California State University (CSU): Open Journal Systems

Campbell, Nicholas

nicholas campbell 
Selections from Stories With Snow 
WOODS FROM T H E  TREES 
A bluejay 
spots me but 
is not alarmed. 
As I watch, 
it fills a knothole 
with acorns, then flies off. 
I get a notion 
to take one back to town 
and I am angry with myself 
for the thought. 
Looking at the sky 
heavy with clouds I think 
if I stand here long enough 
everything will be white. 
A WINTER SCARECROW 
This evening 
I have given my shadow 
to the fainter birds. 
Now that the wind 
has my heart 
a branch beats there. 
These children 
have brought mittens 
for which I have no hands. 
37 
Northridge Review 
DOLOR'S NATURE 
As I open a window 
the sun rises. 
A great web as if stretched 
between the worlds i l luminates; 
tears blue-white as stars explode 
outward from the center of a tree. 
How beautiful 
after the rain­
the spider's grief. 
38 


English

Selections from Stories With Snow

Hirsch, Adria

Adria H irsch 
Inspiration 
T h e  wom an of wo rds 
said the wor ld  wou l d  s p l it open 
if I to l d  the truth. 
She co m p i le d  al l  the poets 
who had wo rd s ins i d e  them 
l i ke b i rd s  in cages and 
m ad e  m e  fee l frustrated to be young. 
I have truths ins i d e  m e  
that d rop l i ke the a u b u rn leaves 
on the tree outs i d e  m y  wind ow 
and I th ink the h u m m ing b i rd 
cam e  b y  j u st to tel l m e  to write, too. 
L ike a s p i d e r' s  d ance, m y  fingers p ress 
each key to say one mo re thing 
and I say s p i d e rs now 
because the fem inist poets 
te l l  me to weave webs.  
But I l i ke the l i gh t  
that rad i ates each streak s i lve r 
on the s m a l l  woven s c h e m e  in a d iamond 
of m y  chain l ink fence. 
7 6  


