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| places visited by Christopher Columbus Christopher Columbus landed at Mòlsennikola, history tells he came to a place decrepit now and of course, undeveloped in his own time. in Latin America, we write a lot of Christopher, just as we write of Politicas y Gobierno de la Educacion Superior — that is to say, we talk with a pragmatic nostalgia, we look back, yes, but to see what walls best held back the storms. Rubén wrote of la Masestra Vida, and Ana Lydia Vega wrote of her ” historias de pasion” while in Haiti little words in French sprung out all around, little Frances to be found in a new world undeserving even of its accent marks it so proudly placed with fountain pen and ancient printing presses, lone hecatontarch to the wars of written word and the writer’s distinct realities. when you look at the prospects, in a place like this, like Mòlsennikola, for the politician (he may be shot!) or the doctor (he won’t hardly be paid!) or the farmer (man toils away!) being a writer is not so bad a path at all. Official efforts plenty are made, and I don’t mind writing of it . . . el Monumento a la Paz de .... de Libre Comercio con los Estados Unidos, principal socio comercial . . . yet as storms came, as storms were then . . . we have the now, just now . . . (and I write quickly, as in emails, often no accents, not the flame-words of that historical Haitain's travails) *** I am sitting on my friend Adrian’s back porch, in a condo much like every other one between here and Miami, we drink Barbancourt rum and sing along with Rubén, swirling together cultures that commonly do not speak of each other yet they know, they do know, each other via odd geography. it is a torrid evening in August with no excuses for its heat and with a storm on the horizon, we see colors all turn to caramelo y gris, and I can’t help but think of Sandra Cisneros who walked down not so different streets, knew dreams of another rough geography of tropical beaches, she. and we read de Montesquiou. oddly him, for soft words: Des plumes, des plumes, des plumes Pour composer un doux nid. we could write the official story, (we live as if we were paid to do the very same). or, we could write of only Coquito y Buñuelos, small hallmarks— we’d be better off with or without nostalgia? | ||||||||||||
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