The Thought of Dying

Winter of Death (an: Article Poem and Body)


(Introduction) This article is in three parts: introduction, poem, and the body. And I know I don’t need to say that, but I want to clarify it for the reader so you kind of know where I’m headed.
Has the thought of dying ever occurred to you? Is there emotional pain with this issue? That being, are we looking at the end of the road, kind of speaking?
When we roll over and get out of bed, most of us will see things around them as normal, ordinary, unrelated to death: you will not say: “Is my last day on earth.”
Every two seconds someone dies someplace on earth; to a city the size of Lima, Peru, perhaps it is as high as 80 to 100-deaths a day; or to a smaller size city like St. Paul, 10 or 20.
In my 20-years of counseling, I’ve seen many folks suffering, the loss, the grief; it is perhaps why I got out of the business.
Many folks go to drinking, or depression, or other stages of emotional illness: all this to deal with death, to find comfort. We even seek out psychologists and the clergy.

(The Poem)

Winter of Death

In the winter of doubt
Death swims—engulfs
Like a hurricane—like
A ship sinking; thus,
Pitilessly with tons of
Crushing sea!

Here I stand on the lofty
Poop, above the angry
Waves—, as it waits
For Me!...

#943 [12/7/05]


(The Body) We fear the unknown—the big secret in counseling, and in religion, perhaps. Death can simply mean, or be in one man’s mind, the closing of his eyes as he opens up the eye of the soul for new sight.
What is true to the body, should it not be true to the mind (?) If we can reason it, it most likely is. Death can be no less than becoming a completion of a part of something. If one is to become complete, on his deathbed, he sure has no gender left in him or her, just completeness, I’d think.
What wise words can a person say to another while dying? I thought about that when my mother died and I could not find any wise words to say, but she did, She said;
“I’m fine with it… I’m ready… I don’t want to live like this…. I’m ok with it,” and she enjoyed the guests and folks stopping by to greet her in the hospital. Towards the end of her 30-days in the hospital, let’s say about six-days before she died, she knew they could not help her. And thus, those words came out.

—But what really was she saying, or do I interpret her words to mean to me, just this: ‘…the here, the right now, this moment is real, and this is where it all takes place, the present holds the proof, transformation is about to take place.’ She was not worried about bills, and dinner, and so for the and so on, she was involved with the transformation process. That I believe is what she was telling me.
Just simply arithmetic that adds up to: believe in God and yourself; for the final moment has come; grab the moment, and dwell in its wine, and you will be victorious. My mother was, for you’re on the stage, and today is the day to die.

Poets & Poems [Part II/10-16-2006] Three Biographical Poems

1) Saved: at St. Joseph’s Hospital
2) War: and self-defense
3) Last Day in Vietnam



1) Saved: at St. Joseph’s Hospital

I was born downtown, on an autumn day
Under the roof of St. Joseph’s Hospital;
Tended by nuns—they took me away
Until my (unwed) mother—screamed!
To the doctors…
Thus, under the crucifix, I was saved.


# 1506 (10/16/2006; written at El Parquetito’s, in Lima, Peru, during lunch)



2) War, and Self-defense

A war we waged:
For a cause, we cried,
The glory of it all
Resides in the Halls
Of some public domain.

Freedom was the reason,
It’s said, for the blood:
The sacrifice—the dead;
No matter how indignant!
It’s all self-defense.

Dedicated to the American soldiers found in: Vietnam and Iraq; #1509 (10/16/2006)





3) Last Day in Vietnam

Two men, and I stand at attention in Vietnam, then we jump up on the back of the five-ton truck (it will take us to Saigon) we give a last salute. The square I stood on so many times, fade…its now difficult to find; here youth dominates, with young and sparkling eyes.

The dusty clouds of dirt from the tires of the five-ton, covers the war I leave behind, soon my mother will touch my hands (so I think and almost I feel); twenty-four hours have passed, I’m now within reach. And upon arrival home, never once does she speak about the poor victorious logic of the war.

10/16/2006, #1510

Poets & Poems (By Dennis L. Siluk)) Part I))[10/16/2006]


1) Anne Sexton: poems come from the abyss, painfully, and a life obviously as scornful; literary they could use some substance other than nakedness.

2) Howard Nemerov: good lyricism, one of the poets I ran after in my early days in college to read and try to understand. He writes well, yet I find there is usually something missing, perhaps they need to march to the end of the road (His poems).

3) Allen Ginsberg: when he was in his 20s, he wrote his best works, thereafter, he lost it to good taste, and good sense, which he had none of, and traded it for pleasure, and a warped mind, God help the reader.

4) E.E. Commings: Cummings poetry is Cummings! That is, more so than most poets; if you have read one of his poems, you’ve read most of them; a good and genuine poet indeed, perhaps uncompromising, but I get bored after a few of his poems, unfortunately.

5) Gary Snyder: Academic poetry, but in the middle (the beatnikism era): he hugs Zen as so many did back then; I was at the end of that era. He used his techniques correctly, for who he is (or was): sharp, clear and detached poetry.



