A Grackle Calls

The sound of a pebble as it rises,
raucously scraping the sides
of a musical pipe filling with water:
this sound and no other
--the call of the grackle--
awakened me,
from outside the window.

Before my eyes could react, my ears dominated sensory input
and resuscitated associations:
the window would open out from the middle,
onto a sunny but chilly crystal morning framed by rows of arches,
and the volcano lovers hovering above.
The grackles would surely be strutting around the little lake.
Juan and I could hurry past the playita to breakfast and chow on chilaquiles.
Where was my spiral notebook with my notes for Antropología de México class?
Would I happen upon that amiga especial today?

Twenty-one years later,
the pebble-riding pitch-rising
call of the grackle
sounded again,
and my eyelids retracted.
I was not in bed in the Dormitorio de Hombres at the Universidad de las Américas in Cholula.
I was in bed in my house in Tulsa, Oklahoma,
where I have lived for eight years
with that amiga especial
without once hearing
a zanate.

Had the zanate lost its way,
becoming, at some latitudinal checkpoint,
a grackle?

I tossed the blankets and stumbled to the window,
which opens up,
not out,
and found a wintry morning still wrapped
in its own blankets of fog.
I saw no bird.

Some illusioned philanthropist later informed me
that great-tailed grackles are common in Texas
and have been seen as far north as Iowa.
But these are mere ornithological observations.
That scrannel grackle's
disembodied cackle
was a message sent to me from Puebla,
over the borders of many states on either side of la frontera,
carrying far and loud across the foggy sea of sky.

And the message was a call
to recall.

a malhação da língua

a malhação da língua
à malhação da língua
a malhação dá língua
as malhas são da língua
                  dai a língua
ao linguajar do limiar
malhando e limando a língua
na lingüística lambida da lambada
a malha da língua d'água
                 dai a língua
às malhas molhadas da língua
a malhação na praia
as línguas de fogo da frágua
malhadas de transe da transa
                 dai a língua
a falação da língua
a fala do falo da língua
a frágua das chamas da língua
no lago das águas da língua
                  dai a língua

El mapache y el tlacuache

The rhythm and the dialogue structure of this lyric are based on "El comal y la olla," one of many well-known compositions for children by Francisco Gabilondo Soler. As "Cri-Cri" the singing cricket, Soler was a celebrated radio personality on the Mexican airwaves from the 1930s through the 60s.

El mapache le dijo al tlacuache,
"¿Cola pelada? ¿Cómo te atreves?
Si piensas que no das tantita pena,
búscate dónde andar sin pieles.
No sé qué te dio por estar encuerado,
sin taparte, ni esconderte.
Ni tu cola, ni tu hocico, ni tus crías
siquiera la decencia tuvieras de envolverles."

El tlacuache al mapache le dijo,
"¿Enmascarado? ¡Qué altanero!
Si intentas enseñarme a mí lecciones,
procura verte en el espejo.
¿Cómo puedes jactarte de moralista
mientras ostentas lentes obscuros?
Tanto tus ojos como tu precioso rabo
los tienes tan tatuados que no te puedes ni verlos."

El mapache al tlacuache le dijo:
"Protege nomás a tus hijos:
que lo único tapado en tu persona
es tu panza con tu bolsota.
Dejas al aire toditas tus partecitas,
y la pena, también la quitas.
Mientras tanto cubres justo lo que menos
hace falta que lo tapes, y eso pa' llevar tus crías."

El tlacuache volteó pa'l mapache,
"Lo que tienes es un complejo.
¿De dónde sacas que el cuerpo da vergüenza?
Si da alegría, ni lo piensas.
Ves el mundo con los ojos encuadrados
cuando debes desvendarte.
¿Por qué tantos anteojos más aritos
si es mejor sentir desnudo tierra, viento, sol, y río?"

El mapache le dijo al tlacuache:
"¿Vivir desnudo? Puras sandeces.
Será mejor morir a que me vean
sin mis rayas, ni mis lentes.
Me gusta ocultar todas mis carnes
tras la ropa. Es camuflaje.
Pero admito que me baño sin mi traje
y me seco pronto si me expongo directo al aire."

El tlacuache al mapache le dijo:
"¿Ya lo viste? Vive sin miedo.
Puede ser más fácil quitarte las capas
de la ropa que de actitudes.
Una vez que pruebes tamaña libertad
--marca libre, unitalla--
empezarás a ver al mundo muy distinto
y querrás hacer nacer de nuevo todos tus sentidos."