(Bosque de Piedras de Huayllay, Cerro de Pasco, Perú)
The Poetry of Stone Forest
(And the Legend of: “The Great Stone Bear)
By Poet Laureate, Dennis L. Siluk, Dr.h.c.
(in English and Spanish)
Awarded the Prize Excellence: The Poet & Writer of 2006 by Corporacion de Prensa Autonoma
(of the Mantaro Valley of Peru)
Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture
Poeta Laureado de la Ciudad de San Jerónimo de Tunán, Perú (2005); and the
Mantaro Valley (8-2007) (Awarded the (Gold) Grand Cross of the City (2006)
Also awarded a medal of merit, and diploma from the Journalist College of Peru, in August of 2007, for his international attainment
The Poetry of Stone Forest
(And the Legend of: “The Great Stone Bear”)
Copyright© Dennis L. Siluk, 2007
One Illustration by the Author
The Great Stone Bear, of Stone Forest
Front photo by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk
(Photo of ‘The Great Stone Bear,’ in Stone Forest, near Cerro de Pasco)
Back photo by Alex Medina G.
(Photo of Dennis Siluk, and Wife Rosa being interviewed by Channel Two,
Huancayo, Peru, ‘TV Peru’)
Dedicated to: my Creator
The Honor and Academia Title of: Dr. h.c.
In September of 2007 Dennis L. Siluk was granted the honorary-academic title of Doctor Honoris Causa (Dr. h.c.) by Continental University (via, the National Association of Rectors, in Lima, Peru) for his impeccable performance, conduct and manners; his, social contributions, and for promoting the culture in the Mantaro Valley (and throughout Peru)(with his poetic works and writings worldwide)), producing six books on the traditions, customs, legends and culture of Peru (in Spanish and English).
Dennis with the Mayor of Cerro de Pasco, Tito Valle who gave Dennis the ‘Illustrious Visitors’ (VIP) Gold Medal of the City (of, Cerro de Pasco) at the September, 2007 festival, at Stone Forest in Huayllay (11th University)
Special Thanks to:
Godo Bonilla and Esteban Murillo (‘Primicia’ daily Newspaper)
For they were instrumental in putting our trip together
(transportation and contact person while in Cerro de Pasco);
To Tito Valle Ramirez, Mayor of Cerro de Pasco for he was instrumental in providing needed
support in transportation and guides in particular in seeing The Great Stone Bear.
Acknowledgments to:
Cesar Cruz Cordova, Correspondent of Primicia in Cerro de Pasco
Armando Lopez Carhuachin, our guide tour in Stone Forest
Index
Introduction
Introductory Poem:
The Crow
Part One
The Great Stone Bear
“Festival at Stone Forest”
“Festival en el Bosque de Piedras”
Birth of the Great Stone Bear
El Nacimiento del Gran Oso de Piedra
Trout & Fish Bones, Pachamanca & Pancakes
(Huayllay Festival)
Trucha y Huesos de Pescado, Pachamanca y Panqueques
(Festival de Huayllay)
Roads, Fields and Stones
Caminos, Campos y Piedras
Resting in Cerro de Pasco
Descansando en Cerro de Pasco
Up Early in Cerro de Pasco
Levantándose Temprano en Cerro de Pasco
The Dogs of San Juan
Los Perros de San Juan
Doris’, Forgotten Bear
Doris (Y el Oso Olvidado)
Stone Snail, over Blue
Caracol de Piedra, sobre Azul
In the Fields of the Great Bear
Part Two
Inside Stone Forest
A Ten-part Poem
▼
End Poem
“Tales Told at the Fair”
The Legend of: The Great Stone Bear
Part Three
“Two War Poems Concerning Vietnam (1971)”
For those interested in knowing the Author a little better,
may wish to read the two poems concerning War
▼
Dedication Poem: “Love and Butterflies”
Dedicated to Elsie T. Siluk
Books by the Author
Dennis with the Congressman Mauricio Mulder and Luis Marcelo, Mayor of Huayllay
at the “Ruraltur Huayllay” 11th Festival, September, 2007
Prolog (or Introduction): High up in the Andes, of Peru, around 15,000-feet, 4310-meters, resides a city called: Cerro de Pasco, about five-hours from Huancayo, Peru, by bus, and considered the highest city in the world. Here in the high sierras is an area known as Huayllay, a sanctuary for the sacred stones, a forest of stones, a geological wonder of Peru, and mystery for the world. They are carved by the Hand of God into animals, humans, plants and all, via, Mother Nature. It is without question, one of Peru’s most speculative areas, and one of the world’s most ecological secret places.
I have been to Peru, nine times, this last time; I’ve been in Peru for 18-months, writing on its culture, customs and traditions. I have ventured in every direction man can in Peru, and it is more wondrous and versatile than Egypt. Or for that matter, more so than the 60-countries I have thus far, gone to, and explored, and Cerro de Pasco is among the most cherished areas I have found in the world. The people are warm (or at least to me they were).
Stone Forest is a National Habitat for the stone animals, and forest, and living creatures, with yellow rolling fields, and cows and alpacas all about; it also is a very cold area to be in, not as cold though as my home state of Minnesota, but cold all the same. Nonetheless, folks up in this part of the country seem not to care, and many have slightly rosy cheeks from the bitter winds and chill, yet they live here, and I suppose(like in Minnesota) one can ask why, and get a complicated answer, or oversimplified. And most of the time I think it would be because of one’s familiarity, and the beauty of the location. As in Minnesota, or the Mantaro Valley of Peru, thus, the same holds true for Stone Forest.
These stone animals are two to four levels high, or twenty to forty-five feet high, except for Papa Bear, which is 90-feet high. There are some 4000-figures throughout this immense forest (which is 6815-hectares).It is the biggest stone forest in the world.
You almost sense you can jump up and grab a little of the hanging clouds overhead you are so high above everything else in the world. And for those adventurous folks, it is (by all means) a most inspiring gem for climbing, and created by none other than the one who created us.
And now for those folks who cannot make it to this Sanctuary, I will be most happy if you turn a few pages and visit Stone Forest with me! Have a great trip! D.L. Siluk
Spanish Version
Prólogo (o Introducción): Arriba en Los Andes de Perú, alrededor de 4310 metros sobre el nivel del mar, reside una ciudad llamada: Cerro de Pasco, cerca de cinco horas desde Huancayo, Perú, en autobús, y considerada la ciudad más alta en el mundo. Aquí en las altas sierras hay un área conocida como Huayllay, un santuario para las piedras sagradas, un bosque de piedras, una maravilla geológica de Perú, y misterio para el mundo. Ellas han sido talladas por la mano de Dios en animales, figuras humanas, plantas y mucho más, a través de la madre naturaleza. Es sin lugar a dudas, una de las áreas más especulativas de Perú, y uno de los lugares ecológicos más secretos en el mundo.
