Eagle-Visioned/Feathered Adobes

                                             

                              somewhere near 
                              d.h.lawrence 
                              once wrote, 
                              somewhere near 
                              el seudo-chicano 
                              (Jaimito Sagél) 
                              now writes, 
                              a lo hispánico,
                              we seem to inveigle 
                              foreigners 
                              to mimic us, or is 
                              it possible 
                              that their own trutbs 
                              are too full of ennui 
                              and that they must 
                              discard theirs 
                              and try to live ours 
                              in order to bave meaning?
                              Santa Fé, New Mexico
                              9 de Octubre de 1981



          came to revisit

    1. came to revisit 
       ancient birthplace 
       of my family, 
       came to find 
       the residue 
       of words and feelings 
       which once gave us 
       strength
       and a sense of life, 
       have found 
       shards of culture,
       machined kachinas,
       fabricated santos
           and retablos,
       and a panoply of dichos
       which have been
       miraculously recycled;
       were we ever
       that simplistic
       or did we buy
       a media hype
       in order
       to sell
       pieces of culture
       like we did our land-
            in order to survive,
            so we claim-and
       is this land
       still enchanted?

   II. humos bailan,
             divujan
                 fantasías
             sobre
         una historia
                 fragmentada...

  III. siento fríos 
       correr                
          dentro
            mis pensares;
       escarcha
           y fastidios
         se acoplan,
              forniquéan-
          dejan
       huellas húmedas
               y olorosas
             como vestuarios
       para un futuro
           acercindoseme...

   IV. un oktubre                                 
          chillante
       y casi penumbroso,
       tu luna
       relumbra
       por momentos
       escandalizándose
       inorgullosamente... 

    V. fabled city, citadel of Quivira, 

       golden flecked dream
          bathing
       wanderers
          from Estremadura,
            Madrid,
          Sevilla,
       and other
       castanetted/ululated
           transparencies
       seeking
       the heart of Cíbola...

   VI. Santa Fé,
       I've seen your
           Spanish allegations,
       your vestments, pretensions,
          and fractious expressions, 
       in between
       the hispanic swaying hips 
           of artsy types 
       and the rcgormanesque displays 
           of mod-décor-indigenismé 
       hide worlds of mestizos
          and native american peoples 
       unrecognized by you...

  VII. chicos y frijoles, 
       solemna noche solitaria,soledad anciana,
       tierra roja
       y aveces amarilla,
       un norte
       cual pacientemente
       sonríe
       sobre las tonterías
       de turistas y vagamundos,
       tierra acariciante,
       fuerte
           y peñascosa,
       pinos, montañas,
           y mesas,
       poblaciones antiguas
       sobreviviendo 
       multitudes desdichosas
          invadiendo
       ruinas adobadas,
       norte bello,
       te reflejas
       en lo sútil
       de poemas 
       a la vez 
       que tus cañones y ríos 
       curten
       la experiencia humana...

 VIII. Santa Fé                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   VIII. Santa Fé, Taos,                                             
       ay, nuevo méxico norteño, 
       tierra encantada 
       estás en siesta mientras 
       un mundo 
          anglo-sajón
       intensamente busca
           formas nuevas
       para
           todavía seguir
       robándote
       lo poquito
       que no ban podido robarte,
       tú sonríes
       recordándote
       en aquellos entonces
       cuando vivías
       a las orillas
       del mundo filistino gringo...

  IX.  tourists                                                                                                                                                  IX.                      tourists 
       embrace 
       your spanish lace,
          santa fé,
       while hungered artists
       pose
       for a world
       permeated
       by images
       caricaturing
       the ersatz exótica
                         of near sylvan indo-mestizo-ness,
                             cute,
 bro,
 this of appeasing
 others
 at the expense
 of our self-respect,
 cuter still
 our penchant
 for smiling
 at the right moment
 or parading
 in almost designer
 native garb
                           in nambé movie night, 
                             yes,
                           let us dance for you, 
                            even celebrate you, 
                           we shall please you much, 
                           you may smack us or embrace us, 
                           we are so damn lovable, 

 
  
 

