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Jerome Rothenberg, Cecilia Vicuña, Nicanor Parra Photo by Francis Cincotta
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The Andes
crossing was part of my reading trip with Cecilia Vicuña through Chile, Argentina,
Uruguay, & Brazil. Our
other companions were Diane Rothenberg, the photographer & filmmaker
Francis (Frank) Cincotta, & Ariane Braillard. Besides Cincotta’s
photographs & films, the only records of the crossing are my series of poems
(later published in Ram Devineni’s Ratapallax) & Diane Rothenberg’s ongoing
journal, both excerpted below.
CROSSING THE ANDES
for Cecilia Vicuña
La Difunta
Correa
She died & from
her breasts
her newborn babe
sucked life.
Her sanctuary
at the Inca’s lake
still fills
the flattened earth.
And here Cecilia offers
rocks & roses
where two condors bow to us
guarding the sky.
.
A Natural Bridge
above a raging stream.
Cecilia running.
.
The young man
wraps a heavy rock
in orange
next to a standing pool.
.
Colors of the
Mountains
tan .......... brown
green ...... red
yellow ..... orange
pink ........ black
grey ........ white snow
.
Argentina
mountains of fine
swept sand
& angry rocks
.
white body
with a lion’s head
astride the mountain’s
side
.
low wall of sand
so sculpted
you would think
a city lay behind it
-- under siege –
turns into streams
of mud
unformed
.
desert on the left
poplars on the right
(a river runs through it)
.
Mountain
Graffiti
Cristo viene
Jesus está aqui
Christ among the ruins
.
A Thought for
Midnight
I want to see
the southern cross
by god!
November/December
2004
FROM
DIANE ROTHENBERG'S JOURNAL
11/20/04 This was our day to cross the Andes to Mendoza, Argentina,
and all kinds of anxiety were rampant leading up to it. Cecilia had arranged
through an agency in Santiago
to have a van and a driver take us over the mountains. The weather had been
very unsettled while we were in Chile, with a lot of rain and storms, enough
that there had been a rockslide on the road to Argentina and traffic had been
delayed a couple of days. Until the last minute, then, it was not certain that
we would be able to go at all. It had also been, on the whole, a lot colder in Chile than we
had expected, and this had supported Cecilia’s predictions that we could
anticipate freezing cold in the mountains, particularly if we were delayed and
were in the mountains after sunset. There was a plan to buy blankets for
everyone, but that never happened, and we concluded that we would layer
clothing and hope for the best. Jerry and I figured we could add clothing as we
went; the others were padded up at departure, but then they reasoned that they
could later take things off. Altitude sickness was another concern considering
we would be up about 14,000 feet, and for that we were armed with a jar of mate de coca, kindly supplied by Andrés
Ajens back in Santiago
and prepared the night before by Cecilia. We did sip it from time to time and
we did not have altitude sickness, but that was not a controlled study.
Needless to say, we were supplied with a lot of food.
One of the students had approached Cecilia the evening of the reading in the
dunes, asking whether he and his girlfriend could hitch a ride with us to Mendoza. He had prepared
several long lengths of orange fabric that he stretched along the dunes, and
now he proposed to use them for a performance in the mountains. We had agreed,
and the two of them showed up as we were leaving and settled down to the
breakfast that Cecilia’s mother had prepared. They had brought no food with
them, so they mooched from us, but it didn’t work out too badly and we managed
to avoid taking them out for dinner in Mendoza.
As the others got irritated with them for one thing or another, Jerry got more
and more protective, as he always does, and kept them supplied with food. In
return the young man created a wire, stone and rubber sculpture for Jerry while
we waited (later) to cross the border.
Because Peter Kroeger hadn’t managed to show up the evening before to give
Jerry the 25,000 pesos for the Valparaiso
reading, and because we were all of us eager to see him one more time, he also
came by before we left and gave us a small wooden sculpture that he had made
for us. The van arrived and we piled in about 9:00 in the morning and went
north a bit before we went east through very rich, very green looking
countryside. Because Chile
is so narrow (150 miles at its widest), we were soon climbing the mountains,
sometimes covered in clouds but always with snow visible on the peaks. The road
was one lane in each direction and frequently under repair, but a good mountain
road. We stopped early at a restaurant/rest stop and bought an empanada that
was being baked in an outdoor oven, stuffed with meat and vegetables and ample
enough for the seven of us to get our fill.
Always in the distance was the summit of Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas, or so
Cecilia told us. Snow covered and very imposing, and we made our little
gestures of respect when we first saw it. Cecilia feels very connected to the
landmarks along the Andean route and planned to do several ceremonies in places
she had already chosen. Of course Frank was to document these, and the student
intended to do his own thing, essentially wrapping items in the environment
with the length of orange cloth he had brought along from the performance in
the Dunes.
The first place we stopped was a pond connected to a marker to designate the
spot where, as tradition had it, an Indian woman, carrying her baby on her back,
had died of exhaustion and cold. The baby found his way to her breast and fed
there until he was found by passersby. This miracle is commemorated by a kind
of shrine, so Cecilia did a little ceremony there with flowers that her mother
had given her from her garden for that purpose. We then moved across the road
to a river fed by snow melting in the mountains, and there the offerings
continued.
The driver, a very pleasant man, was eager to get on and grew somewhat
impatient at the delays, particularly the next one, at la laguna de los Incas (?), a large
lagoon or lake also fed by melting snow and located behind a major ski resort
on the Chilean side. Although there was no longer any skiing, there were many
people there for lunch and walking around. The lagoon was very still and
surprisingly without birds, but a beautiful color in a beautiful setting.
Cecilia and the student did their ceremonies, and Frank photographed them in
the process.
Shortly after that we came to the border with Argentina where we were forced to
get in the line for buses rather than in the line for cars. The inspections
were thorough, each busload of passengers being made to disembark, go through
long lines and then have their bags inspected. All in all, it took us three
hours to cross the border and the van driver was still amiable although rather
frantic. Contrary to expectations, it was very warm on the higher elevations
and the sun was very strong and, rather than adding clothes, we found ourselves
removing them.
The landscape changed dramatically on the Argentinian side of the mountains.
The rain falls on the western slopes (the Chilean side) so that is very green.
It does not fall on the other wide where it is dramatically desert-like but
with amazing rock configurations and colors. We drove for hours through this
landscape, stopping once at a natural rock configuration that looked like a
man-made bridge and was covered with yellow sulfur deposits from which local
artisans fashioned trinkets, and we never tired of calling each other’s
attention to one amazing rock outcropping after another.
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