Candlelight Readings at an Earth Vespers Service

to celebrate Winter Solstice

Sunday, December 20, 2015

plaCitaS v nEW mExiCo

La LLegadadeL Niño

Sponsored by thepartnership for Earth Spirituality

Joan Brown, osf, President& Earth Care Fellowship

of las placitas presbyterian Churchleland Bowen, Chair

Chapbook design:Dorothy Bowen

Set in Garamondprinted on recycled paper

Copyright ©2015 by the authors

all Rights Reserved

las placitas presbyterian Church7 paseo de San antonio

p.o. Box 768placitas, new mexico 87043

5

First Reading

oRiGin oF tHE WEatHER CHilD

Gary Brower

El Niño is the warm phase of the Oceanic Southern Oscillation (ENSO), named for the Christ-Child because it usually appears in the southern hemisphere’s winter, off Peru, in the Xmas season.—online definition.

i

in the north of ancient coastal peru,when a Divine Childwas discovered,it was worshipped,sometimes sacrificed.When the Spanish arrived,the mochica and other natives died by the thousands,in battles, massacresand by disease,Divine Childrenalong with the rest.

ii

in the winter of 1649,at a mass in puerto Etén,near Chiclayo,the priest held upthe Hoston which, all agreed, appeared the image

6

of the Christ-Child,like a cherubim, —later declared miraculous.

iii

in the 16th Century,native peruvian fishermennamed the onset ofwinter weather change,the warming of oceanic surface water, —El Niño.

iV

in 1720, the townof Santiago miraflores de Zañawas destroyed by El niño. it was then they knewthis Divine Childhad stormy tantrums.

V

today, the coastal pacific tribe of climatologists,studies the nature of weather reversals,good for some, bad for others,the poetic and literal power of the metaphoric child, in today’s realityof isobar, wind and cloud.

7

Second Reading

RECuERdE

Elizabeth Dickson

Recuerde, rememberRemember the story of who is born on the blackest of blue nightsDeep in the dark, in the quietYet now, beside you, surrounding you at all timesno exceptionRecuerde, rememberThat the stars shine brightly behind the light of the sunThat my lungs inhale without my thinking them to That where stark desert sand burns, once poured swelling ocean waves, filled with creatures who did not know harsh heatThat at one time, my child and i shared a single body together, two hearts beating within Recuerde, rememberRemember who is bornto remind us of the lightThat can shine, burn, and guideBeyond the strength or stretch of time we grasp to controlRecuerde, remember

8

third Reading

a tEaCup

Eleuterio Santiago-Díaz

a most audacious way

to defy capitalism

is to work less

and to consume less.

Just have a cup of tea

and sit in zazen.

9

am[a]BlE

it is not the sunbut the sunriseit is not the sunrisebut the roseit is not the rosebut the rainbowit is not the rainbowbut the bowit is not the bowbut the butterflyit is not the butterflybut the flowit is not the flowbut the riverit is not the riverbut the roadit is not the roadbut the windit is not the windbut the bambooit is not the bamboobut the birdit is not the birdbut the songit is not the songbut the rainstormit is not the rainstormbut the floodit is not the floodbut the adventit is not the adventbut the dove

10

Fourth Reading

tHE matinG oF CRanES

Richard Wolfson

our lives, flancing down the Road,Kerouac-like, life out of time,white tents by day, nighttimes lying close,shared eyesight, glinting at what we watchtelescoping the envelope of every muse sound,oh how strange to be ensconced with such a clown.

Spend our nights in bars, listening to the other clowns,twenty-thousand miles yearly on highways and tiny roads,at Bosque del apache, we listen for her muse, crane sounds,our favorite meal always is at breakfast time,so many wondrous things for each to watch,eating oats without bother of any clothes.

Before Vicki possibility, so many doors i had to closeafter twenty years in love with my nihilist clown,at the end, her tired body, into fire, forced to watch,leaving memories of a million miles spent out upon the road.after ten million minutes of muse, still never enough timeto live in a world without her poetry and sarcastic sound.

Vicki learned to train her ears to a much quieter sound,her prior mate and she never learned to be as closeas one would hope, but with enough patience and time,faith that someone would tickle her inner clown,memories of graduation, ten thousand miles on the road,where first she learned to keep a watch

out for someone who wears neither underwear nor a watchand loves that over the Rhine “love song” sound,finds it marvelous to follow the yellow line upon the roadand feels no need to buy new clothes,has ambitions to be a “stand-up” clown,sees art shows as a worthy way to spend his time.

11

Though old already, we still have lots of time,trips to museums, opera glasses, films to watch,Richard’s rise upon the pantheon of all great clowns,poetry enumerated by an endless jazzy sound.perhaps our “love song” will never close,at eighty, will we still amuse each other down the road?

