Meandering with Ariana Benson

Interview Conducted by Megan A. Pastore

Ariana Benson’s debut poetry collection, Black Pastoral (University of Georgia Press, 2023) won the Cave Canem Poetry Prize, the Kate Tufts Discovery Prize, and the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize, and was a finalist for the National Books Critics Circle Leonard Prize and the Library of Virginia Prize Award. A southern Black ecopoet, Benson’s work has received fellowships and awards from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Poetry Foundation, Furious Flower, the Oak Spring Garden Foundation, and others. Benson is a proud alumna of Spelman College, where she facilitates creative writing and storytelling workshops for HBCU students.

Megan A. Pastore: Thank you so much for chatting with me today, Ariana!

Ariana N. Benson: Thank you! I’m so happy we are doing this.

Megan A. Pastore: Me, too.Well, let’s jump in! How did your poetry collection Black Pastoral come together? Did you envision it becoming a book, or did the collection more or less reveal itself organically as time went on–collecting poems you were writing, and noticing an unraveling common thread?

Ariana N. Benson: Yeah, you know, collecting is a really good word. I’m glad you said that, because it’s definitely the latter. It kind of just started coming together for me. I was just talking to my students yesterday during a visit to St. Mary’s College in Maryland and asked, “What is the story that you tell about yourself as a writer?” The students had some amazing answers. One of them said, “Well, I’m a crafter. You know how people knit blankets to give away? I make crafts to give away to the people I love.” Another said, “I was a composer, so I see the words like musical notes.” I was so excited by that! So the story I told about myself–I’m very much a collector which is tied to my experiences in nature. I was the kid who saw a pretty rock, and thought I’m collecting it. I was the kid walking around collecting four leaf clovers when we’re supposed to be running at PE, and so I think there’s just some part of my brain that is very, very satisfied by finding a collection, or making a collection of beautiful things that are tied by some kind of unique kind of intangible quality, right? So I think that perhaps I was making my own “rocks” to collect for this book. It’s certainly how it felt, especially in those early stages. Now, I’m not going to say I had no vision in mind, but initially I had no vision for it as a book, necessarily. I just knew that I was writing poems that were about nature and Black history, but that was honestly just because that was my passion at the moment, and because that was my life at the moment. I had been living in these urban locales in Atlanta and London for five years, and then I was promptly thrown back into Chesapeake in the forest, you know! I love it, but it’s very different from those spaces that reminded me of home and all of these histories.  Now armed with much more knowledge, having been able to study at a historically Black college, having been able to spend some time studying poetry, I was just seeing new things about the space that I hadn’t seen before. And so I started collecting. I think the title Black Pastoral came to me because that was just one of the first poems that I wrote. I kept leaning into that passion. Truly, I didn’t think of it as a book until I took Tin House with Patricia Smith, and she said, “So, this is a collection. We’re going to send it out soon.” I was still so nervous and overwhelmed. Here I am in Tin House turning off my camera on Zoom because I was so nervous and stressed. But you know, when a legend who frankly, my poetry is descended from, says that this is a book–you lock in after that!

Megan A. Pastore: Beautiful! Is there a specific poem in this collection that you feel holds the emotional heart of the book? Would you consider “Black Pastoral” the thematic heart of this collection, where all others branch off from there? If not, what poem initially comes to mind for you?