He estado en Perú nueve veces, esta última vez estoy en Perú por 18-meses, escribiendo sobre su cultura, costumbres y tradiciones. Me he aventurado en todas direcciones un hombre puede en Perú, y es más asombroso y versátil que Egipto. O en realidad, más que los 60 países en los que hasta ahora, estuve y exploré, y Cerro de Pasco está entre los lugares más apreciados que encontré en el mundo. La gente es muy acogedora (o al menos lo fueron conmigo).
El Bosque de Piedras es un Hábitat Natural para los animales de piedra, y bosque, y criaturas vivientes, con ondulados campos amarillos, y vacas y alpacas todo alrededor; es también un lugar muy frío para estar, aunque no tanto como en el estado donde nací y vivo en Estados Unidos, Minnesota, pero frío de todas maneras. No obstante, a la gente de esta parte del país parece no preocuparles, y muchos de ellos tienen mejillas rosadas por el viento helado y por el frío, aunque ellos viven allí, y supongo (como en Minnesota) podemos preguntar porqué, y obtener una respuesta complicada, o muy simplificada. Y la mayor parte del tiempo creo que sería por la familiaridad, y la belleza del lugar. Como en Minnesota, o en el Valle del Mantaro de Perú, así, la misma verdad se sostiene para el Bosque de Piedras.
Estos animales de piedra son de dos a cuatro pisos de altura, o es decir de seis a doce metros, excepto por el Papá Oso, que tiene treinta metros de altura. Hay como cuatro mil figuras a través de este bosque inmenso (que tiene 6815 hectáreas). Es el bosque de piedras más grande del mundo.
Tú casi sientes que puedes saltar y agarrar un poco de las nubes colgadas arriba, estás tan alto encima de todo en el mundo. Y para aquella gente aventurera, es (ciertamente) una gema muy inspiradora para escalar, y creada por ningún otro que el Ser que nos creo.
¡Y ahora para aquella gente que no puede ir a este Santuario, estaré muy feliz si volteas unas cuantas páginas y visitas conmigo el Bosque de Piedras! ¡Que tengas un buen viaje! D. L. Siluk
Introductory Poem
The Crow
“In 1996, I got MS, and I could not hold anything, it fell from my hands, I could not remember what happened five minutes after the fact, and I had to go to the bathroom 16-times a night, my legs wobbled, and 85% of my body was numb (and I was always tired, sleeping between 10 and 14 hours a day, plus naps, and falling to sleep wherever), to mention a few of my systems. Yang Yang, a Chinese Artist, whom was a professor of art in the Midwest for many years at a local college, moved from Iowa, to St. Paul, Minnesota, and we met perhaps around 1993. I liked his art, but it was expensive, he was well known in China, and becoming well known in the Midwest, New Orleans, and Florida areas, and in other parts of the country as well. He painted a picture of crow, in oils, that seemed to be in a standing trance, focused on something, what, was the question. This was most inspiring to me; I suggested he should do a series of them. I thought about buying the painting, it was small in comparisons to his other ones, some he sold for $25,000, and up; and he had of course the cheaper ones. He wanted at that time, in 1996, $1400-dollars, for the small painting, but gave it to me for $750. It was really a good deal and I cherished it. My MS at this time had even made me pale, and I had to grip items as I walked through the mall to his art shop. And then he showed me one day, three other pictures of crows he did, each one was, or seemingly was (he would never comment on his paintings to the point of explaining them fully, he felt you should see in them what you see), anyhow, he showed them to me, and each one showed the crow in a revitalization process, until one, the last of the four was looking towards the sun, ready to take flight and bombard it (that was me). Perhaps one or two years later, he asked me for the forth time if I wanted to buy the other three, I did but I didn’t have the amount of money it would take to buy them, I was investing at the time, in fear I would need money incase my MS put me into a wheelchair, thus, he sold each one to me for $250, a very low fee. And I have them to this day.”
The poem, “The Crow,” was found after eight-years, with the picture of the original crow (1999)) never before published, or seen by the public)) at the time I wrote it I did not feel like I wanted to publish it, and it is dedicated to Yang Yang:
The Poem:
Heavy he leans his feathered head
Gazing at the blood red mist
Tired, -- his face shows time has past
And on his tarnished-gray wings—
The world rests…
Has God forsaken you—?
To grief and pain:
To love the sparrow instead?
Are you not the largest of the perching birds?
Crowned with a grayish hood—;
Or are you just a crow…the farmers hate
(or should)…?
Your breath has left you
My feathered friend…
Too weak to lift your head again?
What separates you from man?
Is it the sky and land?
Or the road each must go?
Each unto his own…!
It seems to me,
Life’s a test for you as well
But man must ponder on,
And Reason.
What is the question you ask?
I see, within the stare
Of your silent dark eyes:
“Who are these masters who rule the land—?
Give back to me the sky!”
However,--will you fly again?
Touch the heavens?
Light your wings on fire
From the scorching sun?
Glide with the wind until dawn?
You are the mystery that cries within…
But then, you are not made in His Image,
My Friend…!
Spanish Version
Poema Introductorio
El Cuervo
“En 1996, adquirí esclerosis múltiple y no podía sostener nada, todo se caía de mis manos, no podía recordar tampoco lo que había pasado cinco minutos atrás, y tenía que ir al baño dieciséis veces en una noche, mis piernas temblaban y el 85 % de mi cuerpo estaba adormecido (y siempre estaba cansado, durmiendo entre diez y catorce horas al día, más siestas, y dormitando en cualquier parte), sólo para mencionar algunos de mis síntomas. Yang Yang, un Artista chino, quien había sido profesor de arte por muchos años en un colegio local en la región norte-centro de los Estados Unidos, se mudó de Iowa, a San Pablo, Minnesota, y nos conocimos quizás alrededor de 1993. Me gustaba su arte, pero era caro, él era famoso en China, y se estaba volviendo famoso en la región norte-centro de los Estados Unidos, también en Nueva Orleáns y Florida, y en otras partes del país también. Él pintó un cuadro de un cuervo, en óleo, este parecía que estaba parado en trance, concentrado en algo, ¿en que?, era la pregunta. Esto era muy inspirador para mí; le sugerí a él que hiciera una serie de ellos. Pensé en comprar la pintura, era un pequeño cuadro comparado a los otros, algunos él los vendía por 25,000 dólares, y otros más caros; y por supuesto él tenía otros más baratos. Él quería en aquel tiempo, en 1996, 1400 dólares por la pequeña pintura, pero me lo dio en 750 dólares. Era realmente una buena compra y yo la apreciaba. Mi esclerosis múltiple en ese tiempo incluso me había hecho palidecer, y tenía que agarrar cosas para sostenerme mientras iba por los pasadizos del centro comercial a su galería. Y un día él me mostró otros tres cuadros de cuervos que él hizo, cada uno estaba, o aparentemente estaba (él nunca comentaría sus pinturas al punto de explicarlos totalmente, él sentía que tú deberías ver en ellos lo que tú veías; de todos modos, él me los mostró) en un proceso de revitalización, hasta que uno, el último de los cuatro miraba hacia el sol, listo para tomar vuelo y atacar (este era yo). Quizás uno o dos años más tarde, él me preguntó por cuarta vez si quería comprar los otros tres, yo quería pero no tenía la cantidad de dinero que tomaría comprarlos, yo estaba invirtiendo dinero en ese entonces, por temor a que necesitaría dinero en caso de que mi esclerosis múltiple me pusiera en silla de ruedas, así, él me vendió cada uno en 250 dólares, un precio muy bajo. Y hasta este día aún los tengo.
