Sangre y Pajas en Flor: ViNomadic? Because.

Fruit of the Fruitless

2011-10-16T20:11:00.002-04:00

--
So much sloshy thinking bears no fruit:
solitude keeps its own poor counsel

As moss drip of desire pools & stagnates
swelling the wrong joints
in blotchy dysfunction

only to seep through torn tissue
leaking from the undone fiber of skin pages
--

Lifetracks

2011-10-08T23:35:00.000-04:00

--
I went from paradiddle to embouchure
:from keeping a pulse I took
to floating a trill high above the fray

See, the music stand felt frightfully
warmer than the mosh floor melée

I yearned to fall amongst rock'n riot grrls
but never could lock in follow-step
til I slunk into the dance studio

O ballerina kisses, fruitless curiosity
unfulfilled in a night's pinch
(grope? fumble? collapse?)

Alone in my tower of babble
I mourn for the dead: overwhelmed
by spirits I make liquor my business
--

Blues Trucho, part 1

2011-09-30T02:41:00.002-04:00

--
Drunks make me scared
& teetotalers too--
brawlers & smoochers
& preachers all do!

They all make me lonely
for a dream love that's true.
--

I love my solitude
cos it keep me safe'n sound--
yeah, I cherish my solitude
--anyway, ya don't come 'round

Only tease me'n abuse me
like a mad child just been found.
--

(note: 'trucho' is Argentino slang for 'counterfeit')

Borrowed Buckley Hopes

2011-09-26T21:41:00.001-04:00

--
A fine banquet on a dream table
cobbled from the dregs of love
the dregs of life an epic fable

O voice alone of alien chanter
rock my convalescent pulse
in heartbreak canter

break & run into gallop fun
before you shrink my age
before I grow my wrongs in rage

the long-lived echo of your death
rings the fool baton in hand
fueling virtue's isolation
to dream a second breath
--

I shoulda stayed at the trapset
holding down my backbeat gig

I should have rooted wilder
to dig at the limit & stay pretty

I should've stuck to my guns
given fair warning to let you know

I shoulda cut out in time
gone gone gone in a blaze of glory
--

We listen to the dead to listen for the dying
--who calling us out to call us in?

Stories told in hiding
as we fall out from love--
built up & spun out of questions

There is only silence after an answer
bubbles up from yeasty wine, bottled shut

We listen to the dying
to catch a message
from long-dead love

We listen hard & listen limp
to labels & categories made anew

We come alive to Death Metal Folk Music:
a flaming red horizon/that screams our name

(all is nothing but borrowed time
anyway-- a beggar's love
of stolen moments)
--

Roces del Agua

2011-09-17T17:14:00.002-04:00

--
en el corazón de la vida
que refleja su piel, el ansia expansiva
diluye la dirección privada de metas

borroso centro pinta lienzo social
en contradicción expuesta
más allá del público hacer, silente

nadie me canta paisaje
pero el chorro afluente ahonda el cauce
y se recoge al secreto río en su nombre

(lujuria secreta entierra el deseo privado
del ahogo sereno en la desembocadura)

perdido aquí me encuentro y te requiero roces
--

Temple Chilton

2011-09-17T17:11:00.000-04:00

--
sins of absence & the past
beat hard at the bottom
of one heart's gash

sins of clotting blame
flood the calloused hold
through one thin tear

peel my treasure chest open
to soak the dry valves
& fruitmeat swollen

my wrinkled skin still smarts
with faults of aging children
--

Colgalejo po Soleare, en doce pasos

2011-08-30T21:59:00.006-04:00

--
¡OZÚMIARMA! la decargada
que cuelga su quemasón al cinto:
la que huelga por exceso sin tu beso--

Salchicha sin sal-- ¿qué remedo
coserá aquél tu licor de ausencia?

'Admitimos impotencia sobre alcohol
y apetito, sustancia cual indudable fé

--y que nuestra vida en desgobierno
resiste la gerencial injerencia'

Se me para carencia, aún anciana--
¿cómo recuerdo alimenta
un reduciente futuro en paz?

Dios es Brillante, que tronante brilla
relampagueando Elénico gerundio

Soy coplero en vacío aunque ausente
me repita, que así marca incierta runa--

Ay, qué juego de pellejo, vergonzante
ficción la imagen erigida profano templo
pagano o romano correcto corrido...
--

Shortcut Pasion, Draft

2011-08-20T20:15:00.002-04:00

--
Cringeful ogler of ill-cut figures
I seek refuge for membered sight
in full-fat pucker

Secrets under the skin
spill gory shadow ink
against your soothing mystery

Exposure beyond measure
drains all nurture's contours out
--

Tormenta, Por Los Pelos

2011-08-11T14:57:00.000-04:00

--
Hace y transcurre noche de sabrosa proximidad
a la blasfema perfección del ocio escogido:

El ciclón crece al sur y nos regala ráfagas que alivian
el bochorno de agosto tropical, abierto a todas horas.

Golpes de pecho acompañan el ejercicio de ínfima libertad:
indulgencia sobre ayuno descansa el mareo con caldo.

¿Excusas? Ninguna. Pereza fatigosa y penitencia sobre papel.
El guiso es obvio, el placer se agota en silencio.
'Rinse and repeat'.

Amor es la indigna tarea de disciplina evasiva
que nos premia:
La singular ocasión equivocada, el error resonante.
Todo con su secuela que nos anega y nos ahoga
gota a gota.
--

Fiesta de Tic-toc

2011-07-06T20:37:00.000-04:00

--
aiuto!
desde un cuckoo-dormitorio ensordecedor
hago rutas inefectivas para il grido

coplas hago, cojas rimas al cerebral gruñido
ensayado interminablemente

(buscando guayaba y el recuperante placer
por el perfume indigesto de su madeja)

no hay eco, sob, de piel ni hueso mondo
en el sollozo singular de mafioso referente

chúpame otro absurdo lunar
písame la postrer arruga con tu pista
--

Car Lust Wings

2011-06-30T17:11:00.000-04:00

--
fingers obsess
over a mind gone blank

memory of morning
draws random lines
over garments flung
across the restroom

last chance gas
by the turnpike ramp
glows neon regret
in the guidance twilight

western wheels
doggedly roll east
for takeoff along
endless, abandoned runways
--

Mourning Pages Further

2011-06-16T12:09:00.000-04:00

--
(--on the margins of the lifeshow
as it ganders pulling focus, all is all: )

routing vessel, pressure yields to waste
over mumbing transport insults
where metaphor & meaning hobble--

the heart would feed the limbs out of its bird-hands
while head pretends a valve in failing faith

here is the room, here the misspent lode of solitude
sold into blind wells by scarcity & marker-bed floods

(where is the balance gear to roll the rusty loader
past the hurdles spiking the tumbler path?)
room is no room if abstract space lose ground

foam & roam, room to room: a land anchor out of paper folds

all is all, more is more & never the twain shall meet
in this fractured, dwindling life from bed to verse
in one fell swoop of dictionary desire

even off odd culverts by the piled debris
nothing is forgotten, nothing is forgiven

a simple game of all-too-serious tossers
gambling higher stakes away
--

Margins of the Mourning Page

2011-05-05T13:17:00.003-04:00

--
on the margins of the spectacle of life
as it meanders & pushes
into focus, all is all--

routing is vessel & pressure yields to waste only
over muttering of vascular insults
where metaphor & coherence are compromised

the heart would feed the limbs out of its bird-hands,
the head pretending valves in failing faith

here is the room, here is the misspent critical resource of solitude
cornered into addictive isolation by scarcity & marker-bed flooding

(I don't know-- how do I find out what I don't know--
how can I act on what I need to find out in discomfort rush--
where is the balancing gear to roll the crumbling loader
among the spiking hurdles tumbled on the path?)

room is no room if abstracted space loses ground

foam & roam, room to room, a land anchor out of paper folds...

all is all, more is more & never the twain shall meet
in this fractured, dwindling life
from bed to verse in one fell swoop of dictionary desire

even along odd culverts by the piled debris
nothing is forgotten, nothing is forgiven

a simple game of all-too-serious tossers
gambling higher stakes away
--

Limping into Blogland: Inventory Season

2011-04-19T13:29:00.000-04:00

--
Memory plays increasingly dirty tricks on us as we age...or did someone pick the lock & pilfer some of my stored wines?

After nearly three years, I finally return to California, ostensibly with the primary purpose of doing inventory & culling from my total of a possible baker's dozen cases of wine in storage...

First stop: El Camino wine lockers in Atascadero, where the older purchases slumber in climate-controlled comfort. Pulliing bottles from boxes & styrofoam cradles, tearing off newsprint, there are a few surprises:

Where is the Oracle Oaks Valdiguié? When did I drink it, then? What about the Carparone Sangiovese? I don't believe I drank the Biale Old Crane Ranch Zin, or the Graziano Zin or Carignane...is my memory failing that badly? What gives?

Still, here is Lazy Creek's lovely Gewürtztraminer-- from 2005, we will see-- taste-- how it's held up. From the same vintage year, a couple Central Coast Viogniers-- from Marilyn Remark & deRose-- clock in over 15% ABV. Yikes.

(à suivre...)
--

Tiempo de Bolero

2011-04-13T15:08:00.000-04:00

--
con cada sorbo lloroso
el hombre tragaba un diente

no recuerdo cómo supe
reconocer el ritual

por contener el reflejo
de secretos derramados
la mutua soledad vibrante
levantaba enemigo muro
con masculinos ladrillos

reconocernos mudos marcaba
el sendero de los miedos

casi olvido la tonada
que otro disco machacaba
rallado sin letra ni acentos--

Lo Divino Lo Divino Lo Divino
--

Carga de Amores

2011-04-03T08:51:00.001-04:00

--
porque la madre ordena silencio
escondo la lengua y quemo memoria
para rimar señales de humo ajeno

cuanto recuerdo aún busca forma
si la rinde: rinde forma deshecha
por una búsqueda incansable

desde su nacimiento fuera del pesebre
donde los animales lloran
tras cada prestado antifaz de carnaval

opuestos o contrarios los deseos
alimentan mortales sueños
plurales de raíz, consolados

por general condición compartida
en trascendencia quebrada
contra el abstracto cielo

no encuentro certidumbre ni prole
para paliar el dolor fragmentario
de tu ausencia borrosa y borrada

volver a producir y generar es ley
que late rota y nos condena
sumisos y rebeldes por igual
--

Homesearch Fool

2011-04-02T00:39:00.000-04:00

--
through aimless focus & fog of anxiety
I rehearse diagnoses:

more than one rational etiology
(or preemptive pathology?

for systemic constellations to
bestow vertical certainty)

hierarchies, higher are keys
to revolted kingdoms of abundance

where fascinated mirrors repeat
Dedalus apologising, O!

first bloody Stephen
to be continued
--

Final Winter Flow

2011-03-25T19:19:00.000-04:00

--
YES I am stingy with fear, even
out of line
begrudging stimulant prod & prescription
placebo-love rations
that fuel fiery breath to mark a page with runes
at every double-edged purr

I end where I begin: a blurry dream
of the decisive step
on a forest track of saplings, bent & snapping
unbroken to wear our secret out

so I remind myself you never loved me
as every day I need
to remind myself: you never loved me

AND yet & still
five score & a couple more long years on
the timeful scrape of your skin
traces enduring outlines of yearning lack
in the clotted pour of my desire
--

Trouble Dream

2011-03-05T17:46:00.001-04:00

--
Trouble is where you find it
trouble is what you make
trouble is what you never never
never can leave behind

It ain't me, boss-
it ain't my threat you dream about

My line of pain walks mute & dark
on a tightrope mind gone slack

How long can I hold on?
How far can I still hold?
How shall I hold off center?

(If I swing while I hang this low
when will I breathe my last?)

--

Santo Fracaso

2011-02-17T15:53:00.000-04:00

--
Valentín es leyenda y santo mellizo-
mártir por partida doble
recojo sus textos en sangre
y envalentonado me aplico el cuento:
había una vez, y dos no somos tres...

Valentín es patrón de mis fracasos--
en amor, amistad y caligrafía
que resumen sus cuentas fatulas
en las ciencias biofísicas
-- depuradas de lógica--
de la comunicación
(y otras facultades venidas a menos)

Ay, patrón, ordene y mande fuego
para quemarme el deseo
de otra vez más por todas
y esparcir las cenizas al viento...
--

Voz Abandonada

2011-02-16T00:16:00.001-04:00

--
abandoné mi voz
(comoquiera la lengua
hinchada de sed terminal
me traicionaba )

abandoné mi voz travesti
por vengarme de mi madre

de su santidad venenosa
de su sagrada toxina inoculada
de muerte y deseo embalsamado

sobre corales violentos
abandoné mi voz quebrada
--

Reflejo y Olvido

2010-12-21T02:45:00.001-04:00

--
quién se declara incómodo
en mi cuerpo, extranjero en mi país?
enmarcado a mano ajena
el deseo de transparencia

los años a media luz
pulen mi destreza invisible

cómo cuándo dónde
se desmarca el yo
de su pegatina de imágenes?

más allá
(además de los restos acumulados
que bordean toda ruta

aparte la baranda y la pintura)
una y otra vida se hacen
ecuatoriales en la noche
--

Fulcrum Season

2010-12-21T02:42:00.000-04:00

--
dream & desire drain into shadow
before dawn
fires burn untended

walk into the crowd
in final courage & fragile
strength assumed

bring solitude to share
in appetite for paradox
--

One of a Piece

2010-10-20T23:22:00.000-04:00

--
drained the circling

silent
company

keeps a busier calm in solitude

repeating the need & fulfilled
in hearing this my so-called self
thinking out silence
--

Geek as the Gimp

2010-10-06T00:47:00.002-04:00

--
I want to believe
the black bitter sorrow
that soaks my skin through
with spill'd cardiac stench
can be sweetened & sipped, still
like steaming temptation

--like wild habit fuel
that strips skips & slips
past all hesitation
to hunt for your jewel...

