Tuesday, November 10, 2009

breaking into salsa (4)


breaking into salsa

for the new world school of the arts dancers

breaking into salsa on the down or
moving the accent from bantu “1”
to arara “2”, stirring up the cancion,
coming on like a searing heat, the
juvenescent couples burn a flirtatious
encuentro, replete with pelvic thrust
& coital brush, boy chases,girl avoids --
then waits to be caught. hips creating
flowing, wave-like eruptions, flowing
with the hoarse stacato voicings of the
caja, mula y cachimba, the yuka drums
reeking of congo, of palo mayombe or
the batas, okónkolo, iyá & itótele, sacred
to şango, after he exchanged ifa’s tablets
with sage orunmila for the great gift of
dance, para convertirse en la divinidad
de la danza; if brazen young hips & feet,
or youthful swinging arms & tossing heads
could sing un alarde canción, they might
boast of inventing romance on a sultry
miami night.

©Joseph McNair

Monday, November 9, 2009

el dia del cajón (3)


el dia del cajón
for kiki sanchez & the afro-peruvian project
the despairing african, spurned
by his gods, angolan, antillean or
otherwise, who pined away until
only the sound of his coughing
death remained to ride the currents
of time --a sound which lapped
& soaked the trunks of ancient
trees like a mighty swollen river;
became embedded in the resonant
woods which thru’ some efficient
cause became spanish shipping crates
or small dresser drawers awaiting
the passion-pounding of magical
hands to free them from their
utilitarian disguises; to become the
box-like cajón, whose dark rhythms,
the festejo, lando, socabon, pregon,
zamacueca, & alcatraz, seduced,
then caressed the whimsical charango,
mandolin-made from the tortoise or
armadillo shell & together invoked
the mermaids.


©Joseph McNair;2009

Thursday, November 5, 2009

whence came u, spirit?(2)


whence came u, spirit?

whence came u, spirit?
¿de dónde vienes?
to possess the song,
el cante jondo, the dance,
baile flamenco y de estilo
flamenco de la guitarra?
to billow & engorge the
spinning skirtswirl of the
bata de cola?

are u fellahmengu
percussing the wind?
a palma clapping, golpe
stomping peasant spirit?
a morisco hiding among
the gypsies? or are u epiritu
sephardi flamante taking
the head of this hispano-
arabic bailaora,

spinning her so magically
around. see her zapateado,
her two feet, legion, a drum
roll, el redoble de los tambores,
this duende, like the compás,
speeding up, slowing down,
speeding up again, propelling
her thru the sequences of
a misterioso, a passion play!

jaleo!!!

©Joseph McNair;2009

Monday, November 2, 2009

un poema para los mariachis (1)


un poema para los mariachis

for raul araujo & mariachi mexico international
golden-throated buskers in
studded traje de charro tip their
wide-brimmed hats & play.

a colonial guitarrón prowls
melody’s sensual slums
like el aguacil,

the five string vihuelas &
acoustic guitars wheel, swoop
& spin a sweet chordal capote.

those postcolonial violins &
postmodern trumpets preen like
horny juglares angelical,

caress the romantic rancheras of
jiménez & infante, or
fernandez.

amaneci en tus brazos,
cien años, de qué manera te
olvido!


timeless, handsome charros,
who remove their hats to sing
into a senorita’s ear.

emblemas de todas las cosas
de méxico… & all things lush
& romantic.




© Joseph McNair; 2009

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

the ruler of…(12)



the ruler of ...
for marc edmund jones & his sabian symbols

the ruler of the nation...

the tortoise made hermes exclaim “u are a joy to me,”
steal its pretty tortoise shell & turn it into a lyre.
the four-eyed goat made eşu declare “u will not see
what i do!” he made ebo & exposed the goat a liar.

a christmas tree decorated…

the heathen vainly cuts a forest tree, adorns it
with silver & gold, & fastens it with nails to appease the
gods! eşu scoffs at the christian who knows not that to
live free of privation, one must please the gods.

a finger pointing to a line in an open book…

fingerpointing is prerequisite to reading words when
vision is weak or distracted; one cannot scan a line
of text without losing his place. eşu needs not fingerpoint
to impute blame or make one lose his place or face.

frost-covered trees against winter skies…

frosty trees, dark, gloomy skies, the freezing cold &
snowfall, repeating patterns all & specific to winter. eşu,
like the human mind, is often cold & repeats tiresome
patterns; punishes us today for misdoings done tomorrow!

through bankruptcy, society gives to an overburdened
individual the opportunity to begin again
...

tis not society, but eşu, who finds the line delineating this
& that; blurs it. finds the divinely pure & clean; sullies it.
finds the lowly & abandoned; lifts them up; rewards &
confounds the foolish & the good.

a hen scratching the ground to find nourishment for
her progeny...

the scratching of hens not only finds seeds & the
occasional worm to feed their young, but cleans off the
magics laid down on the ground by enemies. those who
befriend eşu are seldom troubled (or for long) by enemies.

a formally dressed elderly man stands near trophies
he brought back from a hunting expedition…


the old man longs for the jungle, to humble himself again
in the arms of the wild. he looks upon his trophies as
emblems of a deep, terrifying vision of love. eşu reveals
unfathomable levels of soul knowing.

a human soul seeking opportunities for outward
manifestation ...


every incarnate soul should be grateful for the gift
given it, thankful that eşu has opened the way for it to
come again; thankful to ọlọrun who has given it a new
body, breath & destiny!

in a circus the bareback rider displays her dangerous skill ...

