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

Jack.