American Jesus
Richard Vargas presents excerpts from his five collections of poetry
“Artefacts in Trumpistan: ‘God Bless the USA’ and Jesus,” 3 August 2018. First published in News Junkie Post, “The Global Rise of Fascism: Capitalism End Game?" (5 November 2018). Photo: Gilbert Mercier
HTI Open Plaza continues to celebrate National Poetry Month with ten excerpts from the five collections of poetry by Richard Vargas published between 2005 and 2023. Read more about his work at richardvargaspoet.com.
The poems in this feature have been published as: “Sodom and Gomorrah revisited” in McLife (Main Street Rag, 2005); “American Jesus” and “Killing Mexicans... for Esequiel Hernandez” in American Jesus (Tia Chucha Press, 2007); “déjà vu,” “for a friend who objects to comparing the events leading up to the Holocaust with what is happening today in Arizona,” and “why i feed the birds” in Guernica, revisited (Press 53, 2014); “it’s all about the poem,” “i am waiting for a peace,” and “labor of love” in How A Civilization Begins (Mouthfeel Press, 2022); and “13 angels rising” from Leaving A Tip At The Blue Moon Motel (Casa Urraca Press, forthcoming summer 2023).
POET’S NOTE
“The poem is a living thing. The writing is an intimate interaction of art and the physical body, and it is reflected in my line breaks. I was influenced early by the poetry of William Carlos Williams and Robert Creeley. Williams’ made me realize the break should reflect the breath; read the poem aloud, your body will tell you where to break the line as you pause and inhale. It reflects the pattern of my speech. Creeley’s use of the short line creates a tumbling effect, the poem becomes a waterfall of words trickling gently on the page, one line leads naturally unto the next. The written and spoken aspects of poetry rely equally on each other.
“I view the writing of poetry as the best of three worlds: indulging in my fascination with words and the sensual pleasure they give sliding off my tongue in various combinations, the joy of being able to make a verbal music (although I regretfully cannot carry a tune or play an instrument,) and painting mental images that project color and texture in the mind of the reader. The best poems touch on all three, and it is the bar that I try to reach, no matter the subject matter. Ditching the ego is the first step, realizing that I heed the call of a higher cosmic energy provides all the reward I’ll ever need or want. It’s all about the poem… nothing else matters.”
–Richard Vargas in “Poets on Craft: Melinda Palacio and Richard Vargas” by Bunkong Tuon, Cultural Daily, 26 May 2021
American Jesus
leads us into the new crusades
kicks open Muslim doors
under cover of darkness
gives the frightened children
chocolate bars with wrappers
depicting the father, the son
and the half dead vice-president
he multiplies a loaf of Wonder Bread
and a couple of cans of tuna into
M-16s, tanks, and planes
drops a bomb for every man
woman and child refusing our
holy gifts of crooked democracy
and tainted freedom
his disciples spend money
that hasn’t been printed yet
they urge us to be patriotic
start Christmas shopping
in June
American Jesus invites us
to the real Last Supper
and this time
the flesh
we eat
the blood
we drink
will be our
own
Killing Mexicans... for Esequiel Hernandez
in this country marines
kill Mexicans tending sheep
because they look like
drug dealers, terrorists
or worse, illegal landscapers
in this country laws are being passed
to wipe our culture from the land
in California they call them propositions
one of the definitions of the word is
“a request for sexual intercourse”
so i guess this means they are being polite
asking for our permission
before they screw us
in this country
they want us to speak
only english
the official language
of the done deal
the broken treaty
the limp handshake
a t.v. politician’s promise
in this country
we are taking back
the land one minimum
wage job at a time
laughing at their
Taco Bell paranoia
and sour cream fears
they are building walls
to keep us out
but the joke’s on them
we never
left
New cartoon: Another @realDonaldTrump mandated ICE arrest... #DayWithoutImmigrants pic.twitter.com/b5RphbxkJQ
— Andy Marlette (@AndyMarlette) February 16, 2017
“Lock Him Up” (2017), political cartoon by Andy Marlette for Pensacola News Journal. Caption reads: “Thirty-three year old male, brown skin, doesn’t speak English, working as a carpenter…Yes, we’ll lock him up, Mr. President.” First Amendment Museum: “[Marlette] criticizes President Donald J. Trump’s harsh immigration policies by showing an ICE agent arresting Jesus, who would have had a similar profile as many modern immigrants in the US.”
