Lorraine Caputo
Lorraine Caputo hitchhiking on the Carretera Austral of southern Chile
Wandering troubadour Lorraine Caputo is a documentary poet, translator and travel writer. Her works appear in over 400 journals on six continents and in 23 collections of poetry – including On Galápagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019), Patagonia Sketches (Origami Poems Project, 2023) and In the Jaguar Valley (dancing girl press, 2023).
She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. Her writing has been honored by the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada (2011) and thrice nominated for the Best of the Net. She has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She journeys through Latin America with her faithful companion Rocinante (that is, her knapsack), listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth.
Living on the road in Latin America for three decades, she has worked in two national parks (Denali and Galápagos) and on volunteer projects in Mexico, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Venezuela, Ecuador and Bolivia. Among her many adventures are hiking the legendary Jungle Trail from Guatemala to Honduras, hitchhiking Chile’s Carretera Austral, exploring over seven dozen archaeological ruins, hopping 100 trains or so, and having a close encounter of the FARC kind.
Her travel tales have been published in international literary journals, and in the anthologies Drive: Women’s True Stories from the Open Road (Seal Press, 2002) and Viva List Latin America (Viva Travel Guides, 2007). On her Facebook page, Lorraine Caputo – Latin America Wanderer, she posts thematic travel poetry and photo essays. An on-going personal project is a collection of poems and tales of her train journeys.
She co-authored Viva Travel Guides for Peru, Colombia, Chile and Argentina, and wrote blogs for Viva’s website. Other, more recent travel publication credits include articles for Andes Transit and other websites, as well as Pocket Guide Colombia (Colombian Hostels, 2013, 2015), South America Borders (Andes Transit, 2015, 2020), and updating the Chile chapter of South America Handbook 2018 (Footprint Handbooks).
Follow her adventures at www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer and https://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com.
Comments by Editor Sharon Waller Knutson
I fell in love with Lorraine Caputo’s poetry when I first read “Silver Travelers” on Your Daily Poem in 2022.
https://yourdailypoem.com/listpoem.jsp?poem_id=4186
and commented:
Sharon Waller Knutson:
I love this very soothing sensual poem with all the "S" sounds starting with Mississippi and then silver, silt, sun, swift, smooth and the repetition of silver, sun, swift, smooth.
Posted 08/23/2022 11:07 AM
From then on I was mesmerized and transfixed as I read her poetry with exquisite imagery on
The Field Guide Poetry Magazine, Lion and Lilac, Sparks of Calliope, Lothlorien, Verse-Virtual, Red Eft Review and Poetry Breakfast.
She fits perfectly on my journal which celebrates individuality and creativity. I’m proud to publish these poems Lorraine sent me.
DISAPPEARING INTO THE NIGHT RAIN
At this near-midnight hour,
I stand on the balcony
overlooking the courtyard.
Below spreads the red-tiled roof
of the rooms in the center,
above rise white-washed walls
patched with red-iron-grilled windows.
A cat moves along the roof below,
its dark coat a silhouette in the night.
I mew to it – it stops,
sitting on its haunches,
staring at me.
A sprinkle falls from the clouds
that laid overhead all day.
Then it startles
at the sound
of someone opening a door,
moves quickly across the tiles
to the front roof,
hesitates before jumping,
and disappears into the night rain.
SUNDAY MORNING MEDITATION
The church bells are tolling
through the cloudy sky
In the plaza pigeons gather
a multitude of greys & blacks
necks florescent magenta-green
Amongst them waddles a pure-white dove
with feather-covered feet
They peck at the pavement
for corn tossed from bags
by fathers or by a sister
Mother holds an infant on knee
The small one’s eyes follow
the birds with wonder
They peck at my feet
for the stale bread
I crumble
Children run, tottering
arms waving, shouting in laughs
& the pigeons scatter
in a huge wave to the
National Theater the Grand Hotel
A young couple sits
on one bench
lost in their whispers
Unmoved untouched
by the flight around them
But soon they flutter back
to the plaza in pairs
or alone to feast
Two boys in short pants
sit on the steps flinging
their kernels in twos & threes
The birds toddle towards
their knobbed knees
A girl in white anklets kneels
Carefully she places
her offering around
her sea-foam dress
Her dark curls the cooing
float in the breeze
& sunshine
TIDALPOOLING
Again today
at low tide
I carefully step along
the sea-slickened
lave rock, peering
into tidal pools
lost at the little I see ….
sergeant and gobies
frantically dart
beneath rocks of
retreating waters
away from my shadow
thick carpets of sea lettuce
mollusks skimming
skating slowly
across the stone
the life I once knew absent …
Further along the coast I hike
further away from the bay
Within a few dozen steps, I see
a sea urchin &
an exposed sea flower
grasping tight to life
until the tide
once more returns
a whimbrel calls & lands
a trio of lava herons
waiting still as these black stones
to pounce upon
a tender crab
or perhaps
a mollusk
a finch lands upon
fluttering leaves
& the black sea-worn stones
dozens of iguanas rest
after their sea lettuce feast
a red-black male
clumsily lumbers
to his harem
SAINT JOHN’S EVE
The hills are cameoed
by lightning silently
vibrating
Across this black-velvet night
embroidered with the
Southern Cross & Milk Way
Rockets reverberate
throughout this valley
& the music of
A brass band
playing in front of
the hospital
Bonfire flares in the road
people seated in a
semi-circle
San Juan de Dios
patron of the ill
of nurses & doctors
Stands in his flower-
adorned altar, donned in
embroidered black velvet
DOMINOES
On the front patio laid with worn tiles
these men play dominoes
Jesús’ spotted hands shuffle the
red-backed bones on the table
Andrés tells me
Oh, it’s not so bad now
His pale hand passes through
thin white hair
In the old days the streets were
filled with music & dancing
filled with people & noise
on this News Year’s Eve
No, life is much more different now
Now there is nothing
Juliano sits back a ways
watching the light hands
of the other four men
choose ten bones each & begin
building the spotted snake
across the table
The porch light streaks his burnished skin
as he looks up to my eyes
It isn’t so bad
He says in a clear voice
We have it now
I catch a glint in those
dark-brown eyes
Armando, the young teacher, glances at his neighbor
before tapping a domino
Pase
Manuel López says
So many have left
He, too, taps the table
All my family’s in Miami
Andrés lengthens the snake
Manuel continues
My three sisters, their children, my cousins
I have no-one left here in my old age
Jesús lays the three-six
All my family, too –
I have only a sister here
But half her children have gone
Armando taps the table again
& looks at his ancient mother
shuffle out the door
Her button-down dress hangs limp
on her thin body
And your family, I ask Juliano
His stark teeth shine in the light
No – they’re all here –
Only a cousin has left
Only a cousin
Manuel studies the black-spotted, white-faced bones
his hand passing from one to the other
& back to the first
His slender fingers pick that one
& places it on one end
Andrés passes Jesús plays
A tap once more from Armando
Juliano watches those white hands
dance over & study the bones
The tapping passes the clicking placed pieces
follow me into the dusk street
“Tidalpooling” was originally published in Lorraine’s chapbook, On Galápagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019 : https://dulcetshop.myshopify.com/products/on-galapagos-shores-lorraine-caputo). All the others are unpublished.
