Brown Bear Honey Madnesses             

                           

                                    far away from aztlan, 
                                    alaskanizing my world,
                                      far away from family
                                    on this father's day,
                                      feelings montage themselves 
                                    on cold, thoughtful day,
                                      Ilovisna y sentimientos
                                    se mesclan,
                                      siento los latigazos
                                    de y por la distancia . . .
                                      Auke Bay, Alaska
                                    17 June 1979:: Sunday

         drizzling moments

    I.

       drizzling moments,
       humidified
           by more than rain, 
       sit listening
                to soulsearing
                    guitar strains,
                Antonio Bribiesca's music
            resonates
       while recollections dance
       on this day, el dia del padre, 
       I feel outward
             toward a past
       now vague yet imprinted 
            on my mindsoul . . .

  II.

       mt. carmel cemetery, Ysleta, Tejas,
       my father, ay,
       your smile comes back,
             the quickness of your mind 
             regaling me
                      with stories
             of an era/place
             you once embraced
             in youthful frenesi,

       your 1920's to 1930's
                 Chicago, Saginaw,
              Kellogg, Michigan, and
          Kansas City outposts
       I would come to know
       within
       a churning/embroiling
               Chicano Movement,

       you, Padre Mio, who never saw me 
             in Brown Beret, 

       bedecked
               by militant angers,
       responding
            to social causes/issues, and 
       remonstrations ...

       yes, mi Viejito Querido,
       mi estimado padre sepultado,
       I now travel
              as you once did,
       and after travels
             I leave clues
       around
             for my progeny
       to find,
             such as you did,
       stories of this or that,
       hoping
       that their minds
             will be sparked
             to also question
             and their souls
             moved rapturously
             to also quest ...

  III.    

       I told you, dear father,
              in 1963, after 
       my release from Soledad Prison 
       that I but simply 
              wanted
       to write, you smiled,
             telling me 
       to follow
       my dreams-
       "Que todo era posible
            bajo el sol,"--
       i've since written much,
       published & lectured 
       from el paso to yale, 
       harvard, stanford, 
       and amsterdam & other lands,
       and on drizzly days & nights 
       when the world 
       is a solitary figure
          bewildered by snow, cold, 
          ice, and vexing questions 
          under the coverlet of darkness, 
       I see you, Jefito, 
       within the scope of my dreams, 
       and, yet, I must admit 
       that my writing then acquires 
       a hollow ring 
       for you never had the chance 
       to read my works, 
       ay, I would go
             to prison one more time, 
       to that infamous texas
            ranch infested
            with rancid/racist diatribes, 
       and you would die, my father, 
       before my next release,
            never to hold a book of mine,
       nor even to have perused

       those anxieties
                          & aspirations
       I would express, jijola, 
       never to have read 
       a line of poetry 
       or prose, nor 
       to have laughed 
       at/with my youthful
            & impulsive remonstrances,
       now
       on this cool & almost cheerless day 
       within Alaska's 
       never ending sunlight, 
       in this Alaskan respite 
       I think of you, Jefito,
       recall your courage
           as it swam caressively
           within our family-fold,
       I yearn
       to somehow share 
       my visions & my dreams, 
       to somehow 
       have my poetry 
       cross that chasm
              twixt
       the urgency of life
           & the vagueness
       of all death,
                      feel strongly 
             the futility of such hopes 
       yet realize
       that in so many ways 
       I'm very much
            that sense of you 
            which revels 
            in all vibrancy, 
       an extension
           of your being, 
       thus I recall you 
       in sweet sadness 
       as I pen these words to you ....