Ariana N. Benson: I think there are two answers for this. One of the most central poems for me, and my experience in writing the book, is “Anti-Elegy for the Trees.” It’s one of my favorite poems. It’s long but it’s one of the very few that I’m the speaker of. It’s a real experience–I did fall out of my favorite playground tree, and absolutely shredded my stomach. It also tied to all of these histories that I didn’t even know existed in that moment. So it’s an interesting reflection on coming back to a space with new knowledge. The fun part about having a book out in the world is that it’s also one of the poems that people read and then talk to you about. Getting feedback from Black elders in particular, is especially important to me. I wanted to capture a lot of the world that they lived in. It was a world that I’ve been told about, but it’s a world that they lived in or lived closer to. One of the elders who read this book told me, “You know it changed me. It changed the way that I understood my aversion to trees in the forest.” Her dad had grown up in the South in Louisiana, and loved the trees, loved the forest. But she had grown up in California, and just naturally had this kind of aversion. She was born in the fifties, so, knowing the history, knowing what’s going on in that time period–it makes perfect sense. But she hadn’t even put those things together until reading the poems and understanding the dualities of that history. So that, I think, is what I’m trying to capture in the book. It’s a subconscious experience that I think a lot of Black folks have with nature; have always had with nature, but haven’t necessarily put language towards. On the flip side, the second poem(s) that comes to mind (because I feel like, though it was important for me to talk about the kind of suffering and the struggle of relationships in this book, it was also really important for me to talk about the love) are the “Love Poem(s) in the Black Field.” They are the theme that is the beating heart of the book. Even though there was a lot of ugliness and struggle, there was all of this beauty and all this love, and you know– I’m living proof of that love. So many of us are living proof that there’s love. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here to tell the tale, and so I wanted to explore what that love would look like and what kind of weeds it would have had to force its way through to still continue to thrive. So I think those poems are the dual heartbeats of the collection.

Megan A. Pastore: I am so excited you brought up “Love Poem(s) in the Black Field,” because there are a few of those throughout this collection. When I was reading those poems I was looking at the dates for each. So, they seem to be based on very real experiences. It’s easy to assume you’ve been told of the experiences, or that you’ve read about them. But, it seems you’re also imagining these experiences–perhapsing these experiences into existence in a way that you can write about them now. I made this pencil note in the book–I am wondering how imagining or perhapsing helps to further form your own history, or your own understanding of Black history and Black experience. This, too,  reminds me of a bit of ekphrastic work, where you’re imagining your way into an experience. Was there artwork or archival documents you used to help bring these experiences to fruition within these poems?

Ariana N. Benson:. Okay–I love what you’ve given me. You’ve just blown my mind–thinking of these as ekphrastic, because that’s really what they are! It’s a similar model, right? I’ve seen a photograph, I’ve heard a friend tell me about that city, or that place– I’ve been there, right? I’ve been to that place. I’ve seen that place, and then I have a mental image of it. Then I’m kind of superimposing onto the image a specific experience that I imagine, between two figures who were in that time, in that place. So to me, that’s kind of a version of what the scholar Saidiya Hartman talks about with critical fabulation. Where you take histories that you do have, and you do know, but there are these blanks. We know that histories of marginalized folks are often not recorded in the same kind of concretized way they’re recorded through storytelling. They’re recorded through being passed down as understanding. So you take those blanks and you fill them in with what you know. So, you critically fabulate. That’s what I was trying to do, especially with these “Love Poem(s)s in the Black Field.” I think that a lot of the inspiration for them came from me being in these places, looking at archival stuff. The Smithsonian has a lot of open source, really amazing images. It’s just a kind of “imagining.” I also wanted to move very intentionally with that imagination, right? Because, as much as I am a descendant of these histories, I wasn’t there. I don’t know that level of suffering, that level of dehumanization. So, I can’t necessarily imagine that. But what I can imagine is love. Because I’m human. I know love. I know that kind of experience, that emotion, what it makes you think about, what it makes you want to do for the other person, and give to the other person. I can also understand witness. Even though I’m not there, I’m bearing witness still, continually, right through looking at these photographs, through what we do have. Just like the trees were bearing witness. That’s why I feel like I can speak in the voice of the trees in the swamp. If I understand love, I understand witness. I can use that to fill in the blanks. You know enough to paint a picture. It really is like ekphrasis based on history–and my very overactive imagination.

Megan A. Pastore: I love that answer. I love that idea of speaking through the trees, or speaking for the trees in their experience. A huge part of my own manuscript-in-progress is nature focused, so I just connect with that space in my own ways.

Ariana N. Benson: Can I ask you a question?

Megan A. Pastore: Yeah, absolutely!

Ariana N. Benson: So when you are thinking, I’m writing in conversation with nature, we know this history of the pastoral. It’s kind of like man separate from nature, right? Like this is my flock, these are my fields. How do you find that you’re able to close that distance? Is there a tactic that you use? Or is it just writing in the space that helps you? Is it just natural for you? Because for me there’s certain answers I just don’t know. There’s like a mental place that I have to go to, to delete that delineation that we have just so entrenched into society, of human and nature.

