Monday, December 10, 2012

An Old Iron Design

 (The Author’s Choice)

There’s an arc-light in the Plaza de Arms in Huancayo, Peru
I’ve seen it now for years on years; it’s older than Me, I believe—
and I’m in the winter of my years; I seem to always end up staring at it, for no reason at all—or perhaps, if I were to search for one, it would Comes under an old iron design. Haw! It reminds me of me I guess—in that, old designs are not bad cast in iron—they last!

#3472 (11-24-2012)
Drawing by the Author, 2007

Monday, December 17, 2007

Days (...on they Dying of a Beloved Motgher) a book in the making

By Three Time Poet Laureate, Ed. D.
Dennis L. Siluk

(…on the Dying of a Beloved Mother)

(Translated from English into Spanish by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk)


Recent Awards of:
Dennis L. Siluk

Awarded the Prize Excellence: The Poet & Writer of 2006 by
Corporacion de Prensa Autonoma (of the Mantaro Valley of Peru)

Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture

Poet Laureate of San Jerónimo de Tunán, Perú (2005); and the
Mantaro Valley (8-2007) (Awarded the (Gold) Grand Cross of the City (2006))

Lic. Dennis L. Siluk, awarded a medal of merit, and diploma from the Journalist College of Peru, in August of 2007, for his international attainment

On November 26, 2007, Lic. Dennis L. Siluk was nominated, Poet Laureate of Cerro de Pasco and received recognition as an Illustrious Visitor of the City of Cerro de Pasco, and Huayllay

“Union” Mathematic School (Huancayo, Peru), Honor to the Merit to: Lic. (Ed.D.) Dennis Lee Siluk, (Awarded) Poet and Writer Excellence 2007, for contributing to the culture and regional identity, Huancayo. December 1, 2007, Signed: Pedro Guillen, Director

The Sociologist School of Peru, Central Region granted to
Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk, Writer Laureate for his professional contribution in the social interaction of the towns and rescue of their identity. Huancayo December 6, 2007 —Lic. Juan Condori –Senior Member of the Sociologist School

The Association of Broadcaster of the Central Region, of Peru, nominated Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk Honorary Member for his works done on the Central Region of Peru; in addition, the Mayor of Huancayo, Freddy Arana Velarde, gave Dr. Siluk, ‘Reconocimiento de Honor,’ and ‘Personaje Ilustre…’ status (December, 2007).

Poems (…on the Dying of a Beloved Mother)
Copyright © Ed. D. Dennis L. Siluk, 2008

Back Photo by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk
(Taken 42-days before the death of Elsie T. Siluk)

Front Photo by Elsie T. Siluk, 1939
(She was 19-years old)
St. Paul, Minnesota, USA

Love says:
I don’t want anyone else;
and I never wanted any other mother.



Poems on Days
(Part One)

Lost Days
Final Days
Forty-two Days
Last Day
A Day of Recovery
Days Grew Heavy
Day after Day
Days of Protocol
A Day Late
Day Zero
Days of Depression
A Pretty Good Day
Days of Cleaning Out Things
Trying Days
Day of the Dead
Day of Cremation
A Day After the Wake

Poems without Days
(Part Two)

The Sofa Chair
“Would you like to live like this?”

Two Dedication Poems
(Part Three)

Love and Butterflies
A Long Glimpse

A Letter

After Four-years

Books by the Author

Prolog: Most folks, to include poets, prefer poetry on death to entail (to a high degree) courage and strength; I don’t disagree completely with that, only partly, for submissive suffering is also involved, most folks just do not want to look at it. Nowadays things are changing though, and it is more permissible, if not bold, to mix them together, and thus, here we have just that. I prefer them both together, for what else can one do, to find the true and aggressive and passive emotions one voyages through during a paramount loss: especially while another is dying, day by day, especially, one’s mother. Having said that let me add a note on emotions.
Emotions are neither right nor wrong, they just are. Therefore, we weep, behind or in front of the curtains. We weep often to heal and let go, to go forward in life, as it was meant to be. Some folk’s scream, as to be able to endure the pain of a loss (loved one). Some grieve long and hard, some not so long, or hard, perhaps they are more durable. In any case, the periods of grieving are different for everyone, and we grieve like it or not; and one-way or another, it will come out, if not smoothly, conceivably sideways.
This is a daring book—to say the least, if I may say so, on what I consider poignant poetry; based on a fact, a dread fact one must face sooner or later—dying or death of a much loved person. It really involves all the readers whom are going to scan this book, or read it word for word—; in a way, this is my poetic testimony, to a beloved mother (dedicated to Elsie T. Siluk).

Note: I tried to write this book several times in the past four-years, I have not been able to do so, not until now, and they had to be done in a moments breath, I wrote it in three days, and have not changed the poems except for a few words here and there, and for a good reason, I wanted to leave them as they had flowed in and out of me, the two days I wrote them: feeling if I changed them to read better, or clearer, or more explanatory, they would only end up being an abnormal vague picture of the times for me and the reader, perhaps also with less effect.

Poems on Days
(Part One)


Lost Days
(The dying of a beloved Mother)

She was getter weaker
the last months of her life;
her blue-eyes lost their
rapture, their venture.
A congestive heart helped take
her vigor away…!
And then, then came, those
long lost days.

12-15-2007 No: 2104


Final Days
(The dying of a beloved Mother)

I sat by my mother’s bedside
as death drew near,
and saw her white skin,
turn pale (while in the Hospital).

I wrote a poem a few days
after she passed on….

The first twenty-seven days
of her hospitalization
she talked a lot,
the last words to come,
before the coma.

Out of a window, near her bed
was a July summer blooming…!

In those last days—so honest
she was, she saw angels
in her room.

Each day (almost every day)
we talked together—
I, in my droopy melancholy despair;
her, with smiles and laughter,
which filled the room…(with)
butterflies, as she dwindled away.

No: 2101 (12-15-2007)


Forty-Two days

After my mother’s death
I looked back at the calendar,
it was forty-two days—forty-two days had passed
since we ate cake and ice-cream at the restaurant,
along the banks of the St. Croix River.
Stood out by its fence,
waved our hands at the camera;
my mother seemed to stagger a bit.
I wonder now,
now, if
she knew
she only had
forty-two days left?

Notes_ 12-15-2007 No: 2102: In this poem, the author is referring to the St. Croix River, that flows through the town of Stillwater, in Minnesota, USA.


Last Day

This morning Rosa woke me up
“What for,” I asked?
I put my cloths on, went to the bathroom,
took a pee, cleaned up (quickly).
I sensed something was wrong,
something, starring back at me…
my mother had died.

No: 2103 12-15-2007


A Day of Recovery

After the surgery,
after they cut out half her insides,
she started to recover,
but she would relapse, after a day
(in the interim,
I checked on how much morphine
she was being given).

She wanted me to bring her home,
had a dream she was in a taxi,
and it wouldn’t stop at her house.

She was a breathing, observing coffin,
just waiting in the bed to die;
she didn’t worry though,
she said: she had lived longer
than she had expected.

Her ardent last awaking days
were full of power and praise.
Talking away on old passionate associations,
of the past eight-three years:
brief, calm and joyful.

No: 2105 12-16-2007


Days Grew Heavy

Days grew heavy throughout June,
of 2003; after the 26th, I knew
I’d have to bear her death.
They bathed her and fed her,
as her trembling hands
signed the last checks
to pay her bills.
Yet she smiled.
I watched her dying
failing, of old age.

No: 2010 (12-17-2007)


Day after Day

I walked around her bed (day after day)
wondering what I could do
she must have had thought me a dupe…;
there I was pacing, pacing here and there,
like a hungry bear—
anxious to do something, anything
but there was nothing I could do, nothing at all.
Perhaps she understood:
even the good and thoughtful must endure….
She would not overlook my sorrow.

No: 2106 (12-16-2007)


Days of Protocol

Everyday in the hospital (thirty in all)
was a day for protocol:
questions, infusions, shots, sleep,
heavy sleep (sleeping ten to
fifteen-hours per day) that was her
life, her living. She asked
when she saw me: “Were you here
“O yes,” I’d respond, “but you were

No: 2107 (12-16-2007)



Now, four year’s later, memories, voices, images
words, all turn up in my mind.
She really didn’t want to take that agitated ride
to the hospital, the morning she called
upstairs, to my wife Rosa…but the pain in her
stomach was too much; thus,
Rosa drove her to the Emergency Room,
(admissions), and she never left.
Perhaps she knew this—

No: 2107 (12-16-2007)


A Day Late

When the minister asked (brought to my attention)
at the Hospital, after mother’s death,
if I’d give to them her name, they’d pray, I simply
told them (with annoyance):
“It’s too, too late— go pray for the living.”

No: 2108 (12-16-2007)


Day Zero

My mother lay silent on her back—
while the female doctor—was talking to me
(in a private room)
showing disinterested love….
It was day—zero, I couldn’t take
much more.
(Thank God, my brother spoke
before I did!)

No: 2109 (12-16-2007)
Dedicated to my brother Mike E. Siluk


Days of Depression

There were days of depression
(for me) waiting for the light of life
to be blown out, after
my mother died…. I knew
I wouldn’t, or couldn’t
commit suicide, but my doctor
and wife, wasn’t so sure:
throwing medicine my way,
to stabilize my brain waves.

No: 2110 (12-16-2007)


A Pretty Good Day

She ate (or had)—:
soup, jello, chocolate milk
(mostly, tasteless)
the last days of her life.
She was bored, but
comfortable in the hospital;
as she dehydrated—.

She’d say, “Bring me some good
chocolate!” And I did, once—
before the operation
(she hid it from the nurse).

That was a pretty good day.

No: 2111 (12-16-2007)


Days of Cleaning out Things

Throughout my mother’s apartment, my brother
and I found a massive storage of things, things,
and more things…like sewing things, and
garments she made, never wore, garments
bought and put away in storage, not sure
what for.
Things, like records and ribbons,
knitting things, almost everything buyable
under the sun. Tons of toothpaste, and
toilet paper (stacks and stacks); all three
bedrooms filled, and she slept on the couch.
Stamps, paper, and can goods, silverware
in three drawers, tools and much, much more.
It took all of two weeks, to clean that house,
but I bet she had a hell of a time buying and
giving it away as gifts, as often she did,
plus, my brother and I never
run out, of things.

No: 2113 (12-16-2007)


Trying Days

I tried, during those trying days
to remain dry-eyed and half-sane
—silent (my pain, paralyzed).
I was trying to understand, --

She laid in a coma for three days
I told her to let go, and go home,
home to heaven, with the Lord,
and she did—; that brought me
into a horror.

No: 2113 (12-16-2007)


Day of he Dead

I had told my mother—
(two years prior to her death),
that in a vision I had
seen her laying in a bed
(she looked dead).
Her right arm hanging loose to the side…
(she smiled, and didn’t say much
and went about her chores).

In her hospital room, I saw this vision’s
reality (the day she died).
I stroked her dead, but warm
blooded arm, kissed her forehead—
it was the Day of the Dead!

No: 2114 (12-16-2007)


Day of Cremation

“Cremate me,” she said (with indifference),
adding, “…it’s only $1300.00, I checked it out, not bad!”
And we somewhat laughed—thinking, I suppose—
thinking: no one will profit from her death
(fancy funerals cost piles of dollars, I guess).
And so it was, and is to this day,
she lay as a pile of ashes in a urn.
If she could see it, I’m, sure
she’d nod, quietly, and say:
“Job well done.”

