The Silent G
Howling Prowling, The Beat:
Intersecting Lines, Lives, Memory, History
by Arpine Konyalian Grenier
whereas one cannot aptly read vulnerability whereas we have unfinished business with grief greed gratitude and google— here’s an ode to tears an investment return to the investment returns of clinging to the river— Euphrates Araxes or other— consumed as aligned yet remarkably free of anxiety of influence
Arpine Konyalian Grenier is an independent scholar, born and raised in Beirut, after the post-Ottoman era induced French rule of the region ended. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, often awarded or as finalist. Other credits include published collections, multi-disciplinary collaborations, guest editing, and participating at conferences, both as co-convener and presenter. Her archives are being held at the Lilly Library, Indiana University, Bloomington.
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ISBN: 979-10-90394-60-5
www.corruptpress.comHowling Prowling, The Silent G (Corrupt Press, 2019)
The poetry of The Silent G (Corrupt Press, 2019) comes from an inability to be distracted into an extinction of reality— an extinction that stems from the arcane democratization of matter over time, and the resulting expansion of capitalization into the personal domain, our gods— quasi god, demi god, God god, all; and we, with the body and status of an absent body, without the need to establish voice.
The collection may be considered a songbook of whats, why and hows, experienced ontologically, culturally, socially and multi-nationally against a backdrop deemed Armenian— its prolific and full bodied history, all too subtle and volatile a song for legal restraint, as enchanted syllables lash the wind, unwilling to match desire to the attenuation of the passion it comes from. It is dedicated to Nora Rose, the poet’s grand-daughter, and Grandma Gul the grandmother she never had the chance to meet (Gul is rose in Turkish).
The love I love is one, but one, the only rose!" reads the inscription under the statue of priest, scholar, historian, poet and community leader, Fray Angelico Chavez (1910-1996) at the downtown plaza in Santa Fe. And Celan, translated reads, "Bolt the door: There are roses in the house … where they beat my father and mother to death: what bloomed there, what blooms there?"
Rhetoric is out. Persuasion, unnecessary. One ponders the chaos sustaining the world of languages, after a derivative of the past, the longing to connect just because we’re human overshadowing the politic of the human. Pli by pli, the beat provides position, that minutia, while the excessive endorses disposition; form, therefore perception, sensation, plasticity. If it weren’t for love, weren’t for ethics, cured of speech, she says and writes.