Megan A. Pastore: Great questions! For me, writing in nature is a huge help. But I’ve always felt a deep connection to nature. It sounds a little cliché, but that’s where I feel closest to God. That’s where I feel closest to creation. I feel in tune with nature. I’ve always been fascinated with the natural world, biology, and creation in general. So for me, really just tapping into that innate connection to all things–that’s a very difficult thing to describe. Also, poetry gives me the container, and within that container there’s so much freedom–language choice, form, enjambment, metaphor, and exploration–the list goes on. I’m in this container, and I’m in this space in nature, and I’m simultaneously in this field on the page. There’s so much freedom found in that connection–limitless, really.

Ariana N. Benson: I love that you say that because for me, too, that’s a clear thing or experience. Within restraint, there is the possibility for so much freedom, because you’re forced to be very creative and very imaginative. I think that’s a key part of the love that is expressed in those Black Field forms. It’s very imaginative, you know. It’s really the smallest stolen glances, right? And I think that’s so true for poetry. When it is forming, your mind just opens up, and you can do so much.

Megan A. Pastore: I love that it’s an absolute contradiction, right? There’s so much freedom within that poetic container. It’s a beautiful space to be in.

Ariana N. Benson: Craziest paradox, ever!

Megan A. Pastore: That kind of leads me into another question that I had. The imagery throughout the book is absolutely striking. What is your process for cultivating the visually inspired language that you use? Is it typically an image,  or a line of inspiration?  Or do you have a specific feeling that inspires something for you to write? Another question to tie into this a bit: do you have a specific writing process that you abide by every single day? What is your “thing?”

Ariana N. Benson: I just have so much respect for the people who write every single day and are soldiers for the page. That is so not me. Oh, my gosh! It doesn’t work like that. But I do

think poetically every single day. And again, I think my brain naturally does this. My process is kind of chaotic looking, especially as it relates to images. I really think that’s a wonderful question, because nine times out of ten, a poem for me starts with an image that is so divorced from any idea. At that moment, it’s just an image. For example, and to your point about nature (I’ll probably write a poem about this), I was on a hike that I had taken down to the waterfalls,  and walking back, I’m feeling very close to God, and very overwhelmed at the number of waterfalls. We’re so small and yet so significant–each of us. So I’m walking, and I’m leaving the creek, and I see a little robin. At first, honestly, I thought, oh–a robin. There are a lot of robins, maybe just as many robins in the world as there are people. He’s probably got his own robin life. Then I thought to myself, well, you know, I hope he has his own life. I hope, at least, that he knows love. I think everything should know love, and I’m a romantic like that. The moment I have that thought, a female robin swoops down, and they fly together. They landed on the branch together, and I was awestruck.

Megan A. Pastore: Funny how you put it out there, and the Universe responds.

Ariana N. Benson: Oh my gosh! Yes! Just like that. It was wild and stuff like that happens to me. Apparently I was just meant to be a poet, because whose life is like that? But, to answer the question–I take a moment like that where I’ve seen something so idiosyncratically beautiful, and I grab my phone. I write it in my iphone notes, and I leave it there for 6 months on average. Then, when I’m ready, I feel like the well is full, and I have the time and energy (two of the main poetic resources in my opinion), I’ll sit down to write a poem. I’ll go through my collection, and pick a shiny image rock. I think very hard about the specific language that I use surrounding that image. I’ll definitely think: How do I want to tell you that I was walking? What do I want to tell you about what I saw? Do I want to tell you that, or don’t I? Do I want you to just focus on the moment of the image? Or do I want to tell you this long story about the creek, so that when you get there it’s glorious? I think a lot about the setup, a lot about how I get out of the image, or what I want to leave you with, and a lot about the specific language that I use. I’m keen on trying not to stop my momentum when I’m writing. I try not to hit the backspace too much, especially when I’m drafting. If there’s a word that I know isn’t really the word that I want to use 100%, I will just put parentheses around it and keep going. It’s like a note to myself when I come back to edit in the next draft–okay, I wasn’t super happy with this word. Let me open a thesaurus and think about another way to say this, a word that I feel fits more rhythmically with the other things that I’ve written, or just fits better tonally with what I wanted to say. So that’s usually my process. But it nearly always starts with the image.