El poema, “El Cuervo”, fue encontrado después de ocho años, con el cuadro original del cuervo ((1999) (nunca antes fue publicado, o visto por el público)) en ese tiempo yo lo escribí y no sentí ganas de publicarlo, y está dedicado a Yang Yang:
El Poema:
Pesado él inclina su cabeza emplumada
Mirando fijamente a la niebla rojo sangre
Cansado, —su cara muestra que el tiempo ha pasado
Y sobre sus alas grises deslucidas—
El mundo descansa…
¿Te ha abandonado Dios—?
Para la angustia y el dolor:
¿Para amar al gorrión en cambio?
¿Tú no eres el más grande de los pájaros que posan?
Coronado con una capucha grisácea—;
¿O solamente eres un cuervo…que los agricultores odian
(u odiarían)…?
Tu aliento te ha dejado,
Mi amigo emplumado…
¿Tan débil para levantar tu cabeza otra vez?
¿Qué te separa del hombre?
¿Es el cielo y la tierra?
¿O el camino que cada uno debe seguir?
¡Cada uno por su cuenta…!
Me parece a mí,
La vida es una prueba para ti también
Pero el hombre debe reflexionar,
Y Razonar.
¿Cuál es la pregunta que haces?
Ya veo, dentro del mirar fijo
De tus silenciosos ojos oscuros:
“¿Quiénes son estos maestros que gobiernan la tierra—?
¡Devuélveme el cielo!”
Sin embargo, — ¿volarás de nuevo?
¿Tocarás el cielo?
¿Encenderás tus alas en el fuego
del sol que chamusca?
¿Te deslizarás con el viento hasta el alba?
¡Tú eres el misterio que grita dentro…
Pero entonces, tú no eres hecho en Su Imagen,
Mi Amigo…!
Part One
The Great Stone Bear
(Seven Poems)
1
Festival at Stone Forest
((9-6-2007, No: 1977) (Cerro de Pasco))
Amused I am, with a magnificent liberty,
Huayllay’s city’s festival has an assortment of colors.
In the open areas, on the bleachers, the stand,
the sun is beaming like an unstoppable storm,
as alpacas colorfully dressed, run like flying condors
down the street to join a race.
Smiles and laugher! People busy as bees!
Everyone’s ready for something, warming hearts
boyfriends, girlfriends all dressed pleasantly with coats:
pale faces from the morning cold!
People thinking of something risky, not likely
that only this day might bring…
In the dusty-square there is music and flare;
dancing, singing! People drinking and dreaming,
a few drunk as skunks…!
The afternoon opens with races upon races
and if you do not participate, forever you may say
I was there, somewhere, but just waiting.
And on the road, along side the festival,
cars and taxies waiting, waiting,
to make fruits from their labors.
Some folks just hanging along the fence,
perhaps dreaming or hallucinating.
Many dressed in masks— and traditional garb,
reliving the great flight of the imagination.
There are horses on the embankment
by the towering rocks, children and grownups
riding back and forth…some climbing hills,
some kissing, hugging, as if, on cloud-nine,
music and noise blaring all the time.
The festival is a mad, mad world
comic and dreamy with its happy inferno.
My head is rotating, revolving, spinning—
the noise never goes away,
like a crystal chandelier, my mind floats and stirs,
but I hang on, on, on, just a while longer…!
Spanish Version
Festival en el Bosque de Piedras
((6-Septiembre-2007, # 1977) (Cerro de Pasco))
Entretenido estoy, con una libertad magnífica,
el festival de la ciudad de Huayllay tiene una variedad de colores.
En las áreas abiertas, en las bancas, en los puestos,
el sol está radiando como una tormenta inevitable,
mientras las alpacas coloridamente vestidas,
corren como cóndores voladores,
abajo de la calle para unirse a la carrera.
¡Sonrisas y risas! ¡Gente ocupada como las abejas!
Todos están listos para algo, corazones acogedores
enamorados, enamoradas todos vestidos atractivamente con sacos:
¡caras pálidas por el frío de la mañana!
Gente pensando en algo arriesgado, muy probablemente
este único día podrá traer…
En la plaza polvorienta hay música y luces;
¡bailes, cantos! ¡Gente tomando y soñando,
unos cuantos ebrios como mofetas!
La tarde se abre con carreras sobre carreras
y si tú no participas, dirás por siempre
estuve allí, en algún sitio, pero sólo esperando.
Y en el camino, a lo largo del festival,
carros y taxis esperan, esperan,
para sacar frutos de sus labores.
Alguna gente sólo haciendo tiempo a lo largo de las rejas,
talvez soñando o alucinando.
Muchos vestidos con máscaras—y ropas tradicionales,
reviviendo el gran vuelo de la imaginación.
Hay caballos en los parapetos
por las altísimas rocas, niños y adultos
cabalgando de ida y vuelta…algunos escalando los cerros,
algunos besándose, abrazándose, como si, en las nubes,
música y bulla retumbando todo el tiempo.
El festival es loco, mundo loco
cómico y soñador con su infierno feliz.
¡Mi cabeza está girando, virando, dando vueltas—
la bulla nunca se detiene,
como un candelabro de cristal, mi mente flota y se mueve,
pero yo espero, espero, espero, sólo un rato más…!
2
The Birth of the Great Stone Bear
Here we are, all dressed in warm cloths
to honor the Great Bear!
Yes, it is so;
it is to honor this old stone bear,
born in the pre-twilight of human history.
Here—Stone Forest is open to yellow
grass meadows;
voices telling me that being alive
and a child of God,
we can rejoice at the carvings He created,
on top of the world, near Cerro de Pasco;
here in Stone Forest— where the unimaginable
resides; who would believe it?
Out on this bare, yellow field,
the great stone body of a prehistoric bear
waits until early afternoon
to lower his shadows in the cool and rouged
earth…!
Note: Written seven hours after seeing the Great Stone Bear (Papa Oso); No: 1970 (9-3-2007) Dedicated to Mayor Tito Valle Ramirez (of Cerro de Pasco) for his assistance in helping me get to the site of the Bear; and so much more, without that assistance this book would not be possible.
Spanish Version
El Nacimiento del Gran Oso de Piedra
Aquí estamos, todos vestidos con ropas abrigadoras
¡para honrar al Gran Oso!
