Some Serious Business supported a fledgling collaboration between Ariana Reines, and Juliana Laffitte and Manuel Mendanha of the Argentine art collective Mondongo in March 2019. Many things began in Buenos Aires last spring, and one of them is Ariana’s passionate poem, Mercurial Edifice, which we are delighted to present below in English and Spanish. Translation by Cecilia Pavón.
In March of this year I was in Argentina, trying to teach myself how to stop writing a book I’d been writing for too long. I’d gone down there in 2018 for some gigs through Art Basel Buenos Aires, and I immediately fell in love with the people I met there, artists and poets and musicians who were crazy, virtuosic, melancholic, and devout enough to really make me feel at home.
My friends Juliana and Manuel told me that a court date was coming up, the sentencing of two old men who had tortured and murdered the parents of their dear friend Albertina Carri, a noted filmmaker who had somehow emerged from her orphanhood a thriving, radiant person. She had turned out to be an artist and a queer. That’s what all of us around her, the few dozen friends who’d come to support her that day, seemed to be, more or less. Artists and queers who can survive and emerge from genocide and catastrophe.
It was a strange and wrenching day. I am no journalist and my Spanish sucks. I had to feel my way through what was happening, and legal proceedings are often arcane and incomprehensible in one’s native tongue. I had nothing to read but raw feeling and whatever I could see. It was an experience of nakedness. I felt idiotic but I didn’t let that stop me.
I understand why so many old books demand that mourners tear at their garments and wail inconsolably. The trappings of eloquence and dignity are totally deflowered by death: to try to say anything coherent in the face of it is an imposture. Genocide and murder cause a reflexive self-cruelty: it’s a homophony, a form of empathy– it’s something some of us do because what we do to ourselves is eloquent the way the rending of garments is eloquent, because it makes it possible for us to rhyme with what happened to people we loved, and also to people we never knew. Witnessing is strange and awkward work. My story is not the same as Argentina’s, or Albertina’s, but the torture and murder of my family is in my blood, driving me to do things I don’t know how to do, for love. It’s also what drives me to love. This poem is for my friends.
—Ariana
MERCURIAL EDIFICE
A little ripped
No air
Cameras
Screen behind the judges
The killers’ combed white heads
We’ve eaten our burgers & fries & smoked
It’s a few seconds and counting past 4:02
MAR 25 2019 it says on the screen
I read it thru bulletproof glass
No air
Woodpaneling
Like an old fishtank
A stack of paper passes hand to hand
On the other side of the glass
I want to call what I see an empty
Sanctuary, altar destitute of gods
But I don’t know
The language
I don’t know the custom
I don’t belong here
And
I’ve gotten used to not belonging
The last time Albertina was in court says Juliana
While she was giving her testimony
One of her parents’ killers fell asleep
Chelsea Manning is in Solitary
My mother is in Penn Station
I’m wearing a loose flowered dress and stiletto mules
I put these on to appease my grandmother
Who is dead
For once she despaired of my sense of beauty
My neck is stained from kisses
I’m hiding my hickies behind my hair
I have never seen a genocidaire
In person. We all look drained and old
But we are beautiful, auras of an undifferentiated
Curiosity, hospitality and sweetness, or we
If I am part of this are people who would change
For the better and have sought
To. And do. We’re the kind who are curious
To live differently. Even militantly.
For love. We’re the kind
Of people they killed.
And now the judges have taken their seats.
A litany of names I hate myself for not writing down
Tormento
Tormento
Violencia abominismas
And articles of the law cited monotonously
Occultly and ceremonially by number
The combed white killers take notes
When it is over a chant is chanted
The names of the murdered are repeated in order
We’re all crying
Everybody is hugging and kissing
I do not belong I think gently
Absorbing it all through my broken hair
But I wouldn’t have set foot in this country
At all if my family hadn’t been murdered & more
To the point if we had figured out how rightly
To mourn. We haven’t. Maybe nobody has.
