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on the Bard College Berlin Student Blog

“The Wait” is a short fiction piece by guest contributor Elena Gagovska, a BA2 student in the HAST program at BCB

Christina felt bored waiting in line at the insurance office and tapped her little finger against her chin obsessively. She was there to renew the health insurance for her  two-year-old. It wasn’t a complicated procedure, really, but, just as I would be, Christina was scandalized at the fact that she had to physically go to a place to get something that she thought could easily be computerized. Actually, Christina had a lot of thoughts about a lot of things. But she just worked as tech support for a small law firm and lacked a column or blog-type platform  on which to express and publish her thoughts. When the urge to tell the world how she perceived it started overwhelming her a few years ago, Christina opened a Twitter account under the alias “ITBoredom”. It was more of a way to express her dissatisfaction with her job and current affairs than an intellectual megaphone.

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The following poem is an extract from the chapbook
metaphors, metonymies, & anthropomorphisms. It is published here with the kind permission of the poet, second-year EPST student Alexandria Sisson, in celebration and anticipation of the season to come. 

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Pollock

“Convergence” by Jackson Pollock, 1952 (credit: WikiArt.)

Just an Expression

 

I wish I could draw:

Give form to my thoughts

Relinquish all the chaos of my imagination

onto a page

for another’s to make sense of

 

I wish I could tap that

boom

bang

clang

The fount of liquid fireworks inside my head

Let drip their colours into

paintings or sketches

Order the obstinate mercury into expression

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choir

Benjamin Sivo and Muhammad Osman Ali Chaudhry (left to right, both BA 2017).

Muhammad Osman Ali Chaudhry is a third year BA student at BCB. I meet him after a rehearsal in the factory to discuss the play he has written, is directing, and will be acting in. The plot is simple, the dialogue dense. It tells of the love story between two young women whose relationship seems doomed from the start. The play brings us into their internal turmoil as communication breaks down and they become increasingly isolated from one another. There is little set decoration but intensely cinematic lighting which fades in and out throughout the play. Osman plays the narrator. A character who remains in the background though he is brought into dialogue with the protagonists in a dreamy surreal manner throughout the play.

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Laura Kuhn 1

Fall scene. Credit: Valerii Tkachenko

A poem to the boy who owes my heart some heavy-duty patches, and soon, before it heals all crooked
 

For awhile you were happiness

A type I had never tasted before

Somehow familiar –

like nutmeg and cinnamon,

fragrant and warm –

But somehow,

with laughter

words

a body and soul

Your taste was new

This happiness was …

more

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Pandora

John Greene met Lily Grisham in college. June 22nd was by no means a significant day to 5.67 billion people on the planet Earth (it was warm and windy in London, as well as New York, cloudy in Paris and Kathmandu), but for the rest of the earthly population the date came to mark something: a thing, maybe small, that had happened within the span of time which took the planet to rotate on its axis. On June 22nd John Greene, a student of astrophysics, finally asked Lily Grisham, a student of Classics, out. Ever since the Halloween party during junior year he had meant to: he was dressed like our planet, wrapped in plastic to protest pollution (college was time for indignation), she had laughed––clad in a ridiculous “Hercules” outfit, which she bough off some walking gym commercial. By the end of the night their “origins story” had changed: they were now Atlas and the world; Lily would occasionally hug John to prove the point––she was holding the world, just not the way people liked to imagine it. “It isn’t crushing necessity, but love, perhaps…” That was Lily and John’s thing, re-imagining the universe and its origins. The Ancient Greeks and modern physicists are the most imaginative story-tellers, really, they said, as a matter of fact, as if a matter of explanation to what kept them together, “so different.” Some years after they had a daughter, Pandora. The name meant in Greek “all gifts”…

“I read mom’s book, dad… Pandora was a lady that had a box filled with all kinds of nasty diseases and only hope left at the bottom. Does that mean that hope is a disease? Why does my name mean “all nasty gifts”?”

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The Days We Spent in Each Other’s Company

Lily didn’t breathe much anymore. I tried bringing a few hearts to class once, maybe to make her feel better, but it didn’t work very well; it was just messy. I painted her many times in her frozen mind but I couldn’t get the tongue to move quite right or the shadows in the cleft of her shoulders. But these didn’t help her much either and she just kept sitting still wherever she went in a way that leaves sit still when there’s no wind to rustle them around.

One day she told me many things about the world and I learned from her as if it were the last thing I would ever do. I told her often that she was beautiful and she would say that clocks turn twice as fast as you ever think. I didn’t find this very encouraging. She frequently used the word “dry” in her sentences but I don’t think I know exactly what that mean though she seems to.

“Sometimes I dry out from the smoke your always blowing into my face.” I stopped smoking after I dropped a cigarette on my keyboard.

“You spelled “you’re” wrong.”

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