Si, es así;
es honrar a este viejo oso de piedra,
nacido antes del crepúsculo de la historia humana.
Aquí—aquí el Bosque de Piedras está abierto a
un prado de pasto amarillo
voces diciéndome que estando vivo
y siendo un hijo de Dios,
podemos regocijarnos de las esculturas que El ha creado,
sobre la cima del mundo, cerca a Cerro de Pasco;
aquí en el Bosque de Piedras—donde lo inimaginable
reside; ¿quién lo creería?
Fuera de este desnudo, campo Amarillo,
el grandioso cuerpo de piedra de una prehistórico oso
espera hasta la primera hora de la tarde
¡para bajar su sombra en la fresca y coloreada
tierra…!
Nota: Escrito después de siete horas de haber visto al Gran Oso de Piedra (Papá Oso). Dedicado al Alcalde de Cerro de Pasco Ing. Tito Valle Ramírez por su asistencia ayudándome a llegar al sitio donde está El Oso; y mucho más, sin esa ayuda este libro no hubiera sido posible.
# 1970 (3-Septiembre-2007)
3
Trout & Fish Bones
Pachamanca & Pancakes
(Huayllay Festival)
Beauty with mystery is rare
so few drink of this fountain;
but near, close to Cerro de Pasco
a freshly prepared event—
comes to life but once a year…:
the rare and mysterious Stone Forest Fair.
Here one can see: friends, drinking,
cultural foods, like: huge pancakes
soaked down with coffee or coke;
or delicious trout, if one cares to weed
through the endless bones—ah, yes,
yes, it is everywhere, trout, trout, trout!
And Pachamanca, a stack of food, packed
with: beef, pork, chicken;
beans, potatoes and sweet potatoes,
all in a hole in the hot ground
with stones that surround and cover
the food cooking quite well—!
And all about songs and dance—
and a breath of Stone Forest…at hand.
Between morning and night, one can hear
songs day long—to night late…! until,
until the watchman closes the gate—
and puts the decorative alpacas to sleep.
Note: Dedicated to Cesar Cruz Cordova, for his constant assistance while I was in and around Cerro de Pasco, he was like a brother insuring all went well and safely or me and my wife, during our three and a half day visit. No: 1972 (9-3-2007)
Spanish Version
Trucha y Huesos de Pescado
Pachamanca y Panqueques
(Festival de Huayllay)
Belleza con misterio es raro
muy pocos beben de esta fuente;
pero cercano, cerca de Cerro de Pasco
un reciente evento preparado—
cobra vida una vez al año…:
el raro y misterioso Festival del Bosque de Piedras.
¡Aquí podemos ver: amigos, bebidas,
comidas típicas, como: enormes panqueques
tomados con café o gaseosa;
o truchas deliciosas, si a uno le importa escarbar
a través de los huesos interminables—ah si,
si, están por todas partes, ¡trucha, trucha, trucha!
Y la pachamanca, una pila de comida, abarrotada
con carnes de: res, chancho, pollo;
habas, papas y camotes,
todos metidos en un hueco en la tierra caliente
con piedras que lo rodean y cubren
la comida cocinándolo muy bien—!
Y en todo alrededor canciones y bailes—
y un hálito del Bosque de Piedras…a la mano.
¡Entre la mañana y noche, se puede oír
canciones todo el día—hasta tarde en la noche…! hasta
hasta que el guachimán cierra la puerta—
y pone a las decorativas alpacas a dormir.
Nota: Dedicado a César Cruz Córdova, por su ayuda constante mientras estaba en Cerro de Pasco y alrededores, él fue como un hermano asegurándose que todo me vaya bien y sin incidentes a mi y mi esposa, durante nuestros tres días y medio de visita.
# 1972 (3-Septiembre-2007)
4
The Stone Elephant; Dennis Standing under it
Roads, Fields and Stones
(In Pasco)
Riding in a car, in Huayllay
or, Stone Forest, you notice
many things:
telephone poles, one by one along
the old dirt roads;
in the fields, fences
and behind them, comes cows—
slowly their eyes leap out at you
—and past them, Papa Stone Bear
(ninety-feet tall);
and all about, the dark soaks into
the stone woods.
The sun drifts down, and the
stone forest lights up
(gray on black, stone trees, like
an army of nuns—all becoming one)!
In Huayllay, and on those stone trees
scattered one by one,
through the fields—
one can see weeds and brownish
stubble,
and watered down tracks; streams all
combined.
It is a pleasure to be riding,
and walking towards these stone animals—
And to see the sun in the fields, and
the stone trees more dignified
than ever; —stone figures,
(animals) all frozen in stone death…
And all the holes and ditches
along the road back to Cerro de Pasco:
full of private rain.
Note: No. 1973 (9-3-2007)
Spanish Version
Caminos, Campos y Piedras
(In Pasco)
Viajando en un carro, en Huayllay
o, el Bosque de Piedras, tú notas
muchas cosas:
postes de teléfonos, uno a uno a lo largo
de los antiguos caminos de tierra;
en los campos, rejas
y detrás de ellas, vienen las vacas—
lentamente sus ojos saltan hacia ti
—y pasando ellas, el Papá Oso de Piedra
(treinta metros de altura);
y en todo alrededor, la oscuridad se empapa dentro
del bosque de piedras.
El sol a la deriva baja, y el
bosque de piedras se enciende
(gris sobre negro, árboles de piedra, como
un ejército de monjas—¡todos se vuelven uno)!
En Huayllay, y sobre aquellos árboles de piedras
dispersos uno por uno,
a través de los campos—
se puede ver ichus y
rastrojo parduscos,
y caminos inclinados regados; riachuelos todos
combinados.
Es una satisfacción estar recorriendo,
y yendo hacia estos animales de piedras—
Y ver el sol en los campos, y
los árboles de piedra más distinguidos
que nunca; —figuras de piedras,
(animales) todos congelados en una muerte de piedra…
Y todos los huecos y zanjas
a lo largo del camino de regreso a Cerro de Pasco:
lleno de una lluvia propia.
Nota: # 1973 (3-Septiembre-2007)
5
Resting in Cerro de Pasco
We slept the past three nights, in
Cerro de Pasco, Peru:
a magnificent place, the
highest city in the world.
Miner country and alpaca country.
We slept in a nice pink tourist hotel.
Not far from the city is a wonder
and mystery for the world.
Here, everything is a bit slower.
Here, the folks still wear their
pre-Inca garb around the city,
and many of the houses are still adobe.
This mountain city, the eyes and head
of the world,
seems to look down the Sierras,
these dangerous Andes; and to them, time
is unaccountable.
Tomorrow we ride out and down
and through these high mountains.
So rich in minerals and air!
All day I have felt and sensed
I am full of love, and love this
city and its stone forest.
Someday I will come back, and enjoy
it again—
the intoxicating cool air where
the miners were born.