I let my heart cook
I exchange one mourning for another
I exchange one art for another
I exchange one lover for another
And then another
And one city, one country, one bed, one roof
They mark me. The mark fades
And is replaced by another
Federico, Fernando, three Julians
I don’t know. I substituted myself
For myself a long time ago.
I did it already.
I abandoned myself.
I did it first, before anyone else could.
Two men are gently jackhammering a new wall
As if to give it the distressed look of a wall
That has been lightly sprayed by bullets
It is a new wall
It is a new wall
Squatting in the breeze behind a dumpster
One genocide may hide another
Spanish inflected with Italian
Jewish eyes and indigenous hair
New flesh from which the furious
Soul gasps, looking for food
Light without light
Time without justice
Like N’s mouth, wet but devoid of moisture
Some clock running backwards inside him
Like an inverse mouth
Then I realize he’s part of that same generation
And I am too
Like bugs in amber suspended
Between mass murder and a vicious
Form of liberty, where you can see yourself
And them guarding everything you do
Suspended in a jewel the sun deigns to pass through
A baby screamed as the proceedings began
And my heart was broken then
And there was no justice then
And everyone in the room knew it
Thirty thousand children at the border
I have a border too
I live there
My left foot suspended above the frontier
Gently, my dress fluttering
They read the names of the murdered and answer for them
Present, We are present, We are here
Where forty years have wound around the pit
A baby is screaming
Bizarre ceremony dispassionate litany
Mantras of reason, code
For which there is no code
Impoverished law
Like a ruined father
It can neither give time
Nor restore life and it cannot
Produce a single adequate sentence
And as for me and my protected speech
And as for me and the end of my line
Like a sun casting its blackness upon the ridge
Of a sundial at a slanting antipodal angle
And as for my belly in which babies die
My heart cooking like meat
And the black smoke of my heart
Whose weather parched the whitening ground
That gave no shade
That offered up to me not one relative
Not one
And as for me and my little word
My flame, one letter, one word
Stranger
Saying my prayer
Hiding my prayer in a hole
EDIFICIO MERCURIAL
Un poco rota
Nada de aire
Cámaras
Pantalla detrás de los jueces
Las cabezas blancas y peinadas de los asesinos
Nosotros hemos comido hamburguesas y papas fritas y hemos fumado
Son las 4:02 y los segundos pasan
25 MAR 2019 dice en la pantalla
Lo leo a través de un vidrio a prueba de balas
Nada de aire
Paredes recubiertas de madera
Como un antiguo acuario.
Una pila de papeles pasa de mano en mano
Del otro lado del vidrio
A lo que veo, quiero decirle santuario
vacío, altar desposeído de dioses
Pero no sé
El idioma
No conozco las costumbres
No soy de aquí
Y
Me he acostumbrado a no ser de ninguna parte
La última vez que Albertina estuvo en la corte dice Juliana
Mientras estaba dando su testimonio
Uno de los asesinos de sus padres se durmió
Chelsea Manning está recluida e incomunicada
Mi madre está en Penn Station
Yo llevo puesto un vestido de flores ancho y tacos aguja
Me los pongo para tranquilizar a mi abuela
Que está muerta
Porque una vez perdió la fe en mi sentido de la belleza
Tengo el cuello manchado de besos
Los chupones escondidos detrás del pelo
Nunca antes vi a un genocida
En persona. Nos vemos cansados y viejos
Pero somos hermosos, auras de curiosidad
Indiferenciada, hospitalidad y dulzura, o nosotros
Si es que soy parte de este grupo, somos gente que cambiaría
Para mejor y lo hemos intentado.
Y lo hacemos. Somos de la clase de gente que tiene curiosidad
Por vivir de una forma distinta. Incluso militantemente.
Por el amor. Somos la clase
De gente que mataron.
Y ahora los jueces han tomado sus asientos.