(O! Heart like a teacup--
all worn, chipp'd, yet dainty--
grown narrow with age...)
--

Sin Meta Presente

2010-10-06T00:40:00.000-04:00

--
(In Memoriam Roberto Nin)

corazón del sur
corazón del monte

noche del sur
noche del corazón del monte

el corazón de la noche
late un respiro inesperado
mientras rodeo desvelado
el hogar del corredor suicida
que acompaña mi aliento rendido

desde el sur
sopla el sereno terminal
que no logra pisar
los talones del alba
--

Vocativa Perdida

2010-09-10T01:21:00.000-04:00

--
fundar un hogar vocacional
en el momento fugaz
chorrea la virtud musical

pero el momento discurre
gracias al cauce del instrumento--
al marco formal de cultura
y ribera y motor

hogar, hoguera viva

II

las hojas de los árboles
se pudren para brindar nueva vida

las del calendario caen
y se deshacen para siempre

la vida idiota fluye
y discurre terca sombra
bajo toda intelijencia
--

Whittle-cage Sermon

2010-09-08T02:03:00.002-04:00

--
floating above the corrupt
miasma of tropical summer in the city, suspended
over the darkened buildings they identify & crown

hieratic logos gleam in the predawn

letters
abstracted into tongues of cool flame

flattened circles, elegantly designed pagan idols
shaved down to temptation icons for vague appetites

the magical soft light sculptures hover
like a dimensional gateway

(shut me up in a good way
stuff yourself down my throat one joint
one gland one fold one beat at a time

is there no love will not suffocate
its object-- or suffocate itself
in its object, at best?)
--

Nightmare Fire

2010-07-23T23:50:00.000-04:00

--
All is wrong
In my Mother tongue

I am less homeful, still for hire:
long live bulls' nomadic fire!

My worst nightmare: shackles
out of joyful punning
as my refuge, I fear
yields to new master's cunning

(...in, out & roundabout the deeply
wallowing whale to swallow
your badge, crown & shackles, & so--)

I bid you goodnight, sweet Prince:
unfettered nightmares find you poor
and free!
--

Plans for One Self: Parting Counter Season, revised

2010-06-01T17:23:00.000-04:00

Any visit lasting less than three days is a short stay at the heart of a long journey--
--

not every fall is autumn's leavings
not every flight escapes or reaches home
as it climbs expectations of landing
elsewhere

not every trip is a stumble

as a thick tumbler's journey to date
:to measure ends shorter than means
& awake to yet longer dreams--
breathes inspiration redundant
to all purpose absent in relative risk

three weeks tick three hours down, down
a short stay by any other name
costing the least of smelly passions pent
up in synonyms fueled bittersweet
as foreign to your mother's tongue
& frightened bare by her daughters, even
--

Parting Counter Season

2010-05-26T14:16:00.000-04:00

--
not every fall is autumn's leavings
not every flight escapes as it climbs

not every trip is a stumble
as a long tumbler's journey to date
(--to measure ends shorter than means
& awake to yet longer dreams-- )
breathes inspiration redundant
to all purpose absent in absolute risk

three days or three weeks tick down
a short stay by any other name
costing the least of smelly passions pent
in synonyms fueled bittersweet...

as foreign to your mother's tongue
& frightened by the daughters, even
--

TestrokeRHone

2010-05-22T00:27:00.001-04:00

---
LET me dream before I look

let me kill before I hook
let me scream before I cook
(--got no home to call my nook--

may I save you with My Book?)

WELCOME to my lonely cauldron
tasty broth-bath nearing boil
sitting on your very fire
e'er on edge of sinking soil...

SAVE ME-- save me to the sere, & fallen
like the yellow leaf is calling
--let me pull before we stroke...
---

'Call me Aimless', again?

2010-05-18T23:12:00.001-04:00

--
'SAVE NOW' quoth blogspot...I *should* be trying to learn the ropes around Wordpress...'but I'm So Lazy', to quote Kevin Johansen...(tuesday April 20?)
Had some fairly vivid dreaming this morning I neglected to try to write down, pen to paper...Teresa was in it, maybe i was helping with the setup & strike, if not the whole production, of an art fair, in one of the big patio courtyards in el viejo San Juan-- maybe the Patio de los Dominicos where Instituto de Cultura & its little theatre used to be (?) maybe the bigger Ballajá barracks...
At the end of the evening, very late, Vitin Calderón says he's stuck for a ride, but he hasn't eaten all day & could I please help him find a place for a late night bite...I'm exhausted & want to go home...but hate to leave a buddy in the lurch...what'll I do??

mittwoch 21 aprilllllll...dos de la tarde...intense dream, Tia Piñiña viva, riding to La Guardia--with (uncle) Jose Luis? --from Madrid? ...where I'm leaving some embarrassing unfinished business behind for later? Cecchin in Madrid?? Try to remember...

(...bueno Earth Day jueves 22) --up a bit earlier? noon sharp, even as I didn't get to sleep til five thirty or so-- thought of running then, but...yknow...vivid dreams again, timely, dealing with wine or plane reservations, but faded quck...pick a date to fly back? Wed May 5-- cinco de mayo!? argh...viernes 7?? nuts...email Paco?
---

Fourplay To A Crowd

2010-04-29T18:09:00.002-04:00

--
MIDNIGHT past the full moon oasis

all freely-willed freewheelin' downhill
from here, there & everywhere

gotta lose this fight with silent pride--
gulp all systems go! Find another tune full?
mister pill, mister pill, mister pill

gonads churning first, drain all
second hope

I lose, I find I question again
until a threshold marks the FOLLOW IN coherence
seeking sleep for new ritual
rebirth in waking (fluff)

Oh, dear. Oh dear ohdearoh dear oh
---

Flujo Roto

2010-04-19T12:58:00.002-04:00

--
Dios es implacable como cada uno
de nosotros, su reflejo
hecho añicos: irregulares
miniaturas del orden
oscuro y voraz

quebrado desde Siempre
nos enfrenta el milagro
que destella fugaz eco de luces

Eternidad es refugio perfecto
para nuestra agonía
pero su cuna de disolución
no arrulla ni consuela la despedida
--

I Sing Arms & Demand

2010-04-11T19:04:00.001-04:00

(English variation on 'Ulises, Primer Arma')
--
silence falls far past
the southern lip of exile

cunning void of root & source
gives up no evidence, reflects
or bears no burden
but seedless planting in cultured ferment

--in troubled broken pounding
of the tidal rush
that hoards life-hardened sludge

to prop the selfsame exile up
beyond flight & futile yearning
--

Objective

2010-04-11T18:08:00.000-04:00

--
home to fans
turning blasts of air
across the bright empty room

'call me ishmael'-- means old
dry meat gone stale in Cymmerian

bad joke. sorry

see, I'm hangin round
way past my expiration date

I've overstayed my welcome
from day one to be sure

was there a market-defined
shelf-life to my masculinity
-- my bachelorhood?
to my awkward poetics?

failure is letting Christian inflation
bill your dime-store Buddhism
ten bucks for a prayer flag
--

I Know The Distance

2010-04-09T00:32:00.000-04:00

--
Love is no euphemism--
will not stand in for more
will not sit down to less

Love is no metaphor--
it will not bring home clarity
to show the way there

I know the distance
between my heart & my skin
I know the calendar
between my cry & my grin

I know the journey
(the gap & the fall)
between my head & my groin

Every nerve is a tightrope
I tremble & dance along
Every vein every artery
the net I fall upon
--

Ulises, Primer Arma

2010-03-26T01:42:00.001-04:00

--
cae el silencio al extremo meridional del exilio

(la astucia no refleja un origen:

un cultivo sin semilla, un cuidado cultural

un embate accidentado
de corrientes que acumulan
sedimento de dura experiencia
que sostiene aquel exilio
que no es huída
ni ausencia)
--

Sin Ir, Recuperable

2010-02-14T20:45:00.001-04:00

--
No recuerdo sueños
anteriores a la prisa
por encontrar el banquete

Si me incorporo transparente
he aprendido a conservar
mi silueta de lágrima

Perdido el límite y disuelto
el borde, mi encarnado aliento
se desolla y divaga descompuesto

Huésped ingrato del mercado
el canto rodado de mi pesadilla
cobija otra noche su yate varado
--

No es eterna si arde, ni viceversa

2010-02-07T22:38:00.007-04:00

--
He aprendido hace tiempo ya
que no soy único ni singular--
entonces, ésta mi soledad
¿cómo difiere y de qué manera,
si alguna, sea la que sea--
de tanta soledad ajena?
--

Innocent Replay Test

2009-12-31T22:58:00.001-04:00

--
tempted by hot spirits
seduced by any number
of holey distractions
to pierce my sight whole
I insist on honing all corners cut
folding the edges back
on collapsing shelters

I got names
I got titles
with essential questions
making marks out of vapor

look past my beard grown grey
see through the rags that fall away
to expose my speeding skin
scripted in alien wrinkles

time ticks? time flees
time antes up my itches
just a notch worse every day

every flight is a failed escape
bracing for abrupt, final rise of land
--

Never Say Never Again

2009-12-31T16:40:00.000-04:00

--

Forgot all that meant
anything to me

--forgot meaning

yet not managed
to forget me still

--

Estaciones sans Route

2009-11-04T22:15:00.010-04:00

O saisons, ô châteaux,
Quelle âme est sans défauts?
-Arthur Rimbaud

sorda sed de sol
hambre muda de caricias

ciega omisión de senderos
para el sonámbulo

el río ha perdido los ojos

arrope mortal en las cuencas vacías

regando restos erguidos
que exhiben su acertijo
de lógica causa final
la lluvia bruja de mayo
resiste repartir encantos
por cosechar mano a mano
cada hechizo de noviembre

--

Stray Litter On the Beach

2009-10-20T19:58:00.009-04:00

---
soy el perro que en la luna escarba una hoguera de signos
-Pedro Casariego Córdoba

(No reservations, just standing by
one crossroad turnoff too far
under a close grey hollow sky)

Dogs are lonely loud tonight
barking onshore overtime
at each & every passenger
as the failing light of day
shuts out in sudden fright

A roaring swell stops draining
into stagnant summer's ebb--
The waning moon refuses
thinning comforts in a drowning tide

Omega male against the seawall--
bottom pup will not yelp out
his single fear of life that ticks
down in his unsafe dune

O hold me warm O hold me cold
to sink in two
as a raging wave
breaks old reflection down
--

TemporaDa

2009-09-24T01:01:00.001-04:00

--
el verano acaba
circulando la cabeza
en picada

fértil secreto
que limpia su meta
de olvido

ya es hora
de sellar señales
en ceniza
--

Shadow Routed Folk

2009-09-13T00:21:00.002-04:00

---
Your quaint country road
snakes unwinding through woods
leaving no not one
none of your troubles behind--
as they drag like a vintage
trailer on four hissing flat tires

Mark my word: mark it well:
trouble will spring ahead
-- stop you dead in your tracks
at each hard hairpin turn
staring pinholes into dim delusion
like a startled young doe
gleaming damp-bright but brittle
in the blinding headlights

Every crossroad & fork
will test your resolve
in a clutter of signs
that confuse all direction
with circles & arrows & pithy
commands that defy comprehension
yet demand full attention
in clear contradiction
with the long-cherished heart
of your harsh-hammered inner conviction

(Still you plunge on ahead
into thick tangled night
through the moon's dented swelling
& spilled orange wash
as it pools deep about
the fresh-felled oak scars...)
--

Menos Menso Trigo Entre Pajas

2009-08-27T00:51:00.006-04:00

...Ich trink so lang, bis dir mein Herz erdunkelt,
so lange, bis Paris auf seiner Träne schwimmt...
--Paul Celan

SE BUSCA celda de incomodidad acogedora
y apropiada dimensión para el deseo que decae
-- el horizonte recogido al marco en pantalla
refleja la sombra contraluz de Oriente

(-- qué abundante y generosa es la evasión
que no reconoces por mi gran culpa)

El pequeño cuenta en Francés y crece
con los años, con el terror a la muerte
(--continuará...)

Te hablo, me dirijo a tí pero mis pies
no logran salvar la distancia
ni suenan mis palabras

Sin embargo continúo interpelándote
con señas de humo y de manos, de marcas
y medios que hunden su paraíso perdido de teorías

Los huesos de mis brazos se quiebran
por alcanzar tanto muerto extrañado

Hay tantas razones para aferrarse a la vida
como para querer rendirse y abandonarla
de un salto, de un tajo, de un rayo

(no es batalla desigual: la vida
nos cuesta la vida y en esa cuerda floja
triunfamos al rendirnos exhaustos)
---

Deep Ecology Thoughts

2009-08-22T02:01:00.001-04:00

---

question the cat's instinct or deny
solitude's mirror in song?

who's the dummy, whose voice
is being thrown?

who dares texting rhyme
to nature's roaming hum?

---

Tiempo en el Tiempo: Weather in Time...

2009-08-13T01:45:00.002-04:00

...

en blanco cada nueva ocasión:

no quiero acortar mis días, por el contrario
pretendo extender la condena más allá
de todo plazo mensurable, de cualquier horizonte
duradero: traduciendo en tiempo
indivisible-- ¿indefinido? el espacio más reducido
--el de la memoria que alcanza singularidad
contra toda dispersión
contra ningún pronóstico de racionalidad

los desechos del día (its remains)
son la locura del mismo (la folie)
:restos que me excluyen a grito sordo y ajeno

no tengo nada
¿vibrará este cadáver, a pesar del silencio infinito?
...

Ground Into Moonlight (--amStrand: August Awaits)

2009-07-10T17:31:00.004-04:00

---
Break away from louder company before
hot wind dies down into stale air, to fall
back in my hammock on th hollow'd shore

At full sluggish tide a sea of oil gleams flat
under the blue half-moon, tangled fast
in branches hung with sickly shadow

Aimless motion by any other name
would not rock you to sleep nor shake
me awake but nudge us lovingly o'er
the crumbling cliff's edge

I play catch-up at best & at worst
I second-guess my truest instincts false
to prop the mute fractured fort up
'round about the wary waiting child.

---
(Sept.'01- July '09)

For Hibbing's Age of Wicked

2009-06-22T02:31:00.005-04:00

(Fragments for a Paternity Day Ballad -- apologies to Robert Milkwood Thomas)

From that very first morning
after I'd been well-spanked
I looked out to the tracks
quickly receding

From stormchild early warnings
I ran but by degrees
my feet too tight on soles
too loose for beating

I won't give up, you know I won't
I shouted at my elders
who rule the world in terror and in silence
I won't give up I will set sail
against the spiral raging in the balance

From earliest awakening
I stumble against rank
to bury my source back
into its gravel

We have no origins or seed
our sages all agree
there is no whole cloth
from which lives unravel

(I won't give up, you know I won't
I whispered at my schoolmates
who rule the world in terror and in silence
I won't give up I will set sail
against the spiral raging in the balance)

Remember O rememberer
your failures all in bloom
to press your sagging wrinkles
into towers

Remember O rememberer
some saving grace of youth
might yet scream stormy daybreak
into flowers

I won't give up, you know I won't!
I whimper at my comrades
who rule the world in terror and in silence
I won't give up I will set sail
against the spiral raging in the balance

---

Before Science-- a toss of the single die

2009-05-13T06:41:00.002-04:00

...
' Un coup de dés n'abolira jamais le hasard'

O my buddies, buds of light
indefinite beyond the rising horizon--
how close are we to our outline's dissolution
in the final shore's tender collapse?