No: 1971 (9-3-2007)
Spanish Version
Descansando en Cerro de Pasco
Dormimos las pasadas tres noches, en
Cerro de Pasco, Perú:
un lugar magnífico, la
ciudad más alta en el mundo.
Nación de mineros, y nación de alpacas.
Dormimos en un bonito hotel de turistas rosado.
No muy lejos de la ciudad está una maravilla
y misterio para el mundo.
Aquí, todo es un poquito más lento.
Aquí, la gente todavía viste sus
ropas pre-incas alrededor de la ciudad,
y muchas de las casas aún son de adobe.
Esta ciudad andina, los ojos y cabeza
del mundo,
parece mirar abajo a las Sierras,
estos Andes peligrosos; y para ellos, el tiempo
es inexplicable.
Mañana recorreremos afuera y abajo
y a través de estas altas montañas.
¡Tan rico en minerales y aire!
Todo el día sentí y siento
Que estoy lleno de amor, y me gusta esta
ciudad y su Bosque de Piedras.
Algún día volveré, y la disfrutaré
de nuevo—
el vigorizante aire fresco donde
los mineros nacieron.
# 1971 (3-Septiembre-2007)
6
Up Early in Cerro de Pasco
I am up early. On television
the news leaves have fallen.
The sky’s deep blue with white clouds
all spread out, thin to thick.
I hear some noise in the hallway
of this hotel…
I saw the light, first from the
side windows…(woke me)
The cold water from the faucet
fell into my hands—night-chilled!
I awake from a light sleep
like a horizon…slowly.
Over the new day, I think ‘Coffee!’
The depth of the night has
disappeared from the puddles
on the ground—;
I look forward now in meeting the day.
Note: Written at 8:06 AM woke up an hour earlier. It is Tuesday at the Hotel Señorial. Was in Room No: 206; Rosa went to get coffee and a donut for me, she just returned, and quickly left again to see the Mayor, Tito Valley Ramirez, to let him knew we are leaving. No: 1974 (9-4-2007)
Spanish Version
Levantándose Temprano en Cerro de Pasco
Me levanté temprano. En la televisión
los trozos de noticias han caído.
El azul profundo del cielo con nubes blancas
todas dispersas, delgadas a gruesas.
Oí algo de ruido en el pasadizo
de este hotel…
Yo vi la luz, primero por el
lado de la ventana…(me despertó)
El agua fría del caño
cayó en mis manos—¡noche fría!
Estoy despierto de un sueño ligero
como un horizonte…lentamente.
Sobre el día nuevo, pienso “Café”
La profundidad de la noche ha
desaparecido de los charcos
de la tierra—;
Espero ahora en encontrar el día.
Nota: Escrito a las 8:06 a.m. Me desperté una hora antes. Es jueves y estoy en el Hotel Señorial. Estamos en la habitación 206, Rosa fue a comprar una donut para mí, ella justo volvió, y rápidamente se fue de nuevo a ver al Alcalde, Ing. Tito Valle Ramirez, para hacerle saber que estábamos partiendo.
# 1974 (4-Septiembre-2007)
7
The Dogs of San Juan
(A Quick Reflection)
The ancient mines and mountains
of Cerro de Pasco, slip into the city
(with the lake and quarry), as the
morning sun beams, guide packs of dogs
that roam from
yard to yard…
(funny, I don’t see a cat!).
Written on the bus near Junin, leaving Cerro de Pasco. (9-4-2007) No: 1975; Reflections of the three days I was in the city, and watched the dogs roam in packs, squeezing through one fence after the other. Not a cat in site. Also, “Doris (and the Forgotten Bear) was written while on the bus (No: 1976), the same day.
Spanish Version
Los Perros de San Juan
(A Reflexión Rápida)
Las minas y montañas antiguas
de Cerro de Pasco, se deslizan en la ciudad
(con el lago y la cantera), mientras que los
rayos del sol de la mañana, guían a una cuadrilla de perros
que rondan de
patio a patio…
(gracioso, ¡no veo un gato!).
Escrito en el autobús cerca de Junín, alejándonos de Cerro de Pasco.
Reflexiones de los tres días en que estuve en la ciudad, y vi a los perros rondar en cuadrillas, atravesando una reja después de otra. No había un gato en el lugar (4-Septiembre-2007) # 1975.
También, “Doris (y el Oso Olvidado) fue escrito mientras estaba en el autobús. # 1976
8
Doris
(and the forgotten Bear)
Birds fly over it, hourly,
Doris’ uncle and Shepard Aunt
see it quite often…
Kites from the hands of children
have even touched it—
and perhaps frogs, cows and
all sorts of living creatures have seen it,
but when Mayor Tito Valle asked
Doris to show me the bear,
She said, “Sure!” —not really
knowing what he was talking about.
—But she told me afterward:
“I figured I’d figure it out later,
but it was the first I had heard of the Bear!”
Notes: Oh I could make lots of notes on this, but I shall leave it alone for controversy, on the other hand, I am guilty of this also, many times while in the Army. But it all turned out quite well, and isn’t life full of humor, if you look for it. No: 1976, dedicated to Doris Ticse Arteaga. (9-4-2007)
Spanish Version
Doris
(Y el Oso Olvidado)
Los pájaros vuelan sobre este, cada hora,
El tío de Doris y una tía pastora
lo ven muy frecuentemente…
Cometas de la mano de los niños
incluso lo han tocado—
y talvez, ranas, vacas y
toda clase de criaturas vivientes lo han visto,
pero cuando el alcalde Tito Valle le pidió
a Doris me mostrara el oso,
ella dijo “claro” –realmente
no sabiendo de qué él estaba hablando.
—Pero ella me contó después que dijo:
“Averiguaré, averiguaré esto más tarde,
Pero esta era la primera vez que escuchaba sobre El Oso”
Notas: Ah, podría hacer muchas notas sobre esto, pero lo dejaré esto en paz por controversia, por otro lado, soy responsable de esto también, muchas veces cuando estaba en el ejército. Pero todo resultó muy bien, y la vida ¿no está llena de humor?, si tú buscas esto.
# 1976 (4-Septiembre-2007) Dedicado a Doris Ticse Arteaga.
9
Stone Snail, over Blue
The Giant Snail of Stone Forest
Now both of us
being here—one
alive, one stone
we sit still:
the wind
swirling
the wind
swirling…
(rain on its way):
the Great Stone Snail,
is the best part
of this side of the park—,
I touch it (want to hug it);
it tells me of its eminence.
I look about
so many figures
(stone statues)—
somehow balanced,
hanging by a thread,
in this stone house
with a blue roof.
Written 9-6-2006 ((No: 1978) (1:50 PM)) Dedicated to our three young female guides, Diana, Carol, and I forgot the third ones name but she was most gracious like the others.
