Have you heard of vortexes, leys,
places of intersecting energy fields,
natural power lines in the earth
magnetic perhaps?
Places often sacred
from ancient times and civilizations:
Native American, Celtic.
There's one at 44th and Upton,
Stonehenge is a famous one.
The trees are twisted in these places,
clockwise or counter clock wise
and with old, new age wisdom
the intersections can be divined
with an amethyst dangling on a chain,
the stone swinging in circles,
sometimes 600rpm!
According to the initiated,
clockwise movement actualizes ones dreams,
counterclockwise movement brings release.
The ronda goes counter clockwise.
On PBS there is a travel program about Turkey.
It show the famous Sunni dervishes
spinning in their trances,
turning counterclockwise.
I watch carefully
and get up off the couch to try it,
to be sure of the direction.
Wonder what they know
about the mysteries of counterclockwise motion
on the human heart.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
my silver pinkie ring
I have ring I bought at the flea market in Plaza Dorego,
a man's ring I'm quite certain
It has that little dreaming angel
from the ceiling of the Sistine chapel on it,
it's head resting in the upturned palm,
an image very popular with those that
believe in angels and
like Victorian and country things
It's not quite round anymore,
molded to the finger that wore it (I imagine),
to countless milongas
where it witnessed scenes of
real-life-soap-opera drama
on the edge of the pista,
betrayal, lust, impossible love
A talisman familiar to
his wife
his lover
his favorite partners
Who, I wonder, upon his death
fought over the precious heirloom
or
was it discarded for pennies
in a rummage sale
disposing of the contents
of his rented room?
a man's ring I'm quite certain
It has that little dreaming angel
from the ceiling of the Sistine chapel on it,
it's head resting in the upturned palm,
an image very popular with those that
believe in angels and
like Victorian and country things
It's not quite round anymore,
molded to the finger that wore it (I imagine),
to countless milongas
where it witnessed scenes of
real-life-soap-opera drama
on the edge of the pista,
betrayal, lust, impossible love
A talisman familiar to
his wife
his lover
his favorite partners
Who, I wonder, upon his death
fought over the precious heirloom
or
was it discarded for pennies
in a rummage sale
disposing of the contents
of his rented room?
Vampires
Last summer in an orgy of trashy novels
I read ALL the Anne Rice vampire chronicles.
One disheveled secondhand
paperback copy after another.
I'm secretly amused by the similarities I find.
I could be in one of those books,
rising from my lavish coffin
as the sky turns shades of midnight blue, burgundy, granite.
(Vampires see very well in the dark according to Ms Rice)
dressed slightly over the top,
off to taste the delicacies of the night.
None of her vampires dance tango,
but they should.
They would understand the soul-wail of the bandoneon
and the mourning of Gardel over his lost city and loves.
The rage and rebellion of Pugliese and Piazolla
crashing over their critics and jailors,
Eternal outsiders all.
Their bodies crave only the sweet blood of their victims,
a facsimile of passion from their past human life.
As wanton in their desire as any human
seeking intercourse of the usual kind.
They drink in the memories of their prey
with the blood.
I read ALL the Anne Rice vampire chronicles.
One disheveled secondhand
paperback copy after another.
I'm secretly amused by the similarities I find.
I could be in one of those books,
rising from my lavish coffin
as the sky turns shades of midnight blue, burgundy, granite.
(Vampires see very well in the dark according to Ms Rice)
dressed slightly over the top,
off to taste the delicacies of the night.
None of her vampires dance tango,
but they should.
They would understand the soul-wail of the bandoneon
and the mourning of Gardel over his lost city and loves.
The rage and rebellion of Pugliese and Piazolla
crashing over their critics and jailors,
Eternal outsiders all.
Their bodies crave only the sweet blood of their victims,
a facsimile of passion from their past human life.
As wanton in their desire as any human
seeking intercourse of the usual kind.
They drink in the memories of their prey
with the blood.