Una letanía de nombres me odio por no escribirlos
Tormento
Tormento
Violencia sistemática
Y artículos de la ley citados con monotonía
En clave y ceremonialmente por número
Los asesinos de canas toman notas
Cuando se termina se canta un canto
Los nombres de los asesinados son repetidos en orden
Todos estamos llorando
Todos se abrazan y se besan
Este no es mi lugar pienso y suavemente
Absorbo todo a través de mi pelo quebrado
Pero no habría puesto un pie en este país
Si toda mi familia no hubiera sido asesinada y
Siendo más precisa si hubiéramos sabido cómo
Hacer un duelo. No lo sabemos. Quizás nadie lo sabe.
Dejo que mi corazón se cocine
Cambio un duelo por otro
Intercambio un arte por otro
Y después otro
Y una ciudad, un país, una cama, un techo
Esas cosas me marcan. La marca se disuelve
Y es reemplazada por otra
Federico, Fernando, tres Julianes
No sé. Me sustituí a mí misma
Por mí misma hace mucho tiempo.
Ya lo hacía entonces
Me abandoné a mí misma.
Lo hice primero antes de que cualquier otro pudiera hacerlo
Dos hombres taladran suavemente una pared
Que ha sido salpicada con balas
Es una nueva pared
Es una nueva pared
Agachada en la brisa detrás de un contenedor
Un genocidio puede ocultar otro
El español modulado por el italiano
Ojos judíos y pelo indígena
Carne nueva desde donde el alma furiosa
respira con dificultad, en busca de alimento
Luz sin luz
Tiempo sin justicia
Como la boca de Nate, mojada pero desprovista de humedad
Algunos relojes corren para atrás dentro de Nate
Como una boca inversa
Entonces noto que él es parte de la misma generación
Y yo también
Como insectos suspendidos en ámbar
Entre el asesinato en masa y una viciosa
Forma de libertad, donde podés verte a vos mismo
Y a ellos vigilando todo lo que hacés
Colgado en una joya el sol se digna a pasar
Un bebé lloró cuando empezó el procedimiento
Y entonces mi corazón se rompió
Y entonces no hubo justicia
Y todos en la sala lo supieron
Treinta mil niños en la frontera
Yo también tengo una frontera
Vivo allí
Mi pie izquierdo suspendido sobre la frontera
Mi vestido agitándose suavemente
Leen los nombres de los asesinados y responden por ellos
Presentes, estamos presentes, estamos aquí
Donde cuarenta años han dado vueltas alrededor de un agujero
Un bebé llora
Ceremonia bizarra letanía desapasionada
Mantras de razón, código
Para el que no hay código
Ley empobrecida
Como un padre arruinado
No puede devolver el tiempo
Ni restablecer la vida y no puede
Producir una sola oración adecuada
Y en cuanto a mí y mi discurso protegido
Y en cuanto a mí y el final de mi línea
Como un sol arrojando su negrura sobre la cima
De un reloj de sol en un ángulo diametralmente opuesto
Y en cuanto a mi vientre en el que los bebés mueren
Mi corazón cocinándose como carne
Y el humo negro de mi corazón
Cuyo clima secó el suelo emblanquecido
Que no daba sombra
Que no me ofreció ningún pariente
Ni uno
Y en cuanto a mí y mi pequeña palabra
Mi llama, una letra, una palabra
Extranjera
Diciendo mi plegaria
Escondiendo mi plegaria en un hueco.
About Ariana Reines
Ariana Reines is the author of Mercury (2011), The Cow (2006), and Coeur de Lion (2007). Her play Telephone was produced at the Cherry Lane Theater and won several Obie awards. Reines was the 2009 Roberta C. Holloway Lecturer in Poetry at the University of California, Berkeley. She has taught master classes at Pomona College; the University of California, Davis; and the University of Pittsburgh. She lives in New York City.
Reines’ new collection of poetry, A Sand Book, was published by Tin House Books in June.