No: 2115 (12-16-2007)


A Day After the Wake

Back home after the wake
(the one I couldn’t attend)
on the porch I put her sofa chair,
her brown afghan—
over it…
her jacket behind it:
I only allowed a few people
to sit on it,
it was too much to tolerate!

No: 1011 (12-17-2007)

Poems without Days
(Part Two)


The Sofa Chair

She couldn’t stand, nor walk in her hospital room
I feared she’d fall, if she tired, she needed
lifting from the bed to the sofa chair, to watch
television. She got angry at the nurses—
for their reluctance, in lifting her to and from
the sofa chair, until I straightened it out.
Then after that, she gloated at the nurses, as if
they didn’t have full control.

No: 2116 (12-16-2007)



Dying, is no more than a breath away—.
Letting go of your loved ones
is another thing, much harder,
enormous echoes
seep through your brain,

No: 2117)12-16-2007)



They all came, one by one, to say their goodbyes
(family and friends, to the hospital), some from afar.
Some wiped their eyes, trying not to cry, others
touched and looked wide-eyed. And Mother, she
smiled, and laughed, until she tired out, and closed
her eyes, And we all left, wondering if she’d open
them again…. (and on July 1, 2003, she didn’t).

No: 2118 (12-16-2007)


“Would you like to live like this?”

Her eyes opened wide
(she had spoken for a while),
can’t remember what I said,
and now mother replied:
“…would you want to live
like this?”
my pale lips pushed out….
There was almost a spasm
to her face, a sharp, yet
sweet rise to her cheeks,
open mouth...”No!” I repeated.
I watched her body go still
as she leaned back towards
her pillow (thinking…)
Then her round yet squinty
closed for a moment,
and she started talking

No: 2109 (12-17-2007)

Two Dedication Poems
(Part Three)

Dedicated to: Elsie T. Siluk

Love and Butterflies
[For Elsie T. Siluk, my mother]

She fought a good battle
The last of many—
Until there was nothing left
Where once, there was plenty.

And so, poised and dignified
She said, ‘farewell,’ in her own way
And left behind
A grand old time
Room for another

Love and Butterflies…
That was my mother.

—By Dennis L. Siluk © 7/03

Spanish Version

Amor y Mariposas
[Para Elsie T Siluk, mi madre]

Ella luchó una buena batalla
La última de muchas—
Hasta que no hubo nada más
Donde una vez, hubo plenitud.
Y así, serena y digna
Ella dijo, ‘adiós,’ en su propia forma
Y dejó atrás
Un gran tiempo viejo
Espacio para otro

Amor y Mariposas…
Eso fue mi madre.

—Por Dennis L. Siluk © Julio/2003


The Long Glimpse

From the arch of the doorway
She’d look my way, into the garage, at me—
as I readied my automobile to go someplace;
She’d be looking-steadfast
I’d open my car door a bit, ask:
“Why you staring? (at me)”
“No reason,” she’d reply, smiling.
Then with a tinge of hesitation
she summon up, and said (at 83):
softly, in an almost whisper “You….”
((as if she had remembered the day I
was born) (almost in a trance.))
And I’d for the life of me—
not know why; I know now though, she was
simply getting a long glimpse before
she died (for she died shortly after).
I guess, she was really saying goodbye,
saying goodbye with a long glimpse
to last between now and then, when we’d
meet again.

No: 1947 8-24-2007

A Letter

After Four-years

I wanted, the first three months to end,
after your death, perhaps others saw it differently—
that is, they felt I wanted everything to end—.
I didn’t feel emptiness, like so many others do
after a loss like this, rather, I felt only pain—,
pain an old war veteran like me had never felt.
After a year, a thawing came about (anger
and misgivings left); my heart was warming
up again, now closer to the sun.

My thoughts of you are like
old warm snow (of which I shall never let go);
yes, old warm snow, I now can endure hours of
downpour without bleeding.

There’s a snowstorm now,
throughout the Midwest, and Eastern Regions
of the US: I haven’t forgot, how you like winter
and its snow, especially Christmas; do you know,
it’s only eight-days away.

No: 2012 (12-17-2007)

Visit my web site: you can also order the books directly by/on: along with any of your notable book dealers. Other web sites you can see Siluk’s work at: www.swft/writings.html

Books by the Author

Out of Print

The Other Door, Volume I [1981]
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale [1982]
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant life [1984]
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child [1985]

Presently In Print

The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon

Angelic Renegades & Raphaim Giants

Tales of the Tiamat [trilogy]
And other selected books

Tiamat, Mother of Demon I
Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat II
Revenge of the Tiamat III

Mantic ore: Day of the Beast

Chasing the Sun
[Travels of D.L Siluk]

Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib

The Addiction Books of D.L. Siluk:

A Path to Sobriety
A Path to Relapse Prevention
Aftercare: Chemical Dependency Recovery


A Romance in Augsburg I
Romancing San Francisco II
Where the Birds Don’t Sing III
Stay Down, Old Abram IV


Perhaps it’s Love
(Minnesota to Seattle)

Cold Kindness
(Dieburg, Germany)

The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:

Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]

Dracula’s Ghost
[And other Peculiar stories]

The Mumbler [psychological]
After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]

The Poetry of D.L. Siluk:

The Other Door (Poems- Volume I, 1981)
Sirens [Poems-Volume II, 2003]
The Macabre Poems [Poems-Volume III, 2004]

Last autumn and Winter [Minnesota poems, 2006]

Spell of the Andes [2005]
Peruviana Poemas [2005]
Poetic Images out of Peru [And other poem, 2006]
The Magic of the Avelinos
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, book One; 2006)
The Road to Unishcoto
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, Book Two, 2007)

The Poetry of Stone Forest (Cerro de Pasco, 2007)
Poetry of the Miners (Cerro de Pasco, 2008)

Days (Poems: on the dying of a beloved mother, 2008)

Back of Book

“Most folks, to include poets, prefer poetry on death to entail courage and strength; I don’t disagree completely with that, only partly, for submissive suffering is also involved; yet, many folks just do not want to look at both sides of the dying. Nowadays things are changing, and it is more permissible, yet still bold, to mix them together, and thus, here we have just that. I prefer them both together, for what else can one do, to find the true and aggressive and passive emotions one voyages through during a paramount loss: especially while another is dying, day by day, especially, one’s mother. “Days…” is such a book, it takes you on a thirty day journey. (The picture on the back, is of my mother, in 1939.)” Dennis

Dennis is a world traveler, prolific writer (his first poetry written at the age of twelve); he is a License Counselor; has a Doctorate Degree in Education and has attended several universities in the United States as well as Europe. In addition, he has been awarded the title of Poet Laureate (three times); and in 1993, was ordained a Minister in Good Standing; he is also a decorated Vietnam War Veteran.

About the Author

This is Dennis’ 38th book, 7th on Peru, 14th in Poetry. He lives in Minnesota and Peru with his wife Rosa. He has won two Columnist awards in the United States. One of his short stories took first place from “The English Magazine,” October of 2006.


Rainfall (A Poetic tale done in Poetic-prose)

((A Poetic Tale of (prose) on the Town-let: Quilcas, in AD 1799)
(A story about Faith))

One among them walked close to the Lord, whose little farm village stormed often with dryness, and the lack of rainfall, which the farmers often complained of such, as they’d often say, ‘Unkissed by God,’ then you’d find them in the local bar; the sharpness of their tongues came blazing out, “We are kings in hell,” old Antonio would say. Manuel, he’d just look dreamless and murmur, “Couched in hell, mewed for Hades,” and take another drink with the drunken-dead in the bar crowed, waiting for a rainfall.
But then there was Able, whose breast was full of the Lord, he was, yes he was the one who among them walked close to the Lord. Whose throat was always of a sweeten song, blown to be, who gave singing and praise to the Lord, for all that was, especially for rainfall. To some of the town’s folks he was an encaged bird of claptrap, or better put, a boy of nuisance. But he had faith, faith bigger than a mustered seed, so unusual it was, it bothered people, the towns folks, to the point it made them restless, and when they saw him they moaned with hands and throat, almost hissing at him.
He’d tell his father at times, “It’s been dry for a long spell, I shall pray for a rainfall, “gleaming at his father, like a fish unmouthed. And each, his father and mother would simply say, “Please do son,” and the boy would open the door and the rain would come, tides of rain, a great downfall of rain. This started during his formal reasoning years, when he could pray to God, and understood between rocks and stars, dry and wet, heaven and hell, and now at the age of twenty-one, it still was a hum, a whirr in his heart.
The boy would then stand and sing in the outside air, under the purposeful clouds of rain, looking up at the sky as if it was a sky-hill, knowing the harvest would be bountiful now. And to be quite honest, the villagers were bewildered, and left well enough alone, thinking the boy was simply a wind in cave of bats, as if he was just crazy, mad, or perhaps extreme.

It was this one night, a calm indifferent night it seemed, when the farmland outside the little village, had been dry for a very long spell, and there was to crop or yield to be, and in the local bar there was much despair of breath, even the priest had locked the church doors, in fear the dark hearts of the village bar, once drunk, would break the long silence and create anarchy. And thus, Able walked through the doors of the bar, it was a sleeping gate to hell, and it seemed he had waked the gnawing, gaunt knees of the colorless faces of the bar herd—feeling sorry for themselves, listening to sad and depressing music from minstrels playing over in the corner of the bar, at which point, within this unsterile atmosphere, and among the un-purified voices, he stood sole and lean in the center of the bar, a brother to no one, yet to all, weary were the faces, and their courtesy to him. Said Able, to the herd, standing on the wooden floor, a faded plateau, “Shhhhhh,” he said politely, “I shall pray for your crops,” and Antonio quickly said, “Pray, it is too late, plus, you are but a crazy fool, go home before you get hurt!”
But it was more than Manuel could take, like a wild battalion and pale he crossed over from his table to and zapped Able in the face with a powerful blow, as he was praying. All saw the boy fall to his knees, his last words being: “Please Lord, let there be a rainfall.”

There was no brilliant counterattack, he was dead, and when Manuel got his senses back he ran out, through the bar doors, and into the rain.

Note. 2098 12-13-2007 (The story is completely fiction; for those who live in this lovely little town-let of Quilcas, in the Montero Valley of Peru, are warm and friendly, but it just happens to be, the story came to mind, and I am on my way to the village now, and it will be my second trip there in two years, to see the old ruins on its hillside, so those good folks who read this story from the town, please do not take offense) Dedicated to Alex Medina


Sunday, December 09, 2007

Poetry on the MIners (in Spanish and English, by Dlsiluk)

By Poet Laureate, Ed.Dr. Dennis L. Siluk

(Translated from English into Spanish by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk)

Poetry on the Miners
(with…Legends, Tales and other Writings)

(From Cerro de Pasco, Perú, on Top of the World)

Recent Awards

Awarded the Prize Excellence: The Poet & Writer of 2006 by Corporacion de Prensa Autonoma(of the Mantaro Valley of Peru)

Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture

Poet Laureate of San Jerónimo de Tunán, Perú (2005); and the
Mantaro Valley (8-2007) (Awarded the (Gold) Grand Cross of the City (2006))

Lic. Dennis L. Siluk, awarded a medal of merit, and diploma from the Journalist College of Peru, in August of 2007, for his international attainment

November 26, 2007, Dr. Siluk was nominated, Poet Laureate of Cerro de Pasco, and received recognition as an Illustrate visitor of the City of Cerro de Pasco, and Huayllay.