Spanish Version
Caracol de Piedra, sobre Azul
Ahora ambos de nosotros
Siendo cosas—uno
vivo, otro piedra
nos sentamos aquí:
el viento
girando
el viento
girando…
(la lluvia está viniendo):
el Gran Caracol de Piedra,
es la mejor parte
de esta parte del parque—,
lo toqué (quería abrazarlo);
esto me dice de su eminencia
Miro alrededor
tantas figuras
(estatuas de piedra)—aparentemente,
colgadas en el aire,
en esta casa de piedra
sobre un techo de azul.
Escrito el 6-Septiembre-2007 (#1978—1:50 p.m.) Dedicado a nuestras tres jóvenes guías de turismo: Diana, Carol y me olvidé del tercer nombre, pero fue tan amable como las otras.
10
In the Fields of the Great Bear
((of, Stone Forest) (9-3-2007))
The eyes and cold shadows of the stones
(in, Stone Forest, high up in the sierras)
seep out into the fields of the Great Bear—.
Here, are stone walls, towering high
(like dreams stretched into the sky).
I could feel their cold shadows falling
—crossing the fields…!
They have no coats—just
smooth, sharp granite skin:
as they sank down, and around me,
engulfed me (and my wife),
akin to an executioner.
With great smooth blades
they observed, with their internal eyes
as I stood in their sacred fields
(‘…the Great Stone Bear—is over there,’
said our guide—pointing!)
I am warmed by the sun and pure air
(these stones cause ripples
in the sleeping soil—strange morning
it was).
The eyes and cold shadows of the
stones, seep out into the fields,
as if leaving a lonely harbor (their abode)
and my spirit moved in my body
(floating above content…).
Note: Last of the poems to be written for the book “The Poetry of Stone Forest…” No: 1979, 9-7-2007 (11:30 AM). Dedicated to my wife Rosa, who walked those fields with me; felt the stone forest surrounding her, engulfing us, and had we been left alone we would have surely gotten lost within its massiveness; hence, we explored the Great Stone Bear, with its towering height, and its surroundings. It was only made possible by the Mayor of Cerro de Pasco, that I could see the Great Stone Bear, at the last moment, for I was actually saying goodbye to Tito Valle, yet knowing my book would not be complete without seeing the Bear, my wife Rosa asked him for assistance in this project, for it is most difficult to get to its isolated, rough terrain, location. Thus, he provided the means, and therefore we stayed another day, and I was delighted of course. (We spent three days in Stone Forest, perhaps five hours a day.)
Part Two
Inside Stone Forest
(A Ten-part Poem)
The Stone Alpaca, Rosa and Dennis under its neck
—This strange sacred Garden, of steel looking rock (depending on the day, it can look gray to charcoal dark), abandoned like a pirate ship in a darkened ocean of salt; it seeps into you like white sleep… fantastically deepening is its presence; I am but an approaching stranger, as I walk from its outskirts into its stone forest, of stoned beasts and humans, and plants, in a massive corral.
—Evening falls early over Stone Forest; its gathered stone creatures: beasts, animals, human figures and plants, all are at peace, no spilled blood, moonlike coolness, one big window opened to the world. I want to greet these great heroes of the Andes, my spirit is fed, with a monstrous ache, that says: God took time to carve them, what prouder gift than that could He have given to the top of the world.
—Stoned faced, the beasts of the forest, with voices fading, under the stars, mourn, ‘Look,’ they say,’ look at the wobbly sky,’ and the rain crackles all night, above their heads—!
—In the chilled afternoons, I walked on hard ground, in Stone Forest, here the beasts were stiff ((the elephant, alpaca, bear, condor)(even the giant snail and turtle)) stiff, like soldiers ready to charge; yes, oh yes indeed, there is a nest of them, pride-fully (sacredly stiff), their faces bent down silently and lightly, as if God Himself, might appear at any moment.
—Here in Stone Forest, high in the mountains, high up, shadows seemingly are swallowed by the moon, only a tinge of light is left for reflections on these aged old rocks: apparently, ghosts of some past famous age; gentle they appear, as if to embrace all living things. Here the Great Stone Bear, proud and tall—like a mountain—stretches out his paws, as if ready to grab onto the moon. All is so fragile it seems, and uncrowned.
—This land flickers, during the morning freeze, with silver light, as the lonely statues remain in a motionless state of being, enchanted with the clouds overhead, as if to say, ‘Follow me softly, my friend—into my bed,’ and then they vanish, once again.
—As I look upon their faces (these beast like statues): icy winds drift over their hard bodies, bodies of stone, and the winds continue to slap and rip against their great walls of hard rock, leaving wrinkles, and grooves of old age, arches and pains from their long days.
—Subtle fields (are all around), with brown ground (nothing much grows here), and the hissing winds that are carried across these open fields, encircle this mysterious stone haven, like a heckling vortex; she remains almost unknown to the world, almost in an utter melancholy—eyes gazed: all its statues looking up or down, I feel I am but a Shepard here, to these stones, a curious one at that— hitherto I sense, the silence of God seeping through this forest, I can almost hear His heart beat.
—High up here, on top of the world, in Stone Forest, even the moon looks cold, behind the clouds, and ready to fall; each colossal stone seems to have been a frozen animal of old, a stirring that wakes the soul.
—Mystic grief seeps through my veins, as I stand here in Stone Forest, I wonder: do these stone creatures, dignitaries of noble birth, do their stone shadows walk upon the earth? Such a ghostly way to think, of dead stone, under golden clouds, over the high Andes, thinking, reasoning, its all a mystic dream.
End Poem
Tales Told at the Fair
I see the stone
figures
(nearby) in light…,
and their shadows by night,
—and I listen to the tales told!
Oh, it is mysterious enough
to be part of it all?
No: 1778 (9-3-2007)
▼
The Legend of: The Great Stone Bear
(In Two Parts)
The Great Stone Bear, of Stone Forest
Part One
The Great Stone Bear
I shall tell this story in brief, and to the best of my knowledge, or should I say, recollection, for it grew out of legends, as I have put them together, and like all legends, your part—besides reading it—is sorting out truth from fiction. This, my friends, is not my job, nor would I desire such a task. But I will nonetheless, tell it as it is: from inspiration, facts, and of course, the old and new bards of this and past ages (it has two parts to it).
It was long, long ago, when a rich farmer, or better put, a farmer with many animals lived and herded these fields that are now called Huayllay; grant you there was not much grass for feed, not at 14,222-feet above sea level, but the brownish-yellow shrubby seemed to be enough for most of the animals, and his flocks and herds grew large, making him a man of means.
Also in this rocky area (now called Stone Forest) was a poor farmer, an envious and jealous sort of fellow, one who dabbled in black magic. Oh, he was indeed deep rooted with scorn for the rich farmer; perhaps I should call them both Shepard’s, for this was their lot in life.