The laughter from clowns remains timeless,where we rode, what we watched,the echo of crane sounds will never close.

12

Fifth Reading

tHE aRRiVal

tani arness

The arrival i’ve been waiting foris a silver thimble of spicecarried across continents in eager anticipation of something betterborn under better stars with better gods and fathersand perfectly shiny mothers covered in roses.

Though i’ve asked for bugles and blinding beacons,the arrival will surely be unannounced.i stay home and count the hours,begin to clear a spaceremoving papers from tablesand boxes from closets.

The arrival i’m waiting for is bigger than words or rain,is a dream of stars overheadand a woman bearing a Godthrough the desert on a donkey, singing;it’s a medicine for just another dayof bloody knives and not enough fish.

i need to be ready for something more like an answer than a questionit could be here any minute.i’m listening for a tap at the door, a faraway travel song,a new breath, different from now on—

13

Sixth Reading

niÑo pRECioSo

Greg Candela

precious childlead us to our humanness:up through brutishmillennia countless bodies crushedstabbed stricken starved,frozen in darkseasons.

Child, you are the rebirth from thewomb of human imaginationthe firearound which souls squatagainst frigid, insignificance.You return to your people.

tall Shalako come to dwell in warm Shalako Houseswhose smoke

14

struggles straight up through sub-zero windless, heavyair

Humanness wells up ininnocent blood around spikes hammered through hands spread widehands sprouting from extended openarms

Come, comeinto our drumming human hearts. lead us again in the spired processional.

15

Seventh Reading

HolY WatER

Valerie Beaman

a blackening sky augurs the event.incense of sage and wet sand flood the atmosphere,

slipping under rocks, rustling between leaves,calling forth toad, beetle, lizard, snake, crow.

The earth shudders and holds still.Beseeching eyes turn toward the heavens,

scorched by blinding light.Every pore opens, waiting to be anointed and blessed.

16

Eighth Reading

EmBaRaZaDa

Dante Berry

pregnant sky, long overduebelow, dry lands  await the promised birth of the babe.

mountain meadowsprepare a bedfor the pristine headchild of sea and cloud.

Evergreen forests, outstretched boughs proclaim aloud, oh, come infantinnocent as SnoW                                   snow                                                snow.

Echoes down canyons to hills and plains.llano grass waves invitechild play rain, wash away doubt.Quench the open space that drains into valleys.

Rio Grande remembers the feel of water flowbank-to-bank.Wild, tender asparagus shootsare flood plain memories.

old brown mother river beckons pregnant sister. let me hold your babymy arms have gone dry.Yerba del manzo withers.

la tierra, valleys, hills, mesas anxiously anticipate  la promesa llegada del Niño.

17

ninth Reading

SHaRE YouR GiFtS

Jeff Dickson

i’m a seedSlow germinationWater fallsWater drains to sourceSeek your sourceBe firmly rootedmeaningfulWater falls againGrow yourselfSeek your nourishmentmysticalHelp others grow toomusicalopen to bright sunFeel the warmthnature’s soul revealedWinds of changeare you done growing?Snow cascadesWhat falls in your life?Winds will blowYou’ll be fine, trust melook insideSmiles give hope for peaceBe balancedEveryone shares giftsSpread fragrance

18

tenth Reading

El niÑo anD tHat HuSSY ClimatE CHanGE

merimée moffitt

El niño is the hope this yearHis name arrives like good newsfor us, a life-granting drink of good news.

nothing new in making rain and clouds are bigger bottomed now.White señorita dresses with a foot of black lace

sweep earth’s sweet face as they twirl,sashaying with frilly curtains of longed-for rain.El niño may also bring snow

as if Santa’s little helper, too; he brings the blues,the chaos of drought, and cautions us to be concerned. love the land as you love yourself and be her keeper too.

El niño is here, sure as dry riverbeds glimmer, he turnscommunion wine to water and shakes a yellow shimmy in leaves late to fall from the rumble of green

a desert fruitcake, us, the land, seeded in rain, all thumbs in this year’s pudding aquí en Nuevo México, workingclimate chaos reversal, we adore our delicate deserts

Sad that very cold decades gone can’t return but we candeny the pillagers seeking permits to undermine the beautyof sacred mountains and ancient anasazi lands

For right now, we rejoice in that bad boy El niño,but his hot girlfriend Climate Change, she’s got to go.a match made in hell; can someone please counsel them?

Get them to stop kissing in the corner making the furniture fly,the waste-deep ruinous floods, the fields burn unconscionablyhot, people dying. This drama queen of chaos has got to go.

19

Eleventh Reading

littlE BoY

Kate nelson

oh, you bad-little, good-little boy.Come to save us all.Come to save a world achingfor all you are—for rivers that flowfor prayers that risefor a love that washes all wounds.Yearning we are for all you are, you bad-little, good-little boy,we beg for your blessingand fail to hear its thunder.

