47 Fire-eater
B&W. 3"X5". zinc plate. Palenque. Mexico. S
On the way to going to the Palenque ruins from the station I witnessed a man putting on a fire breathing performance in the main street of the town. Naturally enough a crowd had formed around him. As the man ‘drank’ more petrol from his can to breathe out ever more fire I couldn’t help but sense a certain quiet desperation in his manner, a tragic figure unromantically compelled to perform a dangerous feat to earn some money for himself and family.
I include the following poem which I wrote where the fire eater is given a passing mention and which starts off with this visit to Palenque in 1992 before moving on in the poem to Merida on the Yucatan peninsular in Mexico (I also visited this country in 1986):
MEXICO
The flames shimmered in the reflection of the dull duco
The flames spewed from his parched mouth
The head was hidden by a column of fire
Only in the tight muscles of the hand which held the canister did there remain a visible sign to his desperation
The blackness spewed down a star while the morning light sucked up the dew
Their bowed faces were hidden by their broad brims while they swept before the iron mouth
He was from Guadalajara and held up his hand to refuse the offer of reimbursement
In another time another man from the same city boarded a bus in Dallas and looked for my support in Brownsville
I walked through the ruins and rummaged through other memories
In the afternoon heat she silently waited in the long queue holding her black umbrella as a shield
She watched the towering machine which pulled down the dough to manufacture the tortillas she would purchase
He diligently cleaned the machine saw he used to cut the meat he had left outside on hooks for the flies to vomit on
The boy took the ten cent coin and eyed the lyre bird while speaking in slow Spanish, listening patiently to the slow voice
His elderly mother and his elderly father and himself farewelled me when the dusk train arrived
There was no light and an old woman’s voice could be heard in the dark carriageway
There were the silhouettes of bodies who paced the night aisle selling their wares and in unison were calling as if in an Ancient Greek Chorus
There was a station where in another time two of us had waited till midnight huddled with the poor as if all together we were refugees escaping from some war
Men are sleeping and other men sing while the man opposite holds his machete and in the morning there are the village huts where people are scantily dressed and the children look unhealthy
The women and their employer speak inside the market and from their stall offer a cool liquid and there is tranquillity and there is a Spanish wall near the sea and there is a tranquil breeze
The train arrives at midnight where the sweeping roof of the station is a reminder to Paris Norde
There are two old female indigenous who no one will help carry their heavy pots from the platform to the station and so the three of us sleep together
Where there had been another time when two of us had slept the first night in the zocola
There are the sleeping shivering homeless men at this tourist destination
Yes
Lets sit in the zocola
Where its fun sitting in these chairs where we can face each other where we can talk to each other where everyone is trying to sell us hammocks, gold chains, panama hats
Those sunglasses
Suit you
Very trendy
Very fifties
I like the pointy bits
At
The end
S
You look so hip
With your short
blonde hair
And your shorts
What sort of country is this where people must cover their faces in demonstrations?
We walk the length of the beach passing an Australian woman wearing a Burning Bridges t-shirt
You have read in Le Monde of Aboriginal deaths in custody?
So you think it is a disgrace?
Of course!
It’s a shame
It is raining
Lightly
We notice in the restaurant garden of a fishing village that there is above the tables plastic bags of water tied to the posts that hold up the lightweight roof. The women say they keep the flies away. I say in Australia people place plastic bottles filled with water on their front lawns to keep the dogs off them.
We walk past
The busy noisy wooden drinking bars
A bus comes every half hour?
You think the video on this bus is racist?
They use chicano actors who live in L.A?
You think it makes all Columbians
Look like peddlers?
Yes, you wonder
Why there is a market
For
Films
Like
These
In
Latin
American
Countries
Lets
Go
See
Pretty flowers and trees
For the people of South and Central America
Mexico
Guatemala
Belize
El Salvador
Honduras
Nicaragua
Costa Rica
Panama
Columbia
Venezuela
Guyana
Surinam
French Guiana
Brazil
Ecuador
Peru
Bolivia
Paraguay
Uruguay
Chile
Argentina
Do you know
Of
Any
Cheap places
To eat?
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