Show less
years later she became a teenager; at eighteen she entered college. The greatest pleasure in being twenty-one was the irony that she didn't care—- it was like looking indifferently at a doll she had played with for most of her life, finally realizing it was inanimate. She had, afler all, outgrown... Show moreyears later she became a teenager; at eighteen she entered college. The greatest pleasure in being twenty-one was the irony that she didn't care—- it was like looking indifferently at a doll she had played with for most of her life, finally realizing it was inanimate. She had, afler all, outgrown such childish fantasies—as if what age one is really makes any difierenoe, as if she would wake on the dawn of her birthday and somehow be transformed. Nonsense. Besides. she already knew she was going to study and teach the classics and work on the life-long project of deciphering the Etruscan language. Already she had been accepted by graduate school with another accompanying scholarship. The leaves cemented in the mud trembled from a wind which dropped other dry leaves into the river. and Gudrun became aware that she had been staring into the water. Perhaps some of the leaves will sink; others may get caught along the shore, or float until the river freezes. Maybe the river will carry some past that decapitated dog. The river runs, weaving, winding, wandering towards the sea where it loses identity. Gudrun im- agined a globe, sandy and dancing blue, the rivers rushing blue, like veins-—yes, like those on her wrist. The chimes of Old Main signalled that it was noon. Gudrun started walking up the hill and joined the students going to and from the library. the student union, dormitories and Greek houses on the maze walkways connecting them all with one another. "Olim erat quattor cuniculae par- " Dozens of dry leaves tumbling over one another scraped past her on the sidewalk, confronted an opposing breeze. and momentarily danced in a whirlwind which dispersed before her, the leaves scattering in different directions. The campus really was quite beautiful with its courtyard of small hills interspersed with big, dark oaks. Gudrun hastened her pace; the wind was cold. It was a short walk to the Alpha Beta Psi house. Straight ahead to Se- cond Avenue, then left for two blocks to where it stood on the corner to the right, a big, red brick three-story house. Gudrun belonged to the farthest left window on the second floor. Janice lived across the hall. Gudrun's floor was covered with a very old Oriental rug, and the walls were white and docorated with Renoir children and a six-foot poster of Jean Harlow. How beautiful she was in a white, tight, bias-cut, satin gown. One painted-nailed hand casually reclined on her hip; the other rested on the door, stretched above her head, which tossed in mocking laughter. Gudrun thought of her other heroine. Isadora Duncan, and of the poem she composed upon finishing her autobiography: When I heard it was you who heard music in the sea and the wind, I knew it was you I should admire. I used to dream about dancing alone on sand at sunrise. hair flying as another proffering extremity, wearing a loosely-gathered gown of white mesh gauze, oblivious to all but sounds in the sea and those from the sand under my feet. my eyes closed to the expression immediately following the acceptance ofthe pain which is halfof ecstacy. I loved you as if you were myself. 30 Show less
MURPHY SQUARE is a student publication jointly subsidized by Augsburg College and the Student Senate, 731 - let Avenue South, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55454. Copyright 0 April 1976. No poems or prose pieces may be reprinted without written permission of the author and/or editor. Typesetting by OCR... Show moreMURPHY SQUARE is a student publication jointly subsidized by Augsburg College and the Student Senate, 731 - let Avenue South, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55454. Copyright 0 April 1976. No poems or prose pieces may be reprinted without written permission of the author and/or editor. Typesetting by OCR Typesetting Service Bureau, Inc. 1301 East 79th Street Bloomington, Minnesota Printed in U.S.A. by Tandem Press 7716 Colfax Avenue South Richfield, Minnesota Contributions to the magazine were judged anonymously by the Editorial Board whose members could not vote affirmatively on their own works. Show less
At the S. F. State U. Library this little bird is dead the one who fell this baby without feathers, blind pink and gray rotting on the wet sod under the nest that mud sack with the dark hole hanging from the ledge of a highrise the library where the swallows come to breed John Mitchell