The flood is upon us.

not rain but hurricane.pounded by love, drowning in salvation.

oh! let us dance,the dry and brittle bones of our past forgotten.until the past returns.and returns.and returns.The lesson never learned.

if the heavens should shower upon me more than they bequeath unto you,will you yet rejoice?and if the cup should turn instead toward you,will you yet share?

oh, bad-little, good-little boy,beware:This always ends in deserts with stones.

20

tweflth Reading

ElEGY FoR mY tREES

Feroza Jussawalla

The weather is turning;not, as it usually does,when liquid goldcomes and goes,dripping from amber branchesthat shed their emerald ear drops.

This year there is no crunchto the gold dried to airy thinness.it is soggy damp. Slippery and sliding,causing falls.

The skies have been weeping,filling the ever overflowing rain barrels.

The continuous damp chill,has wilted my afghan pinestraumatized by the droughtin and around me, unready for thisbounty of water.

many years of dry droughthave not prepared, desert sand or bark,to absorbwhat should be a gift of rain.

instead, damp bark leeches waterreleasing pine beetles, forbusy woodpecker heads topeck, peck, peck,tap, tap, tap.

21

it is a wonder their little heads don’tfall off,similarly making them fodderfor the lone hawk that sitson his dying thronea throne that i must soon have felledbefore it tumbles and crumbles.

no, this water has not been a blessing,as it breaks the banks of riversused to dry edges:“This is how we were meant to be,” they say,“to be streams in a desert, For, when we are full and flush,greedy gold diggers, mistaken mine cleaners,break veins, that loosepoison into our life blood.”

petrichor turns to putrefaction,as drowning roots, lose loose soilthreatening to topplestately majestics that must be felledbefore canyon winds blow them over.

no, we have abused mother earth too long,and now she lets loose wind and weather,tides that bring in the amakua, as sharksthat bite children by the seaside.This niño does not bring a blessing,Santo niño, can you save us with your rebirth?

22

thirteenth Reading

a WintER SolStiCE DEtouR 

Bernadette perez

i find myself through a season Beyond chilly extreme Deep into the cold Bundling up with comfort Warming by glistening lights

Charming charactersChannel memorable moments Challenging transformation Climate climbs to a quivering peakClearing the elevation 

Snow falls swiftly indicating an approaching stormDusting roof topspowder lines the sidewalks 

Holidays are remindersSpaced between lodging nestled upon tradition Destination tip toes past imagination 

The journey is magical alive in spirit i tour past the hallmark of time overly abundant with cheerFrozen to ice

23

Fourteenth Reading

la llEGaDa DEl niÑo

martha Ritchie

The coming of El niño to CaliFoRnia’S parched land, that was once with life-giving irrigation so grand.now soils turn dry and crumble in cracked farmers’ hands,as they survey their Eden turned to crusty fields of non -vegetating bands.

Can the promised moisture with the coming of El niño, make a difference to water levels so dramatically low? Will nature again let the embattled landowner begin to sow,or is nature’s retribution for no climate stewardship now his foe?

Can the coming of El niño enhance nEW mExiCo’S grandeur,with lush greenness not seen in years of little precipitating moisture?Will the food chain’s life-giving waters enhance its future,or just be a cruel trick played by an angered nature?

Can new mexico with its earthy, adobe, building bricks rebound,into shelter for diversity based on free exchange of ideas that seem sound?Will new mexico make sure it’s in its future to be around,when all those near us are loosing their solid ground?

The coming of El niño to the WoRlD may not be in a manger so warm,but rather more like man’s never ending, destructive, warlike form.Economic inequality over humanity viciously swarms, as greed becomes more the competing force for limited resources, now, the new norm.

The world’s El niño wears upon his brow, the frown of a face,gazing upon intolerance for those of different cultures and race.a frown for a wasted planet with indifferent disgrace. is it time WoRlD, to start over with GoD’S grace?

24

Fifteenth Reading

ESpERanZa

Jim Fish

if only we knew for sureWe could prepareWe could rearrange our livesWe could put our world in order

But the cycleSpinsinto a spiralof chaosand complexity

We can no longer trustThe boundary conditions

terms once insignificanttake controlThree sigma slides toward the center

We find ourselvesBanking on foolish speculationand unfounded hope

i choose to speculate

i choose to hope

25

poets

tani arness lives, writes and teaches in albuquerque, new mexico where she remains dedicated to finding the beauty, spirit, and surprise in the in-tersection of words and living. a collection of her poems can be found in Tzimtzum: 5 contemporary poets lend us their hearts by mercury Heartlink press, 2013. Her poetry can also be found in numerous literary magazines including North American Review, Rhino, Adobe Walls, bosque (the maga-zine), Malpais Review, Santa Clara Review, Red Rock Review, and Crab Orchard Review. Her website is: www. tani-arness.com

Valerie Beaman, a recent new mexico transplant, is a former performer and arts administrator. For the past ten years, Valerie worked at americans for the arts, a national arts advocacy organization, promoting arts and business partnerships.