“Union” Mathematic School (Huancayo, Peru), Honor to the Merit to: Lic. (Ed.D.) Dennis Lee Siluk, (Awarded) Poet and Writer Excellence 2007, for contributing to the culture and regional identity, Huancayo. December 1, 2007, Signed: Pedro Guillen, Director

Colegio de Sociologos del Peru, Region Centro A
Dennis Lee SilukEscritor Laureado Reconociendo Su Aporte Profesoional en La Interaccion Social de Los PueblosY rescate de su identidad Hyo 08-Dec-07 Decano Regional

Poetry on the Miners
(with…Legends, Tales and other Writings)
(From Cerro de Pasco, Perú, on Top of the World)
Copyright © Dennis L. Siluk, 2008

Illustrations by the Author

Front Photo by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk
Of Dennis L. Siluk on the underground train
1800-feet below the earth, at Volcan Mines, 11-2007
In Cerro de Pasco, Peru

Back Photo by Dennis L. Siluk, of
The Quarry at Volcan Mines, 11-2007
Cerro de Pasco, Peru

All other photos in the book taken by Dennis L. Siluk, or
Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, and one by Cesar Cruz Cordova (as indicated: CCC)

Translated from English into Spanish by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

Dennis on Miner’s Street, Cerro de Pasco,
Peru, by the Miner’s Statue, 11-2007

Dedicated to: my Creator,
to the Miners at Volcan Mines
to: Raul Rojas (a miner who died in 1989, electrocuted)

Special Thanks to:

Ing. Teodulo Quiste Huertas
(Superintendent General U.E.A. Cerro de Pasco) and to
Cesar Cruz Cordova (Reporter for Primicia Newspaper, & Pan Americana TV);
they were both instrumental in the creation of this work—it would
not have been produced without their support.

Acknowledgments to:

Ing. Francisco Rivas
Mr. Edelmiro Gamarra
Ing. Raul Rupay
Lic. Luis Pariona Arana
Mr. Abel Cruz Huaman
And to the team of the Office of Public Relations.

Radio Acknowledgement

Many of these Poems within this book were read on live Radio by (Lic.) Poet Laureate Dennis L. Siluk, on his radio program in Huancayo, Peru, “Poetry Moment,” on FM 89.5 University Radio, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (12:20 PM), in the month of December,2007; read in both English by the author, and Spanish, by his wife Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk; hosted by Eduardo Cardenas.

Dr. Dennis L. Siluk with Engineer Teodulo Quispe Huertas (General Superintendent U.E.A. Cerro de Pasco): picture taken while visiting the Volcan Mine site in November of 2007 in Cerro de Pasco, Peru. The folks were very warm, kind and it was a thrill for Dennis to have been able to see the site.


Recent Awards

Prolog by Dlsiluk
A Brief History on the Miners of Cerro de Pasco, by Dlsiluk

A Brief Background on Dennis L. Siluk (back of book)
By Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk

Introduction to the site (quarry) by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk
Introductory Poem: "The Little Gringo Amucs"
(A Poem and Legend on the Little People in the Andes of Peru)
(El Muqui)

Part One: Poetry of the Miners

1—Lights, like Fire
(Deep in the Mines of Volcan)
2—Ghost of the Deep Mine
(Dedicated to Raul Rojas)
Fantasma de la Mina Profunda
(Dedicated to Ing. Teodulo Quispe Huertas)
4—The Miners and the Bees
Los Mineros y las Abejas
5—The Brave and the Few
(Dedicated to Cesar Cruz Cordova)
Los Machos y no Muchos
6—Restaurant at Yeralis
(Dedicated to Liz and her mother)
Restaurante Yeralis
7—The Cloths of the Miner
La Ropa de los Mineros
8— Mr. Guapo
El Señor Guapo
9—A Miner, a Mine and a Family
Un Minero, una Mina y una Familia
10—The Locomotive
La Locomotora
11—Faint Lights
Luces Tenues
12—The Sleeping Miner
El Minero Durmiente
13— Hotel Room
Cuarto del Hotel
14—Cold City
(Dedicated to Mayor Tito Valle)
Ciudad Fría
15—The Old Monster Tractor
El Viejo Tractor Enorme
16— When the Miner Comes Home
17—Snow over Pasco
18—Far Ahead into the Mines
(Dedicated to Silvio Gutarra Tapia, Miner Ing.)
Muy Adentro en las Minas

19—Busy Bus Station
Estación de Autobuses muy Saturada

Part Two: Legends, Tales and other Writings

A Note before the Tales

1—“Laments” Sketches of Ghosts and the Amuc
(and, Other Writings, on Cerro de Pasco)
(By Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk and Dennis L. Siluk)

2— (The Poetic Tale of :)
The Blue Amuc (El Muqui)

3—The Poetic Epic
The Great Warrior Lord of Huayllay

Complimentary Poem and Hymn:

Himno a Pasco
By: Hugo Apestegui Ramirez
(of Cerro de Pasco)

“In the Nick of Time”
By Cindy White (in Part and English Only)

Dedication Poem: “Love and Butterflies” for Elsie T. Siluk

Books by the Author

Dennis with Mayor Tito, eating a portion of “Charquican” (dried alpaca meat) the largest one in the world;
November, 2007, during the city’s Anniversary (Cerro de Pasco, Peru, highest city in the world)

Prolog (by Dennis L. Siluk): Simplicity, this has been the main core of my work ever since I can remember that the world is inhabited by peoples of culture, different ways of life; thus, perhaps I am a poet who looks upon the simplest and most basic elements of existence and compares these with a touch of curiosity and awe. For the most part, I take the most commonplace and put it into a position of importance in life, for it is the small things in life we do daily, and each day is filled with them, which is a gift of life from God, and this book is on the miners of Cerro de Pasco, and those little things that surround them, it is what affects us and them, it is what is most vivid when we look back, and these are the simple truths which are easily understood. So please sit down and put up your feet, and relax, read at your leisure, enjoy the moment, you’ve worked hard, you deserve a few comforting thoughts, memories, and perhaps a laugh or two.

(This book is of the miners, their surroundings at the quarry site (to include the underground mines); as well as, within the city of Cerro de Pasco, to include the area of Huayllay; poems, tales, legends and epics. Should someone think different, and try to put this book, or my intentions in writing this book into a political arena, statement, or issue, it is of their own doings, predatory reasons and personal gain; that is to say, they have ulterior motives) Dlsiluk

Spanish Version
Prólogo (Por Dennis L. Siluk): Simplicidad, esto ha sido el elemento principal en mis obras desde que puedo recordar que el mundo ha sido habitado por gentes de diferentes culturas, diferentes formas de vida; así, talvez yo soy un poeta que ve los elementos de existencia más simples y básicos y compara estos con un toque de curiosidad y admiración. Por la mayor parte, considero los lugares más comunes y los pongo dentro una posición de importancia en la vida, porque son las cosas pequeñas en la vida lo que diariamente hacemos, y cada día es llenado con estas, lo que es un regalo de vida de Dios, y este libro es sobre los Mineros de Cerro de Pasco y aquellas cosas pequeñas que los rodea, esto es lo que nos afecta y los afecta a ellos, esto es lo que es más vívido cuando miramos atrás, y estas son las verdades simples que son fácilmente entendidas. Así que, por favor siéntate y levanta tus pies, y relájate, tómate tu tiempo para leer, disfruta el momento, tú has trabajado duro, tú mereces un poco de pensamientos confortantes, memorias, y talvez una o dos risas.

(Este libro es de los mineros, sus alrededores en el tajo—también en la mina subterránea; así como, su vida en la ciudad de Cerro de Pasco, incluyendo el área de Huayllay; poemas, cuentos, leyendas y épicas. Si alguien piensa diferente, y trata de poner este libro, o mis intenciones al escribir este libro dentro de un campo político, o crean declaraciones, o problemas, esto es de su propias acciones, razones depredadoras e intereses personales; para ser preciso, ellos tiene motivos ocultos) Dlsiluk.

A Brief History on the Miners in Cerro De Pasco

Rosa, Dennis and the Engineer Francisco Rivas
at the Quarry Site (CCC)

The extraction process of the mines in Cerro de Pasco go back to about 1578 AD, when it was mined for silver by its inhabitants, it became the largest silver mine in the world eventually. It actually predates the previous date I mentioned, to 1567 AD (Inca Time). The extraction of silver was the main mineral.
In 1601, came the Spanish and between 1630-69 the mines became famous, and a heritage to the Crown of Spain; it extracted some five-million ducados, which were sent to Spain.
There was around the year 1640, a mint in operation in Cerro de Pasco, by the Spanish.
And between the years of 1640 to 1771 there was a great mud slide, in which 300-workers were buried, alive in a large hole called ‘Matagente’.

There has been heavy investment in this these mines, in 2004, $56, 7 million, and in 2003, approximately, 32-million, thus an increase in one year of over $20-million (with some 4,000-employees).
In 1956, it was the first year minerals were extracted from the open quarry, or Open Sky Quarry, as it is called, thus mining took place above and under the earth.

I could enlarge this brief history, but I do not wish to, simply because this is not the premise of the book. This is a book of poetry on the miners and their surrounding city, called, Cerro de Pasco, and how I experienced the mines at Volcan, and its miners. Yet I do feel, that the uninformed reader, as I would be, had I not got a grand tour of the mines, might be interested in its past (somewhat).

Spanish Version

Una Historia Sucinta de los Mineros en Cerro de Pasco

El proceso de extracción de las minas en Cerro de Pasco data de alrededor de 1578 después de Cristo, donde sus habitantes extraían plata, eventualmente ésta se convirtió en la mina de plata más grande en el mundo. Esta en realidad data de antes a la fecha ya mencionada, es decir, desde 1567 después de Cristo (Era Incaica). La extracción de plata era el principal mineral.
En 1601 vinieron los españoles y entre 1630 y 1669 las minas se volvieron famosas, y un patrimonio de la Corona Española, esta le dio a España algo de cinco millones de ducados.
Fue alrededor del año 1640, donde se acuñaron monedas en Cerro de Pasco, por los españoles.
Y entre los años 1640 a 1771 se produjo un gran derrumbe en un hueco profundo llamado “Matagente”, en el que 300 mineros vivos fueron sepultados y murieron.

Han habido fuertes inversiones en estas minas, en el año 2004 la inversión fue de aproximadamente $ 56’7 millones, y en el año 2003, aproximadamente $ 32 millones, así produciéndose un incremento en un año de más de $20 millones (con 4,000 trabajadores).
En 1956, fue el primer año en que se extrajeron minerales del Tajo Abierto, o Tajo Cielo Abierto, como es llamado, así la extracción se produjo por encima y por debajo de la tierra.

Podría extender esta resumen histórico, pero no lo deseo, simplemente porque esta no es la base de este libro. Este es un libro de poesías en los mineros y su ciudad aledaña, llamada, Cerro de Pasco, y cómo fue mi experiencia en la Mina Volcan, y sus mineros. Aunque considero que el lector desinformado, como lo sería yo, de no haber tenido una visita a las minas, podría estar interesado en este pasado (de alguna forma).

