Chiriquí Chatter

One of the Blogs I read on a regular basis is the Cooking Diva. Now I usually go there to find some new dish by one of the best chefs in Panama, Chef Melissa. Today, I found an article she wrote about time she recently spent with Juan Deago.

One of Chef Melissa’s references took me to another blog (nebursworld), where I found a poem about Juan Deago called Tio Juancho. I know a lot of people don’t take the time to checkout referred to URLs, so I am going to include the poem here.

Take a seat, relax, and picture the words from this poem being spoken by one that recognized the wisdom that had been passed on to him by his uncle. It put a knot in my throat when I read it and thought of those I wish I had given such deserved recognition. While you are at it after reading to poem head on over to Chef Melissa’s and read her entire article on Juan Deago. You will be glad you did.

Enjoy the poem.

Tío Juancho

sing to me, tío
teach me the songs of the birds
i’ve never seen fly
teach me
the songs i do not
remember

tell me tío,
like you told me
when i asked you so long ago:
why does grass go to sleep
when i touch it?
why do weeds give me soothing milk
i can spread on my skin
to ease the sting of the mosquito
that doesn’t seem to bother you?
why does the cut banana tree
grow back right in front of me?
why do some bananas
stay small and brown and sweet
while some grow big and green
and not so sweet
but savory, cuando Mamasita, 0
Yaya, o Mercedes
(pero nunca un hombre, never a man)
fries them and sprinkles them with salt?

tell me, tío,
how can you make cocada all day long

(all these years)

crack open the shells
with one blow of the machete and
give me the slippery sweet slime inside
that slides down my tongue

(all these years)

grate the coconut
mix in the honey above the fire
that boils the cocada and you

(all these years)

roll the still hot cocada into balls
and let them cool while you clean
the pot, the stirring stick and the machete
so they will he ready for next time
then call me over to try your fresh candy:

¡Ruben, ven acá!

sweat, still dripping from your aged face
as you hand me the biggest piece
and a bag to take home to america
before you remove
your sweat-soaked shirt and sun-soiled hat
replace them with the clean ones
you treasure so much,
then load up your cart and start down the street:
Cocada! Cocada!
dignified

(all these years)

sing to me your decima, tío,
take me to our land
take me to my land
show me how to work
the ground abuelo worked
how to feel the dirt
under my fingernails
show me the hut he built
where abuelita bore nine children
show me the land she loved
the land she left
the man she left
to educate her daughters
to give them a chance
because in the fields
they had none

sing to me, tío
sing me the songs that tell me why
the dormideros,
the milk plants,
and mis sueños Panameños
do not grow in this infertile land
take me by the hand
as you did so many years ago
at the deathbed of mi abuelo
as you did a few summers ago
at his tomb
the place where
abuela would rejoin him soon
close, but apart
in life, in death

take mi tío,
show me every plant
every mountain
every bird
every life-giving stream
but also show me
the dirty dollar
the endless squalor
bitter fruits of a broken pan-american dream

sing to me, tío
teach me the songs of the birds i’ve never seen fly
teach me
the songs i do not
remember
or maybe,
the songs i never knew

-Ruben Antonio Villalobos
Originally publish in Poetry for the People: Poetry in a Season of Love, Poetry for the People Press, Berkeley 1994

Tags: Blog, Panama, Poems