Quairai Ruins, photographed June, 1981
There are a number of poems from this post-Navy era of the early 1980s in my archives, that deal with dreamlike images involving the environs of the Sandia and Manzano mountains. It must have been some psychological impact from having been transplanted back home, after six years of roaming the high seas on an aircraft carrier. A change of mind, a change of place, becoming rooted once again into the ancient hills. This poem is both enigmatic and symbolic, as is the ongoing mystery of secrecy surrounding the Base that adjoins my hometown, with its urban legends of things built deep underground best left unmentioned. Like the best kinds of mysteries, we want both resolution and the ongoing sense that some things will never be known in full.
Typecast via Olivetti Studio 45
This interesting retrospective focused on deciphering a portion of your own history also served to bring back a number of distant memories for me. From A Horse With No Name to Service Merchandise, from Minolta's SRT series of film cameras to Yamaha's Virago line of motorcycles — I'm reminded that many of my memories remain intact even if they are rarely tapped into.
ReplyDeleteThis feels like it'd be a great chapter of a new book (:
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of when I drive around some parts of this area and think about what buildings used to be what or what used to be on a now vacant lot.
ReplyDeleteDid you ever wonder what old ruins would say if they could speak?
ReplyDeleteThis blog in very informative for us
ReplyDelete