Gelman and the politics in poetry

Argentine poet Juan Gelman (1930-2014) died last month. President Cristina Fernández proclaimed three day’s of national mourning. Argentina’s flags flew at half-mast. Yet there was no state funeral for Gelman. Instead his ashes were spread in Mexico on the slopes of Popocatépetl.

Such was Gelman’s admiration for writer/poet Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1648-95) that he had asked that his ashes be spread near her childhood home in Nepantla. His widow and friends fulfilled Gelman’s request by tossing his ashes from a railroad bridge into a fast running stream.

Gelman had been living in exile in France when his daughter, son and pregnant daughter-in-law were seized by a repressive Argentina government in 1976. His son and daughter-in-law were killed; their infant child disappeared. Gelman spent 20 years in an ultimately successful search for the child. Throughout his life, he used his poetic voice to bring attention to injustice. Gelman relocated to Mexico and for many years wrote from here for Argentina’s “Página 12.”

Each time I visit the Sor Juana Museum I take a detour to that bridge. On the way is an abandoned steam locomotive. It may be the same locomotive that broke down around the turn of the 20th century leaving Mexican poet Amado Nervo (1870-1919) and other passengers stranded in Nepantla for three star-lit hours. Nervo wrote about his delight having time to walk the same streets Sor Juana had walked as a child all the while wondering which had been her house.

Amado Nervo became the Mexican ambassador to Argentina and Uruguay. When he died in Montevideo the Uruguayan president dispatched the cruiser “Uruguay” to repatriate his remains.
I asked Digs collaborator Carol Hopkins “what is it about poets — especially Latin American poets — that earns them such acclaim?” She answered by quoting other poets.

“A good poem speaks volumes in mere words,” Indian poet Meena Alexander has said. “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. In time of violence, their task is, in some way, to reconcile us to our world and to allow us a measure of tenderness and grace with which to exist.”

A British anthology of poetry published last October, “In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights,” contains poems about slavery, indigenous human rights, massacres, genocide — even the current war in Syria. The book’s editor, Helle Abelivik-Lawson, says: “Reading and writing poetry is a therapeutic way to process some of the darker aspects of humanity. That said, it’s not all doom and gloom — there are some very empowering, fun and funny poems in this book.” 

Many of Carol’s favorite poets are singer-songwriters. Harry Chapin (1942-81) often gave three concerts a day, donating 50 percent of all proceeds to world hunger programs. When asked about his commitment on a radio program, Harry answered, “Pete Seeger was asked the same question. Pete said: ‘I don’t know whether anything I’ve done has made a difference in the world.’ This said by a man who stood up for every progressive cause of the 20th century. ‘What I do know is that my commitment to those causes has allowed me to be with the people with the live eyes, live hearts, live heads and that has been its own reward.’”

Two weeks after Juan Gelman’s death, Pete Seeger (1919-2014) died. Though they used different mediums, both spent their lives in the ether of poetry, struggling for justice while enduring heroic clashes with governments that tried to silence and imprison them. Both were fortunate to live long enough to die lionized — Gelman acclaimed throughout the Spanish-speaking world; Pete Seeger invited to sing at President Obama’s inauguration — and at Occupy Wall Street.

Last Sunday, in a long ranging conversation, I asked Minneapolis-based writer/poet Alison Morse for her view on why Latin American poets gain such acclaim. She told me: “There is a tradition in Latin American poetry of having the responsibility to be the bearer of news in poetry. It’s about giving voice to things that can’t be given voice to. There is a different view of language in Latin America — it involves turning language into art. Reading poetry in the United States isn’t as important as it is here.”

Referring to Mexican poet Javier Sicilia, who ends every speech and article with a signature paragraph that begins with “Además opino …” (“Furthermore, I am of the opinion that …) followed by a listing of the political demands of the social groups he supports, Alison said, “That’s poetry!” Adding, “If he did that in the United States he’d be a Saturday Night Live skit. On the other hand people would probably love him. Maybe poets in the United States just aren’t as brave. However, there are some U.S. poets that are really proud they’ve been banned from school libraries in Arizona. Banned because they’re too political or because they have other languages in their poems, besides English.”

Perhaps it all boils down to what Max said to Liesel in the wonderful new movie The Book Thief. “Words are life.”

