seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
seen from Maldives
seen from Germany
seen from Israel
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from South Africa
seen from Australia
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
We’ve had little girls’ lives, so we carry that. --Etel Adnan
Time is a test of truth. What is true will last through time. That's why the patriarchy is coming to an end. --Tom Lescher
What we desire and what we know will fill us with joy is always within us, within our bodies. We know it, we feel it, and we can trust it. We know our own joy. --Arielle Guy
The End of Suffering (Arielle Guy)
“We call ourselves howrse, house, home, stars shining poured fourth from hearts aching for sound. We are deliverance ---and” The end of suffering appears as glow, the belief that at the end of the subway ride, there will be coffee and scones. You walk to the bakery, buy scones, walk up the stairs, fit your keys in the locks of three doors, walk up more stairs, and arrive at your apartment,-- and, at the end, comfort. Fortune doth smile.- time’s perimeter regards itself to say, “Axel,: patterned, exact cut of cloth that makes us;:who we are is metronomical. Comfort is gravity, moth, subatomic.” Our Astronomy. falls regal to the side, like lamb’s leg. There is no place that is here, ethere in the stomach, heart, lungs” Our returns to normalcy and money and housewalls. We are fried-balloon-ed—frighetned, overwhelmed, conscious, fallen, felling trees seasonally. I wish I could be there for the smell of wood sap dust.
Arielle Guy is a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, EOAGH, 6x6, kadar koli, H_NGM_N, delirious hem and other magazines. Her first full-length collection, Three Geogaophies: A Milkmaid’s Grimoire, was published by Dusie Press in 2011, as well as a chapbook, Gothenburg, from ypolita press, and other Dusie chapbooks. She is currently working on a speculative fiction novel and a full-length poetry manuscript. She has a book forthcoming in 2015 from Lark Books, Dreamographers of the Eastern Seaboard, part-memoir, part-essay, about shamanism, mindfulness, writing, heritage, and being on one’s path. She lives in Brooklyn and is training in shamanic healing and teaching.
History (Arielle Guy)
At 6am I pull back the double-accordion blinds and the moon is three-quarters full, bright in the blue between black tree branches. It is not Spring, but winter and the radiator pumps out heat. I leave coffee in the French press too long and it is strong and dense, thick. Last night, I was finally tired around midnight. Before that, restless, I swept the linoleum kitchen floor, dulled yellow-and-brown octagons, psychedelic color long faded. I felt happy. I think now of the fake Tiffany lamps at Bennigan’s on Old York Road and the bright orange booths at iHop where we spent high school afternoons. Before midnight, I washed the dishes, a couple small plates, a knife, coffee mug, a big ceramic bowl with a glaze over thin brown and green stripes. I watched TV. I flossed and brushed my teeth. I looked at the swept kitchen floor. In the bedroom, I unfolded a thin quilt with wide, white stitching and a design of confetti roses.
Arielle Guy is a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, EOAGH, 6x6, kadar koli, H_NGM_N, delirious hem and other magazines. Her first full-length collection, Three Geogaophies: A Milkmaid’s Grimoire, was published by Dusie Press in 2011, as well as a chapbook, Gothenburg, from ypolita press, and other Dusie chapbooks. She is currently working on a speculative fiction novel and a full-length poetry manuscript. She has a book forthcoming in 2015 from Lark Books, Dreamographers of the Eastern Seaboard, part-memoir, part-essay, about shamanism, mindfulness, writing, heritage, and being on one’s path. She lives in Brooklyn and is training in shamanic healing and teaching.
The Real Never Disappears (Arielle Guy)
Key::my, ∑ our strangeness (a, o) whle thy fill palaces, wr (a, o) ships catapult Armageddon’s melancholy fish house. taking only dollars you are saved, allegiance brd bord- circumference, postule of knots. 3. magnetize hopeless to transform. & heal. send em, diamond. & tools, weather farm. we planted ice, hammocks, ostriches, lemons, almonds, sausages, plantains, upside-down trees to utilize irrigation, stretchers to house the corpses that came down by Army Guard. We tended to them as best we could. This is how I met him, in the middle of the world, of present history. you did the best you could. held your head in your hands as weight of significant measure and not balloon. trtoises. whles. lack of oxygenated blimps crossing oceans black mass, ice-oil. fisheries. harbors, shrunk in sun, baying wood, warp towards sea. cruel mistress O. blackening deepens. yr ships sail, bring back bushels of light. O. tremors of things to come. you saw the future and it was a masked horror show. blended macchiatoes. & turtle doves for the wedding. instead, wouldn’t we rather get married on the beach, overlooking the ocean, the sea. not saved from death but hurtling towards it trying not to spill our overflowing cups. we get a French press, drink coffee, enjoy the sun newly mornings. don’t try to delude or elude lullabies, kitchen windows, dishes, soap suds, forks, lamps, tangkas. tin, tin, tin & a bottle of gin. we don’t drink, ba ba ba, we serve fish & apple crisp. late afternoon sun pours through trees in halo.