Commentary on Poetry:
“Blessing of the Poem”:

There is nothing on earth that can equal the hard scraping profound labor and stirring of ones blood, and sense of sanctification that a good poem can offer.
That new promising poem, felt in the middle of silence, in the corner of the night, sticking to your mind and ribs until it finds its way out of your box and into the literature world; faint at first, then like the radiation of an atomic bomb.
The question asked: “Why indeed do people write poetry?”
A good question, and hard to answer, more subjective than otherwise, but let me give it a try, how I see it: imagines (dreams, seeing in your mind's eye, envisage), it is all under the same umbrella; such things come out of the unconscious, the mind, convicted, until written, then emancipated (and never to be lost in the vaults of humanity).

Three Commentaries on Poetry (in English and Spanish) by: Dennis L. Siluk


The Poet’s Shoes


(Nowadays :)

—To understand some poetry, or poets, one must have experienced what the poet has—identical experiences; or you must be shaped like the poet—, the exceptions are from the old school of poetry—one shoe fits all (thus, understanding the theme, plot and insight of poetry becomes much easier); from the contemporary scene, you must have the same shoe size of the poet to understand where the poet is leading you, and in poetry the poet should have a destination for the reader—lest he doesn’t care (and he should).
—The poet survives perhaps because he or she is oblivious (or not connected so much) to the world, and all its compulsions (suicide is often on the other side of this coin, if not drugs and alcohol).
—Poetry has accomplished something if it causes one to mull over it…; stretching this a little further, there is (it seems) coming a day (not so far off in the future), when poets will not even need to know a thing about literature (most don’t today); yet poetry is (or should be) considered the highest form of literature.
—Most poets write about love and death—which perhaps are the two main ingredients (or themes) to poetry; some write on social issues, which make for bad poetry; but it is “Beauty” that shines above everything, and that is often, too often over looked in place of self-interest, or a combination of negative delirious confusing thoughts put into writing by a poet under the influence of some kind of chemical. One can get a high off the beauty that surrounds them.


Last words: we as poets should not forget, we influence people, young people in particular, and owe an obligation to (if not duty to), set a good example by the way we live and write.



Written in the Plaza de Armas, Huancayo, Peru, 10:00 AM, Wednesday, 9-19-2006


Note: Read by Eduardo Cardenas Jr. on the Radio Universitaria (UNCP-Universidad Nacional del Centro del Peru) Huancayo, Peru; also Publisher in the “Primicia”, issue dated 1 October, 2006







Versión en español




Un Comentario sobre Poesía por: Dennis L. Siluk


Los Zapatos del Poeta


( Hoy en día:)

—Para entender algo de poesía, o a los poetas, hay que haber experimentado lo que el poeta ha pasado—experiencias idénticas; o haber sido formado como poeta—, las excepciones son de la vieja escuela de poesía—de que un zapato encaja a todos (así, entendiendo el tema, el argumento y la perspicacia de poesía se hace mucho más fácil). En la escena contemporánea, debes tener el mismo número de zapato del poeta para entender dónde el poeta te conduce, y en la poesía el poeta debería tener una destinación para el lector—a no ser que él no se preocupe (pero él debería).

—El poeta sobrevive quizás porque él o ella están inconscientes (o no están unidos tanto) al mundo, y a todas sus compulsiones (el suicidio está a menudo al otro lado de esta moneda, o las droga y el alcohol).

—La poesía ha logrado algo si ésta causa que uno reflexione sobre ésta…; exagerando esto un poco diría que, habrá (parece) un día que vendrá (no muy lejos en el futuro), cuando los poetas no tendrán que conocer algo sobre literatura (la mayoría no lo sabe hoy); aunque la poesía es (o debería ser) considerada la forma más alta de literatura.

—La mayoría de los poetas escriben sobre amor y muerte—que quizás son los dos ingredientes (o temas) principales en la poesía; algunos escriben sobre cuestiones sociales, lo que hace que la poesía no sea buena; pero es "La Belleza" la que brilla sobre todo, y a menudo, o muchas veces, es ignorada a cambio de intereses propios, o por una combinación de pensamientos negativos delirantes confusos puestos en la escritura por un poeta bajo la influencia de una especie de sustancia química. Uno puede inspirarse en la belleza que a uno lo rodea.

Palabras Finales: nosotros como poetas no deberíamos olvidar, que nosotros influenciamos en la gente, en los jóvenes en particular, y tenemos una obligación con ellos (o un deber con ellos), demos un buen ejemplo por la forma en que vivimos y escribimos.


Escrito en Plaza de Armas de Huancayo, Perú, a las 10:00 AM, miércoles, 20-septiembre-2006.


Nota: Leído por Eduardo Cárdenas en Radio Universitaria (UNCP-Universidad Nacional del Centro del Perú) Huancayo, Perú.






