| Kruller: A Literary Magazine
Issue #1 - Spring 1997 |
| Table of Contents |
| Mission Statement |
Why Kruller? Why now?
Ugh, you think to yourself as you disinterestedly pick up a copy of this publication, yet another shit rag (your totally clever if not wholly original epithet for lit mag). Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time? Well, in part, no, but the founders of Kruller hope that this forum achieves a little more breadth than turning off you few elusive readers. In that spirit (and if you’ve read this far), we have a call to explain our purpose before you trash our nascent and transitory pages. So. . .
“Why Kruller? Why now?” (in reverse order)
As any one of us is more than ready to acknowledge, Princeton incubates some of the most talented young people in the country and in the world, people that will go on to. . .well, you get the idea; we’ll leave the hope-of-the-future line to Prince Hal. Right now, too many vastly talented writers express little or no interest in presenting their work to their peers through Princeton’s well-established literary venues. This isn’t a symptom of some Generation X apathy. Writers are shying away from the “image” associated with these polarized publications. It’s hard enough to write, and to share your writing, without worrying about appearances.
In an attempt to draw Princeton’s unheard voices out of their silence, we want to de-emphasize “image” as much as possible and let the writing speak for itself. So for starters, we don’t want to be another avant-garde forum with a pretentious German name like Zeitgeist. And we are not a doughnut, with a perfect form but a gaping hole in the center where the substance should be. . .and so, thought twists and stretches led us to call ourselves Kruller: a doughnut which is anything but holey and which is Germanic enough to mock the Zeitgeists of the world. But the great thing about krullers is that they never have the same shape twice, and likewise we hope to evade labels and bring a unique slant to every publication.
Nick Salvato and Mike Sherry
Co-founders and co-editors
| Untitled |
In the lamplit gothic darkness
someone is playing Für Elise,
only the first measure,
ready to swell into the next,
cascading around the still silver trees
and then stopping, trailing off mid-beat,
the way we did in second grade,
our small fingers showing off at recess
the notes they could barely reach—
the first bars of Für Elise.
(We said it as one word,
like Rapunzel, Vasilisa, Cinderella.)
At lessons, our feet hung limp and sneakered
above scraped brass pedals
and blue Scotchgarded carpets
while our teacher told the story
of this Elise. See how beautiful
love is, he said. Do you understand?
At the time we believed in love
as we believed in the damper pedal:
as yet unreachable, but filled with possibility.
Then, the world was as wide and luminous as the night
and around us everything was beginning.
We had not learned to love completion.
--Carlynn Houghton
| Sisters |
(Spotlight up on Christie, a 15 year old girl from blue-collar southern Illinois. When she finishes speaking, spot down on her and spot up on Emily, a girl of the same age from an affluent suburb of Chicago. When she finishes speaking, spot down on her and up again on Christie...and so on.)
CHRISTIE: I don't live with my mom anymore. Not since Terry moved in.
EMILY: I introduced them, sorta. I talked to him first. But he was old, you know. So I thought Mom would want to talk to him. I thought maybe Mom might like to talk to him.
CHRISTIE: Terry's going to move out, so that I can move back with mom. So that I can live with mom again. But that's not all; she's not allowed to see him anymore. Not at all.
EMILY: She's going to meet him. His name is Wade, and he's coming to Chicago to meet her. I'm worried. What if he's crazy? Only a crazy person does this.
CHRISTIE: Dad's going to Chicago for the weekend. I think he's meeting a friend from high school. I'm staying with my brother, Brian, in his apartment; Terry hasn't left just yet. Terry hasn't moved out just yet.
EMILY: She's going to Carbondale. I can't believe this is happening. It's my fault.
CHRISTIE: Dad met a lady. He said they met at work, but she lives in Chicago. She's coming here for the weekend. Terry has not moved out yet.
EMILY: He's coming to stay in our house. IN OUR HOUSE! His name is Wade. Wade is going to sleep in our house.
CHRISTIE: Dad went to Chicago again. To visit Jill. Brian promised to let me drive his truck this weekend.
EMILY: Wade has a daughter. She's fifteen. I'm fifteen. He has a son, too, who's the same age as Michael. He doesn't go to college, though. I don't think Wade went to college either. They're from southern Illinois, ya know.
CHRISTIE: Dad said that he might want to move to Chicago. I don't want to move to Chicago. I don't want him to marry Jill. I asked Dad why he wanted to move to Chicago and he kind of made a funny face and said that he loves Jill. I asked him if they fell in love before or after they first met each other for real. He didn't say anything.
