#Ari Banias
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Ari Banias, from Anybody: Poems; “Bouquet”
[Text ID: “Today you want nothing / because wanting / comes too close to feeling.”]
#ari banias#writings#literature#poetry#fragments#selections#words#quotes#lit#typography#american literature#american poetry#poetry collection
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Heyyyy hope you're doing wonderful, can I ask you for a web weaving about a daughter growing up to be more like her father?! I'm curious to see what you going to feed me, have a beautiful day.
joan didion blue nights (via @metamorphesque) \\ ari banias anybody: poems: "who you're about to be" \\ frederic belaubre chimeras 19-5 \\ -- \\ starry eyes (2014) dir. kevin kölsch & dennis widmyer \\ valérie bah the rage letters (tr. kama la mackerel) \\ @gorgynei
kofi
#this is my worst nightmare#so#on family#on fathers#on daughters#asks#rockunderthewater#mine#my webweaving#webweaving#web weaving#webweave#joan didion#blue nights#ari banias#anybody: poems#who you're about to be#frederic belaubre#valerie bah#the rage letters#kama la mackerel#valérie bah#gorgynei#starry eyes#kevin kolsch#kevin koelsch#dennis widmyer#kevin kölsch
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I had a body and it was good
until you gave it meaning.
Meaning ruined pleasure
and created it
so ruin creates
and pleasure’s meaning
I didn’t ask for just lived through
a gate that shrieked each time
it opened and on the street
we passed one another
flicking our eyes at then away from
the bodies made boring
by the small clamors that drown out
the one large clamor.
— Ari Banias, from “Tautology,” A Symmetry
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I’m so afraid of knowing what I already know and can’t stop realizing how alone I am..
~Ari Banias
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Ari Banias
THE FEELING
Each spring, a cloud travels up from the south
to an island in the Aegean.
The red cloud is coming, the townspeople say.
Or, the red cloud has been here.
What cloud? my mother asks. Since when?
The red cloud covers the buildings, the cars,
in a fine red film of dust from elsewhere.
That we imagine we cannot feel the wars
is an American feeling. That we cannot see them,
that we say they are somewhere else.
But someone pays the police. We do.
That we are meant to believe the poem can say moon
but not government. Both have flags
attached and can make a body
howl beyond its will. They punctuate existence
even if I believe I can’t feel them;
they legislate, they leak.
The moon which is always here
even if it cannot be seen. The inmates
and the detainees in correctional facilities and jails and prisons,
in maximum and minimum security, in solitary,
cannot see the moon, or they can.
The inmates who are here, always,
even if I cannot see them, who cannot speak to me
or who do, but am I listening? Are we listening,
to poems? Not much.
Therefore I can say anything. No;
I can say moon and tree and fox and river,
or me and you, or love and stutter,
but I can mean corporation I can mean police.
I can mean surveillance,
or that the moon is a prison, it is daytime,
and in daytime nearly no one sees the moon.
And the tree is a television
where the president appears in the form of a finch.
He sings gorgeously; people swoon.
We learn that finches eat mostly seeds
small and harmless, so when the tree flowers
in spring we forget the moon
and its mute armaments. How drunk we become
on blossoms. We don’t ask
what kind of seeds or where they’re from.
We hum along with the finches, with the sirens, with the rivers,
with the police; a harmony whose falling droplets
we can’t feel. And meanwhile,
a law ushered through noiselessly, mandating seeds.
This is not our poem. The poem has been privatized.
Its flag will be a red feeling.
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"I took a bath with my biggest rock. A deity, / ancient, severe, rolling around in the bottom of the tub."
-from "Qualm," in A Symmetry by Ari Banias
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On wanting/On being wanted (the way a predator wants its prey)/On lacking it/On having to
Marina Tsvetaeva // Sylvia Plath // Yves Olade // Louise Glück // Ari Banias // Ariana Reines
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Who You're About to Be, ari banias
(photo credits: denis brodeur / mark buckner / dave sandford / claus andersen)
#this was originally going to be a part of a web weave but i thought the poem was better as a stand alone#matthew tkachuk#do i tag keith ? yeah okay#keith tkachuk#mere.png#hockey poetry
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charles smith moment
creds; various unknowns, sick by jody chan, paramore, ari banias, gorgynei, anna ahkmatova, soapstore, akwaeke emezi, k.s janes, escuerzo resucitado, sumbluesspruce.
#phase weeps#UUUGHDSIERBFTRNDEXS#anyways uhm yeah#charles smith#not a charles girlie but i think hes very <3333#this is for u tess#kinda scared about this one tbh like. i want it to be character accurate but idk a lot abt the character but i tried my best#the charthur moment at the top was unintentional and im iffy about it#cus i dont want him to be watered down to his relationship with arthur but i think its also important for his arc maybe so ??#web weaving
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April 7, 2024: The First Line is the Deepest, Kim Addonizio
The First Line is the Deepest
Kim Addonizio
I have been one acquainted with the spatula,
the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula
that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate,
acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket
and the dildo that goes by Tex,
and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,
in order to ruin
what love I was given,
and also I have measured out
my life in little pills—Zoloft,
Restoril, Celexa,
Xanax.