Arielle Guy is a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, EOAGH, 6x6, kadar koli, H_NGM_N, delirious hem and other magazines. Her first full-length collection, Three Geogaophies: A Milkmaid’s Grimoire, was published by Dusie Press in 2011, as well as a chapbook, Gothenburg, from ypolita press, and other Dusie chapbooks. She is currently working on a speculative fiction novel and a full-length poetry manuscript. She has a book forthcoming in 2015 from Lark Books, Dreamographers of the Eastern Seaboard, part-memoir, part-essay, about shamanism, mindfulness, writing, heritage, and being on one’s path. She lives in Brooklyn and is training in shamanic healing and teaching.
Cosmonaut (Arielle Guy)
“I’ll go to bed now, Captain, alone.” -kumquat sleep-face of crowning gravity inside tin cylinder. Where and where and where we are, boats furry with fog on waters long light from here, shadowy variation of atom, time, hungry, tired passengers longing for home. Sun-abandoned planet -past Aesferia-32. This and thistle ; what desire is. ;swollen maps with squiggled lines from red magic markers ; Undo, undo, undo corsets of time, coronets full of hoar—a time- piece I come through Poland and come home. Remember to go immediately to time, unfold its curtainy splendor, feel its pull against windows, especially when it rains air opens up and soothes the restless sky. Adorn it with roses ----- step over cracks in the continuum, studying extra dimensions. We are pulled, warm beers dripping on Boar’s Head coasters, midconversation at corner bars, pulled beyond what is considered domain and the realm of Angels. I felt them once, in my home, gentle visitors, with no substance in the physical world, sustaining lightly in the momentum between hope and future minutes; slow-moving, industrious gap --- filled with industries of light : gaslamp, match, candle, lit to encourage the filling of sails.
Arielle Guy is a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, EOAGH, 6x6, kadar koli, H_NGM_N, delirious hem and other magazines. Her first full-length collection, Three Geogaophies: A Milkmaid’s Grimoire, was published by Dusie Press in 2011, as well as a chapbook, Gothenburg, from ypolita press, and other Dusie chapbooks. She is currently working on a speculative fiction novel and a full-length poetry manuscript. She has a book forthcoming in 2015 from Lark Books, Dreamographers of the Eastern Seaboard, part-memoir, part-essay, about shamanism, mindfulness, writing, heritage, and being on one’s path. She lives in Brooklyn and is training in shamanic healing and teaching.
Body and Body (Arielle Guy)
naked reflection autumn leaves in pond bed we decay lovely scaffolding around two loose souls. minimum quiet transistor soul body’s impenetrability in non-truth exists a window coveting an outside world of “there is so much to say” I almost can’t breathe in the haul of it. Morning assesses loneliness weather barometer soul and soul where are you in shadow, in luminescence why are you wild and inevitable. Crash and crash star and star couples, stones I need a new language more coffee, breakfast. I am starving for all of these ghosts. Magical apprentices, body and body. This is how it should be and we point to it. This is magic and threshold vulnerable acquaintance. Love grass cool exit invisible flight, no more unreleased burdens, in requit inside, the heart burning wonder of when now love is a barrel, ghost bright volume glass leaf, visible hand bright, manufactured space protruding constellation. There’s always more a statement a question a request a longing a tailor’s cut. The environment of face sky contiguous dead world. You are water. Paramour of premonition. There is always more to a cut of sky than a nice dress. Gley summer. Baedeker of silence. Fool’s woe depth of loss as cup as body measured in body. Are you sad? Telephone wire with birds. Wake up to find Spring love immeasurable.
Arielle Guy is a poet and fiction writer whose work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, EOAGH, 6x6, kadar koli, H_NGM_N, delirious hem and other magazines. Her first full-length collection, Three Geogaophies: A Milkmaid’s Grimoire, was published by Dusie Press in 2011, as well as a chapbook, Gothenburg, from ypolita press, and other Dusie chapbooks. She is currently working on a speculative fiction novel and a full-length poetry manuscript. She has a book forthcoming in 2015 from Lark Books, Dreamographers of the Eastern Seaboard, part-memoir, part-essay, about shamanism, mindfulness, writing, heritage, and being on one’s path. She lives in Brooklyn and is training in shamanic healing and teaching.
This is who I really am, you’ve said to me over and over, look at these moments in the waves and trust them. Trust yourself and don’t be afraid.
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from "Letter to My Mother" by Arielle Guy