An arch of seeds

Late in the afternoon on September 7, the Virgin Mary will leave her niche in the altar of the Nativity of Jesus church in Tepoztlan, Morelos and go out into the market to buy flowers.  When she returns to the church she’ll encounter the gift the market’s shopkeepers have been working on for her since July.

Tepoztlan’s market vendors will be offering the Virgin Mary their twentieth mosaic triumphal arch.  It, like its predecessors, will be left on display for 10 months. Then it will be removed and destroyed or cut into sections.

Triumphal arches are a tradition introduced to Mexico by Spaniards in the 16th century.  Rather than comemorate a triumph in battle, they are used to honor or welcome a distingushed civil, military, or religious authority.

In the late 17th century Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz designed what may be the most reknowned of such arches in Mexico.  She was commissioned to design an arch for the western entrance to Mexico City’s cathedral to welcome Viceroy Marquis de la Laguna and the vicereine.  This was not an arch meant to be walked through hurriedly. It was meant to be admired, studied, and understood. A pamphlet accompanied it. The viceroy and vicereine saw lagoons and nautical content which they understood as alluding to them. They were so impressed they asked to meet the artist who had designed their arch and were  surprised to learn she was a cloistered nun who could not even be present for the occasion.  Sor Juana later became a close friend of the vicereine.

More recently when Raul Vera made his entry into San Cristobal de las Casas in 1995 as bishop he rode and walked under floral arches offered to him by each of the parishes in the diocese. 

In the Mexican tradition, the arches are temporary and removed shortly after the occasion for which they were designed. 

What sets Tepotzlan’s arch apart is how it is constructed. It is an intricate mosaic though not made of traditional tile. Rather it is decorated with close to a hundred varieties of seeds, grains, and beans glued to a particle-board backing. The whole thing is attached to a metal frame the shape of the arched entrance to the courtyard of the church.

Each year the design and story on the arch is different.  Tepoztlan artist and architect Arturo de Meza presents his project to the mayordomos of Tepoztlan for their approval.  They sometimes have had him make changes in the content but for the most part it is approved as he presents it.

The mosaic is assembled by volunteers, assigned to various tasks according to their abilities. Supervisor Rafael Carrillo didn't show me the full sketch, but he led me to think that this year’s arch will be of the traditional legend of the Tepozteco. In previous years the arch has shown parallel stories with prehispanic scenes on one side and Christian scenes on the other -- much like Italian Rennaisance parallels between Old and New Testament stories on opposite sides of a church sanctuary walls.

Last week I watched volunteers of all ages working on different parts of the arch glueing on the seeds and beans and grain. Others were extracting seeds from pods. Some were slicing individual beans to go where they were designated. Mr Carrillo says the quality improves every year as the volunteers aquire expertise in the technique. 

I also got to see the 16th century arch that is covered for most of the year by the Portal de Semillas (Seed Gate). It has on it a symbol-- a 30 centimeter (12 inch) circle portraying a Christian cross on top of a human skull.  It is a symbol frequently found in Mexican 16th century church architecture.  When I’m asked about it while visiting other churches I have three possible answers.  Is it Jesus’ cross on the hill called Golgotha, which means skull?  Or a portrayal of the victory of life over death? Or is it the graphic portrayal of Jesus’ blood dripping from the cross through a crack in the ground and landing on Adam’s skull as I read about in the Church of the Holy Sepulchure in Jerusalem?

This symbol will be covered back up on September 7th. That day, around 5:00 p.m., the Virgin Mary will leave Tepoztlan’s churchyard and go into the market.  She’ll go to buy flowers, which of course no vendor will sell her. They will always give them to her. When she returns the 450 year old cross and skull will be covered with a beautiful, brightly colored mosaic carefully and lovingly made by people of Tepotzlan from their harvest of seeds and beans.

Celebrate Sor Juana

Mexico is unusual in having portraits of poets and artists featured on its currency.  Literature Nobel laureate Octavio Paz (1914-1998) is on the twenty peso coin.  Nahuatl poet and ruler of Texcoco Netzahualcoyotl (1402-1472) is on the hundred peso bill.  Poet Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1648-1695) is on both versions of the two-hundred peso bill.  Artists Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera are on the five-hundred peso bill.    