Monday, October 17, 2005
La Flor de Metal/Buenos Aires
Outside the Museo de Bellas Artes,
on the pampas-size lawn there is a single flower.
giant man made petals.
The heart of the flower
exposed to politics and acts of God,
the petals reaching for the sky.
Enormous, red.
Tiny lights
along the edges
for night.
Seen from the shoulder of a 767
or the back of a taxi,
It sparkles.
According to the back of the postcard
it is able to open and close every day,
with the rising and setting of the sun.
My guide tells me it has opened and closed
only once,
on the day it was made.
It's stuck.
Open.
on the pampas-size lawn there is a single flower.
The heart of the flower
exposed to politics and acts of God,
the petals reaching for the sky.
Enormous, red.
Tiny lights
along the edges
for night.
Seen from the shoulder of a 767
or the back of a taxi,
It sparkles.
According to the back of the postcard
it is able to open and close every day,
with the rising and setting of the sun.
My guide tells me it has opened and closed
only once,
on the day it was made.
It's stuck.
Open.
The baby buggy
My friends carry me
a new born divorcee
still reeling from the experience of birth
away to Buenos Aires
in a baby buggy with silver wings.
Like new parents, they make sure I get good food to eat,
enough sleep, exercise and mental stimulation.
We settle into each other's biorhythms and
I live for 2 1/2 weeks in the present tense only
(which is also the tense I am learning castijano in).
They introduce me to their friends and favorite places
make sure I see all the must see spots,
Recoleta, Plaza Doreggo, the Obelisk!
They take me out to the milongas like taking a toddler to the park for the first time.
I carry my own key and money when we go out at night
"just in case" they say.
I stand at the top of the "slide" and look down-
decide it's still too scary for more than 3 minutes at a time.
a new born divorcee
still reeling from the experience of birth
away to Buenos Aires
in a baby buggy with silver wings.
Like new parents, they make sure I get good food to eat,
enough sleep, exercise and mental stimulation.
We settle into each other's biorhythms and
I live for 2 1/2 weeks in the present tense only
(which is also the tense I am learning castijano in).
They introduce me to their friends and favorite places
make sure I see all the must see spots,
Recoleta, Plaza Doreggo, the Obelisk!
They take me out to the milongas like taking a toddler to the park for the first time.
I carry my own key and money when we go out at night
"just in case" they say.
I stand at the top of the "slide" and look down-
decide it's still too scary for more than 3 minutes at a time.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Revelations in the subte
Revelations 21:19
"...and the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones..."
-- The apostle John describing new Jerusalem, King James Version
I go down to come up in this man made heaven.
The walls of the subte are tiled with gems created of earth, human
hands and love.
They walk by oblivious to Paradise only an arm' s length away.
I get on and off on just to quarry it for my mind's eye.
In exchange for 70 centavos
I get a transfer good for 3 hours and a subterranean treasure hunt.
Malachite Mediterranean themed murals.
Iridescent earth-colored Edenic scenes of pastoral bliss.
Lapis-blue arabesques.
No graffiti here, no need.
That they save for government buildings
-kill the monkey.
"...and the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones..."
-- The apostle John describing new Jerusalem, King James Version
I go down to come up in this man made heaven.
The walls of the subte are tiled with gems created of earth, human
hands and love.
They walk by oblivious to Paradise only an arm' s length away.
I get on and off on just to quarry it for my mind's eye.
In exchange for 70 centavos
I get a transfer good for 3 hours and a subterranean treasure hunt.
Malachite Mediterranean themed murals.
Iridescent earth-colored Edenic scenes of pastoral bliss.
Lapis-blue arabesques.
No graffiti here, no need.
That they save for government buildings
-kill the monkey.
The cats of Recoleta
The souls of the dead come out to play?
These are not the skinny feral mange-infested cats that used come out
of the scrub behind my house in California.
Or the spooky matted barn cats with the eternal litter of kittens in
my grandmother's hay loft.
