Poetry Information

Uamaks Aquatic [suspense: now in Spanish and English]


Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?

I saw a shape on a rock, not sure who it was; I had a sensitivity though, a feeling call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of credence into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and numbness was there. I didn't' sense any danger in the moment, in the moonlit figure, sitting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it-from all corners-at the pink and red flesh of my internal organs, stinging their poisonous little fangs into them.

I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its prickly overgrown wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged through the last of the bushes, carefully now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then got I into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now-the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and splashed against the overhang-the sea cliffs, directly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, behind twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an agitated night.

Inscrutability always appears to bring with it a limitless amount of threat, does it not? A rhetorical question at best, sure it does, and that figure on the ?the tide was becoming more calm, the rocks were mammoth, and overlooking the sea, jagged and with fangs. The wind gentle over head, not like a few minutes ago, I mean it just unexpectedly evaporated. As I was about to say, the shape, silhouette on the huge rock, is still looking into the sea; it is like he is locked into a trance, or that I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to pay any attention to me. He seems to be talking to himself, or perhaps some sea monster, just kidding-but he's talking to someone, something, and his head is pointed downward, down, down toward the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.

A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, not sure why I said fishing boat, how do I know, it has lit, a light on its deck, I suppose it's a deck, it is far off in the distance. I walked now, aimless I think, can't see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea on top of that damn monster I can't see, only to find out it is real. Oh well, some shadows just left the moon a bit more exposed, but it gave me a little light. In September it is chilly here, I swear that stature has something to do with this mysterious evening. Here off the coast of ? my bones are chilled.

If you were to ask me: '?what are you doing out here?' I couldn't tell you, I'd not have the answer, 'doing out here,' what? Maybe that figure on the rock knows-he must be but a hundred yards from me now; perchance I'll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late. Conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this little trip (again)-your guess is as good as mine. I have been to places around the world that seems to draw on a persons soul, agitate his pulse to the point he has to or he goes into-and ends up at, wherever he does-in this case here.

"Aye, good Master," I heard (a mumble) "?take the lot as it is?" this is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind pushed it back into my ears from the spot where that unfamiliar person is, that figure on the huge rock looking, just looking into the-what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, looking into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, or could, it just faded away, as fast as it came. Evidently, something else was, or I should say, is thriving.

-The form was looked proud with a ting of arrogance. I asked myself, now being but several yards away: 'does he have an inkling of my presence?' Who concentrates so hard, I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something? Perhaps someone; I get the feeling he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back-death brings out many wishes in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he planning something; he is huge, awfully massive. I'll take a few more steps, a yard now, he should turn around I'd think. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating, I mean hear it beating, I can hear it myself.

Again and again I say should he turn around towards me he'd see me, then what? Now he heard me mumbling my thoughts, he starting some incantations as well. A pathway to what I asked myself-, now what, I'm right behind him, three feet:

"I'm Uámak, and below me, is the Minister of Doom, and there are many and various, ways to die, he has on a bone-skull plate, carved into it, seventy-two ways to die. He brings one plate at a time to me, shows them to me. I am forced to look as he mocks me. Doom has a funny sense of humor. He will I fear, play with me for ages. He says I must select one, and knows I can't. He gathers my voice and echoes it down to whoever is under the crust of the earth-as they laugh at me. Which way has been chosen me, I know you have second sight?"

I was mortified, he turned around and I almost lost control of my physical functions (he was: gloom incarnate; a demigod, or so he looked), and well, lets not get into it. Anyhow, he knew I knew and he wanted me to tell him what has been chosen for his death bed. So that's why I was brought here, didn't know, and the fingers of doom as well as the City of Death would not tell him, perhaps for a long, long time and this would be his death until he begged hell and Doom itself to tell him; I was his messenger. I stared into the blackness where he had been focused, where he was looking into or at, and I couldn't see what he saw, but what I did see was his death?his death,

"What do you see?" asked the demigod.

"A being with wings, putting rocks over your body. You are in a desert, chained to the earth under you, and the rocks over you, you cannot move."

"What death is this," he asked me.

"The living death," I chokingly said.

"Will I be conscious," he asked.

"Always!..."

Note: Written 8/12/05/revised 8/19/05 (by Dennis L. Siluk)

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza

Uámak ' s Acuática

Con delicadeza, mi mente seleccionaba una melodía sorda, fuera del espacio muerto oscuro vacío rodeándome?