Sor Juana's birthday is this Saturday, November 12th.  She may be a Valentine’s baby; particularly appropriate for a love-child.  Juana’s mother, criolla Isabel Ramírez, was born on the slopes of Popocatépetl and baptized in Yecapixtla in present-day Morelos.  Her first three children were born out of wedlock.  Juana Inés de Asbaje y Ramírez de Santillana is registered on her birth certificate as a “daughter of the Church,” a euphemism for the unmarried state of her parents.  The paternal figure in Juana's life was her highly literate maternal grandfather.  

Though an hacendado, Juana’s grandfather Pedro Ramírez de Santillana didn't own his two haciendas.  They were leased from the church for the span of three “lifetimes.”   This interesting arrangement was typical of the time.  Juana's mother inherited the contract for the second generation, Juana's sister Maria, the third.  It was a family of strong women and Juana was no exception.

Juana Inés was born in Nepantla, now in the state of Mexico, in 1648, though some say 1651. There she lived for three years before she and her family moved to Hacienda Panoayan, at a higher elevation and closer to both Popocatépetl and Iztlaccíhuatl.  

Unless they were cloud-covered, Juana saw those snow-capped peaks every day of her life.  The corridor running from Yecapixtla through Nepantla and Panoayan to the historical center of Mexico City was the extent of the area she lived and traveled during her 46 (or 43) years.  Yet even in her lifetime, her poems, plays, and prose permeated the Spanish-speaking world and have grown ever more appreciated through the following centuries. 

By all accounts Juana devoured knowledge from the earliest age.  Bilingual in Spanish and Nahuatl, she read by the age of 3.  She had access to her grandfather’s extensive, esoteric, and multi-lingual library allowing self-education in many academic subjects. Through the library Juana gained access to a world mostly unknown to women of that day.  At the precocious age of 8 she won a town prize for a surprisingly mature poem about the Eucharist.

Juana was soon sent to Mexico City to live with her aunt and uncle, Juan de Mata, a man of influence in the viceregal palace.  At 15 she was presented at court.  From ages 16 to 20 she lived at the palace as the personal companion to the vicereine and soon was well-known for both intellect and beauty.  When she was 17 the Viceroy Marquis de Mancera famously tested Juana’s learning and intelligence by inviting great minds from New Spain to examine her on theology as well as various scientific and literary subjects.  Her performance is legendary.  The viceroy celebrated the accomplishment by saying “she defended herself as a galleon against a slew of canoes.” 

Juana resisted pressure to marry.  At 19 she chose the other available option -- entering religious life.  Her first incursion was harsh and did not allow intellectual development.  She returned to the court and after some months a wealthy donor provided the required dowry for her to enter the more comfortable Order of San Jeronimo.  

San Jeronimo required seclusion but allowed visitors and in the case of Sor Juana, the continued pursuit of her intellectual activities.  Indeed, Sor Juana’s multi-storied “cell” with an extensive library, scientific and musical instruments was a sought after salon for discussion and learning -- the world came to Sor Juana.  Convents of that day enhanced the cultural lives of the aristocracy by providing theater, concerts, and schools.  Juana became known as the Tenth Muse.  Her life and work have made her a model for modern-day feminists. 

Sor Juana enjoyed protection and friendship of successive viceroys, one of whom was also archbishop.  The departure in 1686 of Viceroy Marquis de la Laguna and Vicereine Countess of Paredes led to Juana’s poetry and drama being published in Spain to enthusiastic reviews.   Unfortunately their exit also led to closer scrutiny of Sor Juana’s work by a misogynistic, jealous clergy and she became a target of the Inquisition. 

In 1693 Juana signed a penitential document in her own blood.  “Yo, la peor de todas.”  I, the worst of all.  Promising to no longer write, she allowed the church to sell her library of 4000 books and her musical and scientific instruments and requested proceeds be donated to charity.  Octavio Paz, among others speculates that instead of being an act of penitence this was the last act of an unrepentant, cornered intellect.  On April 17, 1695, after nursing her fellow nuns, Sor Juana died of the plague. 

Delve into your pocket for 200 peso bills.  Not for a donation but to see some views of Sor Juana’s life.  Both old and new bills have Miguel Cabrera’s portrait of the poet. Background to the portrait on both bills are books and writing materials, symbols of her literary life.  There are even five miniature lines of one of her most famous poems!  On the back of the new 200 peso bill is Hacienda Panoayan framed by her beloved Popocatépetl and Iztlaccíhuatl.  On the old bill is the Convent of San Jeronimo.  It is noteworthy that both bills use her secular name Juana de Asbaje.  Might that have been her preference?