Introduction to the Quarry

The Quarry at Volcan, as drawn by Dlsiluk

(Written by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, edited by Dlsiluk): During our visit to the mines in Cerro de Pasco (Volcan Mining Company S.A.A.), I found out it dates back some 400-hundred years, to which minerals have been extracted, three hundred years for colonial usage and 100-years for industrial treatment. The miners extract in two ways, quarry and underground. They used to extract at the beginning only cooper, but now they extract cooper, gold, silver, zinc, and etcetera.
The quarry is 1254-feet deep, two km large, and one km wide. The bottom of the quarry is at 13,199 feet sea level and the city of Cerro de Pasco at 14, 453 feet sea level.
The quarry has levels, or steps that lead down to its bottom, it was built that way for the method they wanted to use for extraction.
The present quarry dates from 1950 onward. Every day they extract 3500-tons of minerals. It is an immense undertaking, and provides income for the Nation of Peru, the city of Cerro de Pasco, as well as 4000-jobs. Presently Ing. Francisco Rivas is the person in charge of the quarry.

The miner who is the senior, who has more years of service working in the mine area at 39-years (more than anyone else), is Mr. Edelmiro Gamarra, presently 59-years old (congratulations for your long enduring service, and I am sure, as he has stated in so many words, a pleasure to have done so).

Spanish Version

Introducción al Tajo (por Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, editado por Dlsiluk): Durante nuestra visita a las minas en Cerro de Pasco (Volcan Compañía Minera S.A.A.) me enteré que esta data de hace 400-años atrás, de donde se han extraído minerales, durante 300 años para uso colonial y 100 años para tratamiento industrial. Los mineros extraen los minerales de dos formas, por tajo y subterráneo. Ellos solían extraer solo cobre, pero ahora ellos extraen cobre, oro, plata, zinc, etc.
El tajo tiene 380 metros de profundidad, dos kilómetros de largo, y un kilómetro de ancho. El fondo del tajo está a 4,000 metros sobre el nivel del mar, mientras que la ciudad (encima del tajo) está a 4,380 metros sobre el nivel del mar.
El tajo tiene niveles, similar a peldaños que conducen hacia abajo al fondo del tajo, esto fue dado debido al método que usan para extracción de los minerales.
El actual tajo data de 1950. Cada día se extrae 3,500 toneladas de minerales. Esto es un proyecto inmenso, que provee ingresos para la Nación de Perú, para la ciudad de Cerro de Pasco, así como provee empleo para 4000 trabajadores. Actualmente, el Ing. Francisco Rivas es la persona encargada del tajo.
El más antiguo de los mineros, el que tiene más tiempo trabajando en la mina—y con 39 años de experiencia, es el señor Edelmiro Gamarra, actualmente tiene 59 años de edad (felicitaciones por su largo servicio, y estoy seguro, como él lo ha mencionado en muchas ocasiones, un placer haberlo hecho).

Introductory Poem

"The Little Gringo Amucs"
(A Poem and Legend on the Little People of the Andes of Peru)

Ah, the little gringo Amuc’s from the Andes
From the internal mines within:
From La Oroya, to Cerro de Pasco
Resides their underworld civilization!
So the legends and old timers say—
They’ve lived from the Wanka thru the Inca age—
They live in the crust of the earth
In the hard cold mineral mines!
They follow the miner’s footsteps
From barbarity nights to dawn.
A heartily civilization—; they have
Cities of gold, silver and bronze!

They have their treasures well-hidden
In the underground mines and all:
From Machu Picchu to the Mantaro Valley
To the mines of Pasco, Peru!

#1795 4-18-2007

Note: Legend has it that these Amuc of the Andes, are perhaps a foot to 18-inches tall; some blond and others with dark hair. It has been said some have wings seemingly made of steel. Many older folks, who have been in the mines, worked them, have claimed they have seen them, and I have talked to these folks.

Spanish Version

Poema Introductorio

"Los Pequeños Muquis Gringos"
(Un Poema y una Legenda sobre la Gente Pequeña de las Minas en los Andes de Perú)

Ah, los pequeños Muquis gringos de Los Andes
Dentro de la minas internas:
Desde La Oroya, hasta Cerro de Pasco
¡Reside su civilización subterránea!
Eso lo dicen las legendas y los ancianos—
Ellos han vivido desde la civilización Wanka hasta la edad Inca—
Ellos viven en la corteza de la tierra
¡En las duras y frías minas de minerales!
Ellos siguen las huellas de los mineros
Desde noches bárbaras hasta el alba.
¡Una civilización decreciente—ellos tienen
Con ciudades de oro y bronce!

¡Ellos tienen sus tesoros muy escondidos
En todas las minas subterráneas,
Desde Machu Picchu hasta el Valle del Mantaro
Y hasta las minas de Cerro de Pasco!

#1795 18-Abril-2007

Nota: La leyenda dice que estos Muquis de Los Andes, son talvez de 30 a 45 centímetros de altura; algunos de cabellos rubios y otros de cabellos oscuros. Se ha dicho que tienen alas de acero, y viven en las minas de Los Andes peruanos. Muchos ancianos que han estado en las minas, que han trabajado en las minas, han afirmado haberlos visto; o conocer a otras personas que los han visto

Part One
Poetry on the Miners

The First Miners of Cerro de Pasco
(by unknown photographer)


Lights, like Fires
((In the Tunnels of the Miners)
(in the Mines of Volcan))

The walls are all I seem to see,
deep in the mines of Volcan.
They just seem to look at me,
and stare, deep in the mines of Volcan.
I don’t know a thing, not a thing about this! –
Where in this deep underworld maze
is the key? (Lights, like fires—perhaps!)
I look about, my words are grunts; thus,
I make no words at all:
deep in the mines of Volcan.
This world down here has a funny sun
that’s really all I know;
deep in the mines of Volcan.
The tunnel lights are burning, o
yes, yes, the tunnel lights are burning
—at each end, and in-between;
the tunnel is burning (with lights, like fires):
torching its once eternal night,
here, deep in the mines of Volcan;
thus, night sweetens with life—, as light
creeps along the walls, floors and ceilings
(fires dotted here and there, everywhere),
deep the mines of Volcan.

No: 2094 12-7-2007)

Ghost of the Deep Mine

As I walked through this tunnel,
the deepest mine, at Volcan,
I seem to have had a tail dragging,
dragging along the past,
brushing over the past with my tail…;
perhaps, just perchance, it was one
of those ghosts, who hasn’t let go,
lost into the darkness, long ago.
Perhaps, just perchance, he is my
tail dragging, trying to say, “Hello!”

No: 2067, 11-28-2007 Note: There have been many legends of Ghosts in and around this site, or the mines of Volcan, those that may go back to the days of the Spanish Conquistadores, whom used their whips, to get results, more than their wit, and there was a cave-in where over 300-lives were taken a few centuries ago. So if there be ghosts, these may be one of them.

Spanish Version

Fantasma de la Mina Profunda

Mientras caminaba a través de este túnel,
uno de los más profundos de la mina, en Volcan
me parecía que tenía una cola arrastrándola,
arrastrándola a lo largo del pasado,
cepillando sobre el pasado con mi cola…;
talvez, sólo talvez, este era uno
de esos fantasmas, que no quería dejarlo,
perdido en la oscuridad, tiempo atrás.
Talvez, sólo talvez, él es mi
cola arrastrada, tratando de decir, “¡Hola!”

Nota: Han habido muchas leyendas de fantasmas en este sitio y alrededores, o en las Minas Volcan, aquellos que talvez vienen del tiempo de los conquistadores españoles, quienes usaban más sus látigos para obtener resultados que sus ingenios; y hubo un derrumbe donde más de 300 vidas fueron tomadas algunos siglos atrás. Por eso si hay fantasmas, talvez estos sean uno de ellos. # 2067, 28-Nov-2007.



When one walks the streets of Cerro de Pasco (Miner Country)
you can feel the heartbeats of the miners, their pulse
(almost hear the footsteps—their heavy steel toed boots,
against the hard ground).
One can even sense the push and pull of their hammers
deep within the crust of the earth.
The iron, copper, zinc and gold, all the minerals
within the living earth,
giving up its roots — so man can live.

Note: I do believe God gave us (the people that inhabited this earth at any given time or moment) all the planet, and that being, above the earth (as well as below) to make use of, such as animals, trees, etcetera to survive, and we should acknowledge this, and thank God for the living earth and animals whom must give up their lives and minerals for man’s existence; and let us hope man will be wise enough to use them with good manners, insight and intelligence, and not be wasteful. No: 2065 (11-27-2007) (Dedicated to Ing. Teodulo Quispe Huertas)

Spanish Version


Cuando uno camina las calles de Cerro de Pasco (Nación Minera)
puedes sentir los latidos de los mineros, sus pulsos
(oir los pasos—de sus pesadas botas de puntas de acero,
contra el suelo duro).
Sentir el empuje y tirar de sus martillos
(profundo dentro de la corteza de la tierra).
El hierro, cobre, zinc y oro, todos los minerales
dentro de la tierra viva,
entregando su sustento—para que el hombre pueda vivir.

Nota: Yo creo que Dios nos ha dado (a la gente que habita esta tierra en un momento dado) todo el planeta, esto es, encima de la tierra (como también debajo) para hacer uso de éste, tanto como de los animales, árboles, etcétera, para sobrevivir, y debemos reconocer esto, y agradecer a Dios por la tierra viva y los animales quienes deben entregar sus vidas y minerales para la existencia del hombre; y esperemos que el hombre sea suficientemente sabio para usarlos con propiedad, discernimiento e inteligencia, y no ser derrochadores.

# 2065 (27-Nov-2007) (Dedicado al Ing. Teódulo Quispe Huertas)


The Miners and the Bees

It would seem (or at least it did for me)—
seem, at the Volcan mines of Cerro de Pasco,
there is no beginning or end.
They are like bees (the miners) with no wings,
over an ocean of dirt and minerals;
here, one hears the sounds of machines—
near and in the distance— seals the mind,
day in, and night out, as it enters
and echoes within the inner house of one’s body.

Note: No: 2081, 12-3-2007; during my all day tour of the mines at Volcan, the mind finds a simple way to digest it all if indeed one is interested in the environment and industry he now finds himself in; for it is an immense operation, and thus, once in this environment, the mind shuts down to the outside incoming trivia, to line up with the new world it is now in, with all its sights and sounds; hence, it envelopes one until it is all one is, part of the environment, it did me.

Spanish Version

Los Mineros y las Abejas

Parecería (o al menos esto me pareció)—
parece, que en las minas Volcan de Cerro de Pasco,
no hay comienzo ni final.
Ellos (los mineros) son como las abejas, sin alas,
sobre un océano de tierra y minerales;
aquí, uno escucha los sonidos de las máquinas—
cerca y en la distancia—sella la mente,
de la mañana a la noche, cuando este entra
y resuena dentro de la casa interna del cuerpo de uno.

Nota: durante mi visita de día entero a las minas Volcan, la mente encuentra una manera simple de digerir todo esto si efectivamente uno está interesado en el ambiente y la industria, ahora uno se encuentra uno mismo dentro; porque esta es una operación inmensa, y así, una vez en este ambiente, la mente se cierra a los detalles que vienen de afuera, para alinearse con el nuevo mundo en el que ahora se está, con todas sus vistas y sonidos; por esta razón, este lo envuelve a uno hasta que todo sea uno, parte del ambiente, esto me pasó.