Yo vi una forma sobre una roca, no seguro de quién era; yo tenía un pensamiento sensitivo llámalo un sentimiento, que siente ello, o la segunda oportunidad; había oído eso antes, no seguro de si quiero poner mucho crédito en ello, pero así sea, la sensibilidad y el entumecimiento estaban allí. No sentí ningún peligro en el momento, en la figura iluminada por la luna, sentada sobre las rocas, estando al acecho, buscando en la profundidad. Realmente conseguí una conciencia de calambres en mi estómago pienso, como ciempiés que mordisquean en ello - de todas las esquinas - en la carne rosada y roja de mis órganos internos, picando sus pequeños colmillos venenosos en ellos.

Tropecé sobre el follaje espeso, perdido en sus plantas espinosas crecidas demasiado salvajes y el fango, y Dios sabe que más; en el corolario, vine al borde cerca del mar, mirando sobre la acuática, al borde de la roca, hacía muchos años ya, que yo había estado aquí. Yo zigzagueaba a través del último de los arbustos, cuidadosamente ahora, esto era el borde de la roca, y entonces consigo yo en una apertura más clara. Yo podía solamente oír los ruidos del cambio de las aguas ahora - las aguas debajo de mí, como el golpe de olas que hace ruido, y salpicando contra las rocas sobresalientes del mar, directamente delante de mí. Pero esto era unos segundos antes de la noche, detrás del crepúsculo, sí de verdad, esto había desaparecido, tragado por una noche inquieta.