Will we stumble through full recognition
in the threshold time before
the void's absolute, unhinged embrace?

A coward's futile rehearsals
improvise a partner in the mirror
yet all action draws its arc & blade
over the shoulder, in shadowplay screens

I had dreams like muted echoes
that refuse to fade in the unmeasured west--
how far along this track might
they guard, nay, prod my passage?

What is left? What is done?
What is right? What is gone?
...

A Cada Paso Anticipado

2009-05-13T06:39:00.001-04:00

...
Alquimia de incertidumbres:
ahora cuaja la fé sus ensayos
y marca un imposible recinto

Toda evasión se paga con dolor
de ausencias, las huellas de su ruta
no hacen senderos en la arena

Agota la mirada una última fuente
para sus fuerzas, fascinada...

¿Qué nos queda?
Ante el cálculo vacío, ¿qué
nos hiere de urgencia, perdido aún
todo peso y volumen significantes?

Hasta aquí traza la ciencia
su contacto de dudosa perspectiva
por un sendero en llamas

Antiguo miedo, un abrazo
y hacemos las paces al repetir
los ojos abiertos
...

Back on the Tarmac Again, or: Am I Born to Runway?

2009-05-09T06:50:00.002-04:00

We have an expression in Puerto Rico I am not sure is local or old-country Castillian: 'Al que no quiera caldo, que le den tres tazas'-- which may be translated as, 'whoever wants no soup, gets three bowls full'.
After six years of resisting flying-- or postponing & cancelling already booked flights-- across the Atlantic; after I finally make it into Lisbon by sea; after I finally start feeling better & have my first day of three full meals enjoyed & digested, after a month exhausted by recurrent bouts of anxious colics & diarrhea, sometimes waking me from predawn sleep: I'm flying back to Puerto Rico for medical testing while holding on to a return flight back to Madrid by end of July, with feelings as mixed as a shaken, not stirred, dry Martini.
It all came to a head after calling home from my Lisbon hotel cubicle, at the worst possible time, during yet another spasm. Of course I pushed everybody's worry buttons, besides my own. Not my best idea. Now that I feel as if I could've held the course to Barcelona & tasted some outstanding small-producer natural & BioD wines at Slow Vitis (link to event program in Spanish) --tomorrow!!-- I half-regret my decision, but the whole mysterious workings of my emotional & physical health have been foregrounded so dramatically it feels like I'm getting an intense, in-my-face lesson in accepting & letting go. Trust. It's a bitch.

What's been going on, by way of backstory--

2009-05-06T09:49:00.005-04:00

This is a current draft of my mission statement for my wine project in Mendoza:

AlTo RosSo is a personal wine project named to honor the memory of my late brother, Alberto Tomás Rodríguez Sobrino--

Alberto was an alcoholic who died in the late hours of May 21st, 2005, after being fatally shot in a confrontation with three officers of the Brevard Co. sheriff's office in Orlando, Florida.
Contradictory statements on the part of involved parties point to ambiguous circumstances which have never been fully explained.

AlTo RosSo proposes to make & market the wines that, in a better world, I would have wanted to share with my brother: subtle but deep natural wines, made to be part of a meal.

AlTo RosSo will dedicate all earnings, (apart from the strictest, minimal covering of costs) to a fund dedicated to a dual purpose: proactively, it will seek to match existing monies for the more effective training of law enforcement officers in non-lethal crisis management.
It also expects to be able to contribute in part to defray legal costs in cases where the use of lethal force is deemed egregious & excessive enough to warrant independent investigation of the exculpatory verdict of 'Justifiable Homicide'.

Funny, ha-ha, I'm still struggling with the Spanish version. It's a priority, as Hans Devloo agreed
to retail some of the Merlot I contracted at his B&B, Posada Cavieres, & I need to have a skeleton site with the brand registered as a domain name so he can print the URL on his labels.
Oh, & register as a not-for-profit whenever I get a break from medical testing in Puerto Rico.

Lisboa, what's been going on--

2009-05-05T10:37:00.006-04:00

Big mistake to assume Princess Cruises would have some kind of robust wireless broadband on their ships. Could never connect to Skype on their wi-fi service.

My GI tract troubles exploded into crisis a couple of days after my arrival in Mendoza-- as if my mild irritable bowel syndrome had gone ballistic, waking me up middle of the night with anxiety near panic, colics & diarrhoea.
Was stupid & too casual about following some natural medicine prescriptions, got a little better, a little worse, in the end better enough again to let myself get talked into not cancelling my Transatlantic cruise, as I was ready to do.
Managed the nine days at sea on a strict diet & one glass of wine with my meals. (OK, OK, & Fernet-Branca well-diluted in seltzer after dinner)
It was good to digest some food & take solid craps after three weeks of having nearly everything flush out of me only minimally processed!
It also helped in no small way there was a Chinese traditional medicine practitioner on board with an accurate & attentive touch for acupuncture therapy. Thank you, Tamara!

...Then I took a chance on some quiche here at Hotel Ibis-- something like a Euro-MacHotel chain for business meetings-- & my near-permanent intercostal back spasm is screaming-squeezing heart-pumping hard.
This actually gives me hope my friend Leandro & Dr. Whatsis in Maipú are right & it's gallbladder trouble, rather than the worst of my anxiety-fueled fears, which focus on pancreatic trouble-- although my gallbladder showed up plain & clean in a dinky little sonogram I had done.

Sleeping on Argentino NSAID Oxadisten, aspirin, & Valerian root. I guess I'll fly home when I start running out. Hoping against hope I can find the energy & painkillers to make it to Slow Vitis in Barcelona this weekend. Hope dies last.

Terminal Pródigo

2009-04-08T16:47:00.004-04:00

---
buscar la cura tal vez
perdido el estricto norte
puede aún dar con salud

como halla justa palabra
la coincidental etiqueta
de mercader o poeta

si es el hombre lo que hace
¿desconocerá por ajeno
al que otra cosa ejecuta?

cada respuesta es añico
sin medida para armar
crucigramas de respuesta

queda el papelón quizás
de un obligado libreto
a duras penas sentido

(la más clara voluntad
-- error o facilidad--
ejerce resistencia pura)

---

ELEPHANT TALK!

2009-03-27T00:47:00.001-04:00

Slow Writing: Winey Wanderlust Conflicts

2009-01-17T22:57:00.035-04:00

---
Das Wort, von dem du Abschied nahmst, heisst dich am Tor wilkommen,
und was dich hat hier gestreift hat, Halm und Herz und Blume,
ist längst dor Gast und streift dich nimmermehr.

Paul Celan, Die Feste Burg

...You see, I will unhesitatingly-- shamelessly!-- admit I'm the wrong man for the job. Perfectionist & detail oriented, it takes me too long to figure out what I feel, think, or truly care about under a given set of circumstances-- much longer still to manage passably coherent statements about whatever does eventually-- or suddenly, surprisingly, ganz plötzlich!-- arouse my passion--
So I pad my damp trench with books, papers, & souvenirs to pace in muffled shadow & hold the fort for sudden death, crouching down to restlessly nap in the leaky, crumbling modernist nightmare my Mama Pajama's dream house became on Dr.Dad's strict budget: thirty-five thousand 1971 dollars, with endless interest paid over & over by the heart's flowering stalk.
I toast recent losses & save the empty bottles after taking the occasional tasting note.

Among significant deaths around the year's Winter turn-- Harold Pinter, Bettie Page, local expat restaurateur Joe Rao & producer, actor, media entrepreneur Tommy Muñiz, -- I am most recently & personally in mourning these days for Daniel Nagrin, an insufficiently recognised force of American dance. He was one of the inspirations I was at once too proud & too insecure to become a student of...
Somewhat uncharacteristically, the big impression he made on me was not as a dancer, but with his own adaptation of 'The Fall' by Albert Camus staged as a monologue. I had only recently moved to New York, & it was former high school classmate Héctor Huyke who urged me to go see the piece with him...
It seems Mr. Nagrin died the very day after I went through this:

I spent a sleepless, restless night in cabin 9 at the Riverside Campgound in Big Sur, breathing deep, trying to relax, shutting my eyes against the grey dawn that crept over the steep, burnt-out slopes of the Santa Lucia Range on December 28, Feast of the Holy Innocents. An overhwelming sense of failure washed over me. The suggestion came to mind there was absolutely nothing left for it but to buckle up into my rental & drive off one of the unprotected hairpin turns at speed, drawing a final arc into the darkly glimmering Pacific below. My life had already pretty much fallen off a cliff, why not make a statement of literalizing the emotion? A voice in my head rehearsed the line, 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished' over & over as I tossed & turned, anxiety building with the pressure to act...

The upshot of it was I'd spent something like my year's expenses (near 10,000 bucks or so, if you must know) on ten weeks knocking about California, achieving absolutely nothing of what I'd set out to do.
(...no inexpensive, uncomplicated way to bring back to Puerto Rico any of the wine I've accumulated through my participation in Crushpad projects or visits to wineries...more worryingly, no ground gained in my search for an importing partner for the 150 plus cases of Argentinian wine I made a handshake deal with Alberto Cecchin on, no label or logo design, nothing, nothing...)

(--à suivre...)

Lene Lovich - Home

2009-01-04T15:54:00.001-04:00

My theme song...for the last 30 years...

Five Seasons Drop/Single Birth Date

2008-12-30T19:05:00.002-04:00

(find or search nowhere else
but weigh to sing
in burdens' measured load of loss)

in desire fulfill
in reversal shared to feed
in harm, & swell the hidden wound
from earliest youth
through failed manhood comforts
pared down to solitude's bare unease
in time's fated settling

(here is each & every thing's mystery
since nothing's there, but gone)

Thresholds 2

while soiled linen soaks
in a pool of spreading sunlight
a blank itch burrows damp
nesting home under my skin

--now why would high-voltage hum
grow louder in the old house's shade?
why would it make me thirsty?

loose clouds roll back in
as a sharp colic cramps my bowels

one storm unspools north
while another winds tight south

my island is the recurrent trough
(--the unframed threshold...?)
where continental systems
collapse in sinking ocean fronts

(Ocean Again)

at the rivermouth's broad
widening flow
the current
brings us to our feet

life's horizon recedes
before each step
in a flooding tide of tears
while we learn
to walk on water

the earth is flat
to each & every nearsighted self
& the far shore
is a cradling cloud
of mirror mist
as we tumble over the edge
in endless, sourcing fall

Extended Swelter Delays

on rough plains of compound interest
our view builds out reasonous error
into nation-forts as far as no event horizon

classical perspective how cultured?

from a distance, the ruling strait-jacket
keeps a world standing at any cost
--the price of narrow life-channels drained

a table in the sun, a desk in the shade
rendering split judgements on casual opinion

(Insatiable)

Th airier deepening of aimless want
makes you more alien, more
of an object

The deeper wanting of airless aim
pushes you just beyond
grasping reach

Who are you?
Anyway?

Further notes on that Carmenère...

2008-12-14T22:38:00.018-04:00

(Day 1: Winter Solstice, December 21st)
Weird scenes inside the gold mine: I get back from dinner at NoPa & the TV is on, the window wide open in my room at the Metro Hotel. WTF? I don't remember leaving everything like this. When I boot up, Firefox is primed to install an upgrade & I miss the opportunity to search around for traces of unauthorised use or tampering with my laptop. Am I getting paranoid? Maybe it's the after dinner absinthe effect.

When I check email, I find a heartfelt note from meine neffe, Jens-Holger David, so at nine this drizzly evening in San Francisco, I'm his wake-up call in Wolfenbuettel (birthplace of Jaegermeister!), 0600 Central Europe Time in Niedersachsen-- that's Lower Saxony for the sprache-impaired.
He's supposed to be the bad guy in his marriage's breakup, & of course he's too sleepy to give me his side of the story under the circumstances. We're both sorry I wasn't in Puerto Rico last month when he visited.

(Day 2...)
Restlessly reclusive in my city hotel room-- why can't I get into my rental & drive off? Tired. I guess.

Day 3: I blew it. City Rent-a-Car has their whole fleet booked over Christmas & I couldn't extend my current rental beyond tomorrow. Booked for Friday. Forget Big Sur, or San Juan Bautista: I'll be spending Christmas in my Metro hotel room, for better or worse.

In spite of everything going on these days that leads me to question the ultimate relevance of personal wine evaluations except as mercenary marketing tool, I feel compelled to add some further notes to my dismissively skimpy write-up on the Ventura Carmenère for Wine Blogging Wednesday #52:
'...deep ruby (-- is that 'garnet', though?) color with violet rim, fairly simple but pleasant cherry-cassis in nose & palate...'

First of all, I opened the bottle with dinner at the Metro Kathmandu, where the Indian-Nepalese food was a difficult pairing task...I will have to rummage about to figure what I actually ate that evening. In any case, there seemed to be a fleeting bittersweet, tannic edge developing in the aftertaste just before the wine seemed to 'flatten' about two hours after opening. After recent & varied experiences of 'rebound' in the sensorium of organic wines, however, I figured it might be worth saving the remaining half-bottle.

Sure enough, two days later, Kathmandu manager Roshan agreed with me the wine was surprisingly improved: the body was still medium-light at best, washing a little thinly in the midpalate & coming up short in aftertaste. But there was now soft, well-integrated spice in the nose, with some follow through on the tongue. A dusting of nutmeg on the cherries & blackcurrants, as it were, adding subtle complexity & charm to what had at first seemed a gratingly simple, workmanlike quaffer.

It's Christmas Eve. I don't know where I'm eating or what I'm drinking tonight, but at least I have a warm & cozy manger & some silver in my pocket to afford me alternatives. In this Holiday time, please remember those less fortunate, those who cannot, for whichever reason, participate in or exercise the gift, the awareness & freedom of choice. However possible, share your abundance.
Cheers, Peace, & to all a good night!

Rolling North again...to drink Tinto Chileno for Wine Blogging Wednesday #52

2008-12-09T01:31:00.009-04:00

Late again-- as is my stubbornly vicious wont-- for Wine Blogging Wednesday #52, as the number of installments in the wine blogosphere's Premier Online Tasting Event approaches my chronological age...