                         see us preen and shine for you,
                    we,
                           meskin-injun 
 modernistic in our
         new born fetishes, 
 beyond the surface
         of zoot-suiting 
 and onward into
         native-garbing, 
 adoberos, jacaleros,
 and little old raza people 
 cleaning acequias for your cameras,
 we spic-n-spanishize 
 reality for you, 
 artists of all ilks
 swishing silks, 
 in embudo, dixon, truchas, taos, 
 santa fé, santo domingo, san juan, 
 barelas, the sawmill,
 and even up to vegas & ratón, 

 here and there 
 a few artists dare to see 
 beyond the mockery 
 and in seeing 
 denounce everything, 
 yes, orlando, write your truths, 
 estevan sculpt your meaning, 
 denise indict your values, damn right, 
 do not please or appease 
 as rudy, amado, gorman, and others do, 
 let your art be an affirmation 
 which cuts
 through the gelatinous morass 
 of the heart of a-slum, 
 damn, but the torturous tortuga 
 is a litany of basted ultimatums, 
 ovulate your vision 
 from the organ mountains in your south 
 to the manzanos, sandias,





 sangre de cristo, and onto
 the passages and cañones
 of the north, cut
 through the quagmires and swamps
 of stultification,
 cast shadows
 which crisscross
 past, present, and future,
 suture
 time and space
 onto the filaments
 of creativity, damn,
 see
 your tiring city
 as it reposes
 in vestments
 which almost
 sybaritically
 proclaim liveliness,
 realize
 that Santa Fé
 can be more
 than
 an ambuient
 cultural/anthropological
 shard or artefact,
 write, paint, and sculpt
 a universe beyond shidoni
 and art fests
 where arts fester
             and can no longer pester
            one to think...

                        X.      floating mind, i see
 you,
 me,
 us,
 all I can be
 at this moment,



 

 my cock
 strains
 toward caresses
 while my mind is engaged
 with ideas and images
 born
 via breech primal screaming
 idiocies,
 I puff
 on my own reality,
 inhale hashoiled homegrown turbulations,
 and smile
 at a touristy multitude
 amortizing
 sentiment and vision,
 I long
 for something
 never once had,
 the sounds of another time
 ricochet
 off remembrances
 while reality
 is an art form
 beguiling primordiality
 with studious puffery,
 it becomes
 a shrill and hurting scream, 

 stand
 only
 where
 I
 can, 
 eyes
 cannotlook
 at anyone
 unless
 there is a reflection
 which engenders
 some meaning, some purpose,
 

 so much is a mockery, 
 cowboys caricature cowboys, 
 indians caricature indians, 
 hispanos caricature hispanos, 
 four wheel drive vehicles
 signify status/meaning
 as long as you have
 a primitive dirt road
 as a driveway
 for your overly expensive 
 adobe hacienda,
 I smell ristras de chile colorado
 as they decorate my vision, I hunger 
 for hot chile
 as my spittle drools over piñon nuts, 
 chicaspatas kachina bato, I 
 invert self into late night 
 holocaust movie, convoluted 
 and mentally polluted,
 I roam newly created rootlessness 
 between chimayó and nambé 
 as easily as we all have 
 through California, utah
 arizona, tejas, 
 colorado, chicago,
 a human quandary, a hurting
 depersonalization,
 mountains here
 can be
 as austere, foreboding, & alienating 
 as buildings in new york 
 or the plains of texas
 and kansas,
 miles of emptiness,
 buildings housing
 television addicts,
 no more language
 to confuse or confront us,
 no, just
 technological buttonizing,





 from los(t) álamos
 to white sands
 and down
 to a dead el paso
 where nothing-absolutamente
 nada-pasa anymore,
 just prettified
 tri-cultural plays
 and polite gatherings,
 smoke
 is
 smoke
 even
 if
 homegrown, 
 somehow it soothes 
 as it burns 
 through
 alcoholic stupors,
        and art 
 is not necessarily art, 
 sometimes 
 it is a strong mural 
 singing hope and beauty 
 while giving people 
 a deeper sense 
 of their being, 
 other times 
 it is a joyous sculpture 
 which cauterizes 
 feeling and thought 
 into a time binding realization, 
 or a poem or vignette
  giving form and meaning 
 to slanting Ilanos, 
 mostly
 it is many a mediocre attempt 
 at hiding from oneself....