So much happinessand a snippet from Laynie Browne:
to burst out
What is benathe this cacauphonyand Ariana Reines:
is an unknown carraige's depth
so stepping in, you've gone below
the level of the horse's hoof.
Poplars shimmy like Liza Minnelli.I've been curious about Reines, who won the Fence book prize a while back with Cow, and recently self-published Coeur de Lion on Lulu. I heard her read somewhere, and had tingles and prickles, mixed with a certain hesitation. The kind that makes one notice and file away a tiny folded note...intriguing poet. An event that doesn't happen as often as one would think. I leave you with an excerpt from another Reines poem found elsewhere on the web:
Steeples up in the air like what you want.
Their verdigris like what I am.
Students are slimmer now; their pills are better.
A clean text is hard against the tongue, like toast well done, which is one way of accepting the doom of morning. A clot of residuals banks up in the mouth; this will have to be gotten rid of somehow. In time, a little softening. Not to bend away from a less delectable air but to find what hardens in it, or how it marks its very going as though a gong. A gong, that is, the grandeur and catastrophe of itself, itself which could be only this single peal and the hundred veilleties of its reverberations, but which can and will be more peals, each one an awful singular, a solid shiverer.