Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield.
It’s probably been obvious to everyone but me that this blog has become much less about San Miguel and much more about me and my musings – and I suppose a certain shift towards discussing music more frequently than I had. Anyone in search of life hasta el momento will be disappointed. I’ve even begun to use photos from other places as I’m not seeing things to photograph here. I no longer write about the things that everyone comes to San Miguel for, such as the traditions, architecture, and culture. In part that’s because I’ve already written about them and I haven’t revisited them. I was reminded of this when last weekend los Indios danced in front of the Parroquia and los tambores drummed far into the night and the tourists’ watched and filmed for hours. I know this because Dolores told me.
The boy in the schoolyard
As it had all morning the sky continued to gray
Until I could see from the bed on which I lay
The jacaranda blossoms, lavender now, in truth.
On a swing in the schoolyard, a boy moved slowly
Clutching the chain of the empty swing beside him
Much like a nation grasps the reins of the horse,
We’re in a season of rain and the boy oblivious
To the molecules, those gods and goddesses
Of motion and moisture, of density and direction,
Moved his legs just enough to bless
The arc. He continued, while around him
Came the throng, shouting and squealing,
In the tree that shades both he and me, justice
Has but one decree: grow. Bough by bough, there exists
Nature’s balance until it is no more, and no morality
Will bring shelter to the souls whose solitary risks
Once bore fruit. Unplayed, music cannot be heard,
While displayed words do not reveal sense to the
Sometimes the music can only be felt
Found on NPR and yes it’s an ad, and I guess it’s viral due to Samsung’s self-promotion, but it’s still moving. Istanbul residents learned sign language to create a special day for Muharrem Yazgan, a neighbor.