Megan A. Pastore: That’s amazing. Now you’ve already mentioned some poets that were influences for you while you were writing this book, like Patricia Smith. Who else do you feel are some of your biggest poetry influences?

Ariana N. Benson: Definitely Vievee Francis. I was so lucky to work with her. She was actually the first poet that I ever worked with outside of an academic setting. I was just in a workshop with everyone else, and she talked to us as a group. I think it was my workshop turn and she basically said, “You know, you’re doing this thing that a lot of young writers do, where you are wanting to write a happily-ever-after. You’re wanting to leave your readers with something positive, right, and that’s not always wrong. But don’t force that, you know. Understand that your reader can hold both beautiness and ugliness in their minds and their mouths at once.” I was completely changed after that. That is the concept of Black Pastoral, right? It’s asking you to hold the beautiful and ugly all at once. She gave me that concept. I had read her whole bibliography before I got to work with her, so that made it even more special! Tiana Clark is another poet I got to work with, and really admire. She has this understanding that writing is a kind of freedom as much as it is craft. It’s also a freeing of yourself on the page. I think that’s something that I needed that permission to do, because I always wanted to be serious. I wanted to take this art seriously, but also just understanding what it means to let go, and balance that with intense craft. I think you can see that in her work. She’s brilliant. There are a couple of other folks and several Black women that I worked with on this journey, like Saretta Morgan, a Black nature poet and Amber Flora Thomas. There were so many more who were very, very generous with their time and their knowledge. They really made me feel like there’s a place for me in this space, and there are folks who have done this that I can model myself after, which is so important. I think that’s the best way that we learn anything, right, is watching other people and modeling ourselves. I’ve had a lot of great teachers.

Megan A. Pastore: What a gift to have worked with some many strong poets. You mentioned trying to hold space for both the beauty and the ugliness of things, and it made me think of your poem on page 23, “Theodicy on My Blackness.” It got me thinking about all the ways that we, as humans, question God–often when we’re facing all that is happening in the world, especially right now. I started thinking about all the ways that poetry offers a space to reconcile both joy and pain, the beautiful and the ugly, on the page. How (for someone like me that is spiritually connected to God) the poem is sort of the product of the words I’m putting on the page–but they aren’t entirely my own. It’s like I am the vessel and for some reason beyond my own understanding, I am channeling this energy in this space and I am in this flow of something beyond the self. I’m pulling things from a place that I don’t even completely understand–but I am, and it’s here, and it’s real. And then it’s on the page. That’s what I see in this collection. To hold this space for suffering and love in one place is so powerful.

Ariana N. Benson: I don’t have too much to add, you know. That’s a poem that I think has a lot of the complexities that you mentioned, but honestly, your reading of it is the most seen that I felt by anyone talking about the form. People don’t often approach that one because it has that kind of complexity, and also because it depends on what your relationship to spirituality is. But for me, what you’ve described, and the experience of writing poetry is just being. Sometimes you don’t even know what’s happening, or where this is coming from. That’s 100% what it feels like for me.

Megan A. Pastore: Chills. Isn’t that the coolest feeling, though? When it happens, it’s just beyond. It’s beyond this world.

Ariana N. Benson: It’s everything. It’s life. Then when you’re done, and you wake up from whatever trance that is, and you’re reading what you’ve written–whoa. You know, things like that make me believe because I know it wasn’t me. I know it wasn’t me. I can feel that. That poem is very special to me, just because of the culture that I’ve grown up in. Generally, African American culture is deeply steeped in spirituality. Yet, there are a lot of things that we have to contend with God allowing to happen to us, to the world ongoing. I think naturally, it’s a question that would come up, and it’s a question that poetry allows me to explore and maybe feel not so terrible for doing, for asking all of these questions. It’s a poem, so I’m allowed.

Megan A. Pastore: Absolutely. Oh, my goodness, yes. It’s such a beautiful space to be in.

Did you have any specific poems in the collection that were particularly challenging for you to write? Perhaps, poems that seemed to change or evolve drastically in the revision process or poems that ended up in a completely different place than where you started?