I was hoping to round up my buddies Adriano & Mark in Los Angeles-- the San Fernando Valley, to be precise-- along with Art & Wine Predator G. Alley for a group tasting of value reds from Chile, but...people have prior obligations, priorities, schedules & agendas, & I could not clearly propose an amenable date for the gathering.
On top of that, I was shocked, shocked to find that there are more Chileno wine choices-- a couple of them made from organic grapes-- in the Health Haven food store on Divisadero street, in the Western Addition district (-- upscale, gentrified denomination 'NoPa') in San Francisco than there were in Whole Foods' Sherman Oaks store in the San Fernando Valley.

I passed up on a $14 'Nuevo Mundo' Cabernet-Merlot organic Meritage for a chance at a $9.99 value: a 2006 Ventura Carmenère, also from organic grapes. Carmenère has had quite the myesterious odyssey-- I'll let the Wiki entry do the honors & proceed to some quick tasting notes: deep ruby (-- is that 'garnet', though?) color with violet rim, fairly simple but pleasant cherry-cassis in nose & palate. The Valley of Lontué, within the Curicó 'appellation', may not be the best terroir for a natural expression of the grape with some depth. Then again, the variety itself may work best in blends, as is the common wisdom.

December 10th is also the anniversary of Alfred Nobel's death, & the date for the annual ceremony honoring the year's winners of the prize that bears his name.
Pablo Neruda won the prize for literature in 1971, the second Chilean writer to earn the award, after Gabriela Mistral, who was honored in 1945. Two poets in a land that has given so many more to the world: Vicente Huidobro, Nicanor Parra, Enrique Lihn, Humberto Díaz Casanueva, Roberto Bolaño...

Here is my own idiosyncratic translation of Neruda's Ode to Wine:

Wine color of day
Wine color of night
Wine with feet of purple
or topaz blood
Wine
starful-struck child
of earth
Wine, smooth
as a sword of gold
soft
as disorderly velvet
snail-curled wine
suspended
loving
maritime
never could fit in one glass
in one song, in one man
choral, gregarious, you are
at the very least mutual.
Sometimes
you feed on mortal memories
on your wave
we ride from grave to grave
quarryman of a frozen sepulchre
we cry
fleeting tears
but
your gorgeous
suit of spring
is different
the heart climbs the branches
the wind moves the day
nothing is left
inside your motionless soul
Wine
moves spring
like a plant, joy grows
walls crumble
& boulders, too--
ravines close up
& the song is born.
Thou jug of wine in the desert
by the scrumptious one I love,
said the old poet
may the claypot of wine
to love's kiss add its own kiss.

My love, suddenly
your hips
are the brimful curve
of the goblet
your breast is the bunch
glint of alcohol your mane
grapes your nipples
pure seal your navel
etched on the vessel of your womb
& your love the cascade
of unquenchable wine
the gleam that falls on my senses
the earthy splendor of life.

Yet not only love
burning kiss
or charred heart
are you, wine of life
but
friendship of all beings, trasparency
choir of discipline
surfeit of flowers.
I love on a table,
in the middle of speech,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
Let them drink
let them remember in each
drop of gold
or topaz glass
or spoon of purple
how Autumn labored
until wine filled the barrels
& may the dark man learn
in the ritual of his business
to remember the earth & its tasks
to spread the plainsong in fruit.

Here is the original in Spanish, in print & as read by Marcella Leoneli.

¡Salud!

Snapshots of the Fall

2008-12-02T22:30:00.007-04:00

My Buddy Sam cradles a River...

Negrita, my late brother Alberto's stressed-out pussycat.

The Metro, home away from home in San Francisco.

Lenn Thompson of Long Island, 'El Jefe' Stai, of Twisted Oak.

The Twisted Oak, sentinel over the looting pirates' tunnel cave.

Hang in there, primo Sam!

Selfless Portrait

2008-12-02T22:25:00.001-04:00

...

--call me detour mashup ronin
spiritual collage anarchist
demolition renewal dialectician

with no refuge, no road, no temple
where was I?
any way, any shore-- near or far--

active passivist bookworming
through labels & roles
in thoughtless scholarship

compression alienist
foreign homebody casualty
blinking social decomposition down

(to be continued...)

Zuni Café: unexpected splurge

2008-11-29T15:45:00.031-04:00

(Last) Tuesday the 25th, after dropping off my bags at the Metro Hotel & returning my rental car, some prints I'd stopped to pick up at Wolf's Photo (by the Safeway on Market Street) needed to be redone, so I thought I'd take the couple of hours waiting time to grab some warm lunch & ward off the creeping, foggy chill in the grey San Francisco afternoon.

Bistro Clovis, my sentimental choice, was unexpectedly closed so I backtracked uphill & walked into Zuni Café for the first time since having their celebrated roast chicken & some breaded artichokes back in 1998 or so.
It seemed to me then that Zuni was great if you had deep pockets & didn't mind somewhat overpriced, European-styled comfort food, but the day's menu had some tempting choices that piqued my interest & overcame any lingering hesitation to bring me inside:
Following through on my initial impressions from the menu, I chose what turned out to be a delicious, seasonal root vegetable soup-- chiefly celery root & parsnip, I was told-- & a tasty salad of rabbit & bitter greens, near-perfect in its balance of acidic, bitter, & fatty elements.

I paired the first course with a surprising discovery: the 'Osteiner' grape is a cross between Riesling & Sylvaner, & Rippon Vineyards of New Zealand biodynamically grows & vinifies a delicious wine from it in Central Otago. The nose was initially poised between crisp Granny Smith, & softer, sweeter Golden Delicious apple, with some subtle citrus & apricot blossoming gradually in the glass & continuing on the palate. The lingering aftertaste had a distinct tart-sweet tangerine brightness...really lovely wine!
The impression was admittedly heightened by the serendipity of the pairing: the subtle fruit & pitch-perfect acidity were set off by the earthy creaminess of the soup. I made my wine selections, as usual, partly from economic considerations & mostly out of curiosity. I felt less secure about my second choice: another white might have been more appropiate, but having never tried any of Jean-Louis Chave's wines, I felt compelled to fill the serious gap in my Rhône curriculum. The 'Mon Coeur' bottling the Café offered by the glass is a Côtes-du-Rhône Grenache-Syrah blend sourced from outside domains. Forest floor & leather dominated the tart cherry in both aroma & taste, lending it a character more usually associated with Pinot Noir. Having had similarly 'bretty' expressions of Rhône variety-based wines before, I took note, & drank on...
The wine paired well enough with my light main dish, even if it by no means meshed in as tightly rich a weave as the earlier match. Only after splurging on some Port & going even further out on a limb, taking some Nocino* with my espresso, did I notice as took a deep breath & examined the check, that I was being billed for a $13 glass of Pinot Noir. Indeed, it seems I'd been misunderstood & served the Domaine Gros Frère & Soeur's 2006 Haute Côtes de Nuits. I ended up spending about $35 for the drink portion of my repast compared with $22 for the actual meal courses. It's these occasions that make me yearn for Spain or Argentina, even if the restaurant selections by the glass, especially in the country of Malbec & mate, are usually frustratingly limited to local product striving to ape the 'International Style' on low budget oak chips...

(à suivre...)

Black Friday Wine Scraps?

2008-11-28T13:53:00.007-04:00

I've been doing woefully little to earn my wine blogger stripes lately, & Thanksgiving was no exception...eight different wines, & no tasting notes to show for it--!

An intensive, 10-day cycle of 5-6 oz. of Echinacea-Golden Seal extract a day seems to have helped in strengthening my immune system & finally loosening my chest congestion. I've never been as strangely happy as I was coughing up a gob of phlegm on Thanksgiving morning-- the sense of release to my lungs was immediate.

My friend Mark, author of the Danger Boy series, invited me to join him at a lovely dinner hosted by his friend & boss, Patrick Graham, publisher of Below the Line, 'providing an insider's reverence for the craft of filmmaking with all the humor and intelligence of the craftspeople it celebrates'...this was no Hollywood turkey! Patrick is a dedicated amateur chef, & Mark's elder son Eli performed admirably as sous-chef, delivering the moistest, tastiest bird I've had in many a holiday season.

Proceedings got started with some Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau in the kitchen, followed by a pink blend from Provence, then Château Clerc-Milon, 2005 vintage, I believe...I sipped some Cru Beaujo throughout the main, sit-down event-- my first Régnié since a glass at Brasserie Le Carrefour in Paris in 1995...didn't like it as much as some '02 Chénas I discovered a couple of years ago...opened some Muscadet de Sèvre et Maine & white Côtes du Rhône to pair with the Humbolt Fog & Fiscalini cheeses I contributed, then went on to my own wine contribution: a big Petit Sirah from Lake County, a Cougar's Leap 2001 still young & dense with discrete blueberry & clove wrapped up in coal-tar minerality & alum-chalk tannins that painted & puckered up your gums for minutes after swallowing...just before heading home we tasted 'Triple C', an unusual, Cab Franc-based blend from Santa Rita in Valle del Maipo, Chile. I was just reminded the upcoming Wine Blogging Wednesday is focused on Chile & this is a likely candidate for more studied sipping...

--à suivre...

Overwhelmed & Under the Weather

2008-11-16T17:37:00.016-04:00

Yikes. I'm just a wee bit worried...after a week's rest & recovery at Sam & Karen's in Lakeport, (seemingly fruitful on the evidence of a 45-minute hill run in Glen Ellen almost a-- over two weeks ago by now, back on Thursday 6 November) it took me a whole day of feeling like I was coming down with a flu all over again to recover from a couple glasses of wine more than my usual couple this last (?) Thursday...
Monday the 17th I went for a same-day roundtrip drive to the Paso Robles area, to retrieve some wines from their climatised storage at El Camino Wine Lockers in Atascadero. Oof.

Been missing on all the activity throughout the wine blogosphere deriving from the energy & Internet eyeball boost from the Wine Bloggers Conference-- almost--er, over a month ago!

I'm at the Jack London Lodge in Glen Ellen, still recovering from a gloriously grueling hike instigated & led by Russ 'Winehiker' Beebe. Nine of us spent six very full hours, from nine in the morning until three o'clock in the afternoon last Saturday, to cover the ten miles up to Table Rock & around the Palisades rockface, on the slopes of Mount St. Helena, just North of Calistoga.

Meanwhile, the slow burn in my throat has subsided & I'm blowing a bit of snot out my nose-- would the heightened histamine level in my system from a big, itchy allergic rash reaction to some insect bites have anything to do with my immune defenses finally 'kicking in'??

But this is not at all what's foremost on my mind. My buddy Sam, mentioned above-- guitar-playing, bass-fishing, idiosyncratic self-made chef & host extraordinaire of the Arbor House Inn, is recovering from a stroke as of last Wednesday. He's well enough that he could send me an email himself with the news, but Karen details his right side is all somewhat affected & he will have to undergo physical therapy...I keep harping on my Dad's inspirational story of Georg-Friedrich Haendel's recovery, & how struggling to remaster organ-playing technique was his principal therapy...from the Wikipedia entry on the composer:

...On April 1737, at age 52, he suffered a stroke or some other malady which left his right arm temporarily paralysed and stopped him from performing. He also complained of difficulties in focusing his sight. Handel went to Aix-la-Chapelle, taking hot baths and playing organ for the audience.^[11] Handel gave up operatic management entirely in 1740, after he had lost a fortune in the business. Following his recovery, Handel focused on composing oratorios instead of opera. Handel's Messiah was first performed in New Musick Hall in Fishamble Street, Dublin on 13 April 1742, with 26 boys and five men from the combined choirs of St Patrick's and Christ Church cathedrals participating...

I can only hope to visit & make myself a useful guest sometime between Thanksgiving & my Christmas return to La Isla del Encanto...continuará...

Sonambulando

2008-11-06T01:06:00.002-04:00

...
incertidumbre dura regla de juego
acatada en el umbral de la luz
y sombra indiferente con, bajo, ante
su absoluta contradicción

(o ciego amor anónimo)

imposible comoquiera olvidar
a los pececitos de colores
o restituir su reluciente tono
sin tapar y cubrir sus escamas
sin sellar sus agallas de vida

imposible negar la preñez
de pajaritos en sueños

...

Lagrimeo

2008-11-06T01:01:00.004-04:00

...
carcelarias rayas de texto
pretenden alzar la voz y marcar
preguntas en el tierno susurro

la piel del pecado sella
la fuente urgente del mensaje
dejando escapar solamente
una gotera detergente
por el culo y un accidente
de lavado por los poros

alguna luna se escapa el suero
racionado del amor
por la pobre acequia de los ojos

...

Views across Clear Lake

2008-11-02T01:11:00.015-04:00

Woke up Monday with a sticky-swollen throat-- again. Seems I'm not out of the woods with this lingering virus or whatever it may be, & the weekend activities took a toll on my immune system. Precisely yesterday, I ran out of some Echinacea-Golden Seal extract that seemed to be doing a nice job of keeping a full-blown flu at bay.

Hallowe'en I spent mostly on a barstool, quietly nursing some Hennessey in a mini-snifter at Carlos & Vinny's while friend & Arbor House owner-host Sam wailed on guitar with Blind Monkey. Struck up a conversation with a local firefighter who had broad work experience related to water resource management. I touched a nerve when the issue of vineyard irrigation practices came up: he'd crossed words with a famous Napa vinegrower whose Lake County holdings top the thousand acres. Seems the drip-irrigated, high-density plantings pioneered & favored by the Beckstoffer viticulture machine are a drain on said resources, impairing availability to smaller growers & possibly depleting the water table.
From the Beckstoffer Vineyards website:

'...As a result of his willingness to experiment with closer spacing, innovations in pruning and trellising, and his introduction of drip irrigation, the vineyards of Andy Beckstoffer are some of the most technologically advanced in Napa Valley, and he is in the process of integrating these innovations into Lake County...The conventional wisdom that reasonable quantity and super premium quality are incompatible has been challenged. Canopy management techniques that include new methods in pruning, trellising, and vine spacing have brought improved access to sunlight, resulting in increases in both quality and tonnage. Adding drip irrigation has opened up whole sections of the Carneros region to new plantings. Sustainable agriculture has brought new life to soils and vineyards...' (My emphasis) Arguably, drip irrigation in & of itself can only by a stretch be considered a sustainable practice. In Lake County's Red Hills, from a local perspective that stretch might be close to a breaking point.

