La historia de Coatlicue (Artista invitada: Alicia Dudek)

As part of an assignment in my spring 2008 course, Flower and Song: Synthesis of Mexican Poetry, student Alicia Dudek illustrated the Aztec myth of Coatlicue. Alicia has graciously given me permission to reproduce her work here as Guest Artist!



Coatlicue, diosa de la tierra, barría en Coatepec, el monte de la serpiente.





Una bola de plumas de colibrí le cayó del cielo.



Coatlicue recogió las plumas resplandecientes y vibrantes y se las puso en el pecho.



Sorprendentemente, como milagro divino o bien como broma de los dioses, Coatlicue se quedó embarazada.




Pero su hija Coyolxauhqui se enojó y acudió a sus cuatrocientos hermanos para que atacaran a su madre. Decidieron matarla por su vergonzoso método de concepción.
Mientras tanto, Coatlicue dio a luz (y no sólo de manera figurada sino literalmente) al dios del sol.




Huitzilopochtli nació feroz, vestido en su armadura de plumas de colibrí y con su xiuhcoatl, una serpiente de fuego que era arma de los dioses.




Degolló a su hermana Coyolxauhqui y tiró la cabeza al cielo, donde quedó como la luna. Mató a sus cuatrocientos hermanos y los convirtió en estrellas.



Huitzilopochtli, el hijo heroico, se hizo dios del sol, y convirtió a su madre en diosa de la tierra.

De Andrades

An imaginary dialogue between two titans of Brazilian modernismo, Oswald de Andrade (1890-1954) and Mário de Andrade (1893-1945), full of references to their works and lives.

Oswald: Ô, Mário, como vai, o que comeu?

Mário: Quem comeu foi você, porém não leu.

Oswald: Ninguém lê tanto quanto você.

Mário: É mesmo assim, isso tem quem crê.

E aquela segunda dentição, caiu?

Oswald: ’Tava faltando você tirar o fio!

Só a antropofagia nos une, então.

Mário: E mais, segundo dizem, Um Só Coração.

Quando você vai devolver meu muiraquitã?

Oswald: Peguei não, Mário, o meu tem forma de rã.

Mário: Sapo boi, deve dizer: você foi quem pagou os apupos.

Oswald: Bem pagos. Se não, você não baixava o escudo!

Nem com a Pagu, quando você foi professor de piano dela.

Mário: Ela tem espírito de malazartes, mas eu as prefiro belaz!

Acredite nos quadros da Anita, da Tarsila.

Oswald: Ah, aquela Abaporu... só a Pagu podia segui-la.

Não agüento mais a rima! Somos modernistas enfim.

Mário: Bem: você, vá digerir nosso diálogo. Eu, vou comer amendoim.

The Colossus of the South

Imagine a continent-sized country with a tremendously diverse population united by a single language, with a super-sized economy and with a capital city built from scratch in a central location. A country where credit cards are accepted just about everywhere, where there is a sophisticated travel infrastructure especially regarding domestic flights, and where the citizenry can be characterized by its can-do attitude. The United States of America? The Federative Republic of Brazil.

Brazil is so singularly self-sustained that it has long since surpassed rival Argentina to become the economic motor of South America and one of the largest economies in the world. With the aggressive mandate of two-term president Luis Inácio Lula da Silva (known as Lula), who has defeated US agricultural subsidies in court and was generally successful in thwarting the Bush administration’s hopes for an Americas-wide free trade zone, Brazil has become an icon among developing nations. And it continues to develop its successful tourism industry, with the new designation and promotion of the “Rota Imperial” (colonial cities and towns in three states), growth in the number and acceptance of naturist beaches, also concert-themed tours, and its already well-developed ecotourism venues.

If Brazil were completely populated, with substantial cities in its interior of the same size as those along its endless Atlantic coast, then it would resemble the US even more. (The only thing missing is the development of the Amazon. The world hopes that will never happen, but in fact it happens a little every day.) As it is, the population and power are very strongly concentrated in the southeast, along the corridor that runs from São Paulo to Rio de Janeiro. Northern coastal cities (Fortaleza, Recife, Salvador) and southern (Curitiba, Porto Alegre, Florianópolis) are also quite important, but in all of Brazil’s vast interior the three substantially large cities are Brasília (the capital), Belo Horizonte, and the inland Amazon port of Manaus.