this rider has iwá-pẹlẹ, has balance & coordination & can
ride the steeds of change without equipment to compensate
for errors, has made ebo to eşu; has developed good character.
all good things come to those with good character.

a powerful statesman overcomes a state of political hysteria...

he fed his ifá a ram & a he-goat as his awos, the sons of
wind, thicket, trees & ropes, advised. he knew that he
would prevail in any crisis so long as he fed his ifa & eşu,
& listened to the advice of his awos.

a man revealing to his students the foundation of an inner
knowledge upon which a "new world" could be built…

“learn u the efficacy of patience for such is as constant
as heaven & earth. patience requires forbearance & resistance
to the temptation of vengeance. leave vengeance to the
divinities who will intervene on the side of righteousness!

having passed through narrow rapids, a canoe reaches
calm waters...

what human suffering may come is but the dark before
dawn. forbear & be patient, child of earth, temptations reveal
yr weaknesses, but to resist them makes u strong. eşu tests
& tempers yr mettle.

a dentist at work...

eşu works the permanent parts of our lives, the bony sub-
stances & soft inner pulp -- parts under threat like decaying
relationships -- filling holes, straightening or repairing that
which is broken or taking them out.

a path through woods rich in autumn coloring...

from too old to work & too young to die to reaping
entitlements given a life lived well & the stories,traditions
& knowledge borne & told, eşu, the crotchety old time
tester, rewards those who make sacrifices.

pelicans menaced by the behavior & refuse of men
seek safer areas for bringing up their young...


my errant thoughts have abandon their nests, leaving their
eggs to be trampled or exposed to predators. where will
they find new nesting grounds & solemn sancturary?
iba eşu, please open that road.

a hindu yogi demonstrates his healing powers…

"arise... approach the great beings & know the truth!"
eşu demands we know the truth within existence, the
reality beneath appearance & the immortal which gives
meaning to our mortality. In this way shall we be healed!

© Joseph McNair;2009

Thursday, October 8, 2009

effeuiller la marguerite (11)


effeuiller la marguerite
for the oxeye daisy

o perennial prostrate herb
arrayed in white ray or yellow
disc flowers, growing pertly
on stem’s end, unbranched
& sprouted laterally from a
creeping root.

what turn of fate brought u
to these intricate, prehensile
juvenile hands, which one day
may fashion clay creator-like,
or wield a knife assassin-like,
but today

attached to a wistful, moonstruck
african boy sitting close-eyed &
alone in a narrow, pedestrian lane,
behind a graying urban building,
plucking yr petals one by one,
needing to be cocksure

of love.

©Joseph McNair;2009

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

pomba gira (10)


pomba gira
beneath yr sway i have fallen, not once but
many times,
drawn to u like a shark to blood
in the water, yr comeliness,
a solicitation,
a knowing brush of a playful hand against my


tumescent need; u who are spouse to the
first among òrìşà,

the one who goes whither he pleases, is bound
by neither
law nor rule, who flows against
destiny through the cracks
& crevices of fate,
along the seams separating parallel worlds
&

multiple realities, over the precipice of human
folly; who
tests us at every crossroad & punishes
us today for what we
may do tomorrow – do u
really exist apart from him or are
u just one of
his many paths?


i invoke yr aid, pomba gira, because i cynically
know u will
help the truly desperate. when no
other òrìşà will answer
the plea, yr patronage is
always for sale & u always get paid
in advance.

u have led me to wives & lovers convinced that
i
was the magical piece missing from their lives;
that i could
& would complete them. they would
dazzle me with incompar
able enticements to keep

me from leaving; to keep me from
seeing what
they were hiding – those potent secrets best
kept
away from prying eyes:

a father’s salacious abuse piled on an innocent
who kept
the faith & family secret – the serial
violations visited on
an innocent so very
desperate to belong;


or the innocent tricked into fellating a trusted
family friend
while in his care; who with fearful
infirm purpose received
a perverse prize for
good behavior.


or yet again the innocent, abandoned on a refuse
heap
beneath a blanket of flies; who seeks self
worth in real life
pulchritudinous jackpots &
episodic debauchery.


or lastly, the innocent exploratory body play
among siblings that
turned terribly serious &
sexual; underscored by the death of one
& the
overwhelming neurotic guilt of the love-addicted
survivor…


& of course i saw them, these secrets; learned
about them. these
wives & lovers had a salubrious
need to tell their secrets to me &
i heard over
their whispered confidences eşu’s raucous
laughter.
had i just listened

to them, they
might have healed on their own,
might have purged themselves in nonjudgmental
ears; drained the
poison of the past from their
deep emotional wounds. might have
forgiven
those who caused them pain;

might have forgiven themselves
. but i couldn’t
leave any of it alone; i had to help. i had to dress
my
need to control in therapeutic whites & tell
them what to do. i had
to be right at their expense
& play upon their guilt. some I drove
screaming
into the night; drove all of them all away.


how many times have i come back to u, pomba
gira, with my thirty
pieces of tribute & the same
supplications that hope for a different
ending?
are u truly a sacred harlot or merely the hand of
eşu squeezing
my scrotum?

can u translate my sexual indiscretions into a
series of
great mystical rites or do u expose me
for the fool i am?
are yr breasts, so round, so
plump & firm, the enticing,passion fruit
of love
or merely eşu’s prurient tools to plunge me into

debauchery’s
murky depths. can those lips of yrs
that so glibly lie, mouth the sacred
mysteries i
crave i? is yr well of delight a redemptive revelation
or a
cauldron of concupiscence?

are u a divine sexual road in disguise or
just a
metaphor for human hubris at best?


©Joseph McNair;2009