“I’m starting to get the feeling you can't do anything right, boy," the sergeant concluded. “What’s your name?" “Stevens, drill sergeant." “Well, Mr. Stevens, my name is Sergeant Bain." He paused, as he gave Larry a very slow, deliberate look from his head to his feet. "How much do you weigh,... Show more“I’m starting to get the feeling you can't do anything right, boy," the sergeant concluded. “What’s your name?" “Stevens, drill sergeant." “Well, Mr. Stevens, my name is Sergeant Bain." He paused, as he gave Larry a very slow, deliberate look from his head to his feet. "How much do you weigh, Stevens?" “Two hundred twenty-three pounds, drill sergeant." “I got some news for you. By the time you get out of my boot camp, you're going to be under two hundred pounds. You believe me. Stevens?" asked Bain. “Yes, drill sergeant." “Now, put that hood up and start acting like a soldier!" Bain com- manded. Larry obeyed the order. He remained erect with the hood covering his face for about five minutes. As the formation broke up following dismissal, he yanked the hood from his face and stared up at the sky. It had stopped raining. The remainder of the day was spent taking aptitude tests to determine what skills the men were best suited for. That evening Larry was still somewhat upset over the treatment he'd gotten at the morning formation. Jim tried to put him a little more at ease. "What I can't understand is why does he pick on just me?" Larry asked. “There’re about forty men in this company. but he was on my back the whole time." “He was just trying to show us how tough he is," Jim assured him. “He’s got to use someone for his little demonstration, and it looks like you were the scapegoat today. It‘ll be someone else tomorrow, I'm sure. Prob- ably me, with my luck." “Yea, you're probably right," Larry said. "I guess you can't take the Army too seriously or you'll never make it." “That's about it," Jim agreed. The following day was the first regular day of training. It began at 6:30 am. with Physical Training (RT). Before breakfast each day the recruits had to run four laps around the company area, the equivalent of a mile. Larry simply couldn't make it around four times. Shortly after the second lap his side and legs ached so badly he collapsed, grabbing at his side with both hands. He thought that if he could only get a few minutes rest, he could fall in behind the last few stragglers and get by undetected. The very last man jogging, however, was SFC Bain. "You ain't on a picnic, Stevens," he yelled. “Let’s go—get up and move it." “I can't, drill sergeant," Larry pleaded. “There’s no such word as ‘can't' in this man’s Army, fatboy. Now get up and run before I start kicking you down this road." Larry got up and ran but lasted only about a block before he fell to the ground again, the pain piercing his body. Bain, just as the day before, stood over him, his cold eyes bearing down with a look of hatred. “I can see it’s going to take some extra effort to get you through boot camp, fatboy. Go on, get over to the mess hall with the rest of them." Bain yelled. The men were gathered around the mess hall door, through which the smell of eggs and bacon leaked. Most had caught their breath. and all had worked up a good appetite. 16 Show less
I met the Lord at a bus stop on 10th Street I met the Lord at a bus stop on 10th street. I was selling God on the street corner Out of a bucket Lined with magazine promises, Stuffed with redeemable coupons. (Cashin’ in on a new trip to forever!) I asked Him, “Hey Man, are you saved?” He smiled.... Show moreI met the Lord at a bus stop on 10th Street I met the Lord at a bus stop on 10th street. I was selling God on the street corner Out of a bucket Lined with magazine promises, Stuffed with redeemable coupons. (Cashin’ in on a new trip to forever!) I asked Him, “Hey Man, are you saved?” He smiled. He said, “Man, I’m hungry. Where could I get a can of soup Without signing my soul on the line?” Well, I looked at him Kinda strange like And said, “Hey Man, Have you been reborn? I mean, Have you accepted Jesus-Jesus Christ The Almighty God- As your personal Saviour?" He leaned against me. He said, “You know, I lost that eye In a fight with a cop." Well, I had to switch gears Real quick like, So I said, “Hey Man, Have you been washed In the blood of the Lamb?" Show less
AGAME "C'mon, move it back. Make your buddy smile." Ah, shut-up. Larry thought to himself as warm, sweaty bodies tightly enclosed him in a human vise. Things have to get better, he thought. They couldn’t get much worse than being cramped into a dingy, old Army bus, cruising down a Kentucky... Show moreAGAME "C'mon, move it back. Make your buddy smile." Ah, shut-up. Larry thought to himself as warm, sweaty bodies tightly enclosed him in a human vise. Things have to get better, he thought. They couldn’t get much worse than being cramped into a dingy, old Army bus, cruising down a Kentucky highway in the middle of the morning. “Next stop. Goldville, U.S.A.," a voice rose up from somewhere on the left side of the bus. “Maybe we’ll each get a Ft. Knox souvenir. We could be the first soldiers to retire right after basic training." During the forty-mile trip to Ft. Knox most of the men chose to get some much needed sleep. including Larry. His eyes slowly opened as the bus eased to a stop at the entrance gate to his home for the next ten weeks. While a military policeman checked the bus in, Larry took in his first glimpse of a military community. Dark as it was, he could make out row after row of identical two-story buildings illuminated by street lights. He figured they must be the barracks. There were also open fields scattered about. The bus took off with a jerk, startling those still asleep, and delivered the men to their company area. It was nearly 5:00 am. After unloading and storing their luggage in their assigned barracks, the men were marched off to the company mess hall for their first taste of Army chow—— cold hamburgers and warm potato salad. Larry was hungry, but, after a couple of bites of the worst hamburger he‘d ever tasted, his primary desire switched from food to sleep in a matter of seconds. He got his wish. After returning to their