Ariana N. Benson: That’s a great question, because I have an immediate answer. Me and the title poem “Black Pastoral.” I didn’t know where I wanted that poem to end. I didn’t know what I wanted it to mean, or what I wanted you to take away from the images of the boy and the deer in the forest. I still read that poem, and I’m like, I don’t know. I don’t know. It could have gone so many different ways. I think that’s probably the thing that I struggle with most as a writer. Readers interpret the end of a poem as a kind of finality, or that it has some sort of specific meaning. For me, that poem felt like one that shouldn’t have an ending because I wasn’t trying to say anything or take you anywhere other than there will be spring again. I think that’s why I tried to end it on the “…moss. Of possibility.” That’s all that means. It’s so interesting, too, to read these poems years later, because I’ve changed as a person a lot. Frankly, I was just a lot less experienced as a human. I had just started to live adult life because even in college it’s “grown,” but with training wheels, right? So then, it was my first time paying rent. I’m out in the world. Then Covid happened. So, I only had six months of that experience. Comparing that version of myself to who I am now, I can see the transformation, even in the poems and in reading them. It’s really sweet. And it’s nostalgic. There are things that I would do differently. But I wrestled with that poem a lot, and I still don’t really know how I feel about how I left it. I think that maybe that uncertainty is fine for the title poem of this book, because there’s a lot of back and forth, and a lot of conflicting themes in the collection overall.

Megan A. Pastore: Well, talking about your younger self and all the things that you’ve learned before you became this multi-award winning, published poet (which is just outstanding every time I turn around), what advice would you give your younger self or the person that’s starting out and feels like, what am I even doing? Why am I doing this? Am I even good at this? I certainly have those moments sometimes, and I would love advice, so I’m being selfish and this question is secretly for me, too, haha.

Ariana N. Benson: Okay, this is random, but at first, I was just doing it because I had so much time. It was just such a specific experience, because it was the pandemic, and the world was shut down. I would say, lean into feeling random. It’s going to feel for a long time like, Okay, I’m just doing whatever. I’m just writing this poem because this is the idea that came to me. Okay, I want to make the bugs talk today, cool. It’s going to feel super random for a long time and then, like you said, somebody will come in and look and say, “So, do you see that you’ve actually painted something here that has shape and has form?” I see it now. Don’t be afraid to really feel like it’s in the dark, because the flicker when the light comes on will completely rearrange what you’ve done, and will be more than enough for you to take that next step. Again, I’m not writing every single day, not even coming close, but I’ll put an image in the bank every single day, and spend some time thinking about how the world works. I’m such a podcast person. I love listening to podcasts about writing, definitely, but also just podcasts about the world, and how people think. There’s this podcast called Hidden Brain and it’s just great. I was a psychology major in undergrad, so I love thinking about how people think.

Megan A. Pastore: I was a psych major in undergrad, too, before switching to English!

Ariana N. Benson: Right! I love psychology. I think psych and poetry have a lot to say to each other, so just just spending time thinking about how people think. I love listening to visual artists talk about their work, because I think they experience a similar kind of download from wherever and then things just appear on the canvas. That is my one thing–just keep your mind in a state of curiosity and in a state of openness to the world. Because then you’ll have an unlimited trove of ideas and resources to pull from. I think that is the one way to avoid writer’s block. For me, writer’s block is not so much that I can’twrite. Sometimes I can’t write because I just don’t feel like it. I don’t have the mental energy. I’m tired and have other stuff going on. If I have nothing to say, that would be writer’s block. So to me, keeping my mind constantly thinking about something that’s going on in the world that is pretty separate from my own life is stimulating.

Megan A. Pastore: That’s amazing advice and so helpful. I’m definitely going to hold on to that advice. I have my own moments where I feel like I haven’t written in a week or more, because I just haven’t had the mental capacity or energy. When I get into writing, I am so emotionally invested in what I’m doing. Even if it’s a short poem, I am so invested that when I’m finished, I feel like I need to sleep for a couple of days. That would happen all the time after I’d write papers in undergrad, and even now in grad school–I am wiped for a week! This need for replenishment almost made me feel like I was doing something wrong. Or, I must not really be a writer, because I’m not writing for an hour every single day or churning out pages and pages each month. It’s so helpful to think, let’s be realistic. Life is also happening.