A Brazilian friend made a comment about the high desirability of her country's passports, because anyone of any ethnicity could be Brazilian. Some years ago I spent time in megalopolis São Paulo and found I could walk around unnoticed among people of many phenotypes, just like in many United States cities. The experience was similar in the port cities of Rio and Salvador. Regarding Rio, I can only confirm what everyone already knows about it as the world’s most beautiful city, but I can also proclaim what fewer people, perhaps, know, about Salvador: the center of the nation’s Afro-Brazilian culture, it is a stunningly enchanting city too, as I learned on two three-day tours of the city with a friend who lives there. I visited breathtaking beaches in both cities, and it wasn’t just the scenery that caught my breath: especially in Rio there exists a pervasive body-consciousness regarding fitness and beauty. (An abundance of overweight, pale, poorly dressed Americans, spilling out of the seats in a gate waiting area at the Dallas airport, framed my re-entry.)

And even though the danger of violence in Rio is real, Brazilians also tend to be inordinately approachable and personable. I heard some shots one night near where I was staying in Rio, and it turned out that one of the owners of the bed-and-breakfast had been attacked by someone on a motorcycle as he was approaching home in his car. He was not hurt but his car was damaged. The police showed up promptly and filed a report. I find impressive the ability of many cariocas (Rio residents), and Brazilians in general, to navigate knowingly between their casual, multicultural bonhomie and the tensions produced by an inordinately wide income disparity.

I met a Venezuelan woman in Rio who claims that her favorite places to travel are Brazil and Mexico. I completely agree, but her opinion is more noteworthy than mine because she has traveled around the world! And a colleague of mine says that the future of South America is Brazil. His opinion bears special importance because he is Argentine! Even beyond its immense economy and its status as an agricultural powerhouse, Brazil’s is a leading presence in music, the travel industry, film and television production, fashion, information technology, Internet use, even online voting technology. I am proud that the University of Tulsa implemented instruction in Portuguese (eighth most spoken language in the world) after I began teaching it here in 2005.

Santo Domingo on the Edge

Flashback: Dominican Republic, March 2004.

There is no beach in Santo Domingo, port capital of the Dominican Republic. The waves crash right up almost to the edge of the interminable seaside drive. No restaurants along the shore, hardly, just casinos that flash and flicker from the other side of the road. The drive from the airport at night along the oceanside is a long zoom through neon and open flame, the faraway casinos and burning trash.

Further inland, the colonial home of Diego Columbus—the country’s flagship cultural heritage site—appears about ready to slide down the bank of the Ozama River on its way to the Caribbean. The house perches on the edge of the rather dutifully named Plaza de la Hispanidad, a concept and setting wholly maintained by the mulatto descendants of Spaniards and Africans. Yet the visitor to Santo Domingo would search in vain for the Plaza de la Africanidad. Perhaps there is no such named plaza because in fact all plazas in the city are so inherently African that there is no need to commemorate such an identity. But the identity to exalt, especially with regard to the Haitian crisis on the other edge of the island, is the European one. Dominicans tend not to think of themselves as Black, because then they'd be Haitians.

In all of Latin America, the Dominican Republic is the only nation to have won its independence from a non-European country. The struggle was won against Haiti, itself newly independent from France. But the new nation sought successfully to become a Spanish colony again! When it finally won independence from Spain in 1865, it was in fact its second battle for independence. The Dominican Republic was occupied by US forces twice during the twentieth century. Arguably the Dominican Republic, like many other nations on small to mid-size islands, will always have trouble defending its sovereignty. Still, everything looks good for Dominicans when they compare their situation to that of Haiti. I happened to be in Santo Domingo shortly after Haitian president Aristide stepped down / was removed from power. Dominican soldiers, just returned from Iraq, sealed the border. There were some refugees and UN workers staying at our conference hotel. I saw a popular Dominican TV host interview a top Haitian official, in Spanish, about the crisis.