barracks about 6:00 a.m., the men were allowed eight hours of sleep. A harsh. raspy voice awoke Larry at 2:00 pm. sharp. “0.K. soldiers, get off them racks and straighten up,” barked a tall, thin buck sergeant. “You got fifieen minutes to be outside and that's all of you.” Larry lay motionless for about ten minutes on a bottom bunk. A hand gently shook his arm. “Hey, don't ya think you better get up?” a voice filtered through his ear. “That sarge will probably be back here in a few minutes." “Huh.” Larry managed. his eyes barely opened. “Oh, yea, I must have dozed off again. Thanks for waking me up." "That's 0.K. My name's Jim Williamson. What's yours?" "Stevens—er, Larry Stevens," he said. “Guess I’m just used to answer- ing with my last name first." “That‘s the Army way, I guess," Jim said. “Sounds kind of backwards to me." “Really. We better get outside with the rest of them. Thanks again, Jim—I mean it," Larry said smiling. "Don't mention it," Jim replied. As they stepped out the door, they saw that same skinny sergeant blow- ing his whistle, trying to get the men into some type of formation. "0.K., listen up, gentlemen," the sergeant began. “When you get into formation. you will stand at attention. That means you stand perfectly straight. hands at your sides, head and eyes straight ahead. Now then, A- TEN-HUT!" Larry and Jim started to snicker a little but managed to hide their emotions from the sergeant. 13 Show less
AEREO(PA)MANIA “I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistened virtue..." —John Milton The Whitehall High School Basketball team had finished a successful season. baseball wasn't underway yet, and except for the kids who had to go to confirmation class, Saturdays in 1946 were pretty boring for the... Show moreAEREO(PA)MANIA “I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistened virtue..." —John Milton The Whitehall High School Basketball team had finished a successful season. baseball wasn't underway yet, and except for the kids who had to go to confirmation class, Saturdays in 1946 were pretty boring for the Scranton Street Irregulars. One fateful spring Saturday morning a gaggle of the Irregulars were sitting in the rough of Number Two fairway, won- dering what to do and lustily smoking four packs of Camels that Bergie had lifted from his father's sock drawer. "Boy are these cigs STRONG," said Chuck Pederson, wiping a runny nose on his already stiff shirtsleeve. “Yeah, but good! Pa says they're the only ones where you get your money's worth." Bergie was flushed with pride over his successful heist; moreover, ace high school basketballer Bob Bensend had actually spoken to him near the GB. & W. depot on Friday. “He said to me, he said, ‘Hi, John, y’dumb little turd.’ Whatta card that Bob Bensend is!” Soon all eighty cigs had gone up in smoke and a heavy haze hung over the mighty Trempealeau River. And a heavy boredom hung over all of us. “Let‘s all go across Number One to Allen Hill, climb the ski scaffold, and see whose spit hits the ground first!" “I’ll bet mine will; it's heavier." Chuck Pederson, who'd been out with a cold all week, had missed Lily Reich's lecture on Isaac Newton and the falling apples. Off we trudged? toward Whitehall's answer to Holma- kollern, the junior ski jump. As we clambored up the rickety structure, Worm Olson emerged from Stuve’s pine trees at a dead run. “John Hegge told me a plane just landed in Schaefer's pasture. Let's go!” Not a movie plane or a Life magazine plane, or a model plane with a rubber hand through its belly, but an honest-to-god real plane! The Scran- ton Street Irregulars charged east on Number One with a vigor that would've put the Light Brigade to shame. We rushed across the Highway 53 bridge, stopping long enough to throw stones into the water where Bert Breed had dipped his line; Bert. out early that year, perched on the river bank angling for Redhorse which lurked in the icy murk of Whirlpools under the bridge. What kind've a plane would it be? A Flying Tiger like Dane Clark flaw in “God is My Copilot"? A captured Jerry Messerschmitt, taken at gun- point from Hollywood's leering Nazi-in-Residence, Helmut Dantine? Remember when Mrs. Miniver found him‘ in her garden? Maybe a Jap Zero—nah, those Zeroes were made of rice paper and Wrigley’s tinfoil. 'I‘infoil which, according to local legend, New Yorkers had sold in his balls to Nippon on December 6, 1941. Show less
To Buffy, on the occasion of your birth your mother reads books: dr. spock and how to rate your infant on a national scale. she shakes when she sees you; takes little pink pills to hold you without dropping. her fingers are slender, fitted to an artist’s pencil; silky black ladies seducing on paper... Show moreTo Buffy, on the occasion of your birth your mother reads books: dr. spock and how to rate your infant on a national scale. she shakes when she sees you; takes little pink pills to hold you without dropping. her fingers are slender, fitted to an artist’s pencil; silky black ladies seducing on paper. your fingers are perfect with blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. you'll be a beauty. your father sold his guitar to the devil. he reads the bible now, and the watchtower; wondering if he’ll find a job that pays, if he could ever leave you. his hands are large and stained with the blood of 984 north Vietnamese- he kept count. someday the blood will rub off on the back of your head. Jill Busse 41 Show less