Ariana N. Benson: It’s a circadian rhythm. Everybody has their circadian rhythm of like, oh, I’m a morning person. I’m a night person. Morning people impress me so much because my brain doesn’t work like that, and most of Black Pastoral was written after 11 pm. My brain around 10 pm is like, Whoo! Fire up the pistons. The ideas are coming, and I just have to go with it. That often means it looks like I’m somebody who sleeps all day when I’m in a real writing mode or in a zone! It’s a circadian rhythm. And I think too, the feeling of how often you’re called to that page or called to that intense kind of release and emotional experience of writing is a circadian rhythm. I’ve even noticed this since 2024 when I started journaling again. I’ve noticed that I journal, maybe once every ten to fourteen days. And it’s random. My brain will just tell me, okay, we’ve got stuff, let’s download. It’s not a scheduled thing. So I feel like that’s a circadian rhythm, too. I feel like we all have our own rhythms, and that, being a writer, is a vocation, but that everybody approaches the work of the vocation totally differently.

Megan A. Pastore: Oh, I love that.So I have to ask– what projects are you working on now? Anything new on the horizon?

Ariana N. Benson:Yeah, well right now I’m doing a lot of reading, because I’m judging the National Poetry series. So I’ve got 50 manuscripts that I’m reading and I’m taking the time to find the book that I am personally most drawn to. The idea of seeing that book in the world at this moment, determined by me–that’s the best thing that I can offer. There are other judges, too, simultaneously. So we’re all looking at these same 50. It feels like a little bit less pressure, because having been on the other side of sending out the manuscript, I know the stakes, and I know that people paid real money, and have spent real time on these manuscripts. I’m trying to take that very, very seriously as a process, but also understanding that poetry is functionally a lottery system when it comes to sending out your manuscripts. I am picking a ball out of a basket essentially. As far as my own writing goes, I have multiple things going on, because I’m a person who cannot just write and work on one project at a time. That’s never worked for me. My brain does not focus like that. I get bored. And so I’m thinking about writing in different genres. I’m trying to wade into the fiction waters. But God, it’s hard. The structure–I have to actually make that story make sense. In poetry, you know, I can just think Oh! And he picked up a shell on the beach and put it to his ear and looked at the water. And that’s the end of the poem, and I can be done. I don’t have to make it make sense on that kind of level. So it’s a challenge, and I’m enjoying it. As far as poetry goes, I’m writing poems that are really different from the ones in Black Pastoral. There are a lot more prose poems where I’m the speaker. So they’re doing much different things formally than I was doing before–like the kind of full enjambment gymnastics in Black Pastoral. I love enjambment so much, though. It’s my favorite trick.

Megan A. Pastore: It’s the best! One of my favorite poetry tricks, too. It really makes or breaks the line–hah.

Ariana N. Benson: Haha! It’s so cool. I’m also just thinking a lot again about the things I see in the world right now. I think that’s one of my obsessions (along with anime and gaming), and right now I’m just kind of obsessed with the way we are at a massive societal fork in the road. I feel that it’s really important for us to understand the moment, to understand what it means that Americans, on average, read on a 6th grade reading level. Do you understand what it means? And the country is so divided on a wealth level that if you look at the statistics, the average salary is something like $80,000. Yet the vast majority of people in this country are not touching that amount of money. We’re just at this polarizing moment, and I feel like I’m seeing a lot of small interactions in the world again. Look–don’t sit next to me on the bus because I’m ear-hustling bad! I’m listening to your conversations. I’m listening to you say things about the world and thinking about how that’s poetic and how that says something. One small moment says something so much bigger about the world and the place that we’re in right now. So that’s the direction my work is going in right now. I’m still  inspired by outside stuff, too. I’ve written a few poems that are inspired by Tiktoks or things that I see on social media.

