Adrian Castro

The Cantos

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead."

-Albert Einstein

1.

Who was the first person to think
yr life was only yours--
how long did they last
& furthermore where did they go?

We say we can move the ground we walk
we say we do this bit by bit
We tap the earth with a twig torn
from the guayaba tree
We make sure what's in front
what's in back
moves & we say
this is not an illusion
not a trick
we do this poco a poco/ihérehére/bit
by bit
We make sure those 21 children at the corner
skip & sing jingles
we do this by sprinkling palm oil/
corojo at their feet
poquito a poco poquito a poco

There are many sidewalks in any city
but everyone eventually goes home
eventually opens a tinydoor or drawer
or delivers a message
eventually bows to what will be
to what's going on
or what has been
Everyone eventually goes home

Miguel Manguera y Antonio El Bembón
who defined the act of brotherhood
were standing on opposite corners of la bodega
They often boasted how nothing
could distance them
On a certain Monday
a boy with an old man's face
strolled down the street
wearing a tall phallic-shaped hat
half red half black
He walked by once whistling a tune about two friends
then twice whistling the same riff
& on the third stroll
Manguera wandered over to Bembón& asked what
is this viejito up to
walking back & forth & back
with a huge black
cone on his head
And Bembón said "Black!
Nononono I saw an old man but with a red
hat!" "Red hat!
That viejito's head was black!"
Manguera y Bembón kept arguing launching
smoking vowels
vowels of ashes
until fists legs sticks bottles
began to
stones began to fly
Meanwhile the old-man-boy
sat on the curb laughing in spurts
Bembón y Manguera noticed the character's sense
of humor
For a
moment stopped fighting
ran across the street & growled
"Oye chiquitin
so it was you who played
the trick & triggered this clash"
But the cone hat said "I did not do such a thing (ha-ha!)
I was merely having my daily stroll (ha-ha!)
You see the wise mothers & elders look
behind all the angles
You see (ha-ha!)
my hat is both red and black"

Eventually a flap of dried palm fronds/
raffia/mariwó hangs at yr entrance
Many bushes challenge yr courage
some even whistle
A flap dangles red
when you enter black
when you depart
Don Masayá had chiseled above his door
"Never
follow your footsteps"

Sometimes people shed that patch of mud &
opt for a forest of cement
shed that patch of cement &
opt for a city of mud

Some time had passed before
Don Masayá shed his fertile river
if only temporarily
We've wondered if he saw the black of flaps
or the red of fronds on his exit
He always says he will return
but through another door
another drawer
And he does this while wearing
a red & black cone hat
he does bit by bit
and he does this
not for the hell of it...

Most people misplaced
the language of taping the road
of whistling like a flute
of fishing fruit with little hooks
Don Masayá stands at the corner
A drawer with a knob of palm oil
greets his feet
A giggle spills
Hands clap in spurts
The breath
whistles a tune with sugar cane
Eventually everyone recalled
The scent of a messenger
combined with words of tabaco smoke--
yet this was the smell of home

11.

They said
do not return quickly
from a place
that requires
patience

They cleared through the woods
with a saxaphone machete
Back in the 40s
Back in the 30s
the slit the dog's throat
& listend to its whistle
Smoking melodies from brass
clearing the path with a machete de trompeta
Mario y Machito with machetes of sound

This
is what happened on the day those
wrapped with white cloth summoned
several blacksmiths
The clothing claimed the gulf was full of
bamboo y bushes
Who would forge certain tools
maybe some chains
to gap the gulf
between this wet land & that
island who
would act the explorer the day
someone smithied a large knife

This was the death of dense bush
the seeded earth would be sewn
y soon there was more obstruction
The song of knives would need to
clank

Everyone had to pay the dues due
had to play that diana-diana
diana-diana-diana
play it sharp
before entering the marketplace "Bodega"
There was always a dog at the gate
there was always a dog about to
salivate
awaiting yr entrance

Don Masayá was a boy
when his father fanned the fires
that forged that large knife/
chucillo
They were there
Masayón y Masayá were there
witnessess to nothing to something
among flora fauna y beehives
Witnesses of the oaths sealed with 7 spikes on a railroad
Yet the boy already had been seduced
by basil blood & honey
enamorado de sangre albahaca y meil

We temper art like patience
like Masayá would later write a
hammer hoe or chisel
deep in the jungle of his home--
like he would consecrate oaths con nosotros
singing standing like a spike with machete in one
hand
a family of trains on his shoulder--
like he always told us
he'd return then leave then return
descending on a chain
like DNA

They smithied a message on white cloth
signed it with honey & basil
They said: "give us a brush a pen
drums or a chekeré
the path will take you there ..."
signed "M & M"
So the gulf was narrowed
with machetes of sound
So it was draped in white cloth
Mario y Machito lit the Afro-Cuban
& smoke the jazz
The artists promised access
to words on the chain
link by link
to the tune of the dancing knife
they said
dancing outside makes
thorns disappear

III

The arrow was flicked by its owner
straight to the source
the source was a belly telling tales
spilling sweet wails of eternal return
at the feet of an almond tree
surrounded by vacant bottles of anise

If you set yr traps in the jungle
you must walk carefully
around the fauna
When you build yr boxes of steel
yr caves of paper
be cautious among the fauna
The accusations
the searchings
that fall short of their intended targets
they hover heavily over yr good hand

Sometimes you can arm yrself with
a pen as a bow
a tongue as a drum like a
verb is a bullet

Don Masayá flicked arrows of metaphor
(strickly from the oral)
to see on whose belly they'd land
Who would incite the first lie?
And was an arrow the quickest route around it?
This style of rainbows
rainbow's motion
trailed his words
liike a particular accent
of heat mango conga y bembé

First you must puff libations to silence
invocations to stealth
There is enough static
enough exhaust
markets have become too big
the fruteros
la negra who sold ekó y cheketé
don't emanate from their albino cloth
the scent of sacred mysteries
Las antenas get jammed
our antennas se trocan

In search for their footprints
one can slip like
when yr eyes dim
or yr staff rustles loudly
not to mention
they might've worn their shoes
backwards
(old Indian trick)
So you denounce with yr bows
blue & amber
& carry a quiver of memory
You dance among a circle
You pivot east west north south
You shoot yr metaphore yr myths
everything in 6/8 rhythm

You make sure yr traps are hidden
yr traps have food
perhaps someone to witness the events
and most importantly: (Don Masayá once said with a patch on his eye-)
avoid the hunter's
ultimate disgrace--
be discreet among the fauna

On our way home to the stretched earth
we saw a family of deer
by the hissing creek
We understood this to be an omen
of abundance
for the deer has many stories to tell
& a belly full of metaphors

(to be continued...)

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©1997-2004 by Adrian Castro