Sand sculpture of Jesus Christ crucified, Puerto Vallarta Beach, Mexico, 2005. Photo: Wonderlane
déjà vu
The mayor comes over to my table and says I am invited
to join him and el jefe ICE agent for a drink. I walk over
and sit down as the mayor pulls out a small black book
and hands it to the agent. He begins to read aloud:
Richard Vargas, born in Compton, California. Members
of your family came here from Mexico, and you are one
generation removed from picking grapes and cotton.
You went to school, the university, and now call yourself a
“poet.” We know that you masturbated incessantly in the
7th grade, and that you smoked pot on a daily basis when
you were in college. You left California, but we still
haven’t found out why. You have a weakness for women,
cigars, and expensive cognacs. Tell me, are you one of those
hopeless romantics who refuses to accept the establishment
of a Fourth Reich in your beloved United States?
“Well, some parts of the U.S. look like they beat you
to the punch. But if you’re asking me, there are certain
neighborhoods in Albuquerque I wouldn’t advise you to
invade.”
for a friend who objects to comparing the events leading up to the Holocaust with what is happening today in Arizona
for you “never again”
is personal and sacred
never again reduced
to less than human
never again to madmen
who spit their words
at you like careless
but calculated grenades
never again to being
scapegoat while a
government dulls
the minds and hearts
of its citizens to accept
the atrocities it will do
in their names
but even as i read this
we both know
it is happening again
all over the world
and right now within
our own borders
the tribes are different
yet they are the same
the raging wall of flame
that almost consumed
your people still burns
aided by strong winds
flapping the flags of old
and new hatreds
it’s a modern day
pogrom in the making
fingers pointing at “illegal
aliens” and “anchor babies”
words devised to strip
away humanity from
the powerless
but you and i know
what’s really going on
as i write this poem
as you read this poem
the names of brown people
are being redacted
from our children’s
history books
the names of brown people
boxed up and banned
from our children’s
classrooms
we both know this beginning
this beginning with an end
no one wants to think about
but dwells deep inside our
fear gnawing nonstop like
a shiny slick maggot
so let us use your words
your gift to the world
language to name
the unspeakable
the unimaginable
the horrible
we will stand together
shout them out with
your same passion
and defiance in the
face of this heartless
beast
never again
never again
nunca más
Minneapolis protest against Arizona immigrant law SB 1070, which gives law enforcement more power to demand proof of citizenship and detain those they suspect of being illegal immigrants. Minneapolis, Minnesota, 26 April 2010. Photo: Fibonacci Blue
why i feed the birds
once
i saw my grandmother hold out
her hand cupping a small offering
of seed to one of the wild sparrows
that frequented the bird bath she
filled with fresh water every day
she stood still
maybe stopped breathing
while the sparrow looked
at her, then the seed
then back as if he was
judging her character
he jumped into her hand
began to eat
she smiled
a woman holding
a small god
Statue of Jesus preaching to the Twelve Apostles in Domus Galileae on the Mount of Beatitudes near the Sea of Galilee, Israel. Photo: Desi Maxwell
it’s all about the poem
this is how it begins
except there is no beginning
there never was
be the blank sheet
of paper
crisp and clean
pure and unmarked
be still and quiet
as letters appear
to become words
becoming images
invoking feelings passing
thru the void
be the space
between the
lines and stanzas
be the infinite
there is no “I”
the “me” does not exist
only the empty vessel
the beauty of
this moment
is every time
this is read
the energy
expands beyond
itself
this is where it ends
except it never ends
be still
be quiet
it happens
it is
i am waiting for a peace
not the piece they make
the rest of us fight over
a few crumbs tossed our way
over the walls of their gated communities
or from the balconies of an exclusive
high rise
i’m talking about
the pie with the flaky crust
delicate and buttery on the tongue
with the sweet and tart filling
made from fresh fruit picked
with expert care by dark calloused hands
belonging to people named
Juanita, Diego, Elena, or Jorge
i am waiting for a piece of the pie
with the silky-smooth filling
that melts in my mouth
the meringue or whipped
cream topping light and airy
as the taste of a summer cloud
providing shade for a wedding
or cover for an approaching drone
i am waiting to be seated
with people from all over the world
fellow human beings of all colors and faiths
the men, women, and children
exploited or murdered in my name
i am waiting for all of us
to be served a piece of the pie
the room suddenly quiet
and calm as the soothing smell
from the oven works its magic
we will take a bite and smile
a knowing glance passing back
and forth across the room
table to table
then suddenly
someone begins to sing
someone has a story to tell
or a poem to recite
we share the same language
laughing and crying together
Navajo Christ Breaking Bread (1997) by Father John Giuliani. Oil on wood, 48 x 22.5 in. Source: The Art of John B. Giuliani
until everyone agrees to start over from the beginning
the first time our tribes met and stood face to face
when it was all different and new
but this time
with pie
labor of love
the volunteer coordinator gives me a tour
of the makeshift processing center
an old airplane hangar converted
with Red Cross cots and folding chairs
a mish mash of computers on rickety plastic tables
pallets of bottled drinking water
occupying space in a corner of the building
asylum seekers dumped by the border patrol at 2 a.m.
