This issue of Huehuetitlan is dedicated to Francisco X. Alarcón, poet of earthquakes and love, extraordinary teacher. "Miquiztli," the long poem bySally de Mattia which makes up this entire issue, is a testament to Alarcón's virtues as a, teacher of both creative writing and the Aztec language, Nahuatl. De Mattia's "Miquiztli" was a product of Alarcón's class in Nahuatl offered by the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center during the summer of 1992. As de Mattia writes in her poem, "metaphor is a necessary catalyst for the human mind." For those in his classes, Alarcón is a true catalyst—un hechicero wrapped in the sweet smoke of sage and copal who wrings poems from his students that they never knew were there. - Bryce Milligan

Premise
In ancient Mesoamerica, within the Aztec culture there was a tradition of naming done-once in a lifetime and only when a child had reached seven years of age. The name was found through a ritual of measurement of arm, hand, palm and fingers, until one arrived at one's own true number: a number which was linked to a name, a god or goddess, and a whole series of symbols, beliefs and meanings. An extraordinary rite of passage into the world of the self: the self as a part of society and separate-from society. In a class on the study and translation of poetry in Nahuatl—Nahuatl being the ancient/ contemporary language of Mesoamerica—Francisco X. Alarcón showed each of us, his students, how to find our number and name. He did this to make us more aware of who we are and to share with us the power of Mesoamerica. So that we might also share our experience with others, he had us each write a poem about the number/name we had just received. Mine was no. 6— Miquiztli. The following is the poem I wrote.

—Sally de Mattia

 

 

(Page 0ne)

MIQUIZTLI
I
Yo soy la Muerte, Miquiztli, Death.
I look like yaotl, the enemy; my face is
so white, my eyes look so empty, so lifeless.
When my gaze falls on you
I give the gift
of Cassandra, your future death;
I am
the malocchio, the Evil Eye, my eyes
pierce you with their darkness;
the darkness of two black holes
beckoning, absorbing
the me that is you and does not want to be me, but
only self, separate.
That which does not want
the future.
I am not separate. I stick to you
like acid eating you away
down to your bones, revealing
the white skull, teeth gleaming, jaws
open to eat life.
I eat life, I eat you,
all the details of you. I am curious
and I love life and you are life
so I must eat you, show you I love you.
Why do you run from me?
Are you afraid you will become curious
like me? Are you afraid to become beautiful
like me? For I am beautiful and curious.
My beauty is that I
cradle the earth as it brings forth flowers
and the Moon I keep
in the form of a fossil: a shell
once buried in the sea

(Last page)

All is repeated, but never exactly the same.
See this not
as a loss; it is a richness
greater than things glistening.
Acquire in order to give away, maybe in new forms.
Receive the gifts of the Divine
which are for your eyes only. And mine. And the universe's.
I am Death. I greedily devour the difficult.
Yo soy la Muerte. I devour the waiting, the warm darkness, el beso
Miquiztli is my name: I am tonal, spirit;
I am in ollin, in movement, transforming.
Noyollo, I am heart;
cuicatl, song;
yaotl, enemy to those
who would not be yaoyotl, warrior, for life
is a war of experiences which attack
and caress us.
We must accept the possibility
of other than what we see or feel or believe.
I break down barriers in the mind and body.
Yo soy yaotl, I am the enemy; noyollo,
I am the heart. I beat with anticipation
of our future together.
I am the craters of the Moon. I hide
in the nautilus chambers of seas
you have only dreamed of.
I am the poet
who weaves messages
from flowers which sing
upon the grave you have just
ascended from.

—Sally de Mattia ©1992