EMILY: They're getting married. I found out today. He's coming here. They're going to live here. I can't believe this happened to me. It can't be real. This is not real. This does not happen to normal people. It's my fault. I talked to him first. I was using the computer. I called her over. I thought she might want to talk to him because he said he was forty. He was nice. I didn't know that all this shit would happen. This should not have happened. Fucking America Online.
CHRISTIE: Dad and Jill are getting married. Did I mention that they met on America Online and not at work? I am not going to move to Chicago. Terry is moving out for sure and I'm going to move back in with mom and Dad can go to Chicago to marry his computer hooker but I'm staying in Carbondale.
EMILY: Wade's daughter is going to live with us. She's fifteen... I'm fifteen. I told mom that she should live with her own mother. But she cannot live with her mother because her mother lives with a convict. I think he raped a girl. So Wade's daughter can't live with them...that's what the court or somebody decided. She's going to live in Michael's room while he's at U of I. Wade's son lives by himself...he's not going to live here. My mom is getting married to a man with no college education whose ex-wife dates a convicted pedophile.
CHRISTIE: I'm moving in with Mom. She threw Terry out..he's not coming back and they're not allowed to see each other any more. That's the deal. That's what the judge said. I can't live with mom if she's seeing Terry, even if he doesn't live with us. He hurt a girl. Dad's moving to Chicago to marry Jill, Terry moved out, and I'm going to live with mom.
EMILY: I live on the North Shore. These people are coming from Carbondale; that's practically Kentucky. I live in Highland Park, Illinois. What is a girl from Carbondale going to do in Highland Park, Illinois. I don't mean to be a snob or anything, it's just that mom doesn't understand what it's like living here. The kids at Highland Park High School are not going to take to some poor white trash from southern Illinois. Do you know what Highland Park High School will do to poor white trash from Southern Illinois? Half the kids drive Toyota Celicas to school. They're going to eat her alive. This isn't right. It's not going to work. It's gonna be a blood bath...the Bosnians and the Serbs.
CHRISTIE: Brian saw mom and Terry. He said he ran into them on accident, but I think he was spying on her. He saw them at the Rivertree Theater, said they were making out in the balcony. I think the movie was Robo-Cop. I asked Brian if he was sure it was Terry...I could have been someone else. Mom has lots of boyfriends. He said he knew it was Terry. He shouldn't have been spying on them.
EMILY: My future stepfather: the man who marries women who date men who'd like to fuck me black and blue.
CHRISTIE: I'm going to Chicago with Dad. Brian saw Terry and Mom together. The judge won't let me live with her if she's seeing Terry. Brian had to testify in court that he saw them making out during Robo- Cop. Mom was crying. So was dad. Terry wasn't there. As we left the courthouse, Mom grabbed my arm and said she was sorry. I looked at her for a second but didn't say anything. In the car, Dad started talking about how great it's going to be living in Chicago with Jill and her daughter. He told me how great it's going to be living with EMILY because I'll have a whole bunch of new friends my own age. I didn't say anything for a while. He sighed and put his hand on my knee and told me to look on the bright side because I was losing a mother but gaining a sister. I think he was kidding, but it wasn't funny.
EMILY: Most of the girls at Highland Park High School are really rich. They're really rich and pretty and anorexic and they play tennis and do Pompons and drive convertibles. Wade showed me a picture of Christie; she's pretty fat. I don't care about that... I'm not that skinny either. But they're going to kill her at school. I'm just thinking of her. They're gonna eat her alive.
--Adam Ollendorff
| Madonna and Child |
When Madonna nursed her baby her nipples
were electric. They glowed like painted stars
on a seal’s red circus ball. His tongue
was a wet flame whose twin was born
under her dress. Her milk was white
steam that condensed on his full lips.
She feared the judgment of the Father,
a pair of floating eyes who had given the Body
to Jesus. She bound her own body in leather
that imprisoned the criminal flesh and took
to beating Christ with a cane in her gloved hand.
“Learn to be a bloody Savior,” she chastised.
When Jesus held Magdalena their passion
was electric. They glowed like phosphorescent
snails in the mud. He knelt at the foot of her bed
and placed his hands between her breasts
as though in prayer. She grew fat on pastries
but concealed it in the folds of her silk robe.
He forgot the work of the Father, who closed
His eyes and disappeared. Mary kept a flask
of scotch and left dead birds on the whore’s doorstep.
Joseph tried to console her but she shrank from his touch.
“You can never be my Savior,” she sighed and watched
from her window as Jesus brawled in the street.
--Nick Salvato