Storyteller of the Week

 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.