In Celebration of the City

AT THE NIGHT CAFÉ IN SAN MIGUEL

by A. S. Maulucci

Candles on the tables light joyous faces,

so much to enjoy in this city of feasting and fiestas

that the night revelers seem about to burst open with pleasure

like greenhouse flowers aching to bloom in the moonlight.

The beauty of the stars is there overhead

for those who wish to find some dark corner for gazing up at them.

But the sparkling lights here below are enough,

they obviate the stars almost,

and the Parroquia, that baroque church in the plaza principal,

spires up into flames,

too adoringly majestic to be endured.

Nearly everyone wants to be on display in the night café,

as if this were a rich and eternal tableau,

long bufandas wound like spangled serpents,

silk and cotton clinging caressingly to breasts,

bare arms slender or sinewy,

eyes shining, voices raucous or tender,

the camaraderie gushes like a rio.

The sleek young men peacock preen and strut,

the ripening young women glide by like so many cleopatras

out for a midnight stroll and content

to torture the cabrones who dare to ignore them. 

The gringos glut their senses on the pageantry of young love

and toss back another shot of tequila.

Someone strums a guitar and sings

a ballad of the pain and beauty of love.

Bright peals of laughter ring out,

love is a goddess and we are all her fools

the laughter seems to say,

and the night whispers estoy de acuerdo.

The Corrosive Effect of Cronyism

The San Miguel art scene is becoming more and more insular, even incestuous. The danger is clear: the corrosiveness of cronyism has invaded our community and threatens to undermine its artistic integrity. When pals, partners, spouses and lovers write articles about artists’ opening exhibits, honesty is shoved aside, objectivity is sacrificed, and hyperbole gains the upper hand. Our weekly newspaper, Atencion, aids and abets this deplorable situation by having an editorial policy (if you can call it that) which allows cronyism to flourish. They will publish just about any piece of journalistic jingoism in order to fill their pages with free content, all in the name of “public service.” Worst of all, artists are allowed to pen their own articles extolling the wonders and marvels of their latest creations. Sounds a bit like an old-fashioned medicine show, doesn’t it? “Come one, come all, and see my magnificent works of art!”