Inspiration

Comenas, Cathy

This Can\u27t Be Happening

Dwiggins, Glenn

Glenn Dwiggins 
Us in Yosemite 
My friend, Andrew, is talking to me. He is telling me how 
beautiful the view is from on top of Half Dome, when the sky clears 
in the winter, even if only for a little while; he is saying how cold 
the wind blows now and then, and how hot the sun can be when the 
wind is not blowing. He is wanting to show me on<\e more how high 
one can get just by breathing in the thin, cold air, ��al deep, and is 
sorry he can't. He is really only telling me how he died. 
I already know about Half Dome, the half smooth, half jagged, 
half yellow-white, half orange-gray beast of a stone set awkwardly 
on a stony mountain, and about the wind, which comes rushing up 
either side, or up both at the same time. I have been on top and 
looked out over the countryside at the whites on dark greens on 
browns below the tree line and, the whites on angry yellows, peach­
es and oranges, like a fire burning, above it. When all was still and 
the sun shone above me, I sweated under layers of clothing, but then 
they quickly became insufficient when the icy wind blew up under 
my down parka, and the sweat felt like it was going to freeze solid 
on my back. I also know about the temptation to jump from that 
height, which seems so close to heaven, and expecting to land 
safely on one of the lower clouds. I figure it to be the lack of oxygen 
that gets to the head and makes one feel that way. The temptation 
is never very strong, and is easy to keep under control. You just 
look down for a second. Fear takes over. Everybody who has been 
up here knows about that. 
I know a lot about my friend, too, although I thought I knew 
more than I really do. What I have always known about him I see 
now as clearly as I do the wispy, twisted center of an old marble, 
somewhat obscured by discolored, chipped glass, clouded by what 
I know abouthimnow. I rememberhim tohave beenthe firstto say, 
"You and I are going climbing in Yosemite." 
US IN YOSEMITE 101 
And we went. 
At the time I was between jobs, between academic stages, be­
tween certainty and uncertainty about what I was going to do with 
myself, between girlfriends . . .  between a lot of things. Andrew al­
ways seemed to be between beers. By that I don't mean to say he 
was a heavy drinker or anything; I just mean that what concerned 
him most was where he was to get his next high, chemically or oth­
erwise, and the best (meaning most convenient and cheapest) way 
for the both of us was found at the nearest pub. I guess it may be 
better to say that he was always between highs, but then, maybe not 
Anyway, the truest, best high, for him and me both, came from 
actual physical height, although at this moment, I don't feel it. I feel 
only the wind ' s  chill paralyzing parts of my face; I see only the 
rocky cliffs, mountains, and waterfalls surrounding my oddly­
shaped pedestal; I hear only the wind's howl, like an old Indian 
woman's singing, and I hear Andrew, talking to me. 
After that trip, I went to college, and he went to work in con­
struction. I dated some of the girls in my classes, with some luck, 
and he tried dating both sexes, "with equal luck," he wrote me, "but 
the women were better to deal with in the morning, for the most 
part . . .  maybe that's a sign that I was meant to be straight." 
That part, about being "meant to be straight," was a joke we 
shared. I knew how Andrew felt about destiny, and that in no way 
would he accept his being "meant" for anything, like to be straight. 
He was more like the centerofthatmarble: twisted and obscure, and 
to get at the core, it seemed like you had to break a fragile sur­
rounding field around it, which was easily done. You just got him 
high, one way or another. Then he was your friend, like it or not. 
I have a snapshot of us, standing together on top of Half Dome. 
I took it with one of those cameras that has a timer built in. I brought 
the camera. It was my job to think ahead. In the picture, we are 
standing buck naked with our backsides to the camera. We are 
looking over our left shoulders at something in the distance. In the 
background are the surrounding rocks, covered with snow, and the 
orange light of the sunset makes it look like it's on fire. I had placed 
a piece of white labeling tape over our butts and scribbled the words 
102 NORTHRIDGE REVIEW 
"Us in Yosemite" on it. I brought it with me when I visited Andrew 
one weekend and showed it to him when we both were rolling drunk 
off of Lucky Lager and couldn't figure out the picture-puzzles on 
the underside of the bottle caps. We were already laughing about 
our stupidity, when I showed him the photo. We rolled around 
some more, making "butt-cold" jokes and laughing about if we had 
died there and been found like that, until his face became very dim 
and serious, and he said, "Do you ever wonder what it's really like 
to freeze to death?" 
I know about climbing, too, the constant scratch, scrape, 
squeak, grunt, creak, the breaking grips, the sliding boots, the 
falling gravel, the tight rope. We never much went climbing for the 
climbing, though. For us it was the being at the top that made the 
trip worthwhile. We climbed up Half Dome as quickly as we could, 
Andrew in the lead, taking all the risks, and me, close behind, pre­
tending to take the same ones. When we reached the top, the sun 
was overhead, and everything was bright. I had to squint at the 
snowy glare as I reached for my sunglasses. Andrew didn't bring 
his, so he just squinted. I swear that that day on top of Half Dome 
deformed his face for the rest of his life. I may be wrong. At any 
rate, something up there changed him, and maybe me, too. Maybe 
it was the combination of the beer and thin, cold, dry air that made 
my lips, nose, and ears hurt. Whatever it was, the expression on his 
face made him look like he was making the last steps towards a 
major discovery. Except when he laughed, which he did quite often 
after the third nearly-frozen Lucky Lager he pulled out of his pack. 
I smiled and sipped the gin 'n tonic out of my bota sack. Our trips 
were always BYOB, and I figured gin 'n tonic would be more 
appropriate. As we sat there, I wished that I had brought beer. My 
drink was flat. 
I got out my camera, and began to adjust it for light, distance, 
lens angle. I looked through the aperture at the mountains around 
me. I focused on El Capitan, with its flat, snow-covered plateau, as 
smooth as it was jagged. Andrew's hand blocked the lens. "You 
can get that picture at a souvenir shop . . .  probably a better one," he 
said. "I have a better idea. Take off your clothes." 
I said, "And freeze to death?" 
He said, "Not quite," and started to strip. 
There's something about standing naked on top of Half Dome, 
US IN YOSEMITE 103 
skin turning pale and bluish in the cold air, us shivering, but not 
wanting to get dressed. I imagined someone watching us with those 
twenty-five cent telescopes set up at an observation point. Some 
old businessman saying, c 'mere, Madge, look at these fools, 
wasting his whole quarter's  time, trying to figure us out. Were we 
drunk, or maybe half insane. Whatever we were, we were ruining 
his vacation, and then his time runs out, and all goes black. 
"You know you are freezing to death when you start to feel real 
warm and comfortable," said Andrew. I didn't feel at all warm yet, 
and my feet hurt. We got dressed. 
It was then, as my skin was warming under my clothes, that I 
first felt that high, and everything seemed so near. I felt as ifl could 
reach out and touch El Capitan, and scoop some of the whipped 
cream snow off the top and eat it. The ground below was only a few 
feet down, and there was a soft, white cushion besides. 
Andrew yodeled. The yodel echoed back. 
Shadows are quickly running up the sides of Half Dome, 
silently climbing up where I so noisily struggled some hours ago. 
The sun has gone from a bright yellow-white to a deeper orange col­
or, and is headed west. It is also getting much colder, even when 
the air is still. I should head back down if I want to get home before 
dark. I am out of beer anyway. 
On the face of Half Dome is a narrow ledge, about five feet 
down from the top, where people had climbed down and stood on 
it and scrawled their names with a small stone. I climb down it now. 
Under the words, ''Tarzan and Jane did it on top of Half Dome, 8/ 
5/'79 ," is what Andrew wrote there. It says, " And Andrew and Rod 
cleaned up afterwards, 8/9/'79." I remember us laughing about that 
for two minutes. Under that is some writing that I hadn't seen 
before. It says, "I am drunk and I feel warm. Andrew again, 8/9/ 
85." I pick up the much-used rock and write, "I am going home. 
Rod, 8/10/'86." 
As I read this now and think of him and what happened, I re­
member when his family called to tell me the when, the how, the 
where, and to ask me if l knew the why. I told them I didn't know. 
I don't know, even now, if he did it on purpose. Somehow I don't 
believe it. I think what convinces me was in the way he looked at 
me when he talked about death. 
I wonder if anyone had been watching him then, or if every-
104 NORTHRIDGE REVIEW 
thing went black too soon, as the time ran out. 
The sky was turning a deeper blue, and our shadows were get­
ting longer, when I said, "Let's go home," and squeezed the last 
drops of my gin 'n tonic into my mouth. It was bitter. 
"That's fine by me," he said, and started gathering together the 
empty Lucky Lager bottles and caps and stuffing them into his 
pack. He moved slowly, like a child, not wanting to leave, taking 
his time, delaying the inevitable. "I'm out of beer anyway," he said. 
The slip, grab, slide, step, shudder of the climb down was 
sometimes easier, sometimes more difficult than the trip up. An­
drew led the way, as usual, and sometimes fme gravel, loosened by 
my boots, would fall on his head. 
"I have an idea. Why don't we just jump from here?" he said. 
We laughed. I held on tighter. 
Andrew is telling me all these things. I am looking one last time 
from the very peak of Half Dome, at Yosemite. I look down, and 
a sharp shock off ear runs through me, and I have to step back. I kick 
some gravel loose, and it falls silently over the edge. I am suddenly 
very cold. I have to move to get warm. I climb down, moving 
nervously and quickly, kicking loose lots of gravel and rocks, that 
rattle and slide roughly down the mountainside. 
Andrew is joking with me. He is saying, why don't we jump 
from here. Or maybe we should stay here and freeze to death. You 
get real warm and comfortable. 
I am not listening. I am climbing down, scraping against the 
rocky mountainside. A breeze blows up the face of it, up and under 
my jacket. I shiver. 
A picture comes into my head. It is the picture, "Us in 
Yosemite." Andrew, naked, is pointing out over the edge of Half 
Dome, and looks very happy about something. I, also naked, am 
following his finger with my eyes, but look like I am confused about 
the same thing. We look like we are surrounded by a huge fire. 
Our flesh is pale in the sunlight, but our butts ' whiteness still 
stands out, as if they were lit from within. 
As my boot dislodges a rock from the side of Half Dome, I 
try my best to suppress a laugh. 


