PATAGONIA

I have known
Patagonian summers,
white noon of Austral solstice;
valleys of poplars and apple-trees
sleeping siestas between table-lands
pencilled on a background of unreal sky.
Cooing of pigeons in the hot air,
a resonant mantle over all things.

I have known
solitude impregnated
with mysterious consonances
on gray spaces of the steppes.
I have sensed
forms of timid creatures
mimic grasslands,
hiding from mortal eyes.

The beauty of the steppes endures,
enigmatic,
under gray-green fabrics
God weaves over the land.
Sovereign,
Andean heights watch
with sharp eyes of a condor
the quietude of plateaus.


Sometimes,
when I daydream of Patagonia,
I hear moving melodies
from her lakes and rivers.
I picture pools of sacred water
crying out for the devastated land,
where winka sinks his teeth
and spills Mapuche blood
during dark centuries
denied.


Notes:

Winka = Foreigner, white man, eventually liar.
Mapuche = People of the Earth. Earth People.
mapu = everything, all, cosmos, earth
che = people

So perfect. Like the truest book embossed with diamonds. You have climbed the mountain top and seen the pebbles crushed to sand, such is the movement of the land. Solstice impregnated is so spot on and poetic.

Wow...I don't know what to say! Your comment is so poetical, I think you could thread the words into a poem.
So glad you like it, Antony. I wrote this one a few years back. It's been published a couple of times, also in a Spanish version.
Thanks so much for reading and commenting.
Hope you bring on some more poetry of your own. Things have become quiet. A shame.
Syl

What a stunning poem, Syl. I don't think I can offer anything on first read, but will return. This makes me want to reflect on my own childhood awhile. Perhaps I'll gain inspiration from this one.

Hugs
Eira

I've enjoyed reading through this over and over, looking for something to suggest. I might pause at a line and think, hmmmm.... Is that really the best way to say that? And then think, well, yes.... So I have nothing to offer you, except that I have appreciated you posting this gem.
Heather

Glad you like it, Eisa. It would be nice to be inspired about your own childhood. Do bring on some new poem, I love the way you write.

I know you've got some troubles to deal with, but do return and nit a little when you feel like it. You always inspire me with your critiques.

I'll be away for a couple of days, as I'm going with my daughter Diana to a stunning mountain and lake resort about 300 kms. from here. We'll be staying at the house of a mutual friend, whom we haven't seen since out Buenos Aires days.

Hugs, Syl

Hello Heather!

Great to see you around again. Do feel free to critique whatever you please. If you pause and think Hmmm...then there's surely a better way to write some of my lines. I'm never entirely satisfied with my work, but I expect that happens to most poets.

I'm looking forward to seeing some of your new poems, or if you have some oldies, bring 'em on as well!

Thanks for your encouraging comments,
Syl

Love the other worldly scope of this. The opening lines reminded me of Blade Runner when Rutger Hauer recounted his planetary visitations

Thank you, Antony. I saw Blade Runner ages ago, so I don't recall much of it. It was not an easy movie to understand...at least for me. Maybe if I get the DVD I would enjoy it now.
I appreciate your comment and will perhaps do some googling of Blade Runner, so as to understand your association.
Syl

"A resonant mantle over all things" a beautiful phrase, and a lovely, resonating poem. The land is in your veins.
I couldn't resist sharing one of mine I wrote in Colombia yours reminded me of:

Promise

Black under-soil
cradles thriving plants;
tree wings hover
iridescent blooms,
after star-riddled sleep,
flow fire in hazy dawn.

Outside a bodega
una chica Colombiana,
deep black, shouts
into the hustling steet air.
Planted inside her
ancestral magic grows
richer than the soil.
She offers sacrifice,
fire of her birth.

Steamy inlets nourish acres of loam,
lavish all present with harvest.

In shade roused by breeze,
calloused hands cradle opulence.

Lovely place, these southern climes, Cheers, R