Like Egyptian/Argentine royalty they materialize from the underworld
into the watery sunlight of April.
Sleek, perfectly manicured and coiffed
Two sit meditating the ruin of their neighbor's monument.
One sleeps, sprawled like a heavenly king,
an orange god-cat in the middle of the miniature street
oblivious to the tourists.
We are the only pilgrims to the city of the dead
witness to these stone valentines
made to honor past beauties
and redeem fallen scoundrels
with marble and stained glass.
These are not the skinny feral mange-infested cats that used come out
of the scrub behind my house in California.
Or the spooky matted barn cats with the eternal litter of kittens in
my grandmother's hay loft.
Like Egyptian/Argentine royalty they materialize from the underworld
into the watery sunlight of April.
Sleek, perfectly manicured and coiffed
Two sit meditating the ruin of their neighbor's monument.
One sleeps, sprawled like a heavenly king,
an orange god-cat in the middle of the miniature street
oblivious to the tourists.
We are the only pilgrims to the city of the dead
witness to these stone valentines
made to honor past beauties
and redeem fallen scoundrels
with marble and stained glass.
Toothpaste from Argentina
This morning, the morning after, I reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste.
The taste of 747 cabin air still on my tongue.
The tube proudly declares that it is sugar free! even to me with my smattering of Spanish comprehension.
Only in Argentina, plastic surgeon paradise and designer jean heaven would they think to put THAT on a tube
of toothpaste.
I check my new tube of Crest in the bathroom closet. It has "sorbitol" and "saccharine" on the list of ingredients but
the label is more concerned with obliterating plaque, gingivitis and tooth decay inside my mouth.
Is my mouth SUPPOSED to be germ free?
Only in America would they think sterile = healthy.
I decide to use the Argentine toothpaste.
Am I home-
or not?
The taste of 747 cabin air still on my tongue.
The tube proudly declares that it is sugar free! even to me with my smattering of Spanish comprehension.
Only in Argentina, plastic surgeon paradise and designer jean heaven would they think to put THAT on a tube
of toothpaste.
I check my new tube of Crest in the bathroom closet. It has "sorbitol" and "saccharine" on the list of ingredients but
the label is more concerned with obliterating plaque, gingivitis and tooth decay inside my mouth.
Is my mouth SUPPOSED to be germ free?
Only in America would they think sterile = healthy.
I decide to use the Argentine toothpaste.
Am I home-
or not?
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Blue and white ribbon
You see it everywhere-
Painted curlicues of blue and white ribbon
around the numbers on the collectivo,
blue and white ribbon tied around paper packages of media luna
and little snippets on labels of dulce de leche and jam.
They love her.
On the hand painted sign
and the made-for-tango-tourists-like-me t-shirt
I buy outside Recoleta.
They sell her.
On the tattered poster of the world champion futbol team in the pizzeria
and the endless game on the TV hanging from the ceiling.
They celebrate her.
On the Plaza de Mayo the grandmothers,
They mourn her.
Painted curlicues of blue and white ribbon
around the numbers on the collectivo,
blue and white ribbon tied around paper packages of media luna
and little snippets on labels of dulce de leche and jam.
They love her.
On the hand painted sign
and the made-for-tango-tourists-like-me t-shirt
I buy outside Recoleta.
They sell her.
On the tattered poster of the world champion futbol team in the pizzeria
and the endless game on the TV hanging from the ceiling.
They celebrate her.
On the Plaza de Mayo the grandmothers,
They mourn her.
La Confetieria Ideal
Like a body suffering hypothermia,
conserving heat,
sacrificing the extremities
to preserve the precious heart.
We walk in
past one tray of desiccated pastries
in yards of dusty glass case,
all the chairs up on the tables
and
a bare bulb in the ladies room,
no toilet paper.
From up stairs the sound of Muchachos de Tango
six bandoneon players,
none of them under 70
but playing like a heart attack.
In the air the extra tang of possible disaster
due to stroke or aneurysms on stage
added to the usual mix of music and bodies
foreign and local.
