death’s many signatures in Sicily’s quicksilver seas 
the moon and its argent micronauts 
uncounted in the recesses of Sierra Madre 
actors with faces of timeless burros 
named Cárdenas foraging in sugar cane 
coldness at the center of the sun 
seventeen years or forty-nine years 
the instant is the same for whatever happens 
the body is only the thought of the body 
incense and wharves of the conquistadores 
liana and ivy snares at the hour’s second end 
how often this occurs and cannot recall 
the why and which the who and wherefore 
the canals of Tenochtitlán lose their way 
among withered rooftop garlands  
I remember nothing after pushing the green button 
but salutes of armless angels the rose 
through which a river pours and summers that 
belong to memory’s only syllable and heat 
the roar of Aetna’s ovens twenty marigold flowers  
Narcissus and Hyacinth eye and pulp of 
repercussion blindness of water and depths 
where night’s riddle threads an unheard harp  
calacas y calaveras ! thousands at play 
with missing fingers nameless deities 
in a single afternoon making rosaries of light 
smoke snaking through vowels of perpetuity  
toys that imitate sleep’s small noises  
tender the hair that falls around the wing 
shimmering hues of nacre consonants 
why is speech so difficult today ? 
colibrí ! ruby-throated messenger of death 
clouds the size of silence and glass 
motion and gravity have lost all sense  
evening fades in the vestibule of echo 
one hand seeks the other  
in an abyss of shape 
darkness of words  
dos mariposas de la noche ! 
 
11-01-20 

​​​​​​Ivan Argüelles is a Mexican American innovative poet whose work moves from early Beat and surrealist-influenced forms to later epic-length poems. He received the Poetry Society of America’s William Carlos Williams Award in 1989 as well as the Before Columbus Foundation’s American Book Award in 2010.  In 2013, Argüelles received the Before Columbus Foundation’s Lifetime Achievement Award. 

​Por/by Rafael Jesús González

Consejo para el peregrino a Mictlan
(al modo Nahua)

Cruza el campo amarillo de cempoales,
baja al reino de las sombras;
es amplio, es estrecho.
Interroga a los ancianos;
son sabios, son necios:

— Señores míos, Señoras mías,
¿Qué verdad dicen sus flores, sus cantos?
¿Son verdaderamente bellas, ricas sus plumas?
¿No es el oro sólo excremento de los dioses?
Sus jades, ¿son los más finos, los más verdes?
Su legado, ¿es tinta negra, tinta roja? --

Acepta sólo lo preciso:

-----lo que te haga amplio el corazón
--------lo que te ilumine el rostro.

​Advice for the Pilgrim to Mictlan
(in the Nahua mode)

Cross the yellow fields of marigolds,
descend to the realm of shadows;
it is wide, it is narrow.
Question the ancients;
they are wise, they are fools:

— My Lords, My Ladies,
What truth do your flowers, your songs tell?
Are your feathers truly lovely, truly rich?
Is not gold only the excrement of the gods?
Your jades, are they the finest, the most green?
Your legacy, is it black ink, red ink? --

Accept only the necessary:

-----what will widen your heart
----what will enlighten your face.

Note: Mictlan is the Nahua people’s name for the land of the dead.

Rafael Jesús González is a poet and essayist, known worldwide for his writings and efforts to promote peace and justice. © Rafael Jesús González 2018.