But the Haitian situation seemed much less important to Dominicans than their own impending presidential elections. A taxi driver, who had completed his law degree, told me rather dryly that he would kill president Mejía if he won re-election (Mejía lost to popular candidate Leonel Fernández in May 2004). In March, everywhere I looked people wore the colors of Fernández’s party, so I’m hoping Dominicans celebrate the fact that their votes were counted and respected.

Off the coast of Santo Domingo sits the massive Columbus Lighthouse. It’s shaped like a huge cross when seen from above, some twenty stories high. The building contains the remains of Christopher Columbus (a claim disputed by Spain), while the lighthouse on top is diminutive in comparison. It is a source of pride for only a few Dominicans; for most, it is a reminder of profligate governmental spending on grandiose projects that do little to help the everyday conditions of the populace. Beyond the beach, tourism in the country seems to be moving away from Columbus-mania toward ecotourism and African and indigenous culture tourism. Here’s hoping the Dominican Republic can wean itself off Columbus and his highly ambiguous legacy, to focus instead on the vibrant cultural manifestations of today.

Only the Blood

Flashback: Mexico, 1996 - before back-to-back PAN presidencies, the H1N1 virus, and the current intensity of drug violence...

Tonatiuh,
bonfire-born god of sun and sacrifice,
grimaces from the cloudless center of his calendar stone,
his squinting fists clutching and gnawing the hearts of his sustenance,
bracing himself for yet another step toward
post
modernity
in his ancient land.
His rays barely penetrate the choking cocoon of dirt and soot
that has erased Tenochtitlan from the Valley of Anahuac.
Below the smog, it is el 7 de abril de 1996
(no longer 8 monkey or 11 reed)
and the five sacred directions have dissolved into the ubiquity
of the plastic ritual artifacts
with their seven foreign symbols
that spell:
TIME SET.
On this day, 90 million souls of a proud nation
offer up 90 million hours of lost dreams,
and this sacrifice—in place of the blood of the new flower warriors—
will save, hour for hour, liter for liter, millions of tons
of precious PEMEX petroleum.
But
Tonatiuh will not rise any earlier on the bankers in Monterrey or on the artisans in Oaxaca or on
the merchants in Guadalajara or on the priests in Puebla.
The revelers in Cancún will not have one minute more nor less than the revolutionaries in
Chiapas.
Tonatiuh will not rise any earlier on the thousands of laborers who cross the timeless border
between postmodernities,
Or on the bureaucrats in the capital, the new priests of sacrifice, who will repeat their daily
mantra, unchanged:
Mañana.
Tonatiuh, the fifth sun, arises again imperturbably.
Digits and clock hands, hourglasses and sundials,
daylight savings,
mean nothing to him,
nothing.
Only the blood.

Agua Azul

The beautiful cascades of Agua Azul in Chiapas inspired this piece. The verses are mostly heptasyllabic with varying meter and assonant rhyme in the even verses, although this pattern changes in the final strophe.


Chapulines charlando
en la hierba rociada,
de encendidas estrellas
luminosa la red,
y en el río arrullado
la luna llena allana
escarceos de plata
del tapete a tejer.
Y suena el trueno del agua.

Mariposas flotando
en la espuma y la brisa,
y fogosas las flores
en el hondo verdor,
unos peces se esquivan
tras piedras escondidas
en breves remolinos
de tenue tornasol.
Y suena el trueno del agua.

Yo medito sentado
en las aguas azules
y la prisa del río
unas hojas captura
y ¿por dónde te apuras?
dejando el paraíso,
el que haces y a la vez
destruyes al seguir.
Y suena el trueno del agua.

Exu in the Threshold

With inspiration from the traditional way of opening candomblé ceremonies, I'm starting Macaw with a poem about Exu, trickster orixá of communications, crossroads, and possibilities, and distributor of the axé life force.

thrEXUold

dance

on a dime

spin

on the line

dip skinny

slip on the lip of

the slippery interstices

emerge, axé

the black cock

weathervane

when the wind is southerly

or is it north northwest

spins—heads

twists—tails

a heart a fist

an acorn an arrow

spurting syntheses

neither man nor woman

neither day nor night

neither in nor out

neither black nor white

but rather

everything on the contrary

and everything

in

between

Laroiê!