La impenetrabilidad siempre parece traer con ello una cantidad ilimitada de amenaza, ¿verdad? Una pregunta retórica a lo mejor, seguro esto es, y aquella figura sobre la marea? se tornaba mas calmada, y las rocas eran el mamut, pasando por alta mar, dentado y con colmillos. El viento apacible sobre la cabeza, no como hace unos minutos, pienso esto, justo de improviso se evaporó. Como estuve a punto de decir, la forma, la silueta sobre la enorme roca, todavía esta examinando el mar; es como si él esta bloqueado en un trance, o que yo soy sólo un gusano para él, y demasiado insuficiente para él para prestarme cualquier atención. Él parece estar hablando con el mismo, o quizás algún monstruo de mar, solo bromeando - pero él se dirige a alguien, algo, y su cabeza dirigida hacia abajo, abajo, abajo hacia el mar. Salvo el hecho no estoy en una ilusión. Un barco de pesca, no, no solamente un navío de alguna clase, no estoy seguro por qué dije el barco de pesca, como lo conozco, esto ha encendido, una luz sobre su cubierta, supongo esto es una cubierta, está muy lejos en la distancia. Anduve ahora, sin objeto pienso, no puedo ver mucho delante de mí, no sea que yo termine en el mar encima de aquel monstruo maldito que no puedo ver, sólo averiguar si es verdadero. Ah bien, justo algunas sombras dejaron la luna un poco más expuesta, pero esto me dio un poco de luz. En septiembre es frío aquí, juro que la estatura tiene algo que ver con esta tarde misteriosa. Aquí fuera de la costa? mis huesos están enfriados. Si usted me preguntara: ¿Que esta haciendo Usted aquí? Yo no podía decirle, yo no tendría la respuesta, haciendo afuera ¿qué? Tal vez aquella figura sobre la roca sabe - él debe estar sólo a cien yardas de mí ahora; esta posibilidad lo averiguaré muy pronto, y usted también. Pienso que ya es de noche, pero que no todo tan tarde. Evidentemente fui dibujado aquí fuera. Yo visitaba a un amigo, usted podría decir, pero sólo después de que llegué. Entonces que fue lo que me provocó tomar este pequeño viaje (otra vez) - su conjetura es tan buena como la mía. He estado en sitios en el mundo entero que parecen utilizar el alma de personas, agitar su pulso hasta el punto en que él tiene o él entra - y termina en, en cualquier parte donde lo haga - en este caso aquí. " Siempre, buen Maestro", oí ( un murmullo) "?Toma la parte de como es esto ?" esto es lo que resonó a mis espaldas, el viento, sí el viento lo empujó atrás en mis oídos del punto donde aquella persona desconocida esta, aquella figura sobre el enorme roca mirando, solamente examinando dentro del - lo que yo asumo, el mar, un agujero negro en el mar, sí de verdad, es lo que él hace, examinando un agujero negro en el mar, por alguna razón extraña, puedo ver que ahora, o podía, esto justo se desvaneció, tan rápido como vino. Evidentemente, era algo más, o yo debería decir, es prospero. - la forma estuvo mirando orgullosa con un tintineo de arrogancia. Me pregunté, ahora estando a varias yardas de distancia lejos: "¿Tiene él una indicación de mi presencia?" ¿"Quién se concentra tan fuerte?, pienso mirando, él esta preguntando al agua del mar algo Quizás alguien; consigo el sentimiento que él ha perdido algo, y quiere negociar para que ello regrese- la muerte entrega muchos deseos en el hombre y la bestia: y él mira para ambos seres. O él esta planeando algo; él es enorme, terriblemente masivo. Daré unos pasos más, una yarda ahora, él debería girar, yo podría pensar. Estoy seguro que él puede sentir el latido de mi corazón, pienso oyendo el latido, puedo oírlo yo mismo. - - ¿Una y otra vez digo que debería él girar hacia mí me vería, entonces qué? Ahora él me oyó mascullando mis pensamientos, comenzando algunos conjuros también. Un sendero que yo, me pregunté-, ¿ahora que?, estoy a la derecha detrás de él, tres pies: - "Soy Uámak, y debajo de mí, esta el Ministro de Destino, y hay muchos y varios, modos de morir, él tiene sobre una placa de hueso de cráneo, tallado en ello, setenta y dos modos de morir. Él me trae una placa a la vez, me los muestra. Me fuerzan a mirar mientras él se burla de mí. El destino tiene un sentido gracioso de humor. El me hará temerlo, el jugó conmigo desde hace siglos. Él dice que debo seleccionar uno, y sé que no puedo. Él une mi voz y lo repite abajo a quienquiera que esta debajo de la corteza de la tierra, como ellos se ríen de mí. ¿Qué camino ha sido escogido para mí, sé que usted tiene la segunda oportunidad? - "Estuve mortificado, él giró y casi perdí el control de mis funciones físicas (él fue la penumbra encarnada; un semidiós, o así el se veía) y bien, no entremos en detalles. De todos modos, él sabía que yo, sabía y él quiso que yo le dijera lo que habíamos escogido para su lecho de muerte. Esto es entonces por lo que fui traído hasta aquí, no conocía, y los dedos de destino así como la Ciudad de la muerte no le dirían, quizás por un largo, muy largo tiempo y esto sería su muerte hasta que él pidiera al infierno y al Destino mismos para decirle; yo fui su mensajero. ¿Miré fijamente en la oscuridad dónde él había estado concentrado, o donde él examinaba, y yo no podía ver lo que él vio, pero lo que yo realmente vi era su muerte ?su muerte, - "¿Que ve usted? " preguntó el semidiós. - "Un ser con alas, poniendo rocas sobre tu cuerpo. Usted está en un desierto, encadenado a la tierra bajo usted, y las rocas sobre usted, usted no puede moverse". - "¿Que muerte es esta?", él me preguntó. - "El infierno, " ahogándome dije. - "¿Voy a yo estar consciente?", preguntó él. - "¡Siempre! ... "

See Mr. Dennis Siluk's books and travels at his website: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com


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Poetry round-up: McCarthy delights with second collection in two years  The Irish Times

Plus new poetry from Julia Copus.


Ann Cannon: Poetry recommendations for the kids in your life  Salt Lake Tribune

Dear Readers • Here's the deal. Little kids like poetry. No, really. They do! Especially if it has a good beat and you can dance to it. It's only after we send them off ...


Poetry Festival to feature Kansas poets laureate and others  Salina Journal

The Heart of the Heartland Small Press Poetry Fest is a three-day poetry festival from Friday through Sunday that will feature poets representing independent ...


The best recent poetry – review roundup  The Guardian

Witch by Rebecca Tamás; Near Future by Suzannah Evans; O Positive by Joe Dunthorne; Discipline by Jane Yeh. Ben Wilkinson. Sat 6 Apr 2019 06.00 EDT.


Pitts: Regional poetry festival set this week for downtown Fayetteville venues  The Fayetteville Observer

Don't tell LeJuane Bowens, more popularly known by his stage name, El'Ja Bowens, that there is no arts scene in Fayetteville. He knows differently. This former ...


Sportswriting on Deadline: The Underappreciated Art  The Atlantic

A new anthology of sportswriting celebrates the poetry written in the press box.