On waking Saturday I was troubled by a persistent, foggy sluggishness I attributed to the previous night's alcohol intake. (I did pour a couple glasses worth of the River of Skulls with a possibly too-light dinner before heading out & sitting down to the cognac.) My response was to overcaffeinate in grand & luxurious manner, as Sam had just taken delivery of a pound of Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee from his longtime supplier, Freed, Teller & Freed. Long story short, I felt anxious, fueled & vigorous enough that the short, light jog I had planned, taking advantage of a break in the persistent drizzle, lengthened into a 45 minute course along the lake.

(One of the less positive impressions I took home from my discovery of this area was the overwhelming dominance of private property on the lakefront & the curtailment of public access. This acted as a prod to walking a more activistic walk concerning such issues in Puerto Rico...but that is 'flour from a different sack'-- & longterm grist for the blogmill.)

(à suivre...)

Story of my Life...with a musical interlude by Joaquín Sabina

2008-11-02T00:09:00.010-04:00

(David's Chinese Zodiac Sign - The Wood Horse)

In love, even though destiny puts charming persons on your way, you may very well discourage them; indeed, you'll expect so much from others without making any effort yourself that they'll believe you to be indifferent. Try not to give in to carelessness, muddling, or discouragement if certain of your undertakings do not meet with success according to your desires. You'll feel misunderstood; this will be all the more painful to you as you'll have the clear impression that others don't in the least try to understand you.

One of my favorite songs of all time. Maybe only the arias 'Nessun Dorma' from Turandot & 'E Lucevan le Stelle' from Tosca-- operas composed by Giacomo Puccini, both of them-- are lodged deeper in my melancholy heart.

Regarding the Wine Bloggers Conference-- in a lingering daze

2008-10-30T16:16:00.011-04:00

Am I fading into an early, fatigued senior fog? Scary. I am overdue for a medical checkup-- since I flew back to Puerto Rico from my informal learning stint around Crushpad in San Francisco, on February 15, 2007...!

I bring this up because I'm drawing an embarrassing blank on the Saturday Grand Tasting of Sonoma Wines. With the level of tiredness I was carrying, relaxing my guard & swallowing instead of spitting soon after joining the poolside anti-Conference was a grave mistake.
Seems I may have been masking most of the symptoms of a lingering, silent flu by doubling up on my usual caffeine intake. I don't have the greatest stamina for alcohol, but I was dimly aware I was feeling lighter headed than usual, even after spitting 99.9% of the time. D-oh.
Only when I woke up in the five AM predawn of Monday morning with suffocating chest congestion unyielding to the hacking cough my body was revving up did I get the message.
A couple of days of rest & reflection yielded some versified impressions--

...about my spiral fog
an abstract ferment breaks
down into spirit love manure
rising into manure love spirit

as if built & meant for lingering
flat in my convection current
lifting my convictions higher
than spirits downed

(Is redundant solitude given
or able to heal its own wounds?)

A life remade crawl by crawl into bed--
now lie in it!

For the last few days I've been slowly but nicely recovering in the care & company of Sam & Karen, owner-operators of the Arbor House Inn. Their cozy B&B is located in one of my favorite pieces of California redneck heaven: Lakeport, in the shade of Mount Konocti on the Western shores of Clear Lake. Jed Steele's winery is in nearby Kelseyville, & Jim Fetzer's handsome, dramatic Biodynamic project, Ceago Vinegarden, is across the water in Nice. More interestingly, people like Andy Beckstoffer & other names associated with Napa Valley have actually been sourcing & growing grapes in the volcanic soil prevalent here for some time now.
I have some catching up to do-- I discovered & started exploring the area nearly two years ago, & it seems some things may have changed a great deal up here, while others have not. Besides Lake County wineries, Mendocino's Redwood Valley is a short drive away. I'm champing at the bit, frustrated by the lingering malaise. Argh.

Spirit-otter Self

2008-10-26T12:38:00.001-04:00

...
marking time
at the distance of dreams
bowels empty heaven
by the far shore

Wine Bloggers Conference, Day One

2008-10-25T01:37:00.009-04:00

I'm walking a (metaphorical) tightrope I might be tempted to literalize at some point: high above the dizzying chasm in attitude between knowing my limits & testing my stamina.
Happy to be in the company of des vrai amateurs du vin: true lovers of wine, quite a few of whom are talented, tenacious, & astute enough to earn their living as some type of oenological industry professional or another. Of course, I'm also still nursing the familiar 'out-of-my-depth' feeling.

The proceedings got under way with an event fairly close to tradition: a lunchtime tasting at Kick Ranch Vineyard, under the gracious hosting of owner couple, Dick Keenan & Kathy McNamara.
Insufficiently caffeinated, my tendency to thoughtful, meditative & conversational tasting limited the number of wines I sampled. Fifteen different wineries source from this farm, where only 40 or so acres from the property's total 100 are cultivated. Out of the top-flight wineries presenting their work, I focused mostly on two small, intensely personal projects: Enkid u Wines, where Phillip Staehle is winemaker-owner, & Renard, Bayard Fox's Rhone-focused winery.

Making our way back to the Flamingo from this setting meant diving headfirst into Wine 2.0 ...tropes? --with winemakers making six minute presentations, table to table, while bloggers shared tasting impresions 'live to the Web'. I posted, somewhat disjointedly, on Twitter. Mike Wangbickler has published a succint & organized write-up on his blog, Caveman Wines.

There was a somewhat tongue-in-cheek blind tasting after this, & I missed my chance to rest & freshen up as soon as I was eliminated. Couldn't quite catch up with the massive selection of wines from New Zealand. Enjoyed dinner. Gary Vaynerchuk's keynote address was fun & awesomely inspiring. From now on, I want-- no, I demand!-- a couple of tablets of multi-Gary washed down with a glass of Vaynerchuk every day. Missed a ride out to 'Pinotblogger' Josh Hermsmeyer's, where an 'afterhours' event featuring wines from New York, both Long Island & the Finger Lakes, was taking place. Yes, I'm a wimp: a wimp, a wallflower, &, as we say in Puerto Rico, a Wally Schneider. Over'n'out.

A Twisted Post gets Detoured!

2008-10-18T11:12:00.029-04:00

-- delayed, derailed, unbent, unhorsed...?

A pen, a pen-- my kingdom for a pen!

Run, sit zazen, write, loiter, browse, mull it over...now is the morning overcast in Murphys dispelled & warmed into glorious Indian summer '--by this sun of York'.

The misshapen, yet lovely, gibbous moon rose like a casual gob of cosmic mustard over the Oakland hills, flashing between the Bay Bridge girders in rotoscope animation. I was behind a steering wheel for the first time in a whole year, driving East towards the Calaveras County foothils of the Sierra Nevada after a decade of rail & roading rather strictly North & South along the coast in my visits to the Golden State, the former Bear Flag Republic. Kicking up the road ambience with a mix of cultural dislocation & time warp, a version in Portuguese of the old pop ditty 'Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini' played on the radio.
Deflating Selene's form brought the pretty young woman at the Rainbow Grocery in San Francisco to mind. She stood out among the layered-bagpants neo-hipppie chicks & the boho-patrician gypsy-skirted Boomers, wearing a close-fitting denim jacket buttoned up to the neck & short-short cutoff sweats that brought attention to her long, well-turned legs. What's her story, I wondered? Then she turned around: her left arm was missing. I stared-- it seemed a trick of the light, a problem with my glasses...

What is it about flawed or wounded beauty that will bring us to our knees in a welter of contradictory emotions?
Maybe it's the way it pointedly engages the (dominant, normatively male) gaze with the discomfort of self-consciousness without denying or shutting out the desire it excites-- but how much am I projecting my own issues with self-image & self-acceptance (--& desire, & aesthetics...) & how much am I also being invited to project, in such a situation? How aware or at all concerned might this woman be of the range of reactions her particularly striking appearance may trigger?
I haven't read deeply enough in Feminist Critical Theory to address any of these issues in a consistent & disciplined manner, yet I feel compelled to raise them & explore how they might have some bearing on writing that concerns the evaluation of sensuous (sensory?) pleasure-- i.e., in relation to wine; with attendant & pertinent debates on the possible desirability of strictly defining objective vs. subjective criteria for such evaluation.

These weightier concerns have hijacked what I had planned as a travel update in a much lighter vein, focusing on my visit to Murphys & Twisted Oak Winery. I am much indebted to both 'El Jefe' Jeff Stai & 'Fermento el Magnífico', Scott Klann, in ways I must absolutely find time & occasion to detail forthwith, at greater & more leisurely length. For not-quite-full disclosure of my personal relationship with this winery, this post & this one will provide some background.

The Wine Bloggers' Conference is scheduled for the upcoming weekend, & a sizable sampling of intensely dedicated wine professionals & amateurs who double as Internet-focused scribes (read: bloggers!) are looking to meet up & possibly test their sense of community as well as define their relationship to the broader worlds of the wine industry & wine journalism. Serious debate on the above topics & others of more practical import--on making some sort of a living from this sort of writing, & the tools to achieve this, for example-- is on the conference's agenda & I look forward to meeting some of the outsize personalities making their mark in this field, this context, this realm.

Still, the inner parent's voice in my head keeps nagging, 'A little knowledge is a dangerous thing'...welcome to the Hotel California!

Armas Ajenas (Maipú-- reposteao)

2008-10-09T14:33:00.001-04:00

...

junten filas

el pasillo de olivares
endereza y yergue
su pelotón de jorobas

ramas rascan
hojas arañan
y el fruto perdido
ciega caricias al caer

no hay rastro de camaradas
en el murmullo incierto
que premia la carrera

danza de oscuro sacrificio
entre amargos funcionarios
rinde confuso servicio
a la memoria

The Wild Gone Missing: Wine Blogging Wednesday #50

2008-10-06T00:39:00.024-04:00

Ah, yes-- the Big Five-Oh. A big thank you to Winehiker Russ Beebe for hosting this milestone installment of Wine Blogging Wednesday. I fully expect to get some 'winehiking' in during my upcoming couple of months among los Californios-- maybe a haunted Hallowe'en traipse by the River of Skulls? For now, unfortunately, this is probably ending up as a virtual ramble down a wild stretch of memory lane.

My younger brother Alberto did not live to see fifty. Just about five weeks after celebrating his 49th birthday (On May 21, 2005, to be exact: the incident made the front page of the Orlando Sentinel the following morning.) he confronted three Brevard County officers who couldn't handle a drunk-- with a knife in each hand, admittedly-- any other way than sending him to his grave with eight bullets in him. These days I'm angry mostly at my own lack of resolve in marshalling resources to question & investigate the official 'justifiable homicide' excuse. I am also, however, enduringly irritated at the dismissal voiced by members of our extended family who argue that Alberto, in his spiral of alcoholic depression, had set himself up into a 'suicide by cop' situation. To me this seems an obvious, likely variation on blaming the victim.

How is any of this pertinent to the topic at hand? One of the last good times we had together was when we bagged the three main peaks in El Yunque National Forest during the course of a sweltering afternoon hike, led with dogged focus & persistence by our German (half) brother, Peter. If memory serves me right, this must have been close to my own birthday, in March of 2001. There are wilderness trails in El Yunque, but I'm not certain the loop we improvised around the peaks, connecting as it did by a service road, could be considered such. The tallest summit in the area is actually 'El Toro' (Its height variously estimated at 3,524 feet here, 3,533 here) which now lends its name to what was formerly designated 'El Cacique' Wilderness Area-- as you can read in this succint summary of what makes the Forest unique.

I say three peaks-- Peter can actually claim four: before beginning our descent with a planned pitstop at Mt. Britton tower, he insisted on making his way past the electrical substation & broadcast antennas at the end of the main service road to the narrow outcropping fittingly dubbed 'La Roca'. Delays had made for a late start around midday & the afternoon heat rising in waves from the pavement seemed to aggravate the pain in my knees as well as make me dizzy. I had prepared only one seltzer bottle of my homemade peppermint-green tea 'soda', hardly enough to stay hydrated in the local climate-- it was finished by the time we took snapshots on Los Picachos, our first summit.

I can't remember how I convinced the family crew to trust me & chance the shortcut of a barely discernible path along what seemed an abandoned branch of the forest service road. It was fern-clogged, overgrown, & somewhat rough going; but there was shade overhead, softer ground underfoot, & we saved quite a few minutes of precious time which was starting to run scarce. I had something of a personal agenda taking shape at this time, given urgency by the heat: I wanted to cool off in my own special pool.
Back in '89 or '90, showing a visitor from New York around Puerto Rico, I had taken the opportunity to revisit El Yunque for the first time since childhood. I discovered there were a series of more or less secluded pools both up & downstream from the showcase 'La Mina Falls'-- La Mina 'trail' is actually a narrow concrete sidewalk, slippery with rainforest moss & fairly steep to boot. I'd only returned once to the special pool I'd identified, bringing friends David Sower, his then-fiancée, & Alex Schachtner from Germany for a cooling dip when they were all my guests in June 1999. Now I wanted desperately to soak my aches & pains in the cool, churning stream.

Long story short, I got my wish-- & you may have already surmised this is the place where I'd like to open that bottle of wine-- but there was a price to pay: access to vehicular traffic is closed off at six in the afternoon, by locked gate. The hour was late & close enough to that cutoff point that we decided I should jog the two miles or so down to the gate to make sure it stayed open while Peter, his wife Astrid, & Alberto hiked the steep mile back uphill to the trailhead parking lot to get our car. I made it to the gatepost, gasping for breath, & waited anxiously by the deserted roadside. I seem to remember they were delayed somewhat, but still, no guard or caretaker turned up before we were gone-- & I haven't been back since then...

Oh, the wine-- ! Quirkily enough, the wine I'd want to drink-- to share, preferably-- in this place is one I have some mixed feelings about: Naia Verdejo is something of a 'tropical fruit bomb' (according to a reviewer who shares my opinion, in Spanish) crafted for the international palate & maximum ParkerPoints by Oenologist Eulogio Calleja under the sponsorship of importer Jorge Ordóñez. Sometime over a year ago I shared a couple of bottles with my friend Ricardo. It was a great match with his ceviche of Mahi-Mahi, the heady perfume of honeysuckle & passion fruit, (Parcha in Puerto Rico, Maracuyá in Spain & most of Latin America) carrying over with a touch of sweetness on the palate & playing nicely off the lemony marinade & the soft oiliness of the fish. While other tasting notes suggest there may be a fair amount of vintage variation, attributable as much to the subtle blending play of Viura (Macabeu in Catalunya) & Sauvignon Blanc allowed under DO Rueda regulations as to other technical factors, I dare say the slightly over-the-top character is what the lush rainforest setting calls for.

