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OASIS MULEGÉ |
a gringo poet discovers he is trapped in an enchanting village of old Baja California |
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1.
the gringos say there is a myth
in el pueblo de Mulegéthat you can get trapped
here and never leavebut it only seems, at first,
that snowbirds come
back everywinter
to make feliz año nuevo
new year night
andday
as a small army of foreign fish
swimming through this rancherosea .
the curving
Top2.
valley
bends crescent
lagoon
green water
emerald palmsbelow mountain hills and
rocks of seven different
colorsmineral blue iron red
clay green lava chocolatebackground peaks fold the coast
to create and guide
the river canyon
living water
first come to surface
in jagged mountain arroyosholy baby stream wrapped in
cactus boulder swaddling rockstrickling blood of sierra where
Indians scratched & painted
their fading pastCOCHIMI
water brushes a wider valley
where today's cattle forageRANCHERO
then flows between walls of palm
toward a man-built dam of stonehere the priests built their misión
JESUITA/DOMINICANA
& just downstream
across the little riostill two miles from the sea
above the head
of a long & narrow tidal lagoonthe town took root and grew
este pueblo de Baja California
Santa Rosalia de Mulegé
- now just plain Mulegé -but nothing plain about this
little old
oasis villagebeside its carpet of hairy
palm tree headsnothing plain at all
about thishidden corner where Europe and America
meet a tiny outpost of Mexicobetween twin lagoons
of sweet and saltfresh and sour
the town waits
to capture you.
pelican flies broad-winged
Top3.
up the turning canyonplanes over
water body
stretch
and
bend
around the
corners of
arroyo
riothe only river
in many hours
or days
oftravel
all else is wild, dry
jagged, stony desertuntil this rare, wet canyon
where the pelican
Señor Pelicanoafter endless flight
along the rocky
coast of fishturns inland
to hunt the marshy swamp
and brackish tidal lagoonwith arcing bend
of heavy spread
he turns the cornerupstream
from salt mangrove
toward valley reedmeasuring wide palm tree
walls on either sidelike fur in his
wings gone feathershifting ever so slightly
no hummingbird possiblehe gives the slow turn through
barely five degrees of twistand then
catching some little movement
in his eyehe rises up, folds,
and plummetslike a rock
into the wet, flat waterto emerge
a moment later
in his own rippleshis mouth fat with supper.
two nights before new year
Top4.
Mulegé holds a wedding of
earth and sky, sea and landthe stars crawl overhead
town whore taps hotel door
and three bands battle for
rulership of the nightfor sacrifice, two young men
battle in the street until
their friends take them away
saying "vamos a la boda"next day
shops take siesta or don't
depending on customers and tradeand a distant rumor
reaches the poet's earswhen someone says
all the bus seats are sold.
at the highway junction into town
Top5.
- the "Y" - (la i griega) -a monument by the bus stop
celebrates heroic defensores
de Mulegé against invading
Northamericans154 years ago
today they buy groceries, eat tacos,
or wait for the bus on a shaded
concrete bench built for
summer's blazing sunthe poet, in the night of the
day before the end, walks
with Fred and Joe and Ben
past the I-Griega Marketto a roadside stand reputed to serve
los mejores tacos de todo Mulegéhe eats six in company with
gringos and Mexicanosa middleaged couple say "we were
just passing through when our
radiator hose burst - stopped
to have it fixed, and thought
we'd come over here
to try a few..."Another man, silver-haired, stands back
watching, declining the poet's offer to
move forward and order - "No, it's
magic just to watch them work -
he chooses the freshest meat every day,
and look - she never touches the money...
always uses a plastic bag..."I've been coming here for years, yes,
that's right, they told you true, these
are the best in or out of town"and like much in Mulegé, once you
taste it once, you'll never want toleave
again...".on new year's eve the village,
Top6.
ranches, and roads between all
merge for the last night
and first morningof a different millennium
the drinking town holds even more bands
than the night beforevisitor and local, Mexican and foreigner
all sit down and stand up together
to remember life is new and old
come again fiesta
feliz año nuevogracias a Dios vivimos ahorita
in the river next morning, the
qui-qui-qui coot calls
from lagoonto lagoonthis California
could have been
the Nilein miniature
and the foreigners and natives
like Greeks and Egyptiansdowning beer in the dead
rebirth of winternor any thought of new
world short order minimarketsor
telecommerce
from Los Angeles or Tijuana
could stand against Miguel in his cantinaor Emelia in her bar restaurante
or the hundreds local other slowly
working their shops, hotels, barsthree thousand Mexicans and five hundred
gringos, a very post-modern mix
of nuts and bolts, all sortsenfolding the village of ranchero birth
never forgetting whose is la patriaFrontera Baja California Sur
says
each license placa
carro inthis enchanting entrapping town.
the busses pass north
Top7.
without any open seatslucky few bought their
tickets weeks agopoet only got a one-way
southnow watches them go
January 1st, January 2ndwalks away to stare
@ the precious riverwhile a truck downshifts, dropping
from the pass, carressing the hills,
slowing to crawl the Y-Griega forthose inevitable speed bumps
which announce the townthen gearing up again on highway
bending new bridge across riversouth
[well, he's got through, at least]
a coot flutters his wings in water
preening and dancing for his matethe buzzards circle overhead
like eager aspirants for worktheir broad, straight wings stretch
to catch every updraft interviewevery carrion opportunity
but the poet, unable to
buy a ticketwalks beside the river, climbs that
rocky knoll behind the mission, looks
out over open water pathwayrippled by
breezy wind
which dropsbetween thick palm walls
to embrace
the curved lagoon facelacuna entre / between
dos lados / sides
de tules y palmas
where the frigate-pirate birds, riding
that gentle breath, bend their jagged
wings and dive toward the water, pretendingto fish
tempting smaller birds
to come out and be eatenthe poet thinks of hitchiking
watching
a folded wing, a false dive toward
the water, and thenrecovery
with a quick skim over the wet surface
that echoes the truck, speedbump and roadas
ten thousand palm fronds sigh in concert
their carpeted throat unrolled down canyonconspiring with the wind to
overpower the highwaycasting a spell of delicious sound
enchanting, entrapping, rustling thewanderer
until traffic growls and automobile
truck dreams become real again& poet remembers
hard world waiting out there, and
here - no seats on the bus...after all that talk, you
are trapped in Mulegé...and it's
time to look for a cheaper room.
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TJ Poemas |
Mesopoemix |
Gringo |