Like going to a bullfight.
conserving heat,
sacrificing the extremities
to preserve the precious heart.
We walk in
past one tray of desiccated pastries
in yards of dusty glass case,
all the chairs up on the tables
and
a bare bulb in the ladies room,
no toilet paper.
From up stairs the sound of Muchachos de Tango
six bandoneon players,
none of them under 70
but playing like a heart attack.
In the air the extra tang of possible disaster
due to stroke or aneurysms on stage
added to the usual mix of music and bodies
foreign and local.
Like going to a bullfight.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Hide and Seek
When I was little we used to play games in the dark, kick the can, hide and seek, capture the flag.
Everyone played.
Joanie, the little blonde curly top
(I would have killed to have that hair!)
from the top of the street.
Her dad smoked!
And they were Catholic!
And she was an only child!
I ate baloney sandwiches every time I was there for lunch-
Bliss!
The Stevens sisters,
one fat, one skinny,
there were lots of other kids in that house too but we played with them.
Me and my little sister,
the scary big boys from the house
that you couldn't see from the street 'cause of all the overgrown bushes,
the ones that sometimes chased us home after school
for the fun of seeing us scream.
In the dark.
Under the streetlights and in the really black shadows
next to the houses and in the backyards,
all up and down the street.
In the yards of people that had kids and some that didn't.
Whether they wanted us to or not.
I still play games in the dark.
Everyone played.
Joanie, the little blonde curly top
(I would have killed to have that hair!)
from the top of the street.
Her dad smoked!
And they were Catholic!
And she was an only child!
I ate baloney sandwiches every time I was there for lunch-
Bliss!
The Stevens sisters,
one fat, one skinny,
there were lots of other kids in that house too but we played with them.
Me and my little sister,
the scary big boys from the house
that you couldn't see from the street 'cause of all the overgrown bushes,
the ones that sometimes chased us home after school
for the fun of seeing us scream.
In the dark.
Under the streetlights and in the really black shadows
next to the houses and in the backyards,
all up and down the street.
In the yards of people that had kids and some that didn't.
Whether they wanted us to or not.
I still play games in the dark.
shopping list
My friend is going to Buenos Aires and asks if I have a shopping list. Yes, I tell him but nothing you can bring back.
I want to smell autumn on the strange trees that grow there, taste the stollen from my favorite bakery, hear the traffic outside the window early in the morning and the lovely round sound of Spanish on an Argentine tongue. I want to feel the water close by in the texture of the air, see familiar faces on the street going in the same direction as I am-to class or a milonga at 2am.
I want to be in a place where people still know how to make things and fix things and creation is considered everyone's job and comes as naturally as breathing. I want to take two hour lunches and naps so I can dance till the wee hours. I want to know the man I buy my bread from and the girl that does my laundry.
I want to live in a house like an old movie starlet, glamorous, full of memories and gently decaying. A place with a key in a shape my grandmother would remember, questionable plumbing, marble floors and an orchid growing out of a crack on the facade like a beauty mark on her ancient face. Can you bring that back??
An Argentine exile without an Argentine passport.
I want to smell autumn on the strange trees that grow there, taste the stollen from my favorite bakery, hear the traffic outside the window early in the morning and the lovely round sound of Spanish on an Argentine tongue. I want to feel the water close by in the texture of the air, see familiar faces on the street going in the same direction as I am-to class or a milonga at 2am.
I want to be in a place where people still know how to make things and fix things and creation is considered everyone's job and comes as naturally as breathing. I want to take two hour lunches and naps so I can dance till the wee hours. I want to know the man I buy my bread from and the girl that does my laundry.
I want to live in a house like an old movie starlet, glamorous, full of memories and gently decaying. A place with a key in a shape my grandmother would remember, questionable plumbing, marble floors and an orchid growing out of a crack on the facade like a beauty mark on her ancient face. Can you bring that back??
An Argentine exile without an Argentine passport.
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