Jack and Rudy
In memory, blessings
Rudy and Kari Sierra.
she is looking for the love she is looking for the love —Jack Foley, from Sangye Gives Me A CD, from When Sleep Comes: Shillelagh Songs
In the last days I lost two friends. One was a marvelous poet, a champion of poetry. The other was a guy who knew more about cars than anyone I’d ever met—which if you are from Brooklyn means something—and was a champion of sobriety. Both were champions for humanity.
Friends—I have had to change (for the second week in a row) my plan for Poet in Mexico. I hope no one is bothered.
I am taking a moment to celebrate Jack Foley and Rudy Sierra.
This feels a good moment to say I love you to the world they loved so much.
I got to read this poem this past Monday night in Oaxaca and dedicate it to these two good men—the poem is from Volverse/Volver—the translation is by Efraín Velasco, who read his version. Gratitude to him.
Abrazotes.
Reading with Efraín.
grief and magic my wandering eyes wandering side shows sliding into calling doves then the dance danced too quickly spell cast by mourning clothes changing light we dress in twilight appear in each other’s dreams the century has no past no future without ruins no revival carried on winds tombstones parking lots feather balloons house for a home it’s where we’ll live in the centuries to come our footprints amber and ashes tea tins under tree roots and out to sea there’s no place like the voyage the journey these are boat and train a bus ride at night upstate New York mountains or Oaxaca south pilgrims vagabonds saints sages calls to carry our burdens set down the trees laced spiders their webs the oxen sleep there’s music the wind the straw the dance of straw in the fields duelo y magia mi vaga mirada vaga / hacia escenarios laterales deslizándose / al llamado de las palomas / entonces el baile ejecutado / demasiado rápido el hechizo / lanzado por el duelo el vestido cambiando / la luz vestimos / en el crepúsculo aparecemos / en los sueños de cada uno de nosotros / el siglo no tiene ni pasado ni futuro sin ruinas / no hay resurrección / llevada sobre los vientos lápidas estacionamientos una pluma unos globos / una casa es hogar es donde viviremos por los siglos de los siglos / nuestras huellas ámbar y cenizas té latas debajo de los árboles las raíces / y hacia el mar / no hay lugar como el viaje el trayecto / estos son barco y tren un camión conduce por la noche hacia el norte las montañas de Nueva York o hacia el sur de Oaxaca peregrinos vagabundos santos sabios llamados a cargar nuestros fardos / tumbar los árboles / las arañas trenzan sus hilos los bueyes duermen / ahí está la música el viento la paja la danza de la paja sobre los campos





I love it Mark. Muchas gracias amigo.
Thank you, Mark...