On a less idyllic note, I needed two days-- Thursday & Friday of last week-- of 40-minute pavement hikes each way to board the Tren Urbano into town at its Torrimar station & finish the paperwork for renewing my driver's license. It was then I decided I needed more time to tie a few loose ends before flying West, took a deep breath & paid the 150 smacker fee to postpone my departure. Otherwise, yesterday I might have been trying to find my jet-lagged way out of San Francisco to some trail with a wineshop nearby. In the meantime, & not to stray too far from my longstanding pursuit of Viognier knowledge (most extensively chronicled here) I've managed to get my hands on a few other different takes on Verdejo, most notably from Bodegas José Pariente & Solar de la Vega.

Having missed my deadline, & not to delay posting any longer, tasting notes will have to wait.
So I will sign off with with my all-too-often recurrent-- 'to be continued...'

TASTE the Wine, Write the Walk

2008-10-01T14:25:00.012-04:00

Lurking invisibly down a-ways the list of posts there's a fragmentary draft waiting for a recovery & resurgence in my energy & writing motivation: my health & political issues collided & conspired against my participation in Wine Blogging Wednesday #49. The wine? Chapoutier's Hermitage bottling: (Monier de) La Sizeranne. On top of everything else, the meaning of the name became an issue. I do also have some emotional venting stuck in my throat regarding issues with my place & family of birth...later.
Meanwhile...I've postponed my flight into San Francisco until next Saturday the 11th, only secondarily to give me a slightly better chance at participating in WBW #50.

Well, maybe I will vent a bit: after seven months in Argentina, I was happy to be drinking wine from anywhere else, but variety & access to Old World juice comes with an increasingly steep price tag in Puerto Rico. The most recent experience with sticker shock concerns my bête noire grape, Viognier. Until recently, V.Suárez had Guigal's basic Condrieu pegged at 32 dollars & change (--plus tax these days, don't forget!) at El Hórreo, their retail outlet. They're still peddling the '97 vintage, by the way, & the wine has miraculously & consistently come through all those sweltering Summers in great shape. I had figured I could afford a bottle every other week or so, but on ringing up the purchase after my last outing two weeks ago I was told-- warned-- the labels were outdated, & from now on (after courteously honoring the sticker listing) I'd have to be shelling 50-something smackeroos for a bottle of the precious elixir-- a few pennies less than Guigal's famous vineyard selection Condrieu, 'La Dorée' --really, WTF???
I guess I can consider myself lucky to have had the chance at a few bottles at the earlier, more reasonable price-- & at a couple of the Hermitage mentioned above, the latter at something over 42 dólares.

Busco Pistas

2008-09-25T00:31:00.009-04:00

primero donde molesta
en inepto repetido
en el charco del pañal

no es un muro, no es la verja
ni valla una hilera
es cortina interior la que no recuerdo ya
lo que persigo a la vez por mi propia fuga

el planeta se forra de gris hasta ecuadores
y buscamos inspiración expirando
que no respire la quizás externa recta

qué coño importa tu puto coño por parir

busco pistas porque no puedo más

ni sofocar bajo mantas y harapos
disfrazando en heroísmo el fracaso

Talk the Wine, Write the Walk (UPDATED- October 7)

2008-09-03T14:58:00.020-04:00

'You know the preacher likes the cold'-- & I can identify.

I had the snarlingly insistent premonition that a mid-July return to Puerto Rico was not going to be very enjoyable, productive or even ultimately practical-- except in the narrowest possible sense:
the logistics of extending my nomadic condition seeemed overwhelming as I had an expired driver's license & not quite a couple of thousand dollars left in my checking account...

But after two months 'back home' of loitering with intent, I've yet to find my way to any government services' office to stand in line & pay the fees...my allergies & digestion grow worse & I only get out of the house to buy food staples & the occasional evening run. Nothing like depressive inertia for self-fulfilling righteousness?

Combined Zodiac
The Aries
Wood Horse

In your work, the road will be free for your beautiful initiatives. Learn the good habit to liquidate your obligations as soon as they arrive, without letting them heap up. Too great fatigue will considerably weaken your immune defenses and will render you more vulnerable to microbic and viral attacks; therefore take sufficient rest so as to recover your forces; some sensitiveness of your throat is probable. If you can go on vacation, profit by the occasion to go abroad; your journey will be pleasant and enriching in many respects.

Tasting on Twitter & WBW #48 follow-up

2008-08-19T15:09:00.014-04:00

I'm on a steep learning curve, finding my way around 'Twitter' with my fingers all tangled up in Web 2.0, but I couldn't pass this one up: I love the bit of Alsatian wine I've had & none other than Étienne Hugel will play world-wide 'virtual' host in tasting a selection from his family's portfolio of wines, this coming Thursday, August 21st.
Robert McIntosh, wine blogger extraordinaire in the UK, makes a clearer intoduction to the event than I could ever hope to, here.

What have I had? Gewurztraminer from Hugel-- & Trimbach's too, I think. Easier to tick off what I haven't had: this will be my first taste of an Alsatian Riesling, & I'm looking forward to it-- even if it's not the '04 'Jubilee'. I'm also frustrated & sorry that V.Suárez has none of the Pinot Blanc-- after drinking a couple of interesting but fairly simple American efforts, I was wowed by a glass of Trimbach's sipped at Luna Park in San Francisco during the waning days of '06. Good to see it still seems to have a place on their wine list!

Meanwhile, I've been researching DeLoach Vineyards on the strength of their Zinfandel, which I had as part of my approach to Wine Blogging Wednesday's 'Dig Down Memory Roots' fourth anniversary assignment. There is a historical chronology here, which documents a veritable who's-who of winemakers associated with the operation.
Last Sunday, five days after pulling the cork, both the DeLoach as well as Montevina's Terra d'Oro Sierra Foothills Zinfandel evidenced an autumnal nutmeg & cherry-infused pipe tobacco spiciness. Smokier character with beginning oxidation in the DeLoach contrasted with brighter but simpler fruit in the Terra d'Oro. I thought I'd end up adding most of what was left of both bottles to my pasta sauce after a final taste today, a full week later. I was pleasantly surprised to find the tart-sweet berry notes I'd been missing come to the surface & ring out as tannins & acidity muted-- in the DeLoach.

Yet to buy the Jean-Marc Brocard 'Les Clos'...à suivre...

Kevin Johansen - Campo Argentino

2008-08-15T22:25:00.006-04:00

...trying again...OK, now, three weeks later, it turns up on my blog, as if by magic! (Tip for Kevin: you might rhyme-- 'Je ne sais pas/pas d'idée' ! ;))

Wine Blogging Wednesday #48: Back to Your (Vinous) Roots (UPDATE August 19)

2008-08-12T16:11:00.021-04:00

Excuse me, I have to run out the door to buy some wine! First, however, I wanted to thank Lenn for hosting the event he instigated on its fourth anniversary & congratulate him on the inspiration to round up the blogosphere's widely ranging cabal of Oenological scribblers through the simple, effective ritual of tasting a shared yet individualized assignment. A ritual that has succeeded at forging something like a sense of community. Kudos, Lenn!

'The Scribe' seems to have beaten me to the punch in this instance, but I'd like to follow through on my own habitual pattern & use the topic of this Wine Blogging Wednesday as motivation for more than one posting. As a matter of fact, my third installment may take some time & some doing, since, as a nod to Mr. Thompson's particular turf, I'm looking for a chance to re-view my 'Aha!' moment regarding Long Island wines: during an extended return stay in New York City back in that fateful year of 2000, I discovered & repeatedly shared the impression made by a Merlot from Pellegrini Vineyards on the North Fork. The vintage was 1997-- I wonder, is any of that still to be found, & (gulp) at what price?
But before then, I have two divergent 'taproots' to trace: one for red wines & one for whites. They represent contrasting experiences that shook my take-it-or-leave-it complacency regarding wine, bred by the middling to cheap Rioja that was the vinous norm in my family as I was growing up, & later, by extension of habit, among friends.
The wine that gave me the fruit & spice I wasn't getting from the Riojas-- or from the occasional treasured Premier Cru that was usually, at the very least, 'diminished' by stewing unrefrigerated in the tropical heat-- was a Sutter Home Zinfandel. In all likelihood, a '92 or '93, the latter being an especially good year for California Zinfandel. (--or maybe it was 'Non-Vintage' at that point?) I went on a Zin binge that lasted-- oh, maybe seven or eight years. I weaned myself slowly, gradually, with much help from Rhone varietals.
While the experience with Zinfandel gave me an exhilarating sense of gaining access to the sensuous richness in wine-- which had seemed to elude me up to that point-- my visit to the Domaine of vigneron-négociant Jean-Marc Brocard in Chablis during the Summer of 1995 rubbed my unprepared nose in wine's subtle complexities, making the dramatic point that most of this richness was still beyond my 'sensory means'. The circumstances of my visit bear retelling at length, but first I have to locate some of the wine.
In relation to my task at hand: the Trinchero family continues to bottle Zinfandel under the Sutter Home label, but the local distributor, Vicente Suárez, did not have it in stock. They had the Sutter Home Merlot, their Cabernet, & their White Zinfandel, of course! But not their Zin.

(As I write this & review some of the contributions already posted, I see Tim Eliot over at Winecast located & tasted some of this juice. Salud, Tim!)

As an 'acceptable faccsimile', I bought a bottle of 2004 'Terra d'Oro' Amador County Zinfandel from Montevina, which is another of the Trinchero Family's labels. In an attempt to compensate somewhat for not locating my self-assigned vinous 'madeleine', I also bought some 1998 DeLoach Russian River Valley Zin-- & I'm glad I did. On first opening yesterday, cedar spice-box notes from the oak tended to dominate the Montevina, while the DeLoach seemed a little 'brett-y': mostly loam & leather. I missed the bramblebush & berry at the usual core of Zinfandel typicity, as the fruit character tended more to plum & some black cherry. The DeLoach seemed to lighten in body & 'died' in the glass with a clear, surprising cranberry tartness. Paired with some chorizo-spiked kidney bean 'chili' stew to bring out spice notes as well as buffer their 14.5% alcohol level, both wines evidenced some wonderful evolution this evening: the Montevina Terra d'Oro opened to a creamy milk chocolate nose that seems to be reflected in the midpalate texture. In the DeLoach, the earthiness was offset & balanced by some orange zest acidity. My nose seems to be half asleep-- there is a touch of herbaceousness in both of them, but I can't pinpoint it-- maybe sage? Let me just say that the DeLoach sells for $19.50 plus 7 1/2 % tax here, & they seem to me an unjustly underappreciated producer. Maybe I'll leave it at that, & promise some further tasting notes as a third-time-charm addendum. Tomorrow I'll have to begin to search in earnest for some Jean-Marc Brocard Chablis...à suivre...

UPDATE: Méndez & Co. have J-M Brocard's Grand Cru 'Les Clos'!
Some further notes on the Zinfandels are here.

At Long Last, Viognier--

2008-08-04T16:08:00.038-04:00

Let's see if I can finally get this over with & make it fairly straightforward--
If memory serves me right, I tried a total of five different Viogniers in Argentina, & I don't believe any were from wineries or vineyards too far from the immediate Mendoza area. (Will check & report back.)
The backpedaling qualification above stems from a senior moment in buying my fifth example of the varietal at the Rosario Carrefour 'Hyper-Marché': I passed on Henry Lagarde's offering at thirtysomething pesos, & picked up what I eventually found out was Lagarde's second label, 'Altas Cumbres', for something over half the price. It was only as I was about to pull out the cork back at Luis Paz's house, dismayed at not having noticed the 15% alcohol level before then, that a dim memory came to me of having bought a bottle of the very same wine at the Carrefour in Mendoza, not long after settling into my apartment share, maybe right after New Year's. Yikes.
Anyway, this was tropical fruit salad in a bottle, with some stone fruit preserves adding typicity. Not too bad for the price, if you like that sort of thing, I guess. It faded to tart citrus over the course of a couple of days-- a little too quickly, considering it was an '07.

I had some mixed expectations for Mauricio Lorca's 'Lorca Poético' version, bought 'under the table', as it were, from friendly attendants at the Vines of Mendoza showcase tasting room. I was prepared for a fair degree of spoof in the juice, but the buzz on Señor Lorca is positively worshipful so I was figuratively holding my breath, trusting the winery labwork might translate into some enjoyable International style flash. What I got was frightfully voluptuous FrankenWine. Nose & palate were tight to the point of metallic impenetrability on pulling the cork-- 'maybe this bodes well', I reassured myself: slow to evolve, & all that-- maybe he's semi-natural in his winemaking...?
The next day, like tumblers turning in a lock, the wine opened up & I got gobs of fruit salad-- syrup fairly well-controlled for a touch of elegance, though, & a stronger peach & apricot character supporting the tropicalia throughout. Ah, my sense-memory kicks in-- some sweet apricot blossom in the nose!
The scary part came as I sipped half-glasses over the next five evenings, speculating whether the whole fruited scaffolding would tumble to sour citrus or somehow stabilise gracefully, but-- nothing happened. No evolution-- not one Brylcreemed, vinous curl came unstuck in the swirling Autumn gusts, not one fatty fold shifted in the broad carriage to spread & settle its comforts, not a twitch troubled the self-satisfied composure of this Iron-fruit Maggie. Never was an oxymoron more--imperative? --this was one compact monolith of overripe sensuality.

Early on after my arrival in Mendoza, I'd had some of Escorihuela Gascón's Viognier, by the glass with different meals at the winery's restaurant, Francis Mallman's '1884' (here's a review in Spanish of one memorable evening).
My original idea was to put the wine 'through its paces' for Wine Blogging Wednesday #46 along with Conalbi-Grinberg's Ugni Blanc, but the posting deadline loomed as I rushed around to wrap things up for my return, & I decided to file an early report. I only barely made it to the winery to make my purchase by closing time the afternoon before heading back to Posada Cavieres to pack. To complicate matters, curiosity got the best of me, & I bought the last bottle of 2004 sitting in the tasting room, instead of the current 2007 release. Bad call. The wine seems to have cooked in marginal storage, probably for more than one of those hot, Mendoza summers, so that the oak barrels where 10% of the juice fermented overwhelm the faded flower & fruit. Dommage. I'm still fairly angry at myself about this one, as in retrospect, it seems the most balanced & correct of all Argentino efforts with the grape.