I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty
to know wherein lies the beauty
of this degraded body,
or maybe
it's the degradation in the beautiful body,
the ugly me
groping back to my desk to piss
on perfection, to lay my kiss
of mortal confusion
upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.
My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says
America is charged with the madness
of God. Sundays, too,
the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-
black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea.
Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—
Why does one month have to be the cruelest,
can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best
gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through
the sewage-filled streets. Whose
world this is I think I know.
--
Poetry nerd extra credit: How many repurposed bits from famous poems can you find? I count 7 and I'm probably missing some!
Also by Kim Addonizio:
+ For Desire
+ Mermaid Song*
+ Onset
+ My Heart
* (Weird fact: this is about her daughter, Aya Cash, who starred in the sitcom You're the Worst. What!)
Today in:
2023: Insha’Allah, Danusha Laméris
2022: To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall, Kim Addonizio
2021: You Mean You Don’t Weep at the Nail Salon?, Elizabeth Acevedo
2020: Let Me Begin Again, Philip Levine
2019: Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi
2018: Siren Song, Margaret Atwood
2017: A Sunset, Ari Banias
2016: Coming, Philip Larkin
2015: The Taxi, Amy Lowell
2014: Winter Sunrise Outside a Café Near Butte, Montana, Joe Hutchison
2013: The Last Night in Mithymna, Linda Gregg
2012: America [Try saying wren], Joseph Lease
2011: Boston, Aaron Smith
2010: How Simile Works, Albert Goldbarth
2009: Crossing Over, William Meredith
2008: The World Wakes Up, Andrew Michael Roberts
2007: Hour, Christian Hawkey
2006: For the Anniversary of My Death, W.S. Merwin
2005: The Last Poem About the Snow Queen, Sandra M. Gilbert
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Ari Banias, from Anybody: Poems; “Close”
[Text ID: “You’ve given me a bad name / I’ll only make worse.”]
#ari banias#excerpts#writings#literature#poetry#fragments#selections#words#quotes#lit#typography#american literature#american poetry
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TRANSGENDER, NONBINARY, GENDERQUEER and TWO-SPIRIT POETS YOU SHOULD READ!
Here's a non-exhaustive list in alphabetical order by author last name. The majority listed here have published full-length poetry collections and/or chapbooks, but some have not, and have published poems in publications you can find online. Some also write in other genres, as well, and/or make art in other mediums. Consider reblogging it and adding to it if you so desire. My background is primarily in "academic" poetry, for better or worse, and I'm less knowledgeable about slam poetry/poets who don't publish in avenues approved by the academy or are not in academic circles. I've only listed poets here whose work I have read. So there are certainly people worth reading that I'm missing.
Andrea Abi-Karam
Samuel Ace
Jada Renée Allen
Justice Ameer
Ryka Aoki
Cameron Awkward-Rich
Noah Baldino
Ari Banias
Kay Ulanday Barrett
Oliver Baez Bendorf
Julian Talamantez Brolaski
Stephanie Burt
Kayleb Rae Candrilli
Jos Charles
Ching-In Chen
Travis Hedge Coke
CAConrad
jayy dodd
J Jennifer Espinoza
T. Fleischmann
Kay Gabriel
Aeon Ginsberg
torrin a. greathouse
Kamden Hilliard
Stephen Ira
Cyrée Jarelle Johnson
Rickey Laurentiis
Dawn Lundy Martin
Noor Ibn Najam
Trace Peterson
Raquel Salas Rivera
Trish Salah
Danez Smith
TC Tolbert
Chrysanthemum Tran
Joshua Whitehead
Kit Yan
In addition, two wonderfully edited trans poetry anthologies published by Nightboat Books that include many of these writers' work:
Troubling the Line: Trans and Genderqueer Poetry and Poetics, edited by TC Tolbert and Trace Peterson
We Want it All: A Radical Anthology of Trans Poetics, edited by Andrea Abi-Karam and Kay Gabriel
Also, some online literary journals regularly publishing trans and nonbinary poetry:
https://foglifterjournal.com/
https://www.peachmgzn.com/
https://beestungmag.com/
The current moment is a very exciting time for trans poetics. These are brilliant poets and thinkers publishing work that's worth your time. Poetry is not everyone's cup of tea, certainly, but I wish more people knew about how many awesome trans poets are out there right now making amazing and important art.
#poetry#trans writers#trans literature#trans poetry#transgender poets#nonbinary poets#genderqueer poets#two-spirit poets#trans poetics#resource#books#reading#transgender poetry
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I refuse to detail the humiliations that keep me up at night.
I am pulling a blanket over my head.