In all ways, the poor farmer could not endure, live next to the rich man, and remain poor, watching his horde of animals grow daily, as his diminished. It was too provocative to face. Often he would say, “Why?” (throwing his hands into the air, over his head) “…why him and not me? What does he do, or have, or had, that makes the difference—between rich and poor?” Oh for sure, it was maddening for him, never receiving an answer, and for the most part, he could never answer that question him self, if indeed there was an answer to it. Nor could he face or ask the rich farmer his opinion on the matter, pride does strange things does it not.
Thus, one day they bumped into one another, face to face; eyeball to eyeball (a trying day it would be). In any case, the poor man’s eyes were ablaze, as they both stood erect, and the first thing, the first utter that came out of the poor man’s mouth was, “I curse your live stock,” oh it was a bitter curse “…I curse your flocks, and all your living things you own, to stone! To stone! To stone!” And alias, it came to pass, like a bolt of lightening; and the first beast of the forest, to be turned into stone was the Great Bear. Yes, yes undeniably, He was the first of the animals to be frozen, the king of the beasts of the forest, all ninety-feet of him, now looking not must different than the stone woods all about. He was the rich man’s friend; matter-of-fact he called him Papa Bear, out of respect for his long age. Then one by one, his animals turned into stone, as did his favorite plants and insects (giant mushrooms, and snails, etc). At which time the poor man made his escape, to who knows where, for he was never heard of again, only seen leaving the mountain valley quite rapidly; yet it has been said, he did not live to be of an old man.
Part Two
The Legend behind the Legend
No one knows that the Great Stone Bear was but the legend behind a legend; I shall explain: at one time, the Great Bear was the watcher of stone forest, and all its animals there within, this was a time when man and animals grew to great heights, and ages—and then, then when the rich man came to stone woods, and they both discovered one another, slowly they befriended each another, and became links, you could say.
Furthermore, just before this age, there was a great upheaval in the earth, when Stone Forest was really part of a great sea. Then the sea was turned upside down, and the great sea mountains became the Great Andes, and the Great Bear, became the first of the giants to roam these woods, and it was as it was, his home; and then there appeared a multitude of other giant beasts, insects, and so forth and so on. It was a strange time indeed, a time of wonder and tears, of mourning. At length, the world had been plunged into a daze, and struggle, and heroes were born, only to be destroyed later, but a freshness and lifelike color came to the new world, with awe. Mortals and beasts walked side by side, as God above watched below. And of course, you know the rest of the story.
Note: Part one written at the Hotel in Cerro de Pasco, “Senorial,” in San Juan; 8:30 AM, in draft form; 9-4-2007. Part two was written at 10:15 AM, on the bus going to Huancayo form Cerro de Pasco, that same morning.
Part Three
War Poems:
Concerning Vietnam (1971)
For those folks interested in knowing the author a little better, he has added two of his war poems to the book, never before published in another book up to this point, or publishing. He has in the past written a number of poems on the war (many published on over 400-internet sites worldwide); in addition, they have been published in such books as “The Spell of the Andes,” (12-poems) and “Where the Birds Don’t Sing,” (a book of sketches and some poetry on Vietnam)—and now for the third time he expresses his mind, emotions and experiences, and conscious, for the reader in the following two poems, on a war he participated in, in 1971 (he was in South Vietnam for eight months, along the South China Sea, and for a week went to Sydney Australia; these two poems, are not gory or aggressive in anyway, rather, conciliatory, and simple in its delivery for affect; the author feels we have had enough of the violent stuff out there, how about simple life):
((Vietnam: a war poem) (1971))
Vietnam: Like Ants in the Rain
Confused, whirled in a tangle:
Into a land full of voices—
True men of war I met,
Here we had nothing but thoughts
Memories in common—at best;
And we all spoke out our hearts
And minds—
And without regret we did our best
In the sands of Vietnam.
And we all drank from month on month,
Forgetting, or trying to—the finery of home:
And before the end of the day
We scattered like ants in the rain—
Confused, spinning into
Knots of war.
Note: Every so often I like writing a poem about my times in Vietnam (during the war years, 1971). Being in the Mantaro Valley of Peru, the land of the Great Wanka Warrior must bring it out of me: I’m sure they would understand my reasoning. And to the folks high up in the mountains, in Cerro de Pasco, whom live by a beautiful stone woods, we simple work through the hardships of life, colds, weather, and war.
No: 1848 5-26-2007
Spanish Version
((Vietnam: Un Poema de Guerra) (1971))
Vietnam: Como Hormigas en la Lluvia
Confuso, envuelto en una maraña:
En una tierra llena de voces—
Verdaderos hombres de guerra conocí.
Aquí no teníamos nada más que pensamientos
Memorias en común—por lo mejor;
Y abrimos nuestros corazones
Y mentes—
Y sin arrepentimiento hicimos todo lo posible
En las arenas de Vietnam.
Y todos bebimos mes a mes,
Olvidando, o tratando de olvidar—las galas de casa:
Y antes del final del día
Nos dispersábamos como hormigas en la lluvia—
Confusos, girando dentro de
Nudos de guerra.
Nota: Cada cierto tiempo me gusta escribir un poema sobre el tiempo que pasé en Vietnam (durante los años de guerra, 1971). Estando en el Valle del Mantaro de Perú, la tierra del Gran Guerrero Wanka debo traerlo fuera de mí: Estoy seguro que ellos entenderían mi razonamiento.
# 1848 26-Mayo-2007
From Vietnam to Sydney
(A Three Part Poem—1971)
Part One
From Vietnam to Sydney
Drifts and slitters in the sky—a horizontal sun nearby,
not much grass in this city of Sydney, wild cars (scrapes of steel).
Aimlessly from a battered war I came, out of a swarm of
yellow jacks—that circled me: and here, here now I am standing,
downtown—by strange buildings, smells, brittle old buildings
in sight, not far away, by the bay (to be torn town they say).
A park is by my eighth-level hotel; leaves stripped from their branches; by nightfall, the moon will be high on the lake,
like a shadowy tail. All week I softly talked, left: two-hundred miles of walking back and forth, in this city.
Man is the heart of this city, the upshot of rudiments here: born
to war, eat, drink and die—; hell with philosophy, there’s enough noise…!
What bothered me from Vietnam to Sydney—(now I know)
someone (they) created a war and nailed it on the cross—to
the only decent carpenter that ever was. I know I must fall—
face doom, but I told myself back then, not in Vietnam.
Part Two
On the Roof Top of the Hotel
I sit here without thought on the roof top of my hotel
(as if—living in a myth) watching the shadows below:
buildings, boats, shadows over the lake, creeping by,
hauntingly in a gray moonlit sky…a few seabirds fly overhead,
a few figures of dogs and cats below, they look like dead dots.
It’s a shame I didn’t stay—(soon) to be back to Nam.
Deaths a new shape called –weary!
But I’ll make it through…!
A few birds drift to the rooftop (like spots in the air)
my future defined, I brush the dust from my mind;
rain from the ocean—soaks the air, over the rooftop.