The Brave and the Few

The miners (brave and few) endure
Live on, and in a world of— drenched air;
This is their enemy, their outlaw!

No. 2069 11-27-2007

Spanish Version

Los Machos y no Muchos

Los mineros (valientes y pocos) soportan
Vivir en, y en un mundo de — aire húmedo;
¡Este es su enemigo, su proscrito!

# 2069 27-Nov-2007


Dennis having Breakfast in Cerro De Pasco

Restaurant at Yeralis

Two eggs
hot Coffee
10 AM—
Liz is busy;
Mama Grimalda is making me breakfast.
The sun is hitting my face;
we are eating on the outside counter
my wife and I (it is better that way
you get to see everything).
Three folks inside having soup
(their bowls are packed to the rim
The streets are filling up
with people now.
Liz says a lot of Miner Engineer’s
come here to eat (the place is clean).
How many children hereabouts
will be miners (I ask myself)?
How many old folks hereabouts,
were miners at one time?
How many folks here now,
are miners? …just thinking!
The chill stays in the
air—(it’s cold up here),
mostly, clear skies!
My first egg appears,
now my bread…
I ask myself:
where is the coffee?
The day has just started.
One of so many
God has given…!

No: 2070 11-28-2007

Spanish Version

Restaurante Yeralis

Dos huevos
café caliente
10 de la mañana—
Liz está ocupada;
mamá Grimalda me está preparando desayuno.
El sol está pegando en mi cara;
Estamos comiendo en la barra de afuera
mi esposa y yo (es mejor de esta manera
tú llegas a ver todo).
Tres personas dentro están tomando sopa
(sus tazones están llenos hasta el borde
Las calles se están llenando
con gente ahora.
Liz dice que muchos ingenieros de minas
vienen acá a comer (el lugar es limpio).
¿Cuántos niños por aquí
serán mineros? (me pregunto yo mismo)
¿Cuántos ancianos por aquí
fueron mineros alguna vez?
¿Cuántas personas por aquí
son mineros?... ¡sólo estoy pensando!
¡El frío permanece en el
aire—(hace frío aquí)
sobre todo, cielo limpio!
El primer huevo aparece,
ahora mi pan…
me pregunto a mi mismo:
¿dónde está el café?
El día acaba de empezar.
¡Uno de tantos muchos
que Dios nos da…!

# 2070 28-Nov-2007


Cloths of the Miners

I, as an acting miner had to put those heavy long boots on,
steel toed; and a helmet (called a hard-hat), with a long cord and light attached; a thick belt, and battery packed attached to my back; goggles, and jumpers; I looked like a spaceman. And then we were ready to go, but I really needed a siesta, but I didn’t say so.

Note: 2076 11-28-2007 Written 3:30 PM, an our after visiting the mines.

Spanish Version

La Ropa de los Mineros

Yo, actuando como un minero tuve que ponerme esas pesadas botas largas,
con punta de acero; y un casco (llamado sombrero duro),
con una cuerda larga y luz sujeta;
una correa gruesa,
y una batería cargada atada a mi espalda;
lentes protectores, y un mameluco;
me parecía a un hombre del espacio.
Y después estábamos listos para partir,
pero realmente necesitaba una siesta después de vestirme,
pero no lo dije esto.

Nota: # 2076 28-Nov-2007 Escrito a las 3:30 PM, una hora después de visitar la mina.


Dennis on the Elevator (cage) with the Miners, which
goes 1800-feet beneath the earth; we were ascending.

Mr. Guapo

I was in the cage with many miners
when a miner’s hard-hat shinned in my face…
I couldn’t resist the smiling grin he displayed,
so I stared back, and took his picture:
“It’s Mr. Guapo,” the miners shrieked!

Spanish Version

El Señor Guapo

Estuve en la jaula con muchos mineros
cuando el sombrero duro de un minero brilló en mi cara…
no pude resistir la amplia sonrisa que él mostró,
por eso le devolví la mirada, y le tomé una foto:
¡“Él es el señor Guapo”! vociferaron los demás mineros.


A Miner, a Mine and a family

A miner and the mine
are one.
A miner and his family
and a mine
are one.

No: 2072 11-28-2007

Spanish Version

Un Minero, una Mina y una Familia

Un minero y la mina
son uno.
Un minero y su familia
y una mina
son uno.

#: 2072 28-Nov-2007


The Locomotive

A train, eighteen-hundred feet below the earth
electrically driven by a wire overhead,
on iron tracks, with steel carts—
full of minerals, roaring down the tunnel;
its wheels squeak loud, like giant rats…!
I watch the faint lights rise in spirals
as it neared me—my wife holds my elbow:
the train lights are soft like falling dust
soaks into the grain of my skin…as it
passes me, carrying its tonnage load.

It sounds like thunder rolling over those flattened
tracks; I think: how many died down here,
against these walls of melancholy stones?

No: 2073 11-28-2007

Spanish Version

La Locomotora

¡Un tren, a 1800 pies debajo de la tierra
eléctricamente conducido por un cordón eléctrico arriba,
sobre rieles de hierro, con carros de acero—
llenos de minerales, ruge abajo del túnel;
sus llantas suenan fuerte, como ratas gigantes…!
Veo que las luces tenues suben en espirales
mientras este se acerca a mi—mi esposa sujeta mi codo;
las luces del tren son suaves como polvo cayendo
se empapa dentro de las partículas de mi piel…como si
me pasara, llevando sus tonelajes de carga.

Este suena como truenos retumbando sobre esas
vías aplanadas; pienso: ¿cuántos murieron aquí
contra estas paredes de piedras melancólicas?

# 2073 28-Nov-2007


Fainted Lights

I am writing on the miners
(gathering information mentally)
thinking, walking within the underground tunnels.
I feel a veil of sadness envelope me,
a sadness that comes from death,
as if I was alone in the mines;
no blazing heat from the sun
no moon, to bend my mind,
only faint lights off in the distance:
I’m in another world.

No: 2074, 11-28-2007 Written five hours after walking through the tunnels of the Volcan Mines, 1800-feet beneath the earth. This poem is not meant to be negative, it is meant to show, the miner lives in another world, when indeed, he is in his chosen habituate, which is the mines; so at least were my feelings as I experienced these underground tunnels, and tried to put myself in their place.

Spanish Version

Luces Tenues

Estoy escribiendo sobre los mineros
(recolectando información mentalmente)
pensando, caminando dentro de los túneles subterráneos.
Siento que un velo de tristeza me envuelve,
una tristeza que viene de la muerte,
como si estuviera sólo en las minas;
no hay calor abrasador del sol
ni luna, para cambiar mi mente,
sólo luces tenues apagadas en la distancia:
Estoy en otro mundo.

# 2074, 28-Nov-2007 Escrito cinco horas después de caminar a través de los túneles de las Minas Volcan, a 1800-pies debajo de la tierra. Las intenciones de este poema no son negativas, sino que quiero mostrar, la vida de los mineros a otro mundo, porque realmente, él esta en su lugar habitual escogido, que son las minas; así al menos fueron mis sentimientos de como experimenté estos túneles subterráneos, y traté de ponerme yo mismo en sus lugares.


The Sleeping Miner

Oh yes, he has long gone now,
dispersed among the deep mines;
the one he sees, and remains
afloat throughout the night.
He sleeps on shimmering minerals—
his eyes have rapid movements.

No: 2082 12-4-2007

Spanish Version

El Minero Durmiente

Ah si, hace tiempo que él está durmiendo ahora
dispersado entre las minas profundas;
la que él ve, y permanece
a flote a través de la noche.
El duerme en los minerales destellantes—
sus ojos tienen movimientos rápidos.

# 2082 4-Dic-2007

# 2082 4-Dic-2007


Hotel Room
(In Cerro de Pasco)

My walk in this city is slow, this morning
my body, this old body says:
“Go back to the hotel room,
sit by the heater in the room
(where it is warm)…”
my mind is back there:
way back, back, in that hotel room,
as this body flags down,
motions for a taxi
to go elsewhere.

Note: No 2078; there are between 70,000 to 125,000 inhabitants to Cerro de Pasco, depending on how one measures the city. It is almost 15,000-feet above sea level. It gets chilly up here.

Spanish Version

Cuarto del Hotel
(En Cerro de Pasco)

Mi caminar en esta ciudad es lento, esta mañana
mi cuerpo, este viejo cuerpo dice:
“Regresa al cuarto del hotel,
siéntate por la calefacción en el cuarto
(donde es caliente)…”
mi mente vuelve a pensar esto:
vuelve, vuelve, a ese cuarto del hotel,
mientras que este cuerpo se mueve
para llamar a un taxi
para ir a otro sitio.

Nota: # 2078; hay alrededor de 70,000 a 125,000 habitantes en Cerro de Pasco, dependiendo de cómo uno mide la ciudad. La ciudad está casi a 4,380 metros sobre el nivel del mar. Hace frío allí.


Cold City
(in Cerro de Pasco)

Light rain is falling (this morning)
as I look out the car window—
I smile at the corners of the adobe houses,
here in miner’s city … (Cerro de Pasco),
not sure why, perhaps because those
who live here must endure…;
dogs are walking on hard cold ground,
women move fast in this cold climate
(here in the highest city in the world).
But it all makes them special, brave
and solid.

Dedícate to Mayor Tito Valle of Cerro de Pasco; No: 2068; 11-28-2007

Spanish Version

Ciudad Fría

Lluvia ligera está cayendo (esta mañana)
mientras miro afuera de la ventana del carro—
sonrío a las esquinas de las casas de adobe,
aquí en la ciudad de los mineros…(Cerro de Pasco),
no estoy seguro por qué, talvez porque aquellos
que viven aquí deben soportar…;
los perros están caminando en el duro suelo frío,
las mujeres se mueven rápidamente en este clima frío
(aquí en la ciudad más alta en el mundo).
Pero todo esto hace de ellos especiales, bravos
y macizos.

Dedicado al Alcalde de Cerro de Pasco, Ing. Tito Valle Ramírez. # 2068; 28-Nov-2007


1960s Style Tractor, still in use at quarry Volcan;
Dennis, with two employees (engineers of Volcan).

The Old Monster Tractor

Tractors are like dogs
they age quicker than man, —
at 60, I’m getting up there,
the old tractor, perhaps
is hundred or so (at fifty)
(take or give a few years here or there).

I climbed her helm
like a mate on a ship, —
slowly does it…
and she whispered to me:
“I’ve done my job, faithfully”

Note: The old Monster Tractor is from the Early 1960s, which cost back then $800,000-dollars. The new one, which is but a year old (for they do not make them like this old one any more— cost three-million; poem No: 2080. # 2080, 12-03-2007

Spanish Version

El Viejo Tractor Enorme

Los tractores son como los perros
ellos envejecen más rápido que el hombre, —
a los sesenta, yo estoy llegando allí,
el viejo tractor, talvez
tiene cien o alrededor (a los cincuenta)
(agrega o quita unos cuantos años aquí o allá)

Me subí a su timón
como una pareja en un barco, —
lentamente esto se hace…
y este me susurró:
“Hice mi trabajo, fielmente”

Nota: El Viejo Tractor Enorme data de 1960, en ese entonces éste costó $800,000-dólares. El nuevo tractor, que sólo tiene un año de antigüedad (costó 3’000,000—porque ya no fabrican más como el Viejo Tractor Enorme)

# 2080 03-Dic-2007


When the Miner Comes Home

Within the solid dark of night
I touched her body, smooth and tight.
Through a long days work, now free
in bed, we knotted foot to knee,
and sensed our humanity—!
Tomorrow we shall cross again
this habit of fate, and imperfect bridge.