I shared half the bottle over late lunch at Domaine Du Mont with Hans & Alina of Posada Cavieres, (after they fetched me in town while running errands) then finished it off with the Domaine crowd the next evening. I guess that's what got Jasmine up from her sickbed: I brought three bottles to taste, the others being the Ugni Blanc & the Viognier from Cavas de Chacras. I've already gone on at some length about the Ugni Blanc, here. The Viognier, in retrospect, seems to have had more stone in it than stone fruit. People chimed in with 'wet stones' & 'snowmelt grass?', & Meg Montgomery felt compelled to write, 'Meg said grapefruit & everyone agreed!!!' in my 'Moleskin' notebook.
As a quaffer with great 'Quality-Price ratio' (besides the surprising minerality & shortness of varietal typicity) it's a cut above the Santa Julia Viognier by Familia Zuccardi, reviewed by Alex for WBW #46 at 'Eating Leeds'. I had this last iteration of what seems to have become my bête noire in lovely company, too: Sylvie & Pierre Hébert from Montréal brought me memories of my days as a wannabe performance artist, with news of Marie Chouinard, Le Théatre de La Veillée & the current avant-garde scene in Québec. (Pierre does amazing, painstaking work in direct-on-cel animation, here's his website.)

Our own bottle started varietally correct with promising subtlety, showing white flowers in the nose, with contained stone fruit & lemon pith on the palate, but it thinned to tart limeade all too quickly during the course of out meal at Casa de Campo. Dommage, redux.

In closing, I hope I may be forgiven some speculative conclusions about Cuyano terroir & its possible adequacy for the varietal: Lagarde & Escorihuela both claim the earliest South American plantings of Viognier, dated 1992-93. The vineyards are not far from each other, in the Perdriel & Agrelo districts of Luján de Cuyo, respectively. It's possible there is soil variation I am not knowledgeable about here, but the great difference in their product would seem to be more a matter of vinification style.

Meanwhile, Cavas de Chacras & Zuccardi both have their vineyards East of Mendoza, the first in Santa Rosa & the latter in San Martín: this is a hotter, drier, lower elevation area with sandy soil lacking the alluvial-clay mix I think is dominant in Luján's climbing slopes. My guess would be these circumstances force early ripening & early picking, with phenolic maturity lagging, therefore limiting full expression of Viognier's particularly lovely character. Finally, Lorca has his Viognier plantings higher up in Valle de Uco, in Tunuyán to be precise. I don't know much about soil conditions there, I would hazard his grapes easily get a lot more hang time. It's a shame he's not interested in a more natural style, as the typicity beating like a smothered heart in his wine evidences he may be located in the most propitious environment for a world-class Viognier.

Apologies for the paucity of practical information on price & availability. Reviewing other posters' take on wines from Argentina, I started questioning the value of quoting winery prices at an unrealistic distance from stateside rates. Winery websites tend to have well-featured links to importers & distributors since they are the better part of their business. Myself, I have my own agenda as to figuring import channels & duties that I must & will, as publicly as possible, follow through on.
¡Salud!

Further Notes on White Rhone Varietals in Mendoza, part 2

2008-07-26T00:04:00.035-04:00

(--wherein, two months later, we finally pick up the thread
of '...our story, thus far--')

In the twenty-five or so minutes it took us to drive from Mendoza to Sr. Festa's winery in Chacras de Coria, an unspecified & never to be explained emergency came up in his Santa Rosa vineyard, about two hours away to the East. Consequently, & contrary to expectations, we were received by Luis, the winery manager, & the accountant; both quite bemused, as they had not been informed by their patrón of our planned visit.
A quick ring on the celphone led to a somewhat surrealistic round of introductions tinnily broadcast by cellular speakerphone, & after a cursory review of the winery's facts & figures we were led on to taste wines still waiting to be bottled-- stored both in stainless steel, & in traditional concrete 'piletas'.
While all the fruit is organically grown, Luis was quite candid about the winery's dual approach to vinification: white grapes are cold-soaked & innoculated with commercial yeast strains to 'cold-ferment' in refrigerated stainless steel tanks, while red grapes are, on principle at least, taken along a less interventionist & more traditional path.
I must apologize for leaving the implied caveat in the above sentence hanging as I focus on the winery's white wines. Visiting their website (linked to above) to compare my usual spare tasting notes with whatever published data I might profit by reviewing, I found, among other omissions, no entry for the Viognier I sampled & subsequently bought! I must also beg to differ on the characteristics they emphasize for their Ugni Blanc, harping as they do on tropical fruit, & listing pineapple, banana & melon as main descriptors. The discrepancy may be due to year & bottle variation (The bottle I bought was vintage '06. I was a little let down I wasn't offered a taste of anything 'in progress'.) --or it may be all a matter of my own quirky, idiosyncratically semi-educated palate-- in any case, & be that as it may:
The stand-out wine from the visit, lingering most clearly in memory nearly two months later, was a light, herbaceous Chardonnay from the current harvest, still just finishing alcoholic fermentation. It had just enough of a mineral thread-- subtle but undeniable-- to make me regret not having bought whatever bottling of the varietal they had on hand at that point & putting it through some formal tasting paces. I wonder if it's their best product.

Now, here is the preview of coming attractions I posted at the tail end of my 'Wine Blogging Wednesday #46' participation:
On first taste, the Ugni Blanc was peculiarly reminiscent of Sauv Blanc, with grassy gooseberry character, while the Viognier was rather tight & unyielding to the senses. Will taste again this evening, in good company, & will post a link here to a separate post for tasting notes & the story of how I discovered the winery.

'Good company', indeed!-- meaning Jasmine Montgomery & her folks, who have opened Domaine Du Mont, an upscale bistro & private event facility in the Coquimbito district of Maipú. Their lovingly rehabilitated hacienda is twenty minutes or so on foot from Hans & Alina's Posada Cavieres, not a bad walk but for the hardship of no real pedestrian-friendly 'shoulder' for the better part of the route along Carril Urquiza. One must run the gauntlet by the occasional rush of hard-bearing trucks on a narrow corridor of packed alluvial scree along an olive grove fenced in barbed wire. One can only hope the work being done on the Northern end of this road, featuring lovely, secure & comfortable bike & walking lanes, reaches this far before too long. I have the best hopes for the success of this new 'Domaine' & trust we will celebrate when I find my way back to Mendoza next year.
Jasmine is trained both as a Chef de Cuisine & Sommelier, but was unfortunately struggling with a bad cold the evening of our gathering. Maybe I could blame our different evaluation of the wines tasted on her stuffy nose & diminished sensorium.
Rather predictably, the Ugni Blanc generated the most debate. The variety's 'notable acidity' (notorious might be the better term) was very much in evidence, pushing the dominant character from citrus to aspirin, with the latter's saltiness & texture at least adding some supporting density to the light midpalate.
I found telling continuities with Conalbi-Greenberg's boutique bottling reviewed for WBW #46: a faraway whiff of white flowers, & some assertive, lingering herbaceousness which struck Jasmine as unpleasantly bitter.
Although green ginger & rosemary are probably easier for most to identify, I have a new, possibly more correct & accurate descriptor for that bitter, herbaceous character: sometime after that evening, (my farewell to Maipú) during my unexpectedly lengthy 'stopover' visit in Rosario, I let some herbal lemon verbena tea steep a bit overlong, & the resulting brew had an aftertaste of astoundingly similar character-- spicy-tart but with a touch of bitter herbaceousness. I can understand how this characteristic in a wine may make it something of an acquired taste, but I personally don't find it unpleasant & believe the right food pairing will go a long way to winning fans for this type of complexity. 'Umami', anyone?
The Viognier (younger that the Ugni Blanc, an '07 vintage) was more generally enjoyed & I have tasting notes that speak of 'wet stone', 'snowmelt grass', & grapefruit. I do believe the 'Quality/Price Ratio' on this wine is exceptional, even as I find Viogniers from Argentina lacking a certain something. I will immediately start work on a post comparing notes on the five (or so) different bottlings I tried, but will post this 'as is'. As usual,
'to be continued...'

Prodigal Themes (UPDATE 1- &2: paging Kevin Johansen!)

2008-07-25T22:50:00.015-04:00

'...I would love to live in fear/but I'm so lazy'

Marcela, Paulina's friend, introduced me to the music of Kevin Johansen in Rosario.
A couple of quotes from his oficial website should help explain why I've fallen in love with his music:
'...Kevin was born in Fairbanks, Alaska, of Northamerican father and Argentinean mother. He has lived for various reasons in San Francisco, Buenos Aires, Montevideo and New York. Therefore it is not surprising that he presents a ‘diagnosis’ of acute musical uprooting in which the main symptoms are a conscientious bilingualism and a stylistic nomadism of prolonged cosmopolitan effect. ...on October 12th of 1990, after years of ‘Porteño’ wandering between Montevideo and Buenos Aires, our friend moves to New York. There, he truly develops as a songwriter and performer, playing downtown venues such as the Knitting Factory, Mercury Lounge and the legendary CBGB’s. At CBGB’s, he is ‘discovered’ by its owner, Hilly Krystal who became his mentor and records four albums, last of which is precisely, “The Nada”. As he himself says, he does ‘cumbia tanguera’, habaneras in English, reggae porteño, little ballads a la Leonard Cohen...Or like the Argentine press describes: “he’s a New Yorker in Buenos Aires and a cosmopolitan Argentinean in New York, out of place in Montevideo as much as in Alaska”...'

I'm playing a couple of his songs in constant loops as emotional support buoys to keep me afloat through the reentry blues. No performance videos of these particular tunes, let's see if I can upload the tracks from my HD without much trouble...

Nope. Need to find a host...somewhere...fuck it: later...

(...Ok, I'm a little calmer, tho I still haven't figured a host for those tunes. LastFM don't seem to work for that...meanwhile, 'en lo que el hacha va y viene', I'll add some appropiate visuals...)

UPDATE: found a YouTube video for my second current favorite KJ tune, 'Campo Argentino', but I can't seem to get here from there...so you might link to it on your own--

(I Left My Hard) On Barbary Coast

2008-07-24T01:27:00.007-04:00

(...older news, newsome foursome--)

here is your gifted surrogate
stolen away from steerage
kidnap victim all aglow
in borrowed gold & finery

--seasick horizon all but purged
in th arduous climb up the dizzy steps
on the stairset of sheltering class
to face the nightmare of an endless fall
down a bottomless drop--

doctor, my heart
beats on the verge of giving out
rough edges blunt & careworn

doctor, my skin
flakes itchy scales off yon underflesh...
my yearnings all pressed thin

Complicidades

2008-07-14T14:21:00.001-04:00

tu servilleta también
es un árbol caído
y un barril de petróleo
cada funda plástica

esa canción de amor
seduce fuga de capitales
y el margen ganancial variable
sujeto a retenciones

desde otro silencio, apenas cómodo
somos cómplices anónimos
de incontables abusos secretos
y el peor atropello

porque no es inocente el inconsciente
nuestra ración de olvido recetado
paga un desmesurado precio
en proporción de sufrimiento

(--que no es ajeno y se nos regresa
devuelto de rebote
para descargar su agobio sin aviso
alguna noche de frío desconsuelo...)

Up in the air & On The Road Again...

2008-07-09T20:22:00.005-04:00

Greetings from Ezeiza Int'l Airport outside (?) Buenos Aires. Had to pay a total 104.70 pesos to leave the country-- didn't realize there was an additional airport tax besides the 50 peso fine for missing my three-month tourist visa limit-- again.
Very sorry to be missing Wine Blogging Wednesday #47, 'Brought To You By The Letter 'S'', tee-hee...
I'll have to grit my teeth & go to Starbucks as soon as I'm halfway functional & semi-coherent to try a couple of catch-up posts...again...
I wish there was a mid-point between 'Twitter' & my drive to prove myself as something like a conventional journalist investigating the Political Economy of the Wine Industry...but then again, nobody's forcing me, are they? ...Or are they, now?
Over n out-- for now...we'll talk after US Customs at six in the morning in Miami tomorrow-- maybe. OK, Over'n OUT.

My Most Consistently Supportive Friend-- my Chinese Horoscope!

2008-07-02T14:30:00.002-04:00

David's Chinese Zodiac Sign - The Wood Horse

Don't be concerned about the briefness of your existence; just enjoy yourself, profit by all the legitimate pleasures available, and then you'll have the impression of having reached eternity. Don't let yourself be dragged into ill-prepared or too risky financial operations, otherwise you could end up in a catastrophic situation for some stars will be very adverse in this domain. On the contrary, you'll have excellent chances to succeed in your career if your work does not involve the manipulation of money.

East-West Combined Zodiac
Aries Wood Horse

Chinese
Symbols

Base station in downtown Mendoza for nearly six months-- Wi-Fi enabled Café Havanna, also providing a taste of home in little coconut cones called 'Havannitas'!

Sleeping Silos: Verso-diario Rosario

2008-06-30T15:55:00.011-04:00

the Neera Naree is in port from Bangkok
loading grain & freights
have the tracks humming overtime in Rosario

(Freitag, 27. Juni 2008)

decaying infrastructure & all, rails
rule this riverport city
que contempla el Paraná while shipments pile in

lovely losses, memory foremost
-- friends drag friendship down in flames next—

struck dumb, failing at a meager room of my own

wounds of anger find paradoxical
healing in acceptance, assumption & full
ownership of this anger...

sing along with Jackson!
‘you shake, I’ll rattle/we can roll on down th line’

(samedi 28 juin-- strange...really--)

--what’s the point of talking to meself in B&W
on th electron-fed page?
what’s th omnisemantic point of existence as abstracted
from th idiot-savant, solipsistic ‘fact’ of existence, anyway???

I seem to be good at pushing
up to th edge & shrinking back, rather than...
self-possesedly contemplating th yawning
abyss I’ve skirted oh-so-coolly?

--to paraphrase one of my favorite Jimmy Cagney
movie death scenes
‘I ain’t so cool’
(needless to say, ‘I ain’t so tough’ by a mile-long shot, either)
...gotta watch those again:
Public Enemy, Roaring Twenties & White Heat
seem th obligatory trilogy for ruthlessly ambitious
entrepreneurial-existential dead-end macho
gangster death-scripts

going nuts, again...
how long can I keep *this* up, haha?
54 years & counting...!