A lady I met comes by, stays the night!
We jump out from under the covers (in the morning)
like seagrass and we both drift away, like seagulls.
(As for me, I will neither snare or grunt or run, I will simple go back to Vietnam…in the morning.)
Part Three
Back Home
(To Minnesota from Vietnam)
When I got back to Minnesota, it was the first day of my world,
new born I felt: bitter coffee, bitter beer, cold dawn,
it was October…How rare to be born a human a second time;
man and beast were now alike; I even thirst for cold snow.
Now I had obscure layers of meaninglessness.
This new world was simply juggling, popular songs;
human tenderness was dry; bones and flesh just walked on by:
no regrets—I was likened to the sparrows, annulled.
And so it was, Vietnam, a mournful web with tall grass,
we were the snared rabbit’s ear; yet we danced on rooftops,
in the swamps, thinking us wise men.
Whirling from nostrils to ears swatting flies—with drunken eyes.
Note: Perhaps this poem is long overdue, it is my first poem on Sydney, Australia, where I stayed on R&R, during my time in Vietnam, 1971. Now after 40-years, I look back, perhaps I sense I now have absorbed it enough, and can express a portion of it. I did write about Sydney in one of the 35-books I wrote, “Where the Birds don’t sing,” but not a poem. So I dedicated this one to the Australian Soldiers that served time in the Military in Vietnam, they were brave; and to my friend Ben Szumskyj, from Australia. No: 1948 (8-15-2007). And for the warm and fine folks of Cerro de Pasco, Peru. The drawing I did, a self portrait taken from a picture in my basic training 1969.
▼
Historian Maria Rostworowski and Poet Laureate Dennis L. Siluk
Maria Rostworowski and Dennis during a meeting (2007) in Lima, Peru; she complimented Dennis’ two books” The Magic of the Avelinos,” and” The Road to Unishcoto”
Dennis and Adelmo Huamani (senior member of the Journalist College) Picture taken at the 25th anniversary of the College (August, 2007), during a ceremony giving honors to some of the important
people of Huancayo, Peru, that have contributed to the culture of the Mantaro Valley
▼
(Donald Hall, USA Poet Laureate, and Dennis L. Siluk, Poet Laureate Mantaro Valley of Peru)
This is Dennis’ 36th book, 11th in Poetry, 6th on Peruvian culture and traditions (in part). He lives in Minnesota and Peru with his wife Rosa. In the picture provided on the back of this book, is of Dennis and Donald Hall, Poet Laureate (2006) of the United States (picture was taken at the St. Paul, World Theater, 2-2005). Here Mr. Hall and Dennis were talking briefly about their losses, Dennis’ mother who died in 2003, and Mr. Hall’s wife whom died some years prior of a fatal illness, whom he wrote a book about concerning his grief, that Mr. Siluk read, and helped him with his grief; and a few other topics.
Dennis has a worldwide audience (as does Donald Hall), and has traveled extensively throughout the world, to over 60-countries, and 46-states (over 700,000-air miles). His poetic prose has been considered by professional educators as enlightening and cultural, with sensitivity.
Dennis and Donald Hall, USA Poet Laureate
Meeting at the World Theater, St. Paul, Minnesota, Feb 2005
Books by the Author
Out of Print
The Other Door, Volume I [1981]
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale [1982]
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant life [1984]
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child [1985]
Presently In Print
The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon
Angelic Renegades & Raphaim Giants
Tales of the Tiamat [trilogy]
And other selected books
Tiamat, Mother of Demon I
Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat II
Revenge of the Tiamat III
Mantic ore: Day of the Beast
Chasing the Sun
[Travels of D.L Siluk]
Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib
The Addiction Books of D.L. Siluk:
A Path to Sobriety
A Path to Relapse Prevention
Aftercare: Chemical Dependency Recovery
Autobiographical
A Romance in Augsburg I
Romancing San Francisco II
Where the Birds Don’t Sing III
Stay Down, Old Abram IV
Romance:
Perhaps it’s Love
(Minnesota to Seattle)
Cold Kindness
(Dieburg, Germany)
The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:
Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]
Dracula’s Ghost
[And other Peculiar stories]
The Mumbler [psychological]
After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]
The Poetry of D.L. Siluk:
The Other Door (Poems- Volume I, 1981)
Sirens [Poems-Volume II, 2003]
The Macabre Poems [Poems-Volume III, 2004]
Last autumn and Winter [Minnesota poems, 2006]
Spell of the Andes [2005]
Peruvian Poemas [2005]
Poetic Images out of Peru [And other poem, 2006]
The Magic of the Avelinos
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, book One; 2006)
The Road to Unishcoto
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, Book Two, 2007)
“Silence over a Restless Valley,” ((The Selected Unpublished Poetry of Dennis L. Siluk) (and, Juan Parra del Riego) (2008; Poems on: Peru, Minnesota & Germany))
The Poetry of Stone Forest
(And the Legend of the Great Stone Bear)
♥
Elsie at 19-years Old
Love and Butterflies
[For Elsie T. Siluk, my mother]
She fought a good battle
The last of many—
Until there was nothing left
Where once, there was plenty.
And so, poised and dignified
She said, ‘farewell,’ in her own way
And left behind
A grand old time
Room for another
Love and Butterflies…
That was my mother.
—By Dennis L. Siluk © 7/03
Back of Book
New Picture
“The Poetry of Stone Forest…” includes photos of the author with: historian Maria Rotworowski, USA Poet Laureate, Donald Hall, Congressman Mauricio Mulder, Tito Valle, Mayor of Cerro de Pasco and Adelmo Huamani, senior member of the Journalist College, in Huancayo.
Back photo of Dennis being interviewed by Channel Two, Huancayo, ’TV Peru’
During Dennis’ stay in Cerro de Pasco, he had met a number of important people, had two television interviews, and after talking to Mayor Tito Valle (receiving a Gold Medal, as an ‘Illustrious Visitor’), decided to create a book similar to his previous one for the Mantaro Valley, “The Road to Unishcoto.” The first draft was written in a matter of days, with a profound inspiration haunting the author. Dennis had worked on the manuscript daily, while in the mountain city. Here, Dennis creates a collection of remarkable and timeless poetry, original in all its refreshing forces. Furthermore, he adds two War Poems, concerning Vietnam, 1971, and his R & R, in Sydney, Australia, so his new readers can get to know him a little better, and an introductory poem, “The Crow,” about his illness. Now he sets the poems loose on the world, to discover ‘Stone Forest.’
About the Author
This is Dennis’ 36th book, 6th on Peru, 12th in Poetry. He lives in Minnesota and Peru. He has won two columnist Awards (2004, and 2005). He is a world traveler, and prolific writer. And is finishing up a new book of Selected Poems, called: “Silence over a Restless Valley.”
Copyright©Dennis L. Siluk
Labels: Poet and writer of the Year for the Mandaro Valley of Peru
