I just returned from the IX Reunión de Escritores Hispanoamericanos in Hermosillo and Mazatán, Province of Sonora, México, where I drank too much (Tecate beer flows from the heavens like manna, and then there is Mezcal, worm and all, and the occasional tequila...), sang not enough, and even danced.
The name of the gathering was “Horas de Junio” (“hours in June”), which has to do with a poem by tabasqueño poet Carlos Pellicer. The first Horas de Junio was held in 1995 in the Mexican province of Sonora, under the poetic guidance of Abigael Bohórquez, and involved only writers from Sonora and Baja California. The second one took place in 1997 and included 60 writers from Sonora, Baja California, Nuevo León and Ciudad de México; it was dedicated to another Sonoran great, Alonso Vidal. This one I attended was the ninth such congress, and it was dedicated to Juan Bañuelos, renowned poet and teacher from Chiapas, who is also an indefatigable worker for the rights of indigenous peoples in Chiapas and elsewhere. Horas de Junio for some time now has had an international character, and includes poets and writers from all regions of Mexico as well as other countries. The purpose of the gatherings is tri-fold:
- To introduce the literature being created in the northeastern and other areas of the Mexican Republic and Latin America.
- To provide a forum for the introduction of new tendencies and genre in contemporary literature.
- To promote literature, unity, and a convivial exchange among writers in a dialogue with people. This last, I can attest, was successfully done.
I shouldn’t really say I did not sing enough... Mexicans love music, I sang two of my boleros and every time I tried to get up and hand the guitar to someone else a group would scream, “¡Otra, otra, otra!” After the partying we would go back to the hotel, to someone’s room, for more singing through the night. One person came in to complain about trying to sleep, someone immediately handed her a cerveza and she stayed and sang....
On the last day of “Horas de Junio” we were taken to the small town of Mazatán where an homenaje to all the writers had been planned. We were received by a band with a large “BIENVENIDOS” and we walked through the streets, all the doors open to us and the citizens outside waving and smiling. The school children in their uniforms waved and sang to us. At the local auditorium with a strange cooling system the indigenous population had made round delicious cheeses, a type of pumpkin empanada, and long tortillas, mountain bread. The president of the place, whom I suspect we would call “mayor” over here, had words of welcome and of literary comment -- unusual to hear from a político, but in México there were too many unusual things to mention: the desk clerk who asked for my autograph and mentioned the works of Pliny (Plinio)... the man who walked a long block under the sun to show me the way...
That last night we sang until 4 in the morning, when I remembered that in an hour I had to start back to drive to San Diego, because yes, I made a small mistake in booking and flew to San Diego and had to drive to Hermosillo, 12 hours plus, through gorgeous desert landscapes... and everywhere people would ask me how I could drive by myself, saying that it was dangerous, but even at 2 in the morning in the small town where I was stopped for going through four Altos (stop signs) and slightly speeding, and where the sergeant, after listening to my timid excuses for not seeing the Altos and not understanding the difference between miles and kilometers (well, I had to say something), lectured me about driving late at night and told me to find someplace to sleep for the rest of the night, but gave me a ticket for 200 pesos which is less than 20 bucks, with a smile and politeness.... All I met on the journey were warmth and caring and an honest attitude of welcome, so lacking in our modern “civilized” society.
After the celebrations I drove back to San Diego singing with Mercedes Sosa and Serrat. I am invited back in October and who knows whether I will return to the US except for occasional visits.... In México I sang endlessly with a chorus of eight or nine men, there were always men, the mexicanos are románticos and a woman is a woman, no matter her age.... So, this is a small crónica of a trip that was far too short, and yes, México is a pair of open arms (translation of the title of this piece).
~ Silvia A. Brandon Pérez
From your guides: Silvia has graciously consented to present two of her own poems to accompany this article. Enjoy!