--overwhelmed by unfulfilled dream home possibilities:
a cottage in Calistoga...or the wild Sonoma Coast...a room in an adobe casita between the Andes & the precordillera, in Uspallata or Villavicencio—since I can’t afford the prime boutique jetset vineyard Valle de Uco towns—San Carlos at the southern end, Tunuyán in the North...
what about Falmouth & the Upper Cape?
--& have I really let go of the rías of Galicia, the estuary of the Río Minho with Portugal across the floodplain & the lazy meanders around the sandbanks & beaches by the river's broad mouth?

All the lovely landscapes of this world, whether familiar or alien, well-trod or glimpsed from a high-speed train, rub my face deep into a sense of dislocation & an overwhelming yearning for a home which is swayingly poised on an ever-distant horizon.

(TGIF--
never know when I'll have time
to myself or how long it'll last
plus I never heard from da goils
about supp or any other get-together)

always on a short leash, home or elsewhere?
holding the fort, minding the store, waiting
for a callback, a message, a word
that never comes...

knight errant Browne throwback kind of night--
oh Jackson, can you see? any color-code horizon
clear past an isle in the river?

everyman waits as long & deep
just as well as you & I do

there must be a new through-line to find & hold
--to cast & troll, pull & win-- or surrender & release
for tuneful direction blowing in through our worn-out soles...

damn th outlines flattened out, never damn my eyes!

Rosario de Incertidumbres

2008-06-30T12:38:00.003-04:00

ocaso de amor y el alba gris

el sur helado y el norte cenizo
lucero distante
de mito en llamas

bienvenido a este mundo
que cae roto del cajón
donde tiempo atrás se escondió

cada memoria es un día
cada día una memoria
que se gasta irregular
o guarda para regalo

abre y cierra el recuerdo
cierra y abre la ilusión
entran y salen
en silencio
esperanza y decepción

Mejor Mayo Como Noviembre (revisión)

2008-06-24T14:23:00.005-04:00

negros álamos amarillean de otoño
mientras los blancos embriagan su follaje
aún verde tarde en la estación del ocaso
sorbiendo el torrente de las acequias

guardan los cielos tibia luz escasa
para el hogar que improviso
ante umbrales repetidos
de sombrío aluvión arrinconado

--peregrino de mis pagos
lo propio deriva en ajeno
y lo ajeno redunda en propio--

aunque largas noches de invierno
me conserven un tranco más allá
de las vallas que abrigan propiedad

May-November switch, dos versiones

2008-06-23T17:23:00.001-04:00

May draped in November

I
(--along th rows of yellowing white poplars...)

th burdens of life
are bundled up tight
only to be shredded
apart & strewn about
in raggedy circles
across th pockmarked dirt path

II
(judge not, waste not?)

th halting pace of learning
at unhappy depth
assures a patch of restful sleep
--a lively course of dreamful rest
beyond weights & measures...
& th wakeful flash of our everyday hopes

(–mayo como noviembre…)

amarillean primero los álamos negros
mientras entrado el otoño los blancos
hondamente sorben de las acequias
por emborrachar de verde aún su follaje

los cielos guardan un poco de luz
para el hogar que improviso
ante umbrales repetidos
de sombrío aluvión

(exiliado de mis dominios
lo propio deriva en ajeno
lo ajeno redunda en propio)

aunque largas noches de invierno
me conserven un tanto más allá
de las vallas que aseguran propiedades

Stop The Presses!

2008-06-20T15:37:00.003-04:00

There, finally got to say it/write it/use it!

There is a chance I may miss my currently scheduled flight home on Tuesday: LAN & American seem to have an inflexible five liter limit on...wine? Liquorous beverages? Bodily fluids?
I've been given telephone numbers for both airlines' cargo departments to ask about the possibility of shipping as freight, space & courier privileges.
Shipping by DHL may be an alternative, FedEx is not, it seems.
Minus the half-dozen bottles that would add up to a four-and-a-half liter total, I have ten bottles to deal with...any ideas, friends?

Over n out, for now.

Further Notes on White Rhone Varietals in Mendoza

2008-06-13T13:40:00.009-04:00

(...late report on a further 'Stop the Presses!' moment: was scheduled to arrive in Rosario last Sunday morning, but 'Andesmar' suspended service across all routes on Saturday when agro-transport strikers blocking roads threatened their coaches...
it's --excuse me-- already Friday the 20th, official flag Day in Argentina today: greetings from the riverport city by the Paraná!)

The recurrent lesson seems to be that the only way things ever happen to get done in Mendoza (--all of Argentina??) is on the very moment one brings an idea or plan up-- or then-abouts, by serendipity or impulsive obsessiveness. (--obsessive impulsivity?)
I was shopping for shoes, under pressure, as I needed a pair that were not my hiking boots so the tailors could finish the cuffs on the pants for my new suit, when the owner walks into his little shop on 'La Peatonal', the pedestrian mall in downtown Mendoza. Eduardo Ghilardi takes over from his salesman, gets me talking about my projects & seesawing fortunes of the last six (--near seven!) months, & finally sells me a pair of shoes while struggling to get his friend Fernando Festa on his celphone-- 'Ugni Blanc?? (--he reacted when I brought up Conalbi-Grinberg & my Wine Blogging Wednesday assignment) --I know somebody who makes organic wine from that grape!'
Right.
But the next day we head out to Cavas de Chacras...
(...to be continued...)

Wine Blogging Wednesday #46: White Rhone Varietals (updated!)

2008-06-03T17:11:00.036-04:00

So good to be back! Thank you, Dr. Debs, for hosting this month's edition of Wine Blogging Wednesday ('The premier online event by & for the Wine Blogging community'?) & dedicating it to white Rhone varietals in time for me to rejoin the active fold just before I fly home after an unexpectedly long sojourn of seven months in Argentina.
For this installment, I took a chance on a fairly expensive version of an ugly duckling grape as produced by boutique winery Conalbi-Grinberg of Mendoza. (If I get a chance, I'll add some notes on three local Viogniers I've tried...)
In a preview of coming attractions tacked on to my previous posting, I judged the wine 'unarguably overpriced', which I'd like to retract, as there is-- arguably?-- always room for argument-- at least as far as wine is concerned!
To make a long story short, I'd tipped my hand as to my particular interest in the grape when I phoned the winery, so I had precious little room for argument-- read, 'haggling'-- when Sergio Grinberg sprung the news that-- however diminished the wine might admittedly be from its younger self-- he was letting bottles of his remaining stock go for 150 pesos. That's just about fifty dollars, give or take a buck, depending on exchange rate fluctuations. I swallowed hard. See, the bottling was from 2001, product of a relationship that went unfortunately sour & cut off the winery's source for their only white wine.
Double gulp. Long-in-the-tooth white wine from Rodney Dangerfield grapes? Call me a glutton for punishment-- maybe I should link back to all the posts where I decry my weakness for iffy white wines... but then again, better I should not.
Some background on this particular Vitis Vinifera subvariety, from the Rhone Rangers' page on white varietals:

Ugni Blanc
This ubiquitous grape is perhaps better known by its Italian name of Trebbiano... Although very few people in the United States have heard of it, the varietal is France’s most planted grape [Robinson, 1996], outnumbering Chardonnay five to one in the 1980s. The varietal is so prolific that it produces more wine than any other grape (even though Grenache and Spain’s Airén may cover a larger vineyard area). It is relatively low in alcohol but high in acidity, and, when not overproduced, makes wines with delicate fruit and floral aromas.

...& from Appellation America's grape listing:

Trebbiano (aka. Ugni Blanc, Saint Emilion, Procanico)
...Few grapes can or would admit to being the source of as many generic wines as this Italian native... Trebbiano’s global reach stems from its highly-productive nature and its ability to ripen easily. Beyond that, Trebbiano is afforded little respect for the quality of the wines it produces. Jancis Robinson aptly describes a typical Trebbiano’s character as “...pale lemon, little nose, notably high acid, medium alcohol and body, short. And that, I am afraid is it.”

Time to cut to the chase. The color was lovely: exceptionally deep, limpid yellow, managing to give off both golden straw & green hay glints. The nose was indeed terribly shy, with lemon & herbs & a reminiscence of white flowers. Sergio Grinberg had sighed for a distinct white rose note he said he found in the wine's aroma during its youth, & this helps fuel my regret that they're not making it anymore. In the mouth, the body was medium light, thinning quickly in the glass as it warmed. Some refreshing citrus & not much more in palate except for the surprise of lingering, spicy herbaceousness in the aftertaste: something like green ginger & fennel.
I had the chance to share most of the bottle with a lovely couple from London (--although Aidan is Irish from County Clare, & Debbie is originally from the Channel island of Jersey) who have been traveling for six months & keep their own blog, here. I feared the wine might have deteriorated-- this was two days after I opened the bottle for notes-- but there was some staying power to the juice, which made the high price seem worth it...mostly. The color was still its most dramatic selling point, but they also noticed the subtle herbal-citrus interplay, & lamented the mouthfeel's tendency to quickly lighten & wash out in the glass.

All in all, I'm happy Sergio & his partner, Pablo Conalbi, overcame my skepticism regarding 'boutique wineries' & welcomed my visit. I'm also unutterably glad of the chance to sample an 'upscale' product coaxed out of what is considered a 'common' grape. Call it part of my personal crusade to shake inherited prejudices & fight condescending & dismissive attitudes, wherever they may originate. But, as is so often the case with me-- especially as I usually make a point, like our virtual tasting hostess for this month, of ferreting out exceptional quality at an accessible price-- my feelings are ultimately so mixed regarding what the wine delivers under the circumstances as to render a clear, cut & dried judgement, whether in numerical terms or not, impossible for me...so there. See you in July!

(Missed my chance to blare, 'Hold The Presses!' from the masthead: as last Wednesday's deadline approached, I was visiting a winery by the name of 'Cavas de Chacras' which produces versions of both Ugni Blanc & Viognier from organically grown grapes. On first taste, the Ugni Blanc was peculiarly reminiscent of Sauv Blanc, with grassy gooseberry character, while the Viognier was rather tight & unyielding to the senses. Will taste again this evening, in good company, & will post a link here to a separate post for tasting notes & the story of how I discovered the winery. Cheers to all participants this month!)

The Goodbye Rehearsal, or, long-overdue update & buildup to Wine Blogging Wednesday # 46

2008-05-31T16:26:00.008-04:00

For my own 'Opening Farewell', where Jackson Browne writes that poignant line,
'There's a train/every day/going either way...'
there is rather the image of a roller-coaster ride running its dizzy circles a little too long in a tight, narrow perimeter...

As I believe I've mentioned, but for the limping 'vanity' service that stops in Rosario on its way from Buenos Aires to Tucumán, there is no passenger rail in Argentina. Riding into Maipú with Hans of Posada Cavieres one morning, we were detained by a freight train as it crawled along the barely functional tracks & made its way over the unmarked road crossing. I was dumbfounded. It seems the mining industry has managed, in some areas of otherwise difficult access, to continue using the diminished, deteriorated infrastructure & provide the rare sighting.

My running routes these six months have more often than not taken me along these abandoned tracks. Everybody blames former president Carlos Menem (--a neo-liberal free marketer in the Thatcher & Reagan mold) for the demise of the system, everybody hopes & wishes for some manner of service to be reestablished. There are rumours of a longstanding project to redevelop a minimal loop for a Mendoza-based tourist 'Wine Train'...then there is the more complex political boondoggle holding up the rehabilitation of the Transandino line over the Cordillera to Chile...

In speaking to Mendocinos from all walks of life, I find a shared, general sense of frustration at the woeful inadequacy of all types of infrastructure-- for transport, for communication-- & much finger-pointing at bureaucratic centralism (in corrupt complicity with corporate malfeasance) on the part of the government in Buenos Aires for the sense of inescapable neglect the whole region of Cuyo passively endures. The simmering resentment this breeds cuts across political lines & feeds longstanding feelings of impotence & futility.

Just yesterday (--er, last Friday) there was a power outage at Solares de Maipú, where I had been been living over budget chiefly to take advantage of their wi-fi loop. Power was restored soon enough, but the wireless Internet was not...possibly in need of resetting by tech administrators?
It's a week later, I'm back at Posada Cavieres as I wind my affairs down & there was still no wi-fi at Solares de Maipú when I spoke with Diego, the manager, this morning. If any further evidence is called for, it's a matter of recorded protest that the provincial road from San Rafael, capital of the southernmost wine-producing district in the region, & the agro-industrial vineyards extending thousands of hectares to the East, is a two-lane dirt track.

I had forgotten how chilly this quaint, historical casita can get when one sits at the keyboard for more than twenty minutes. My main source of heat is a pint-sized wood burning stove that looks as if a diet had trimmed away its pot belly. I don't have the best fire-building & maintenance skills, either.
But enough digression. Alberto Cecchin found my revised proposal agreeable, & our agreement runs like this:
I'm buying about 450 liters, or 600 bottles, of his 2006 Bonarda, along with half as much Merlot from the same year. As a nod to the tasting notes I never posted from the visit chronicled here, I'll just say the tank samples of this latter wine opened up to discreet red fruit & classic velvety mouthfeel into the second day of tasting. No oak program on any of this: naked, pure, organic grape juice, fermented on autochtonous yeasts & with a bare minimum of sulfites for stabilization.
I've also contracted to put the same quantities of 2008 juice into oak for maturing: the Bonarda gets divided between one two-year-old American barrel & a neutral, three-year-old French one. The Merlot should go into French oak, I'm not sure whether to chance the strength of the 2nd year barrel. I would be hoping, in the best of cases, to blend with as much wine from the concrete tanks when, um Gotteswillen, I come back towards the end of next February, so that the final bottlings are only 50% oak-aged...
The feather in my cap in regard to this part of my long-term project would be the possibility of bottling a vineyard-block designate selection of Dr. Pedro Rosell's Malbec. One of the five samples mentioned here (I'm almost certain it was the selection from the 900 meter ridge at the top of 'El Reposo' vineyard, but couldn't swear to it right now.) was maybe 'varietally untypical', & reminiscent in some ways of Loire Cabernet Franc in character: clear violet color with lavender rim, violet in the nose & violet pastille with subtle, discreet red fruit to support the floral character in the palate. Maybe a little short, but a wine of sensuous delicacy, nonetheless. I haven't managed to meet up with señor Pedro again, I truly hope we manage to reconnect before I leave town by the end of next week.
(I was hoping to write down some quick tasting notes on the three Viogniers I've tried here, but the alluvial-scree, dirt-road obstacle course that comprises my running route beckons. I'll publish this as is & try to include those notes as a prologue to a surprising, if unarguably overpriced, boutique bottling of Ugni Blanc which will form the core of my returning participation in Wine Blogging Wednesday...to be continued...)