Us in Yosemite

Shimazaki, Lois

Lois Shimazaki 
Photograph of my Father 
There you are in yesterday; 
face snuggled against the ann 
of the couch like a child's 
heavy head on its mother's 
welcoming breast. There I stand 
giggling as Anne slips big 
blue cookie monster under an 
unsuspecting right ann. 
We both act like a couple 
of bandits who pulled off 
the greatest bank robbery. 
I focus the camera 
with nervous anxiety, an 
actor perfonning on stage for 
my audience of one. 
The heavy Kodak camera 
fumbles in my child-sized hands. 
Cautio11sly Anne steps away 
and I capture you thereon 
the sofa unaware 
of my favorite memory. 


Photograph of my Father

McHaddad, Kristina

Three Poems: "A Different Moon Poem" "Following a Storm" and "The Garden of Two Women"

Schwietzer, Howard

Howard Schwietzer 
Tristan and Isolde 
He named her: green meadow 
She named him: new Hennes 
He named her: uncle's prize 
She named him: the ferryman 
He named her: bards' delight, 
potato lass, bright Sun, 
beguiled, life saver, 
serpent's reward, beauty 
She named him: minstrel, 
honeyed voice, brave, 
heart's bane, life, 
dragon's death, soul's remedy 
He named her: the sea shines 
She named him: surf's foam 
He named her: love then, 
love now, love always 
She named him: misery 
He named her: the soul's balm 
and life's meaning 
She named him : God's gift/curse. 


Tristan and Isolde

Loren, Davi

Two Poems: "The Cost of Repair" and "To an Old Friend"

Harris, Mary

Three Poems: "On the Back Burner" "Coming of Age, 1969" and "Friday Rush Hour on BART"

Fong, Herman

Three Poems: "Luna" "A Different Fire" and "Train Crash, Summer 1988"

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