Chicano Poet

Thursday, January 05, 2006

jim sagel

like the pages of a book
that the wind pushes
towards a dark blue mystery
pass our lives

the smiles of my friend
will no longer give me pleasure
he’s in a space
sketched by a northern pencil
out of the luminous fiber
of his consciousness

after the service is over
we’re attacked by the confused
emotions of why

why dear friend

why not


it was my decision


respect it

a cape of blue gray clouds
cover the sacred mountains
of the Tegua

there I see
brother Herminio
making love
to a girl
behind the chicken coop

there I see knowitall understandnothing
deliberating where or not
he has the guts
to cut the throat of a goat

there I see Pedro
cutting his own hair
so that when Mrs. Sebastina comes
she will not recognize
his chaotic soul

there I see a lot more

I take two steps
and I am on the road

of legends
and medicinal plants

the sharp humor
of a gleeful dance
that provides the light
while the stories

of culture arrive
Indian and Hispanic
interwoven forever

like you loved
the mountains and the people

I continue to love them

the lowriders and dawns

I keep seeing them

the stories of the ancestors

I keep hearing them

did you love everything that much

everything has accumulated in my spirit
an eternal energy

I repeat why

everyone has to die

yes but we should all wait
for the moment

I choose my own moment

destiny should bring the moment

well I beat destiny

but we have
a moral responsibility

morality is relative
you know that

was it your decision

it was my right to make the decision

and you erased your future

life is not
necessarily short
what follows is eternal
and I give myself to it

but you were going
to accomplish a lot more here

I loved a beautiful woman
and I wrote a few poems and stories
the rest wasn’t that important

you were going to have a future
as a brilliant writer

I never wrote
to become famous

people will remember you

I believe my friends
will remember me

but with time…

that doesn’t bother me
time does not exist

it’s getting late
the church is the blurry recipient
where hearts flower
and become dust

the planet rotates
like drunk love

I hear my footsteps
in the cosmos
looking for a warm nest
to lie down in and meditate
the ambiguous significance
of desire
that makes us
do things

goodbye amigo

goodbye community
colored by fiction

in the making of existence
and in its re-invention
by Jim’s pencil
maybe this piece
of northern New Mexico
will be more real

by Cecilio Garcia-Camarillo
translation copyright@2006 by Reyes Cardenas


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