Or, I’m elated by 30 seconds of rain.
— Ari Banias, from “Qualm,” A Symmetry
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Today you want nothing because wanting
comes too close to feeling.
— Ari Banias, from Anybody: Poems; “Bouquet”
“ so you do pack a punch, ” andrew’s voice rings from behind, deep as the sea and clear as a bell. jonathan looks up — from the trench of his thoughts — and finds the minyard’s dagger-like gaze pointed at him. nothing good comes out of his stare, jonathan realises, though he has already accepted that there was no way he could shake andrew’s attention off of him.
andrew’s gaze has hooks, and it has dug into jonathan’s soul ever since they met this spring.
“ wouldn’t you want to know? ” is jonathan’s only rebuttal. jonathan knows he will never punch andrew minyard — there is no reason for him to. despite unsettling, andrew’s obsession with him has always come from a place for protection.
maybe obsession is not the right word, jonathan bargains internally. maybe it’s an intense infatuation.
his knuckles are raw from the fight earlier — could it be called that? steve harrington was down in a blink. could you call that a fight? — and the ice pack has melted into a water bag. the sting is numbing, crawling up his arm like static on midnight television.
moving to the bed, andrew sits next to him and jonathan doesn’t stop him. silent as ever, he watches andrew’s expression — or the lack of — like a thief scoping out a location. deep down he knows it was better him throwing the punch than andrew, considering andrew’s history. if andrew was the one to give the beating, someone might have ended up in the morgue; and yet, jonathan’s concern would be what a murder charge would mean to andrew instead.
he has learnt not to underestimate the destructive potential packed in andrew minyard’s five foot figure. according to court records, andrew minyard was so violent that he should stay medicated — subdued — at all times.
the order was signed and agreed on by the judges, apparently. not by the byers, though. joyce did not like that one bit. hopper fought her on this, warning her of the repercussions if they got caught; joyce, fierce as a woman and more so as a mother, bit down on every word until they were carved deep on their minds:
no one is getting drugged in this house. not on my watch.
as much as jonathan refused to acknowledge joyce and hopper’s highschool history, it plays to their advantage. five months in, nobody ever questions andrew’s medication.
you just have to stay with us for two years, joyce said to andrew in a late night conversation jonathan overheard. after that, you are free to go. you can go find aaron — i will make sure you are reunited. i promise.
jonathan couldn’t understand joyce’s decision, to be honest. another mouth to feed adds to their burden, not to mention andrew’s impossible personality. andrew is like a knife without a sheath, unafraid to cut anyone who comes too close; which is to say, jonathan is lucky, considering that andrew likes him.
“ he called you a slur, ” andrew says suddenly.
a long pause follows. what happened weighs heavily on jonathan’s mind. it brings back memories of lonnie and the trauma he inflicted. it was not the first time jonathan got called a slur, but he also hadn’t heard it for a while.
the connotation of the word leaves jonathan uneasy, but not because it is a shameful thing to be. the truth is, jonathan knows what he is.
he knows what they are.
“ maybe i am one. ”
andrew’s eyes go wide at jonathan’s reply. turning to jonathan, he watches him with an unblinking stare.
“ are you? ”
a shrug. jonathan doesn’t deny it. something shifts in andrew’s demeanour; something sheds, cautiously. then, andrew reaches for jonathan’s face, too fast for jonathan to react.
andrew’s grip is tight on jonathan’s jaw, and he says, looking directly into his soul, “ maybe you are one, but you don’t let people call you that. especially not people like him. ”
jonathan stares back at andrew, taking in every single emotion on his face. the seriousness, the urgency, the pain. this is not up for debate, and they don’t intend to turn it into one.
“ no, ” jonathan mumbles. something shimmers in andrew’s eyes. something that he wants a better look at. “ never. ”
satisfied with his answer, andrew lets go of jonathan and drops his gaze.
“ are you and nancy a thing now? ”
jonathan blinks, confused.
“ no. nancy’s with steve. ”
“ even after that? ”
“ even after that. ”
doubt clouds andrew’s expression, but it clears up soon after. with nothing more to say, andrew gets up to leave, and jonathan catches his wrist. he must be possessed by someone with a death wish to touch andrew minyard without asking first.
again, he is lucky. because andrew likes him.
“ andrew— ”
but andrew doesn’t let him finish.
“ don’t, ” andrew warns, a hand covering jonathan’s mouth. he is not ready to hear whatever jonathan has to say. jonathan can spot his panic, something he isn’t allowed to mention either.
slowly, jonathan unwraps his hand from andrew’s wrist. andrew removes his hand from jonathan’s mouth in return.
“ don’t. ”
andrew warns again on a whisper, before leaving jonathan alone in the room.
#DRABBLE.#ziellos / ANJON ( shaking fists / trembling teeth ).#yea i ship with myself keep scrolling.#rp really is just me going insane for hours then logging off.#mentions events of s1 involving that slur.
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