Framingham High Seniors To Battle at 16th Annual Poetry Slam Thursday  framinghamsource.com

FRAMINGHAM – Amazing Things Arts Center will host the final round of the 16th Annual Framingham High Poetry Slam on Thursday, April 25. A “slam” is a ...


Hanif Abdurraqib and Morgan Parker Chat Poetry and Blackness in America  VICE

By now, you should know about Morgan Parker—she's a tour de force in the world of poetry, author of the collections Other People's Comfort Keeps Me Up at ...


The return of Michael Redhill, and two other books to celebrate poetry month  The Globe and Mail

Twitch Force is Michael Redhill's first book of poetry in 18 years. But he's been busy. Already well known as a literary novelist, playwright and editor, and as the ...


A Poet and Essayist Meditates on the Deep Roots Binding Humans and Trees  The New York Times

C.D. Wright's posthumous book “Casting Deep Shade” offers a guided walk through beech forests and her own wide-ranging mind.


Poetry: A man and a pan  The Patriotic Vanguard

A man and a pan By Gibril Koroma, Toronto, Canada A man A pan A man and a pan Is this a man? No, it is a (...)


On poetry, tradition, risk-taking, and colonial barbarians  Al Jazeera English

A conversation between Indian poet Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee and Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish.


Poetry: For National Poetry Month, Notable Maine Poets Discuss Their Work and The Role of Poetry  Maine Public

April is National Poetry Month. With the release of new books by a number of prominent Maine poets, we'll discuss the role of poetry in today's culture and.


Stanley Plumly, Md. poet laureate who wrote of nature and memory, dies at 79  Washington Post

Stanley Plumly, a poet and University of Maryland professor who served as the state's poet laureate for nine years and also published well-regarded nonfiction ...


Project CommUNITY: 'Poetry and Chill' after school workshops  KOCO Oklahoma City

Maggie Carlo talks to the founder of "Poetry and Chill," Gregory II, as well as Douglass High School 8th grade student, Zinari Reginald Waldrup, about the ...


5 New Books on Poetry Pulitzer Winner Forrest Gander’s Reading List  Vulture

Poet Forrest Gander, who earned the 2019 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry, on five books on his reading list: C.D. Wright's Casting Deep Shade, Arthur Sze's Sight Lines, ...


In David Baker’s nature poetry, devastation lurks always in the background  The Washington Post

David Baker published his first book of poetry, “Haunts,” in 1985. That title, both noun and verb, says a lot about the tone and tenor of the poetry Baker has ...


Running on Coffee: And the Pulitzer for poetry goes to...  Reading Eagle

Earlier this week the Pulitzer Prizes for the arts and journalism were announced, which included the prize for poetry, awarded to Forrest Gander for.


Poet Hanif Abdurraqib Discusses His Writing Process  NPR

For National Poetry Month, poet, essayist, and cultural critic Hanif Abdurraqib shares a poem and his writing process. ARI SHAPIRO, HOST: Sometimes the ...


Portland's Café Review marks 30 years of curating poetry from around the world  Press Herald

The Café Review began humbly, as 16 mimeographed sheets of paper stapled together. The poets who gathered regularly at Woodfords Café in Portland ...


Poetry month sees launch of “Oona River Poems” at Rupert library  Prince Rupert Northern View

Peter Christensen consciously and lovingly documents our physical and psychological landscapes.


The Poetry Of An X-Ray  Science Friday

Rafael Campo, a doctor and a poet, turns his experiences in the operating room into poetry.


Poetry book of the month: Insomnia by John Kinsella - review  The Guardian

The relationship between art and our beleaguered ecosystem fires the Australian poet's new collection.


Linda Gregg, Poet of Taut, Vivid Verse, Is Dead at 76  The New York Times

Linda Gregg, who explored beauty, loss, struggle and desire in award-winning poetry that was spare but intense and deeply evocative, died on March 20 in ...


Valley Verses: Conway resident to release first poetry collection, “Kairos”  The Recorder

A first glance at the elevated diction and usage of the sonnet form in Conway resident Libby Maxey's poetry might make readers believe it's inaccessible. But to ...


Local poet remembers Donald Hall, Jane Kenyon at event  Concord Monitor

In honor of National Poetry Month, poet Wesley McNair will offer a recollection of his literary friendship with Donald Hall and Jane Kenyon, which began in the ...


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