3 Poems

Poetry / Blas Falconer 

 

:: Gold ::

We came looking for it.
A little farther. A little longer. 

One brick, then
another. A house. A chapel. We will

live here. We will pray here.
And if some finds its way

into our pockets, who
will blame us? The small stone

biting your hip all day.
Tracing the impression with

your finger at night.
Mosquitos rising up

in a cloud. A streak of blood
smeared across your hand.

The fevers. The heavy sleep.
The raids. The fires. Everyone

looking. Everyone looking
away. Which way? Dear God,

which way now? Find me,
it says, sinking deeper

into the ground. I am not here,
it says, waiting for you.

:: The Belltower ::

                                              After Campanario, Jose Melendez Contreras, 1960


It is alarm—this panic of
sparrows loosed from

the belltower, the night air
come to life. They

cannot settle, not while
you’re here. The bell

like a stone, the dome
a heart, the birds ringing

over the rooftops, someone
somewhere, waiting for you.

:: Ars Poetica: A Cento ::

Over there, says the wind
a sail ready to depart
with my little joy

four centuries of dawn casting themselves into the landscape
my plainest song
Let it be a duel of music in the air

to open my arms to nothing
rolling in a blue without ships, without port
something like a world paused in its history

In each dawn we will dissolve together
and collapse in echoes across the earth
and all the stars will come down singing

There is so much sea swimming in my stars
Only leave me as I am, ringing
for Julia de Burgos

From the writer

 

:: Account ::

For a few years now, I’ve been writ­ing explic­it­ly about Puer­to Rico, con­sid­er­ing not just my expe­ri­ences there or fam­i­ly leg­end, but its his­to­ry, art, and lan­guage. One poem exam­ines the col­lapse of Arecibo’s obser­va­to­ry, once the largest sin­gle-aper­ture tele­scope in the world. One stud­ies the aban­doned set­tle­ment of Caparra. The three poems fea­tured here come from that project. “Gold,” a per­sona poem, is writ­ten in the voice of those who’d first come, who’d do any­thing, for the wealth that they imag­ined wait­ing for them. “The Bell­tow­er” was inspired by a paint­ing, Jose Melen­dez Con­tr­eras’ Cam­pa­nario (1960). The Cubism-influ­enced image ren­ders a flock of birds in flight, alarmed per­haps by the sound of bells mark­ing the hour. “Ars Poet­i­ca” is a found poem inspired by the work of the great Puer­to Rican poet Julia de Bur­gos, who my grand­moth­er recit­ed and laud­ed through­out my youth. Years lat­er, I long for this place that loomed so large in my child­hood, that shaped so many of the peo­ple dear­est to me. Sit­ting down to write is a way of return­ing to the island—the coun­try­side, the town square, the sea—and the peo­ple I once knew there.

Blas Fal­con­er is the author of four poet­ry col­lec­tions, includ­ing Rara Avis (Four Way Books, 2024). He is the recip­i­ent of a poet­ry fel­low­ship from the Nation­al Endow­ment for the Arts and a Mau­reen Egen Writ­ers Exchange Award from Poets & Writ­ers. Fal­con­er teach­es in the MFA pro­gram at San Diego State Uni­ver­si­ty and is the edi­tor-in-chief at Poet­ry Inter­na­tion­al Online.