Posts Tagged ‘ Ariana Reines ’

Poetry With Heart – ideopunk

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro was a Japanese waka (tanka) poet who lived during the late 7th century. Wikipedia says he was known for his elegies for imperial princes but his poems within 100 Poems from t…

Source: Poetry With Heart – ideopunk

Ariana Reines – “The Artist’s Studio” by Gustave Courbet – YouTube

SUNRISE – Fuck the plums in the icebox . Actual life…

SUNRISE: Ariana Reines’s January column – / slant

Nobody who comes to this planet in a human body can escape the task of becoming human. That is the goal. We are here to become human. Becoming human is a task. Birth alone does not confer this gift. Birth is the beginning of the possibility of this gift being recognized, received, put into action. – Ariana Reines

Source: SUNRISE: Ariana Reines’s January column – / slant

Beauty by Ariana Reines – Poems | Academy of American Poets


            Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre

These poisoned sensations have to be
Accepted if they’re to be
Overcome. Looking
Up calories on my phone

Not that I’m counting
Don’t even like numbers
It’s something vestigial
It comes in bad minutes

To teach my body something’s in control
Something little & unholy, wrong idea
Of information, chiseling a transparent minute
Into myself with the afterimage of a form

If I did this kind of thing
On the bigger machine it’d be
Worse. Worse
Things than this are bombing

The world. A terrible
Fate is coming to power tomorrow. I’m reading
The early poems of Sherman Alexie. Desolation
Of secular life. I remember the luxury of speculating

All mystical traditions grew up
In the souls of a disciplined few
Turned in on themselves while under
Occupation by tyrants. That was then. This

Morning I could see one comfort: to become rock
Hard. Could imagine one comfort:
To have become rock. I had no
Imagination. I had his. I had theirs. “Formalism

& grammar are ways to be thin…” masochism
Merely thought of, the idea of a calorie
Most boring way to feel womanly doing itself to me
This morning I was panicking, burning, I was desperate

Scanning the body of my bedfellow
Its beautiful cheeks & chin
& long smooth abdomen
My silence growing fat like an old fruit

Still making me sick
It makes me sick I longed
For the wrong thing
I longed for death. I dreamed of stone

Source: Beauty by Ariana Reines – Poems | Academy of American Poets

A Yellow Leaf by Ariana Reines

A Yellow Leaf

Ariana Reines

It’s shivering
Like a little lady rattling her bell
Calling for tea
Quivering in the old style

There’s a red light in Boston
At the close of day
Like the red light of idiocy
All along the bricks
Of Harvard Yard & a blue
Sky so hard & irradiated
In the way of old cinema
Whose screens
Reflect the pops & black
Rot spattered
As though it were something
Perhaps nice
As if to say please
No extra charge
Visualize now the idea of your blind spot
I will even do it for you
As the physical reel unspools
& unspools & you blink
In a dark
Room narrow with shadows
Narrow shadows like avant-gardes

It was a dream that woke up
The Fall

It really is something
A sick feeling
Like stopping lying
A dangerous feeling
Like giving up trying to live as though you were otherwise

As though my mouth could water along the split
Waistlines of all the apricot colored squashes
As though the real pumpkins, horns
Of plenty at my hearth
& in my wealth, my death
Were visibly grinning
Thru the rosebud lip of womanhood
Behind which all the women
I really am (they claim)
Hide behind my face & do their flips
Behind my teeth
In the red darkness there
In my potions
In my chemicals
In the mouth I never use
In my poisonous mouth




Source: A Yellow Leaf by Ariana Reines

Nan Goldin – The Ballad of Sexual Dependency – MOCA U – MOCAtv

~ found at ariana reines

SANDRA by Ariana Reines


I’m sitting in a mercy

The small mercy of an apartment I can’t afford

Where I can be alone & where the cock

Down the street still crows all afternoon & into the evening

I haven’t been able to look at

I haven’t been able to face

The news for going on three months

I’ve been stuck in my corner fighting my part of the war

And because I could not desert my post

My tongue has dried out

And all of the fights would not cohere

But put that in the future tense

Nothing will cohere or gel until I find out how to speak again

Until I find out whether I can.


I don’t know how

& something very large in me does not

Want to know how

To say the right thing

To say anything at all

It just wants sobbing

It wants the true feeling

It is time for the fall


I couldn’t avoid the word

dashcam and I wouldn’t

Even try but for some reason something within me is angry

Also at the ugliness of that word

There is something puny about it so out of proprtion

To murder to foul



& I want to train

We need our own military

That is a feeling

That is a thought

An old one for me if you want to know

& who is We & who am I to say We you will say


But first

I need to vomit


I don’t want to go past it


Stay with the vomit

The word sad is like a tinker toy that is stuck in my gullet which does not prevent me from walking or speaking but merely embitters my soul for all time


Something lurches away

The planet tilts

I worry about the other side of the camera

The other side of seeing being

It doesn’t stop them

It doesn’t stop them

It doesn’t stop them at all

An act of naked rapacity committed before the eye of God in the Fourth Century

Is recorded in the minute horror of its consequences

Generation after generation

In the lunges & lapses something Satanic

Still sucking sucking sucking at the marrow of all soul

& venereal with disgusting lust to leave nothing left alive on Earth

So as we now have every particular

Every cell of the psychotic loathing that has been rotting this country from the root since Day One