A Commentary on Poetry by: Dennis L. Siluk

Substance of the Poem
(Part II)

Some folks have said—substance in the poem does not matter—? I question that (even though, seldom do we know poets who know the reason for their poetry. Often when they reread their own poetry, they have forgotten what reason he might have originally had (had he any at all)), no substance for recollections.
—Curious speculation tells me, a poem has to have substance to survive…!
—Perhaps there is too much fumbling around by too many poets—using modern verse (for an excuse) to escape a theme or insight for a poem.
—In writing a poem, like anything in life, one must have a plan, destination (where do you want to take your reader?).
—A poem perhaps is the secret life of the poet; his black twin, his detached self—this is too often the case. Thus, the poet and poem become more of a riddle of despair than a work of art. You either sink or rise with the poet and his poem. That is, sink into dark perversion, or rise into a beautiful fire of emotion.
—Healthy poetry is almost unseen, and becoming unnatural nowadays, but it will uplift you, make you re-read it, and the best critic in reading poetry is the reader—and the best evaluator is the poet.



Versión en español

Un Comentario sobre Poesía por: Dennis L. Siluk

Sustancia del Poema
(Parte II)

Algunas personas han dicho—que la sustancia en el poema no importa— ¿? Yo discuto esto (aun cuando, raras veces conocemos a poetas que saben la razón de su poesía. A menudo cuando ellos releen su propia poesía, han olvidado que razón pudieron tener al principio (si es que tuvieron alguna en absoluto)), ningún fundamento para recuerdos.
— ¡La especulación curiosa me dice que, un poema tiene que tener sustancia para sobrevivir…!
— Quizás hay mucha hurga alrededor por muchos poetas—usando verso moderno (como una excusa) para escapar de un tema o conocimiento de un poema.
— Al escribir un poema, como todo en la vida, uno tiene que tener un plan, una destinación (¿a dónde quieres llevar a tu lector?).
— Un poema quizás es la vida secreta del poeta; su gemelo negro, su yo separado—esto es muy a menudo el caso. Así, el poeta y el poema se vuelven más un enigma de desesperación que una obra de arte. Tú, te hundes o te elevas con el poeta y su poema. Es decir, te hundes en la perversión oscura, o te elevas en un fuego hermoso de emoción.
— Casi no se ve poesía sana hoy en día, y se hace un poco anormal, pero esta te elevará, hará que lo releas, y el mejor crítico en la lectura de poesía es el lector—y el mejor evaluador es el poeta.




The Poet’s: “harawi!” (Part III)

We are a people of personality, appealing or not, it is who we are; we can be mystic, skeptical, a fugitive deeply in love, an isolated person—whom it beocmes painful to socialize with others. We express in tones of maculinity, or otherwise—; there is something ancient, to this: a voice of force—but seldom does it comfort....
There is a tone in the Andes (also)—old poets often have used it in the past—(“harawi”),a mystical inward compulsion, or complait. Call it folk-form, of the Andes (Vallejo knew it well); it is an echo for modern surrealism—. Poetry in this form can make deperate things alive, like God pointing his finger; or Sastan whispering to Judas....
In Poetry, metaphore is matched by skill or talent, the poet—the poor man with his verse and voice sees through himself: the ruminates, the unimaginable—that is his “harawi”.


Written 10-3-2006, in the Plaza de Arms, Huancayo, Peru, 12:30 PM, #1489






—From the Periódico (9-18-2006): “Primicia”

“…Dennis Siluk, North American poet…fell in love with the Mantaro Valley (of Peru)… (so) he writes in his works…. The landscape, the customs of the city (of Huancayo), the food of the city (which all seems to come from an inspiration he draws out of the, and is captivate by, this region).
‘Huancayo is a modern city that keeps its traditions (alive) and its colorful fair (Sunday market))…I hope it does not change…’ (He says).”’

—(Editor: Mr. Nilo Calero Perez)


Mr. Siluk was awarded the title of Poet Laureaate of San Jeronimo, Peru (2005), and awarded the Cross of the City, in 2006. Also, Los Andes University acknowledged Dennis’ contribution to the culture of the Mantaro Valley. In addition, the Mayor of Concepcion has asked Dennis to write a poem for the Inauguration of the seventy-five foot statue of the Virgin Mary.

In 1982, Dennis’ 2nd book, was considered for a Pultzer Prize.

“The Road to Unishcoto,” is about a Wanka warrior (his last battle along the Rio Mantaro, near the city of San Jeronimo). Also there are poems on Huancayo, Sapallanga, and Concepcion, all Andean cities of the Mantaro Vallley. Here again we see the culture, beauty and customs of the region florish in Dennis’ poetry; along with two commentaries on poety.


Dennis Siluk (and wife Rosa) live in St. Paul, Minnesota; also in Lima, Peru; but have chosen Huancayo, and its beautiful Mantaro Valley to call their permanent residence. This is Dennis’ 35th book, his 11th in poetry, and his 5th on Peru.

Mr. Siluk is the winner of two columnist awards (in 2004 and 2005).