No: 2085 12-6-2007


Snow over Pasco

Snow will soon fall over Cerro de Pasco…
dampness clutching dampness,
white on white—.
The birds will perch…with feathers overlapping
to keep warm!
The dogs will walk over brisk and frosted grass.
At dark, the mountains with turn a shade of
gray, and blue.
Everyone, and everything, waiting
for the snow.

No: 2091 12-6-2007

Far Ahead into the Mines

Far ahead into the mines (1800-feet below)
sunk into the waist of the underground
I went… (in the dead part of the earth);
it is like a ghost mausoleum,
with manmade corridors and tunnels,
being held tightly together with antlers
(wires from the floor to the ceiling).
The earth is all around, beneath, and
above one, yet man has triumphed.

No: 2066, 11-28-2007 (written shortly after visiting one of the lowest parts of the mine, it goes 300-feet deeper, but without an elevator. Dedicated to Silvio Gutarra Tapia, Miner Ing.

Spanish Version

Muy Adentro en las Minas

Muy adentro en las minas (a 1800-pies abajo)
hundido en la cintura del subterráneo
yo fui… (en la parte muerta de la tierra);
este es como un mausoleo de fantasmas,
con pasadizos y túneles hechos por el hombre,
siendo sostenidos juntos ajustadamente con cornamenta
(alambres desde el piso hasta el techo).
La tierra está todo alrededor, abajo, y
arriba de uno, sin embargo el hombre ha triunfado.

# 2066, 28-Nov-2007 (escrito justo después de visitar una de las partes más profundas de la mina, este continuaba 100 metros más de profundidad, pero sin elevador. Dedicado al Ingeniero de Minas Silvio Gutarra Tapia.


Busy Bus Station

(Waiting at the bus station in Cerro de Pasco, to go back to Huancayo… :)

It’s a rainy morning in November,
loud music from the driver’s seat
(blaring upward, into my ears);
I’m on the second floor, waiting…!

Loops and loops of buildings
surround this bus plaza,
selling everything from magazines
to eggs and rice!

It’s a busy scene; carts and bikes,
loads of baskets and greenery
(vegetables) going through the archway!
Servicios, thirty-cents, so, so busy!
It’s almost 8:00 AM, the bus driver
moves the bus again, moves the bus
now and then, trying to fool
the ticket takers, but
he’s not going anywhere! Not yet!

Spanish Version

Estación de Autobuses muy Saturada

(Esperando en la estación de buses en Cerro de Pasco, para volver a Huancayo…)

Esta es una mañana lluviosa de noviembre
música alta desde el asiento del chofer
(retumba arriba, dentro de mis oídos);
¡Yo estoy en el segundo piso, esperando…!

¡Redes y redes de edificios
rodean esta plaza de autobuses,
comerciando todo desde revistas
hasta huevos y arroz!

Este es un lugar saturado, carros y bicicletas,
montones de canastas y verduras
(vegetales) ¡pasando por el arco!
Servicios higiénicos, 30-centavos, muy, ¡muy saturado!
Son casi las 8:00 de la mañana, el chofer
mueve el autobús de nuevo, mueve el autobús
de vez en cuando, tratando de engañar
a los que obtienen sus boletos, pero
¡él no está yendo a ningún sitio! ¡Todavía no!

Part Two
Legends Tales and Other Writings

The Miner

A Note to the Reader before the tales: I am not a political person per se, nor wish to get involved with politics at any point, yet I am aware that Cerro de Pasco, is a miner town like in Northern Minnesota, where I am from, and it was with the sweat from their brows (the miners) and labor and muscles that made Northern Minnesota what it became, a city; as the miners have in Cerro de Pasco, made their city today. From the dugout homes of a hundred years ago, to the sprawling city now we see, Cerro de Pasco has come a long way; I commend (Mayor Tito Valle and Superintendent General Ing. Teodulo Quispe Huertas) and of course the thousands of miners for their lively contribution throughout Peru; and pray, the issues that are today, will have solutioned tomorrow.

Spanish Version

El Minero

Un mensaje al lector antes de los cuentos: En si no soy una persona política, ni deseo verme envuelto con la política en ningún momento, aunque estoy consciente que Cerro de Pasco, es una ciudad minera como el Norte de Minnesota en Estados Unidos, de donde soy, donde con el sudor de sus frentes, su labor y sus músculos (los mineros) hicieron del Norte de Minnesota lo que es ahora, una ciudad; como han hecho hoy los mineros en Cerro de Pasco de su ciudad. Desde barracas cientos de años atrás, a la ciudad expandida que ahora vemos, Cerro de Pasco ha tenido un largo camino; yo elogio al Alcalde Ing. Tito Valle Ramirez y al Superintendente General de las Minas Volcan, Ing. Teódulo Quispe Huertas, y por supuesto a los miles de mineros por su contribución energética; y ruego, para que los problemas que existen hoy, tengan soluciones mañana.



Written by Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, and Edited by Dlsiluk

(Here are bits and pieces of information gathered at the site, tales and legends of ghosts, and even the Amuc, given to Rosa and Dennis by the Miners).

(Ghosts) Some miners that are more sensitive than others, they can hear at night the weeping (and crying, with a lot of sorrow). Maybe from the souls of the miners in the Colonial times (those who were whipped by the Conquistadores for it is said the quarry has been worked for 400-years); or, perhaps from the miners who died a century ago in an accident that happened in the quarry, where many miners were buried alive when there was a slide that covered them.
Those far off days, the days of a century past, there was no equipment for such rescue, alas. Recently the miners put dynamite to extract minerals in that area and they found skulls, bones, tools from those miners who died a hundred years ago. So the answer to the question often asked, “Is miner life dangerous,” I would think it remains the same, yet with more safety measures being taken. At the mines in Cerro de Pasco, when I had a tour, it seemed very safe, or as safe as human man can make it, yet a person not following advise or rules will always be the exception.
The name of the quarry changes every so often, I was told, now it is called ‘Quarry Raul Rojas’ after a miner who died in 1989, electrocuted.

(The Amuc) In the underworld, within the mines, lie the Amuc (or known to the miners as ‘El Muqui’); The Amuc lie inside the mines, you can see them at 300-feet from the mouth of the mine. They are blond-gringos, but small people (my husband said, it makes him a giant gringo then, because he was 1800-feet deep in the mines).
The Muqui, hide the minerals so the miners cannot see the minerals. But if the miners are nice with the Muquis, bringing for them coca leaves, cigars and drinks, they will show the miners where the minerals are.


Escrito por Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk, y editado por Dennis L. Siluk

(Aquí hay trozos y fragmentos de información reunida en el lugar: cuentos y leyendas de fantasmas, e incluso del Muqui, suministrados a Rosa y Dennis por los mineros).

(Fantasmas) algunos mineros que son más sensitivos que otros, pueden oír en las noches lamentos. Talvez de las almas de los mineros del tiempo Colonial (aquellos que fueron azotados por los conquistadores, porque se ha dicho que la mina ha sido explotada ahora por 400 años—300 años colonial y 100 años industrial); o talvez por los mineros que murieron cien años atrás en un accidente que sucedió en el tajo, donde muchos mineros fueron sepultados vivos cuando allí se produjo un deslizamiento que los cubrió a ellos.

En aquellos días lejanos, un siglo atrás, desafortunadamente, no había tales equipos de rescate. Recientemente, los mineros pusieron dinamita para extraer los minerales de esa área y encontraron cráneos, huesos, herramientas de esos mineros que murieron cien años atrás. Por eso la respuesta a la pregunta a veces hecha, “¿La vida en las minas es peligrosa?” Yo diría que este permanece lo mismo, aunque con más medidas de seguridad adoptadas. Cuando tuve una visita a las minas de Cerro de Pasco, esta parecía muy segura, o tan segura como un hombre humano podría hacerlo, aunque una persona que no siga las instrucciones de seguridad o las reglas podría ser siempre la excepción.

El tajo cambia de nombre cada cierto tiempo, como me indicaron, ahora se llama “Tajo Raúl Rojas” en homenaje a un minero que murió en 1989 electrocutado.

(El Muqui) En el subterráneo, dentro de las minas, se encuentra El Muqui (conocido con ese nombre por los mineros) El Muqui se halla dentro de las minas, tú puedes verlos a cien metros de la boca de la mina. Ellos son pequeñas personas de cabellos rubios (a esto mi esposo dice, que esto lo hace a él un Muqui gigante, porque él tiene el cabello rubio y estuvo a 1800 pies de profundidad)
Se dice que El Muqui, esconde los minerales para que así los mineros no puedan verlos. Pero si el minero es bondadoso con el Muqui, llevándole hojas de coca, cigarros y bebidas, él le enseñará dónde están los minerales.


(The Poetic Tale of :)
The Blue Amuc (El Muqui)

Part One: The Climb

The Blue Amuc came to the meadows
of Huayllay (about the year, 1957).
A young Amuc he was
wanting to see the blue of the sky.
Whereupon, he saw a young Shepard Boy,
about his own age—tending his flock.
Thus, he hid trembling behind some weeds
and a bristly bush…motionless he stood,
in the October air,

his color was between pale green
and yellow
more green than yellow—I’d say;
he wore all blue, even his scarf
as blue, pure blue as the sky
on a clear sunny day…!

(Legend says he was a prince,
and perhaps he was in his
fancy blue way) yet he knelt
head down in the tall weeds…
thinking of the blue sky, he
wanted to see….

His eyes were large and round
heavy looking from his forehead down.
He had climbed the tunnels upward
to the surface, some twenty-one
hundred feet or so, to see the blue
of the sky, in Huayllay, this chilled
sunny blue day, in October.
And to see it clear, he rose above
the bush and weeds (it was a gift
he had long, longed for, to see).

Part Two: The Shepard Boy

He stood, but two feet tall, a little
above the yellow weeds—thereabout.
His shoulders quivered, and
the Shepard Boy saw all—
and wondered with curiosity;
as the Amuc looked high-up into
the sky, he hoped no consequences
would prevail (for now the Shepard Boy,
was as close to him as his shadow).

At this moment, each young lad
talked on things they knew,
each feeling the wonder
of the other, each now under
the blue of the sky… both longing
to learn the other’s life.

The Amuc gave to the Shepard Boy
small stones (precious uncut gems),
and therefore, thereafter,
they became close friends.

Part Three: The Night

Darkness came, with a windy howl—
through Stone Forest, and the meadows;
whereupon, the Amuc disappeared.

Yet, the following day he returned, and
thereafter, for several days more,
each time bringing new gifts, gems
(precious stones) ..:!

They both rested—the Shepard Boy
and the Amuc, in the meadow,
under the blue of the sky (each day),
both rested in awe, of the other, both
asking questions, and wondering why.
And then on the ninth-day, he was gone,
gone, just like that, never to return.

