La Mano, Un Mano, poetry notes, John Oliver Simon, La Esquelita

La Mano, Un Mano

John draws a hand on the board, and says la mano. Today, our last day, we will write about our hands. What we write poetry with. The human hand. Petroglyphs in red, Ii think a horse cannot write with its hooves.

John mentions Pancho Aguila, Folsom Prison, how hand jive was a way of talking without words, time passing. One big hand bringing us to our senses, hand armies cusped by the hand.

Do we touch, do we leave by the hand, the sign of the cross, do we leave our exodus?
Hand poems by kids, think about what you do with your hands, John says. Without ears, deaf people can can talk faster than we can with their hands. Blind people read faster with their hands.

John says, when I speak English, I use my hands less. He says that Spanish has more feeling to it. He says: take a good look at your hands, look at the calluses, the lifelines, the writing bumps, the scars, your fingerprints.

An idea, write a poem in the shape of your hand.

John Oliver Simon's poetry workshop at La Esquelita where I was documenting his workshops with photographs.
5/17/1985


THE OPPOSED THUMB

Can you make music with your hands?
Ever beat out a rhythm with your hands?
Ever slap hands palm to palm, high five,
swing branch to branch, on the monkey bars,
or dip them in red ocher,
or paint with these hands?
On the wall, an imprint of Lascaux.
Michelangelo's bright hand of God.
This hand of inspiration, a divine spark.
Can you see with your hands?
In the dark with your hands,
can you see, feeling your way
for the light switch in an unfamiliar house?
The tips of your fingers discover vast mountains
and plains as you search for light.
Entire  continents on the plaster walls
of his dark house,
these hands.


5/17/1985
minor revisions

take two
Before there were hands 

We shake hands,
no concealed weapons,
a ritual of ocher,
an imprint signature, ritual.
Karate- empty hands
without weapons, and fingers
to push that one red button.
Before there were hands,
fish walked on the mud,
and birds feathered the air.
Before there were hands
bison scribed the plains with their teeth.
Before there were hands
fire was the only voice of the volcano.
Flowers, and the paint of spring,
meteors falling stars
sudden light
empty light
sudden hand
empty hand
sudden light.

5/17/1985
added 2/18