in front of a McDonald’s in a neighboring town are taken in
provided resources to find sponsors
a place to shower and rest
receive basic medical screenings
three meals a day
eventually given rides
to a bus station or airport
the older kids are kicking soccer balls
outside with some of my fellow volunteers
the little ones stay inside
sit in the roped off area just for them
busy with crayons, coloring books, and toys
a safe place where they return to being children
with their universal need to play
my first assigned job:
to sort through a mixed-up mess of donated clothing
a mountain of onesies, toddlers’ Toy Story shorts,
XL men’s t-shirts, ten yr old dresses from Sears,
and grandma’s moldy Christmas sweaters
it’s mundane but necessary work so i jump in
start separating by age and gender
becoming lost in the act of folding
i hardly notice the small figure kneeling beside me
age 6 or 7?
her delicate and nimble hands
hold up items from the pile
set aside for babies
each article of clothing inspected
with gentle care and reverence
my heart swells as she enacts motions
learned from who knows where
creating a tidy and meticulous
stack of infant wear
she looks up at me
a granddaughter i never had
her dark brown eyes meet mine
and ask if this is alright
while wondering about all the beauty
all the horror this precious
little being has witnessed
i nod my approval while wishing
my sparse and rarely used Spanish
vocabulary wasn’t so elusive right now
then out of nowhere words come
“muy bien, mija”
smiling, she runs off
to rejoin her mother
“‘I was a stranger and you welcomed me’ - Jesus,” Playas de Tijuana Secc Monumental, Tijuana, Baja California, 2012.
Photo: Adam McLane
13 angels rising
“Starting early in February investigators recovered 13* sets of skeletal remains from a once-remote section of mesa now being developed as a residential subdivision. Four have been identified… They are among a list of 16 women reported missing between 2001 and 2006.”
Albuquerque local news, krqe.com, 3/27/09
they say good is greater than evil
and if it is then the dead
shall rise and walk again
right out of their Westside graves
past the tracts of generic
cardboard neighborhoods
past the cars cruising Central Ave
driven by men with bloodshot eyes
and Budweiser breath who wave
dollar bills in the air
like honey-coated flypaper
and if so inclined the dead
will reinvent their renewed lives
so that closed fists open up
become soft as pillows where
dreams of violence fade away
the way a bruise heals when
kissed by a seraph’s lips
families, babies, and friends rejoice
embrace their return from
the eternal night
the cruel night
especially now as
the sun’s light
shines down and
warms the sidewalk
beneath their feet
especially now as butterfly wings
with a gossamer sheen sprout
from the satin skin stretched
over once-battered
shoulder blades
healed and whole
especially now as they
show us how to fly
and rise above the
nature of our sin
not a moment too soon
to come back and save
us from ourselves
inclined to walk unafraid
among the demons we
all have within
and show us
how like a pebble
dropped in water
calm and still
our inhumanity
ripples outward
touching one
and all
*”13 angels rising” was written before the number of human remains was revised to eleven instead of thirteen.
Sodom and Gomorrah revisited
it’s not like i’ve learned any lessons
keep making the same mistakes over and over
the occasional slap on the wrist is just
what it says
i go to the well
of syrupy sin
time and time again
keep getting away with it
screw the gods screw the planet screw myself
until like Dr. Frankenstein
realizing a bad experiment has gone worse
someone pulls the plug
but this is what i know
all i am
and when told not to look back
i, too, will sneak one last peek
at the life i am leaving
welcome the taste of salt on my lips
marvel at sand bleached white
reflecting the final fiery
flash of light
Screenshot from “How to do salt portraits ( Jesus Christ ),” by Rob the Original, youtube.com, 2015.
"...Richard Vargas's poetry captures life’s beauty, absurdities, and the memories almost left behind. These are poems that rise above the joda, the struggles of everyday life only a poet of his caliber can muster with eloquence and fortitude.”
—Levi Romero, Inaugural New Mexico Poet Laureate
McLife
by Richard Vargas
(Main Street Rag, 2005)
American Jesus
by Richard Vargas
(Tia Chucha Press, 2007)
Guernica, revisited
by Richard Vargas
(Press 53, 2014)
How A Civilization Begins
by Richard Vargas
(Mouthfeel Press, 2022)