Megan A. Pastore: You mentioned enjoying anime and it had me thinking about comics and hybrid works. Have you ever read Ephemera by Brianna Loewinsohn? It’s like this hybrid between poetry, and non fiction, laid out like a graphic novel. It’s a beautiful, heart-breaking story. It really inspired me to consider new ways of writing and capturing emotion and experience. This book has drawings and the colors that are used–muted colors and brighter colors for different emotions and experiences, and the way that it ties into the language–it’s profound. Language on the page is often sparse, but it speaks volumes because of the imagery around it. It made me think of doing hybrid work where you’re writing poetry or short creative nonfiction work within pages of drawings, or comics. I’m just sticking a little bug in your ear–just think about it!

Ariana N. Benson: Absolutely! I can’t hardly draw a straight line, so I love visual artists. I love what they do. Actually, you know one of my friends early on, when I was studying as a Marshall scholar (this person is like an MIT level engineer working on different 3D printings in the lab, and rovers that were sent to the moon), is one of the best comic-style artists that I’ve ever met in my entire life. Also, a very good writer, so talented! They had written their own kind of graphic novel, and we wanted to collaborate. Then, the pandemic happened. But, now I’m thinking about it. Yeah–I need to circle back! That would be a dream. I would love to collaborate. I think another one of my dreams would be to write for a video game. I would love to see poetic moments animated and brought to life, because I think that there are all different ways that people communicate. I think that poetry reaches a certain audience of folks who think like we think, and get it.  But I guess, I’m also thinking about accessibility, right? Thinking about people who think visually, or experience visually, or even think auditorily. Definitely for my next collection, I will do an audio book. It’s a completely different experience. I love that so much. I’m so glad you brought it up. And I’m definitely going to read this!

Megan A. Pastore: It’s a fairly quick read. But, I read it at least three times before we even discussed it in class. Every time I read it, more meaning emerged. Between the visual art, the language used, the way it was used, and where it was placed–more and more layers, like an onion.

Ariana N. Benson: Yes! Love something with layers.

Megan A. Pastore: It was just so interesting to see how intentional some of the choices were, and the beauty that came from those decisions. Ephemera is hands-down one of my favorite collections that I’ve read in the past year or so.

Ariana N. Benson: I can’t wait to read it! That sounds amazing.

Megan A. Pastore: Okay, one more for the road, though I could chat with you forever! If there’s one line or image from the collection that you would carry with you every single day, only one, what would it be?

Ariana N. Benson: Interesting question! I’d say the image in “Still Life with Tulip as Grenade” when the boy picks the flower and the world just goes gray. That was based on a real story. A child that was so small that he couldn’t even understand what was happening in the courtroom. So the lawyer gives him a coloring book because he’s there for damage to real property, and his mom is at work. So it’s just him and this stranger, and he’s being charged with a crime. This is a child who picked a flower by the side of the road. That image is just one I carry, because I love children so much. Luckily, in my life, one of my first jobs was working with kids when I was 13 at a summer camp. I think kids are probably the realest poets that we have. They just see things so clearly. They see things with such wonder and curiosity and intensity. And so I think that image just kind of sticks with me. It’s also a reason that I continue to write because I feel like I have to point out as much of the beauty of that moment. I thinkabout what should have happened afterwards, and about what did happen, and question how can we correct that? And so I’m hoping just to do that with poetry. If it’s nothing more than just pointing out what is happening, I think that can do a lot. For me–that’s the image that sticks. That’s a fantastic question. These have been great!

Megan A. Pastore: Well, that was a beautiful answer. I’m just astounded by your ability to use language the way that you do. I’ve only said this a handful of times, but you know when you’re reading good poetry because it makes you want to sit and write your own. This collection does that for me!

Ariana N. Benson: Yes! Thank you! That is such high praise. You are just such a beautiful reader, and I think that has a lot to do with how good anyone is as a writer, as well. Just some of the things that you’ve seen, really, and the questions that you’ve asked. I’m still just thinking about what you said about “Theodicy on My Blackness.” You hit the nail on the head, really, better than I could have explained it. I appreciate the time and the care, and I’m excited when I hear you say you’re putting together your manuscript, because one of the best things about putting a book out is people coming back and saying, I see what you were doing here. You just feel so seen in ways that you couldn’t have imagined. I’m excited for you to have that moment as well.

Megan A. Pastore: Thank you! That means so much to me. I look forward to that moment someday.

….and then we went on to talk about tattoos and future lunch plans.