erasing the Incas
stone by painstaking stone
they dismantled the temples
then piled churches
onto the foundations
Tag: colonialism
250 years ago
250 years ago
James Douglas 14th Earl of Morton
begs for mercy, restraint, peaceful contact:
Exercise the utmost patience [and] respect for the Natives…shedding the blood of these people is a crime of the highest nature…every effort should be made to avoid violence; if it becomes inevitable then [they] should be treated with distinguished humanity, [so] the Crew still considers them as Lords of the Country
this is a scientific endeavor
tracking Venus’s transit across the sun
establishing our exact place
in the scheme of things
it’s a boat full of scientists
and the Royal Society of London
guards against making men murderers
reminds them to be civil
and
almost immediately, they kill
Te Maro lies splayed on the sand –
these studious men prove
no better than conquistadors
and it all adds up to the same story again:
arrival means death
granite for gold
granite for gold
the church plaza:
a square of stone squares
not belonging to
this bit of earth
waste rock quarried in China
fit only for ballast
to center a ship’s
weight in water
to protect the porcelain
and airy silks above
when the ships docked in Manila
men cast the cut blocks into the shallows
their heft no longer needed
displaced by the morbid weight,
the irredeemable burden of
bar upon bar, yes,
tons, a hold’s worth,
an obscene mass
of silver and gold
stripped from the soil and peoples
of the now naked New World
Dias Beach Absolution
Dias Beach Absolution
upon rounding sharp cliffs
after the men voted no confidence
and the final three days the crew allowed
before their bellies would mutiny
(a pathetically short extension
to reach a hopelessly faraway shore)
had elapsed with no end of Africa in sight
after he halted and buried
he dreams of Indian spices
at Kwaaihoek on the eastern Cape
the unused padrões lay heavy in the hold
and the threat of returning
to the mindless minding of Lisbon’s warehouses
grew more terrifying with each league
of aquamarine the São Cristóvão sliced through
he saw this crescent of inviting beach
and he fell upon it
I forgive you,
Bartolomeu,
for wanting to sink your ankles
in fine white sand
for wishing to slake your salty thirst
with waterfall
for wanting to warm yourself
by a blaze fed by armloads of driftwood
for nestling your body
into the yielding dunes
that molded themselves to your hips
for soiling this land with your unwanted presence
before the Khoikhoi hurled rocks in righteous anger
before the Cabo das Tormentas
seized your own heart and limbs
despite all the damage
your kind wrought
I forgive your need for one night
of slowly spinning stars
Our Hope for Humanity: Vuyi with diopmawu and me
When we visited the Norval Foundation art museum in Cape Town, South Africa today I was delighted to find wonderful poetry handwritten on sacred texts scattered around the exhibits. I asked at the front desk about the artist who created this work, and was told that it was part of a performance piece that day called Historical Glitch, and the artist would be performing at 2pm. We had already signed up for a guided tour at that time, so I also asked the guide if we needed to choose between the two events, and she explained that the artist would perform at the end. Our family waited to see what would happen, and a woman with a very long braid descended the stairs and then sat among spiritual implements like drums, stones, flowers, red clay, and a pan of water. A man knelt in front of her and they took hands and quietly talked while she washed and massaged his hands in ritual fashion. It was a loving and forgiving gesture. I thought maybe he was part of the performance piece, but then she looked at me and invited me to join her. She explained that we were doing an intervention to heal the wounds of division from colonialism and the harming of our earth, to remember that we are all one. It was very moving, and in our brief conversation she intuited some things about me that were spot on. Owen took a turn, too. It was another gift from the universe – the only way that I even heard about the museum was thanks to the fact that yesterday when we had lunch we walked past the Simons Town information center. I don’t usually go into those, but something made me double back and see what information they had. The Norval brochure said “Where art, architecture, and nature meet” – yes, please! Today our main goal was to go to the Indonesian consulate, and it ended up being a quick visit because they explained they only issue visas to South African nationals. Unsure what to do instead, I sifted through the brochures and noticed that Norval has a monthly free day on the first Thursday of the month – today! And it was on our way back home. We stopped at their lovely restaurant first, but through a mixup it took about an hour for our order to even be taken – another stroke of luck, since we probably would have left before two otherwise. When you’re open to it, the universe finds a way. Tonight I did some research and found her name: Vuyi Qubeka. When she performs, her name is listed as “Vuyi Qubeka with diopmawu,” which I think means her spirit guides/ancestors. I didn’t find a website or email address for her, but she’s active on Instagram and Twitter, and you can watch her TED talk about becoming a healer: “Don’t Die with Your Song Still Inside You.” I incorporated some of her well-chosen words in this thank you gift which I hope makes its way to her!
Our Hope for Humanity: Vuyi with diopmawu and me
she comes bearing songs
born of red clay,
an intervention
inviting audacious hope
she holds a circle of water
that dissolves guilt,
makes new space
for radical compassion:
the resolve to see
All One Always
palm to palm
we make a circuit –
loving energy looping
round our own tiny peaceful
world of now,
smiling eye to eye,
joyful servants to the work
of binding wounds
and stitching things whole
even as the seams strain
Marco Polo
Marco Polo
in the blue cold of pool
we split his name in half
echo discovery
find innocent contact
bubbling with laughter
even as we’re trapped
warthogs on the lawn
warthogs on the lawn
to be English in Africa:
beating back the bush
sipping tea and quinine
keeping your garments bleached white
despite red clay and grey dust
serving Her Majesty
a world away
stripping another tribe’s land
to twist the sinews of war
admiring the steel span view
(naturally, not the falls)
all while determinedly peering past
the warthogs on the lawn