And for the boy, the Shepard Boy,
when he grew up, far into old age, he
continued to tell this story often,
with gusto, and dramatic waves;
to no benefit, to him, perhaps,
for no one really believed him
anyway— yet they liked to hear
the tale told, for whatever reasons,
no one really knows.

That is, he told the tale, but never
showed the stones, never showed them
to anyone but me, saying:
“Why spoil the fun, why try to prove
something, that’s already done,
a legend, a legend, it will grow and grow
and where it ends no one knows, that is,
no one but you and me, for the rest
of the folks, it’s pure curiosity…?”

And so it was, the old coot,
laughed crazy like,
as if he walked away.

No: 2079 (12-2-2007)

Spanish Version
(Un Cuento Poético:)
El Muqui Azul

Parte Uno: La Subida

El Muqui Azul vino a los prados
de Huayllay (alrededor del año, 1957).
Un Muqui joven era él
queriendo ver el azul del cielo
A este punto, el vio a un niño pastor,
de aproximadamente su edad—cuidando su rebaño.
Así, él se escondió temblando detrás de algunas yerbas
y un arbusto coposo…inmóvil él estuvo,
en el aire de Octubre,
su color era entre verde pálido
y amarillo
más verde que amarillo—yo diría;
él vestía todo de azul, incluso su chalina
muy azul, ¡azul puro como el cielo
en un claro día soleado…!
(La leyenda dice que él era un príncipe,
y talvez él estaba en su
forma azul lujosa) aunque él se arrodilló
cabeza abajo en las yerbas altas…
pensando en el cielo azul, que él
quería ver…
Sus ojos eran grandes y redondos
mirada pesada desde sus cejas.
Él había escalado los túneles hacia arriba
a la superficie, algunos 2,100
pies o algo así, para ver el azul
del cielo, en Huayllay, este frío
soleado día azul, en octubre.
Y para verlo claro, él se levantó arriba
del arbusto y las yerbas (era un regalo
que él había anhelado, anhelado ver).

Parte Dos: El Niño Pastor

Él parado, era sólo dos pies de altura, un poquito
más arriba que las plantas amarillas, por ahí.
Sus hombros temblaron, y
el niño pastor vio todo—
y se preguntaba con curiosidad:
mientras que el Muqui miraba arriba en
el cielo, él esperaba que no consecuencias
prevalecieran (porque ahora el niño pastor,
estaba tan cerca de él como su sombra).
En este momento, cada muchacho joven
habló de las cosas que ellos sabían,
cada uno sintiendo el asombro
del otro, cada uno ahora bajo
el azul del cielo…ambos deseando
aprender de la vida del otro.
El Muqui le dio al niño pastor
pequeñas piedras (gemas preciosas enteras)
y consecuentemente, después de esto,
ellos se volvieron amigos íntimos.

Parte Tres: La Noche

La oscuridad vino, con un aullido ventoso—
a través del Bosque de Piedras, y sus prados;
a este punto, el Muqui desapareció.

Aunque, al día siguiente él volvió, y
después de este, por muchos días más,
cada vez llevando nuevos regalos, gemas
¡(piedras preciosas)…!

Ambos descansaron—el niño pastor
y el Muqui, en el prado,
debajo del azul del cielo (cada día)
ambos descansaron con sobrecogimiento, del otro, ambos
haciéndose preguntas, y preguntándose por qué.
Y entonces en el noveno día, él se fue,
se fue, solamente así, para nunca volver.

En lo que respecta al niño, el niño pastor,
cuando creció, bastante hasta ser anciano, él
continuó contando su historia cada cierto tiempo,
con entusiasmo, y movimientos dramáticos;
sin beneficio, para él, talvez,
porque realmente nadie lo creía
de todas formas—aunque a ellos les gustaba oír
la historia contada, por cualquier razones,
nadie realmente lo sabía.

Esto es, él contaba la historia, pero nunca
mostró las piedras, nunca las mostró
a nadie, sólo a mi, diciendo:
“¿Por qué arruinar la diversión, por qué tratar de probar
algo, que ya está hecho,
una leyenda, una leyenda, esta crecerá y crecerá
y dónde termine nadie lo sabe, esto es,
nadie sólo tú y yo, para el resto
de la gente, esto es pura curiosidad…?”

Y así fue, el anciano coot,
reía como un loco,
mientras él se alejaba.

# 2079 (02-Dic-2007)


The Poetic Epic
The Great Warrior Lord of Huayllay

Dedicated To: the Miners
of Cerro de Pasco and Ing. Teodulo Quispe Huertas

The Advent

When the siege and the assault had ceased in Huayllay
and the clans and cave dwellings fell in fire and ruins,
and when all the wealth was taken, the most noble kindred
whom had escaped from the treachery of the Horde
from the lower world, below the Great Sierras —
that scourge their land, they returned home.
It was Saenea, whom was found by the renowned king;
and when this fair lad was found, by this famous king,
he was drinking the blood of animals to remain alive.
The boy but ten had escaped the siege, his family, did not.
Great pomp and pride, was inside his heart and head,
with sadness and strife, such strange things inside a boy.
He laid his hand upon the breast of the king, swore:
revenge with sadness would not leave his heart.
And he was bred to be a bold man, for battle, and such;
and in his time, as a youth, many marvels had men seen:
but of all that, men heard tell, one day he would be king.

Wherefore a marvel among men he was, and I shell tell
his tale, for he was one of few that held it, no fear of death…
one of the wildest of all men, as it is infixed, brave he was,
thus linked to gods it is told, but he loved only One, true One.

Indeed, the king had fine art drawn throughout his cave,
with many a beastly figures, noble animals, and his kind,
accompanied by much laughter, dancing and drinking,
with disputes full, and blissfully drunken lords over tribes.
For here in this land of stone and meadows, feasts were full
most days and nights, with meats and mirth, and merriment.

Saenea’s youth
& the Great Bear

Youth made him marry and carefree—yet restless!
And he had the moods of a youthful man—lighthearted!
Yet his young blood, swirled in his brain, never long seated;
plus the olden female seer—(who knew him from adolescents)
whispered in his budding ears: “All you see is in my visions…”
which pleased him to perceive (for in pride he had appointed
her his counselor); yet, always unacquainted at her strangeness!

And thus, it came to pass, straight and stern it stood: the
great bear, sixty-three feet tall, in stone woods; prideful and
courtly. The Prince now knew his challenge—in jeopardy?
His life against life—, each allowing the other the first movement!
Favor or fortune, both fairer than custom, they stood still.
And with silver lance, and bright banner of the prince,
he hooked it into (with a thrust and throw) the spine of the bear, climbed upward along his towering back, with rope and hair,
hanging on, warbling wildly—as his spear pierced and pierced!

Bizarre and moving thoughts came forth, he had killed the noblest
of beasts, he had ever known, and the greatest of all the Sierras.

The Feast
& the Marvel

For hardly had the happening ended, when the flesh of the bear
(a multitude of:) was served: passed among the elders of Huayllay,
with music and custom dancing, song and laughter, and drink;
for the mightiest had been slain; the Prince, gorged to the girdle.
So great was the feast the beast’s loins and limbs filled the bellies
of all the tribes, and the elders proclaimed Saenea a marvel.

Now of the feast, I will say no more, for surely it is obvious to
one and all, no want would there be to a prince, and feast given by
his father-king, for others. For all men were aghast in his face,
and now fear showed among many, yet light glowed from Saenea.

The Black Heart

All black he wore, garments and man: a fur tight and close to
his skin, clung to him; a dazzling robe, finely trimmed, with
fringes, a black hood covered his thick and wide head.
Long black locks, dark gray eyes, squared shoulders,
(richly, upright—bright with pride, shoeless he paced).
And vainly all who saw him knew, he was the stick of the king,
General Dark Heart, the right hand of the sovereign old king.
(Still, he betrayed the king for the king’s true and only son….)
And he wore the seal of the king this day (stolen), of bright
gold, richly arrayed with gems—and in his bedchamber
fulfilled his rehearsed death plot, with the blessings from his
true son; and hence, the destiny of the kingdom was at a pass;
stained by the blood of two corrupt enameled hands.

To Prevail A

Presumptuous it was, the great quarrel between brothers
both glimmered and glinted with precious jewels, readying
for the king’s battle—upheld in Stone Forest, two stiff—
stiff stallions to squabble, in battle quick melee, for kingship:
for the kingship of Huayllay, a fight to the death…stone-death;
both matched quite well but Saenea, hungrier still; and with
his silver spear—he aimed to kill his bragging brother
(and so it was, that the strongest would prevail…!)”

The Great Mêlée B

“Do as you please,” said Saenea, to his step-brother… (provoked)
“for your soundless gods will never hear you, nor honor thee…!
“And I tell you this—take it to mind, I advise you—you still live,
“but beware! The One God, true One, may want to sweep his den
“clean, for many who have battled with me, step-over to death —: oh
“son of a Great King, look down, mighty walls await, in the…the
“Netherworld where lethal rage goes unabated—, in them all.
“There they have no taste for food—what you may really crave;
“for now it is slaughter, blood, choking groans you desire! But
“your father wrapped my heart, not one day, but many, many!
“I leave you alive, after your hateful carnage, remember, and go!”

(The true son, listened not, and threw dust in his eyes.)

And it was what hearts drove them to fight with fury…?
Saenea, the adopted son of the old great king, and the true son.
Saenea, swept a hard blow, like a fatal plague to the true son’s ribs,
he moved up close to attack, all the blows to Saenea were hollow;
he moved up close to attack, struck him full in the spine and back,
ripping deep into his muscles, shearing them, bones splattered
open wounds with blood; he drew back, rough assaults yet to come.
His fists and legs were like whizzing arrows, it brought him down,
down, off his feet, to the ground, quick, he pulled his wretched
heart from his chest, sprang to his feet, standing held it high…
“Hear me…” he cried, his fighting hands now free, “hear me,
“amidst the blaze of battle I prayed, now stand by me—your king!”

He killed the true son, then with his silver lance by his side,
smashing the soil like a bull, he knelt to the God of the Universe.


The Trials to Be

And now as Saenea who was a man, too enjoyed pleasures;
courteous he could be, possessed he was: fair and hard.
Under heaven, all saw him become king with fame,
and a king most high in pride; it would be hard to name,
but a warrior king he was, who had no dread of anything.
In battle he spared no life, be it beast or warrior, --
I say none but one, a woman, who would become his wife.
When he returned from battles, loud clamor and cries
announced anew, his arrival (shouts and hands waving)
Ladies laughed loudly, lost in an insane cheerful joy, as
merriment was served, and manners washed away; and
the loveliest of women there, glanced with eyes of haze.

6 & 7
The Great Seer
and the Carving
of the Great Stones

And when fair Huayllay was ruled by this marvel king,
bold and old, and well bred men, and women rejoiced—!
And in this new domain, more marvels would arouse,
than in any other age known since olden time; yet
of all those here abode in Stone Forest, one King’s feint! –
if ever was, Saenea most honored, for I have heard,
men tell;-- but listen, yet a little while longer….