Edited or not edited

Since Day Zero

Since there is more & more on film & as black blood soaks the sore wad

Of cotton stuffed high into me & my head & world conjeal in TV snow

That is a blue grey mist of headachey dots & incidentally no longer exists

I am swollen & angry with my unsayable burden

& I do not know what I’m saying

I’m saying it’s hard to live & everyone I know is tired & scared


Of rationalizing tales that’re thin, only good enough to get one through half

Maybe a quarter of a day in this particular world

It’s chemicals that make us go & stop, usually the kind you can buy

& obligations, in other words money, which masquerade as form & choice

It makes me sick

The ambient dread

& the dread my endocrine machinery manufactures for me daily

& the words like a superfluity

Bitter confetti

Sprinkled over obscene reality

Bludgeoning every being I see

& intelligence itself too looks mighty flimsy

& also vain & self-deluding, like cardboard in rain

Or like the wrong fashions or an off tweet or like your resolve

Like your softening resolve

Like just getting tired

Like exhaustion as a way of life


I’d like to talk strategy

But you have too many feelings

& everybody has too many feelings

& when you’re done having your feelings it’s time for me to have mine

I too

Have too many

I have too many too

They’re my only possessions

They are my wealth

They are my invisible splendor

I’m like everybody else

& also today I’m too tired

& my terribly humble dreadfully solitary honesty

Which I have missed

Which I have missed

I have missed the roominess of telling this

To nobody



But you


& I have missed that in poetry one must be wrong

I have missed the only liberty I’ve ever known

Which is, In poetry one need never commit the sly indignity

Of trying to be right

I’m turning myself in

To turn myself over to all that is unimpressive in sadness

I’m here to deflower all eloquence

To tear at the hair of my eloquence like a mourner

To shred my raiment & smear myself in ash

But I really loathe these figures of speech

& I really loathe their preening sincerities

For the angrier I get at the possibility language might not fail

To carry to you something of the feeling I cannot express

The prettier the lithe little rhythms want to go

To speak badly

To quiver

To quiver in public

Not enough.

To start.

To turn myself over to the feeling that says

There is who we wish we were & there is the hideous fact of what we are

& the exhausting exhausting exhausting knowledge

& the feeling of being very alone with this responsibility

& of knowing that the hordes & hordes of us who are sad at this world

Feel alone with this responsibility

Of remaking it all stone by stone by yourself, of having to sort it out all fucking ready

Because this is not who you thought we were

It is not who I wanted to be

And who is going to share your bed tonight

And who will you break bread with

And who will you give the secrets of your day to

And to whom will you tell the little things of your day

Do your mother and your father know you at all

Would you like to be a mother or a father ever

Would you like to be another

& has love recently surprised, enlarged your world, maddened your heart

& foamed the blood of your heart til you thought something good & proud might yet

Come of us

Do your job

Assimilate this filth

& take responsibility for these murders

It’s a misery but not half what the fear is

Metallic in the mouth & souring the guts

That your hide means any second any second

They’ll do it to you, camera

Or no camera


I gassed the Jews said Sarah Kane

A true feeling

& one, not that you asked, of mine

One of my worst

The guilt of time having carried me away from the horror

& vouchsafed to me also the demoralizing protection

Offered by true & gleeful oblivion



Bad skin

Stupid skin

One of the horrors of surviving

One of the ways they end life & leave us nothing but survival

Is the enforced passivity of having watched, having seen, with your blood boiling

No matter what you also do

Just having watched, having seen

Does something weird in the mind that makes you forget your own flayings

Yes it enrages yes it so to speak radicalizes

But it also stupefies


& that is the part I’m alone with now


What if I had a nightmare that I was the inventor

Of the American religion whose God demands constant food

Whose abcess mouth must be stuffed with living black bodies at all times lest his

Diseased tool his carbuncular engine ever end its bland bland bland dominion

I’m just a dumb asymmetrical bitch standing here on this corner getting catcalled

& cretinizing before your very eyes

Growing more & more dumbfounded

At all that can happen while I watch

& all that will happen whether I watch or not

& how speech true speech sometimes seems the highest magic

The only one

But, watching, I also

No longer even notice what they’re doing to me

For to watch is to become an accessory

To murder & my empty arm is an accessory to the blue arm of the killer

To watch is to be

The accessory

& then come shame & horror

Torn apart by fruitless empathy

Foundering in all your pits, paralyzed

Empathy without ideology

Filled with rage & disgust you’re too disorganized

To direct at any thing or anyone but yourself

Or god help us all

At a Work


& even so I’m curious.

I’d like to recover my voice.

I miss the sound of yours.

I miss it very much.

I wonder about it.

My only possession that goes out of my body not as waste.

I wonder what it would feel like.

To hear it

I’d like to do a language purge & see

If God grant me the peace enough to see it thru

I’d like to see

When it’s over if it ever ends it there’s anything left

Of the power in frailty

Or the truly rare grace of just force


How She Got Over : On Ariana Reines | Online Only | n+1

How She Got Over | Online Only | n+1.

Whose Name Was Writ in Water, by Ariana Reines | Magazine – Art in America

Partial view of an untitled installation by Robert Gober, 2003-05, plaster, urethane, fiberglass and mixed mediums, dimensions variable. Courtesy Museum of Modern Art, New York.Photo Thomas Griesel

Whose Name Was Writ in Water – Magazine – Art in America.