Scene from the Movie GIANT – A poem By Tino Villanueva Part 5

by: Chuy Ramirez
Posted: May 29, 2021


That Autumn

The movie came to a close and went, and, in time,

it was forgotten, placed upon the background of

the past—: and I returned to play and laughter,

to class and lessons hardly learned. Each time I

spoke I lost a thought, or else said nothing to

friends who might have seen the picture to the end:

who might have been awakened, transfigured in some

faint and inner way by rage. Now I think: the

poem’s the thing wherein I’ll etch the semblance

of the film. So the mind becomes involved again with

after-sight, with frames as large as screens…and

without wearing it as too much knowledge, something

out of reach gets under way and the two-sided act of

myself (in the available light) behaves into words…



From the screen, from its multi-colored light

that struck my face and eye’s anatomy, I

understood that indigenous fact—a victory for

Sarge, who disrupted my poise; who reached me,

heavily, through the shadows banked against the

back-most seats. When goodness was torn down

amidst the café air, not breathable at times,

something happened in me as well. With the vivid

plain before me at film’s end, before the curtains

closed, the bright blankness of the screen came

down and shone on me when I stepped into the

aisle, vague in the yielding chiaroscuro. And

what I took in that afternoon took root and a

quiet vehemence arose. It arose in language—

the legitimate deduction of the years thought out.

Now I am because I write: I know it in my heart

And know it in the sound iambics of my fist that

Mark across the paper with the sun’s exacting rays.



The Slow Weight of Time


Endlessly to no end looking through

memory (O conscience that accentuates

a history full of ways to know the

heart) at what not long ago did happen,

you turn back to when your offended

little world was unresolved. Each

thought is longing to become another

longing to sing, once again and always,

deep into a song of what memory still

might know. You draw air, press these

thoughts to paper and release your daily

self from the lost fragments of the past.

Now: in the conquered vigil of your

Days, all distance weeps for you as you

Drift out from the journey through

The slow weight of time, and you claim

That you are safe forever in the

Very words you have chosen to become.













The Telling

Anywhere, anytime, I fix it in my mind

That what I know and runs through the

body, like unction, is anxious truth in me:

truth, uproaring in shadow and light,

which descends from days burnt away nakedly;

from what the eye has taken in, and the eye

does not confuse time and place with

the act. At this moment of being human

(when the teller is the tale being told),

the ash of memory rises that I might speak,

that I might tell what I tell with words,

which are the past falling from my mind.

Let the script reveal: that in the telling

I am cast in time forward, wherethrough runs

The present—one track of light triumphant,

the sum of everything that ignites this room

with light, vida que no olvida, calling out

my name…O life, this body that speaks, this

repetitious self drawn out from la vida revivida,

vida sacada de cada clamor. Home at last, I am

trusting the light that attends me, and the

natural physic of breathing, with words to

show the measure. O vida vivida y por vivir…

Chuy Ramirez is an attorney practicing law in the Rio Grande Valley since 1983, and dabbles in writing.

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