Converging in Yecapixtla

Located in the higher portion of the State of Morelos, above the altitude in which sugar cane grows, Yecapixtla survived the 19th century sugar boom and the many haciendas’ insatiable demand for labor that subsumed many of Morelos’ villages.  It survives as a town of prehispanic origin at the base of snowcapped Popocatepetl.  As an important population center it was chosen by the Order of St. Augustine to be the location of one of its more stunning church and monastery complexes.  Thursday of this week would be a grand day to visit that town just north of Cuautla.      

Thursdays and Sundays are market days but this Thursday, in addition to its regular food market, Yecapixtla's will be one of the largest Days of the Dead markets in all of Mexico.  Vendors from surrounding states will travel to Yecapixtla to sell everything one might need to decorate an altar, to host the return of the departed next week when they come back to visit their living relatives.  Yecapixtla's market on the Thursday before Days of the Dead is its largest market of the year and has its origins in a pre-Hispanic festival honoring the birth of Yacapitzauac, a deity who acted as a guide for travelers and protector of merchants.  In Yexapixtla this festival/market has been observed in one form or another since the 1330’s making it another example of the syncretism of Catholicism and prehispanic religious practice.

The State of Morelos' contribution to Mexican cuisine is usually thought of as Cecina de Yecapixtla.  Cecina is very thinly sliced beef, salted enough to preserve short-term without refrigeration.  The market is ringed with small restaurants and 'puestos' offering 'tacos de cecina'.  You'll be asked if you want them "con todo" which includes cheese, sliced and grilled flat leaf catus (nopal), avocado, and onions.  It is one of the grandest tacos you'll ever eat.  In order to savor the pure cecina taste, I recommend that you order a plain cecina taco too.

Although the town is prehispanic, Yecapixtla is centered  around a 16th century Augustine Order monastery.  It is part of the Ruta de los Conventos, an unusual UNESCO World Heritage site -- the Route includes monasteries  scattered throughout Morelos.   Originally constructed by the Franciscans, a small church was built on top of a sacred site of Yacapitzauac.  After a fire destroyed the Franciscan church the Augustinians (1535-40) rebuilt a much larger church and monastery dedicated to St. John the Baptist.  It has been speculated that Yacapitzauac, like St. John, is depicted with a staff and that this would be more acceptable to the indigenous population. 

Be sure to have two old two-hundred peso bills with you -- the larger of the two types of 200 peso bills which are currently in circulation.  In the top left corner of the front of the bill there is an intricately designed half circle.  Invert another, similar bill, over it to make the full circle and you'll have a copy of the gothic rose window over the main entry.  It is one of the very few rose windows in Mexico from this time period.  Though the window appears pure Gothic it was, like most of the work in the churches of that time, executed by skilled indigenous artisans who perhaps surreptitiously inserted elements of their culture and faith in the window frame. 

Happily the exterior of the monastery conserves its original austere and elegant design.  The interior of the sanctuary was gaudily redecorated in the early twentieth century and is so tasteless that a metal plaque in the ground level corridor of the monastery laments changes that damaged the beauty of the interior and the originality of its design.   In the cloistered monastery portion of the building, under INAH (National Institute of Anthropology and History) supervision, the walls and vaulted ceilings have been taken back to the original 16th century decoration revealing stunning multi-colored geometric designs.  Upon entering the walkway your eyes will be drawn to the ceiling as in religious buildings of Moorish design.  This is natural, as after eight hundred years of Moorish domination, Muslim architecture had been fully integrated by Spain.  Christian religious scenes with portraits of church leaders were added later as Augustinians developed their own artistic style.  

   

If you return to your 200 peso note you'll find a portion of Miguel Cabrera’s portrait of Sor Juana Inez de la Cruz.  One might wonder why she is connected to the rose window of Yexapitla?  The famous poet, dramatist, theologian’s mother Isabel Ramirez, was baptized in the sanctuary of San Juan Bautista.  Sor Juana’s birthday is next month.  We’ll celebrate her birthday with a special column in her honor.