Dante Berry lives in Jarales, nm with margaret, his wife of 33 years. He writes during his commute to work. inspired by people and events on city buses he has authored a new book titled Writing the Routes, Bus Poems and Stories from Albuquerque. 

G.l. Brower of placitas is a poet (4 books, 4 CDs, 2 books forthcoming), the Founder/Editor/publisher of the “malpais Review” for five years-the only poetry quarterly in new mexico. He is also one of the directors of the Duende poetry Series of placitas (now in its 11th year).

Gregory louis Candela has resided in new mexico since 1972. He holds a doctorate in american and african american literature and is professor emeritus at university of new mexico. Candela has written a volume of poetry (Surfing New Mexico—2001), six produced plays, and edited 6 volumes of poetry and prose. Recent publications include poems in the Harwood Anthology, Malpaís Review, Adobe Walls, Sin Fronteras, Van Gogh’s Ear, Cyclamens and Swords, Monterey Poetry Review and Italian Americana. Currently, Candela is seeking to publish a book-length poetry manuscript, A Candle is Enough.

Elizabeth Dickson is a mom, wife, public health nurse, loves green chile, spending time outdoors with family and friends, and is currently studying for her phD at the university of new mexico. lppC has been the Dick-son’s faith home and family since they moved to new mexico in 2008. 

26

Jeff Dickson, his wife Elizabeth, and their two boys have lived in new mexico for 8 years and they really enjoy the new mexico history, culture, and great food!

Jim Fish published Firemiles in 1975 while at princeton university work-ing on a ph. D. in chemical engineering. Jim and I came out five years later. A Sense of Play was published January 2009. Songs of the Landscape was published in the spring of 2013. in addition to writing poetry, Fish sculpts wood and is the winemaker at anasazi Fields Winery.

Feroza Jussawalla is a professor of English at the university of new mexico. She is originally from india but is Zoroastrian by faith. She specializes in postcolonial literatures from india, africa and the Carib-bean and is the author of one collection of poetry, Chiffon Saris, Kolkotta: Writer’s workshop, and toronto S. asian Review press, 2002)

merimée moffitt arrived in nm in 1970 in a big shiny Chrysler with some Viet vets, their girlfriends, two dogs, and what she could hold or stuff under the front seat. Since then: years in taos, a son, a husband, more kids, grand-kids (four) and degrees from unm. She has publica-tions in many reviews and anthologies, and her poetry book Making Little Edens is available on-line; her second book, memoir stories, published by aBQpress is expected early 2016.

Kate nelson is an award-winning journalist, former managing editor of The Albuquerque Tribune, and author of the biography Helen Hardin: A Straight Line Curved. She has lived in placitas since 1990 and spends most days working at the new mexico History museum in Santa Fe.

Bernadette perez is a poet possessing expression and creativity. in 1990 Bernadette received the Silver poet award from World of poetry. Her work has appeared in The Wishing Well; Musings in 2010, Small Canyons Anthol-ogy in 2013, Poems 4 Peace in 2014, and Fix and Free Anthology in 2015. She is the Vice president of the new mexico State poetry Society and a member of Rio Grande Valencia poets since 2005.

martha Ritchie is a placitas resident. She and her husband, Burke, retired here from the San Francisco Bay area. a writer since high school, martha taught learning disabled students in elementary and high school how to write for fifty consecutive years. She writes now, late at night, if she can’t sleep.

27

Eleuterio Santiago-Díaz was born in patillas, puerto Rico. He has lived in the united States since 1987. in 2003 he joined The university of new mexico as a professor of latin american, Caribbean, and afro-Caribbean literature. He has lived in the Village of placitas since 2004. He has pub-lished a collection of poetry titled Breaths (unm press, 2012).

Richard Wolfson began writing after the death of his wife Joann, a poet, in 2004. many of these poems come from dreams and shamanic journeys. He currently lives in albuquerque with his second wife Vicki Bolen, who is an artist who collaborates with him on books, cards, and prints. Currently, he mixes comedy and poetry.

About the event

For eighteen years the Winter Solstice readings have been a regular offering of

the Earth Care Fellowship at las placitas presbyterian Church

and The partnership for Earth Spirituality, as part of the Earth Vespers series.

This year, 2015, we celebrate La Llegada del Niño, and welcome back the slowly stretching days

at the Winter Solstice Candlelight poetry Reading.

Fifteen poets from the Southwest read poems by the light of a single burning candle.

Between readings, a short interlude of silence provides a moment of contemplation

at the close of another year.

28

2015

2015