Michael Hogan is the author of thirty-one books, including two collections of short stories, and eight books of poetry. He wrote the critically acclaimed novel Abraham Lincoln and Mexico and his best-selling Irish Soldiers of Mexico, formed the basis for the MGM movie starring Tom Berenger. He currently lives in Guadalajara with the textile artist Lucinda Mayo, and their dog, Molly Malone.
Apology
… in the middle way, having had twenty years trying to get the best of words for things I no longer wish to say, or in ways I no longer wish to say them.—T.S. Eliot
These twenty years in Mexico I have been
casting words at life
as Huicholes in Puerto Vallarta throw their nets
into the water flowing past Yelapa Point
again and again
praying for the miracle of red snapper
hungry enough for foolish risk.
Or as a mother seeks in repeated
consultations with her secret self
the one true name for a girl child
so that the singing of it will make
her beautiful and loved.
The name does not always rescue
and all the while
along a forgotten artery
a fuse flickers then flares
the cold water rises
and the children, the fish
slip away.
*****
Incident
The warmest spring in eighty years:
already the rye grass brown, the jonquils drooping
and jacarandas a blush of purple haze on the horizon.
We thought there would be no more surprises;
repairs almost complete, the ranch secure
against March winds and April rain.
We swept the barn, mucked out the stalls
filled water troughs and forked out hay.
Just before noon
we turned the temperamental mare loose
down in the lower pasture
where Johnson’s Creek still flowed enough
to make it overgrown with sweet grass and thistle.
West of the Sierras we could vaguely hear
(more a murmur than a threat)
low grumbles of thunder.
But on our side the sky was clear and not a wisp of cloud.
The mare ran wild, we heard her whinny
and saw her kick and gallop along the split rail fence.
We shook our heads and smiled and bent again to work.
Who would have thought “snake”
in that kind of paradise?
We found her just before dusk
snorting her last fly-smothered breaths
deep in the warm sweet grass.
*****
Mexican Spring
It is the time of the jacaranda
when streets are violet carpets
and venders selling sweet corn call
Hay elotes! in the early evening.
No reason to think this could not last forever
this interval
between burning buses and tortured death
this space in the calendar
when the earth breathes and every tree
shines with its own inner light.
When darkness comes we retreat behind walls.
We hear the staccato bursts of machine guns
muffled thumps of grenades
and interminable screams of sirens
as silent victims are carried down the Periférico
to Hospital Civil.
But then morning again.
Crystalline dew on grass and the privets,
a florescence of roses
splash of old fountains in gardens and a rooster’s call.
Heedlessly it all returns, this sweet singular life,
the bougainvillea’s bracts of burgundy and tangerine
and the copper flash in the beak of a crow
as he carries a spent cartridge
home to his hidden nest.
*****
On Pythian Ode Viii
Men are but creatures for a day.
But…sometimes… a gleam of splendor heaven-sent
And blessed is that day.-Horace
It is a dream
this business of earning/spending, time-frightened:
the self-promotion of another self,
demotion through failing faculties
or timely awareness
one cannot be everyone, or even someone forever.
Lost lovers and dying friends the best teachers;
emeritus that child
gone before his grandmother into the yawning grave.
Still, the orange melon flower and nasturtium
we taste in the evening’s salad
the green tomato and humble scallion
all have been touched by the August sun.
Eating them we find it easy
to remember what blessings quiet our tremblings
what light gentles these words.
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After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
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