July 22, 1991-El Paso Herald-Post

Canto to El Paso and the frontera experience

The canto, that poem which struggles to unfold and become more than a hope, a dream of nobelistic realization, churns - oh, El Paso - while sirens beckon and grander dreams are evoked.

These sands - where my parents, brothers and son are entombed - are sacred to my sentiments, as are memories of frontera experiences within the burning power of salsa and other condiments ... the blaring horns of mariachis and the strains of passion steeped guitars accompanying Chicano voices rapturously harmonize baladas that celebrate a visceral, romantic understanding of our mutual humanity - sensuously shared as loving people create a greater sense of this borderland.

It is all there, not hidden. A canto which hurls its sense of a border which remains the same even as it changes, as if it were but a chameleon game, a charade, but it is a truthful one, not simply a put-on.

I hear the poem upon the wind and seek it, wanting to finally realize that dream and find that it inveigles me to peer deeper into the broiling sands, and then my eyes and ears are forced to look beyond the horizon up there, very much north of here, hoping to find that shard of a youthful dream at Zavala when my searching voice first wanted to become ensnared by poetry only to find that muses did not harken to Barrio del Diablo schools.

I see the pain in Chicano eyes which still see rage as Manuel Acosta's murder is recalled, and I feel awe at realizing that Manuelito was such a monumental man and artist that it took a horrendous brutal madness to kill his body, yet his spirit still hovers/revels on a border he celebrated with wit, talent and empowering imagery.

I take you, El Paso, again in poems which sing to family, friends and vistas, to grandchildren born in this rock-strewn universe, to children now grown or on the verge of realizing adulthood, to arid sentiments as disappointments ricocheted off granite practicalities ... I take you, querida ciudad, to verdant lands, to redefine the me's crafted by your scorching sun while my eyes searched the vapors for a language woven from diversity.

The years you shared have given me the joy of rediscovery, and the sounds which reverberated from El Diablo to La Roca, San Juan, El Catorce, Segundo, Kern Place, Manhattan Heights and the many other spaces I have known you are ever there - resonant and rounded sounds, each a song to life, a canto to the dolorous, a caressive outcry ever a lifegiving lubricant.

Will I miss you? I could never miss that which is ever ruminating in my mind and spirit, and I have known you, El Paso, in bistros throughout the world as I measured other realities against the backdrop you have ever been...and are!

I will recall the Little Diner in Canuto, and that delicious sweet pan de Gussie's, those tamales paseños which Conrad Gonzales raves about in San Antonio. Late night Rocky Mountain sojourns will pivot on images of Mago's art, and Tony Piña's images will glide about as will the poems of Carlos Aceves, the visual impact of Bill Kwiecinski, the questing voice of Irene Soriano, oh, El Chuco, there is so much you have given me - I've loved these streets and hated the poverty, and my voice has dared demand that your progeny create a stronger sense of dignity and peace.

I simply go exploring, wanting to encounter that muse which once smote me in a barrio school, inveigling me to somehow find the means to know the world..what else could I become, but the poet your sands crafted? Adios, mi pueblo querido....