Márquez en Mississippi

Indio,
inculcado surreal y peláo
del demótico inquieto,
arrepentido,
sudando en el extranjero.

These dusty roads reject you.
These suited passengers reject you.
The grey bus driver rejects you.
This language rejects you.
Faulkner rejects you
along with the confederate ghosts,
they will always reject you,
then memory begins to reject you
and all you can find is dejection.
Rejection,
a spit on the mote in the eleventh eye of the fly
dying on the cornstalk, unblinking.
A slap on the rump of the mule by the stump
in front of the train station, unthinking.
Monotonous question,
“throats so wide and gules so gluttonous,”
what were you thinking?
what was you thinking?

No existe ninguna vellonera especial
con música imparcial en este país.
No existe
ni ardor ni perdón
ni el infierno sin calor,
ni estas miradas de odio sin dolor.
No existe ninguna razón
en darle valor
a este lugar retrocedido donde
todavía tienen los graneros encendidos
iluminando sus tendencias prejuiciadas,
ilustrando una alma arruinada
que no permite igualdad de color.

Barnburners,
bona fide, incarnate, and real,
feel the flame broiling behind their sockets,
fingering the imaginary noose in their pockets.
If they could make you swing
they would make you swing
and you would swing quadroon,
quintoon, octaroon, hexadecaroon,
whatever the hell you are,
a good for nothing coon,
whatever you call yourself,
moreno, mustee, mustefino,
colombiano de nacimiento muy fino,
un inocente, columbino pero atrevido,
no? Descarado, imprudente, caraduda,
de esto no hay dudas. Fijate:

You come here searching for your fiction,
for your romantic tragedy of tangible descendants
redeemed by the imposed desecration of civil war.
Fool. Imbecile. Here you find an embellished
fantasy of dignity unaffected neither by expediency
nor circumstance. Not a chance. No greater liberation
prevails other than pride. Understand?
Discover our intransigent affliction, this pride.
We shall not be moved, not by emotion
nor sentiment, nor adversity or calamity,
misfortune or scourge.
We will endure any and all invasions
and occupations, whether from within or without,
whether from local or national governance.
Bathe in our wrath, breathe our resolve.

This is our actual microcosm as witnessed,
the rest is simply drama read in some book.
So go home. You are not welcomed.
These antebellum mansions reject you.
The inchoate trees with incipient branches,
the tangled clay roots wrapped around muddy boots,
the gaping cannon mouths in pristine cemeteries,
the yawning drunks waking up in the hostelries,
we all reject you. We reject you now,
we reject you then, we’ll reject you when.

Indio,
inculcado surreal y peláo
del demótico inquieto,
arrepentido,
sudando en el extranjero.

Advertisements

About Rumrazor

Just a malcontent surviving in Los Angeles, working the news, writing the poetry, making the films.
This entry was posted in My Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Márquez en Mississippi

  1. Eric Lawson says:

    Believe it or not, the “what were you thinking/what was you thinking” lines drew me back more than once. Even if it was a typo, please don’t change that! Am I missing anything by not knowing the Spanish phrases? It’s a heartbreaking poem, Angel. Heartbreaking and beautiful, like my memories of living in the South.

  2. rumrazor says:

    The purpose of the double line repetition is to illustrate that they have their own language and grammar in the South.

  3. venomousharridan says:

    “You come here searching for your fiction,
    for your romantic tragedy of tangible descendants
    redeemed by the imposed desecration of civil war.
    Fool. Imbecile. Here you find an embellished
    fantasy of dignity unaffected neither by expediency
    nor circumstance. Not a chance. No greater liberation
    prevails other than pride. Understand?”

    Love it all, as usual, but I love this section most.

    Funny, being a New England Yankee, I am probably as much a foreigner in the South as Marquez would be.

  4. manicc1977 says:

    I’ve included this blog post to my social bookmarks

  5. Ariel Marie says:

    For me, this became a blend of a Mexican ‘Waltzing Matilda’, Tijuana Cartel, and Hemingway. A great cocktail.

  6. rumrazor says:

    Gabriel Garcia Marquez took an infamous trip to Faulkner country in Mississippi in 1961, smack in the middle of the Tougaloo Nine and the Jackson Protests and Freedom Rides. He was shocked by the way he was treated, even by the intellectuals who hosted him. He returned to Mexico City, where he was a foreign correspondent to a Venezuelan newspaper at the time, and immediately began outlining 100 Years of Solitude.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s