The Great Sear, had now perished, and a child was born
unto the king; it was a boy “Yes!” cried the king “…son
of a king!” Then he cried to the heavens, and unto God,
the one true God, --he cried and pledged a thousand
stone statues to His glory. And in the dark of this night,
thunder roared, rain poured…and the woman he so
greatly loved…

Complimentary Poem and Hymn

Himno a Pasco
Letra por: Hugo Apéstegui Ramírez (In Spanish Only)

Somos hijos cercanos a Dios,
somos cóndores osados del sol;
¡defendemos el orbe Minero!
Con mulizas de paz y valor.

Fuiste el Edén del magnífico Yaro
pero en tu suelo la infamia cabalgó
y la codicia confesó al mundo:
que eres la pródiga Ciudad Real.
Despertó Huaricapcha tu fama
y en tu vientre la rueda rugió,
geografía y honor defendiste
tu epopeya el ejemplo nos dio.

Ya es la hora de cantar con brío
el fiel presente nos llama a vencer
enmendemos cualquier extravío
emulando al Universal Carrión.
¡El Titán de los Andes es Pasco!
elevémoslo a la eternidad,
con Japiris y Huaynos dorados
perduremos nuestra identidad.

Y desafiemos los vientos helados
¡si! El calor de la historia exigió,
vigilemos la veta de sueños
y holocaustos del oro no habrán.
El reloj de la mañana nos clama:
que apuremos los pasos con fe,
que se alcen las voces profundas,
firmes voces del gran socavón.

A Poem

“In the Nick of Time”
By Cindy White (in Part and English Only)

I met Dennis (Siluk) at B&N
Café—a decent place to
write and draw. To
set one’s creative juices
among the crowd. Among
the roar of the blender that
would wind up words for
a poet—any poet.

Dennis is an inspiration,
for this lowly poet, as
I sit in the same B/N
café without him, thinking
of his new life in Peru.
Thinking I might catch
his spirit, his muse and
sprout my words.

It was an honor; still
Is an honor to sit
in this space, where
one poet met another poet
in the nick of time.

((Gruta de Huagapo (Peru))

The Mother Grotto
By Dennis L. Siluk

Massive walls of stone left beautifully from a past age.
Images appear over the slim river, images with a thousand

Pivoting, rushing sounds of water, a million gallons
sweep through this endless dirt, rock floor.

One can feel a new unease, deep in the pits of this grotto.

Granite images flutter overhead, death
shadows are coming, hanging
like long knots of wild energy,
they twist in triumph.

Now the time comes to look into the dark-tunnels,
the long past, it scuffles my brain;
I leap down into its nostril,
now, now I climb up with a rope on the other side
to the mouth of the dead,

look inside this dying hollow, my guide holds my hand,
(to keep my balance) there is little time for talk,
my wife, and two other companions, wait across the empty pit,
I am, now…inside of its mouth, thinking:
‘…why did God created this?’

In here seasons never change, the pillars of stone,
shapeup like trees,
and the domes overhead, drip ice water, like
leaky teeth…!

Down in the pools of water, fish heads splash,
then jump deeper, their tails swirl, and they hide
in the shallow reeds, foliage, and rocks….

Old Man I say: ‘Grab the moment!’

No: 2045 11-8-07 ((Partly written 3-hours (5:00 PM, in a car) after visiting the largest grotto in South America, Huagapo; the rest of this poem was written when I got home to my apartment, about 7:00 PM, in Huancayo, Peru; the grotto being about 150-miles away.))

((Gruta de Huagapo (Peru))

La Madre Gruta

Enormes paredes de piedra legadas perfectamente de una edad pasada.
Imágenes aparecen sobre el río delgado, imágenes con unas mil

Arrollando, sonidos de torrentes de agua, un millón de galones
barre a través de este interminable piso de tierra y rocas.

Se puede sentir una nueva inquietud, honda en los hoyos de esta gruta.

Imágenes de granito se agitan por encima, las sombras
de muerte están viniendo, colgadas
como nudos largos de energía desenfrenada,
ellas se retuercen en triunfo.

Ahora el tiempo viene para examinar los túneles oscuros,
el pasado largo, esto ataca mi cerebro;
salto abajo en las ventanas de su nariz,
ahora, ahora subo arriba con una soga al otro lado
a la boca de los muertos,
miro dentro de este hoyo agonizante, mi guía sostiene mi mano,
(para mantener mi equilibrio) hay poco tiempo para hablar,
mi esposa, y otros dos compañeros, esperan al otro lado del hueco vacío,
estoy, ahora...dentro de su boca, pensando:
“... ¿porqué Dios creó esto?”

¡Aquí las estaciones nunca cambian, los pilares de piedras,
en forma de árboles,
y de los domos por encima, gotean agua helada, como
dientes goteando...!

Abajo en las pozas de agua, cabezas de pescado chapotean,
luego saltan más profundo, sus colas se arremolinan, y ellos se esconden
en las aguas poco profundas, en los follaje, y rocas...

Viejo, digo: “¡Aprovecha el momento!”

# 2045 (8-Noviembre-2007 (Escrito en parte--3 horas—5:00 de la tarde, en un carro) después de visitar la gruta más grande en Sudamérica, Huagapo; el resto de este poema fue escrito cuando llegué a casa a eso de las 7:00 de la noche, en Huancayo, Perú; la gruta estaba aproximadamente a 150 millas de distancia.))

Historian Maria Rostworowski and Poet Laureate Dennis L. Siluk

Maria Rostworowski and Dennis during a meeting (2007) in Lima, Peru; she complimented Dennis’ two books” The Magic of the Avelinos,” and” The Road to Unishcoto”

Elsie at 19-years Old

Love and Butterflies
[For Elsie T. Siluk, my mother]

She fought a good battle
The last of many—
Until there was nothing left
Where once, there was plenty.

And so, poised and dignified
She said, ‘farewell,’ in her own way
And left behind
A grand old time
Room for another

Love and Butterflies…
That was my mother.

—By Dennis L. Siluk © 7/03

Spanish Version

Amor y Mariposas
[Para Elsie T Siluk, mi madre]

Ella luchó una buena batalla
La última de muchas—
Hasta que no hubo nada más
Donde una vez, hubo plenitud.
Y así, serena y digna
Ella dijo, ‘adiós,’ en su propia forma
Y dejó atrás
Un gran tiempo viejo
Espacio para otro

Amor y Mariposas…
Eso fue mi madre.

—Por Dennis L. Siluk © Julio/2003

Books by the Author

Out of Print

The Other Door, Volume I [1981]
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale [1982]
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant life [1984]
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child [1985]
Presently In Print

The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon

Angelic Renegades & Raphaim Giants

Tales of the Tiamat [trilogy]
And other selected books
Tiamat, Mother of Demon I
Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat II
Revenge of the Tiamat III

Mantic ore: Day of the Beast

Chasing the Sun
[Travels of D.L Siluk]

Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib

The Addiction Books of D.L. Siluk:

A Path to Sobriety
A Path to Relapse Prevention
Aftercare: Chemical Dependency Recovery


A Romance in Augsburg I
Romancing San Francisco II
Where the Birds Don’t Sing III
Stay Down, Old Abram IV


Perhaps it’s Love
(Minnesota to Seattle)

Cold Kindness
(Dieburg, Germany)

The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:

Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]
Dracula’s Ghost
[And other Peculiar stories]
The Mumbler [psychological]
After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]

The Poetry of D.L. Siluk:

The Other Door (Poems- Volume I, 1981)
Sirens [Poems-Volume II, 2003]
The Macabre Poems [Poems-Volume III, 2004]
Last Autumn and Winter [Minnesota poems, 2006]

Poetry out of Peru

Spell of the Andes [2005]
Peruvian Poems [2005]
Poetic Images out of Peru [And other poems, 2006]

The Magic of the Avelinos
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, book One; 2006)
The Road to Unishcoto
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, Book Two, 2007)

The Poetry of Stone Forest (…and its legends)
(2007) Cerro de Pasco
Poetry on the Miners (and their Legends…) 2008

A Brief Background on my Husband,
Dennis L. Siluk

Dennis L. Siluk, is a Poet Laureate, three times over, perhaps his most desired, and highest accomplished for him, in his life; although he has many other achievements, he was and is a born Poet (writing poetry from the age of 12-years old, onward); always has been, and will die as one.
On the other side of the coin, he has attended many universities: University of Maryland (first degree in Behavioral Science); Troy State University (or: Alabama State University; in Psychology, Sociology and Literature), in which he received his second degree. He attended the University of Minnesota, doing graduate studies, and received a License to Counsel (Duel Disorders, Drugs and Alcohol, Psychology). He did graduate studies and beyond, in Theology, at Liberty University, and thereafter became an Ordained Minister (1993), using his psychology and license to minister in hospitals. His last degree was a Doctorate Degree in Education by Belford University ((in Texas) (Ed.D.))
In addition to his educational endeavors, he took second place in Minnesota (St. Paul: 1965) for Art, which he has used to illustrate his 37-books (which range from: short novels, to short stories, poetry, and medical).
He has traveled the world over, been to 60-countries, and almost every major city in the world, to include 46-states, in the United States. Now he has traveled Peru, from the mountains to the coast, and throughout the jungles.
He is a decorated Vietnam War Veteran. He spent 11-years in the military.
He has also received many awards on his poetry and writings, from Peru in particular; two from the United States, and one from the England Magazine. Bosnia has also taken a short story of his, and added it to their school curriculum.

His writings can be seen on over 400-internet sites world wide, and has a following of over 100,000-readers a month. He has 29-sites himself, and shares most of his writings willingly, and freely with the worldwide public.

For those interested, Dennis plays the Piano, has written music, and also plays the guitars. He has had 27-songs put to music in the early 1990s.

Furthermore, he studied karate, from the famous Yamaguchi family, while living in San Francisco, in the late 1960s. He became close friends with Gosei Yamaguchi—and met the famous, ‘Cat’ Gogen Yamaguchi, where all three spent an afternoon together (see his book called, “Romancing San Francisco”).

Dennis has worked in Iron Foundries, as well as a Steel Mill, as a youth, so he is no stranger to hard work.

All in all, Mr. Siluk has had a busy life (and much has been left out in this simple and short brief); yet, I am happy to have shared a portion of it with you, as I am happy he is sharing it with me now. It is also fare to say, this book is more a contribution to the miners of Cerro de Pasco, than a personal project for him. This will be his second book for Cerro de Pasco, he has already written on Stone Forest, in Huayllay; three books on the Montero Valley, which includes Huancayo, And other books on Peru, which incorporate its history, to include Lima and many legends. If anything, he finds Peru intriguing, and a kind of Egypt, for South America, and the last place in the world where so many discoveries are still being uncovered.


Everything is finite; realize there will be an end to it, to whatever is today, someday. Be prepared; do not live like it will never end, lest you let the devil lead you in circles while pulling your tail..! Be usable and available, and you will salt away your despair. I have lived liked this all my days, and have enjoyed the fruits of life (yes, I have been poor and I have been rich, and I have been simply just satisfied, in all, I have never been abandoned, never, even though at times I’ve had to wait on the Lord’s actions because of my doubt, fear or insincerity). In reality, should you ask the Lord—kindly—He will give you what you need, plus three times more, or more, simply for the asking— save, you are of a sound and genuine heart. Dlsiluk (12-8-2007)

Visit my web site: you can also order the books directly by/on: along with any of your notable book dealers. Other web sites you can see Siluk’s work at: www.swft/writings.html

Back of Book

The Query at Volcan, Cerro de Pasco, Peru

“Poetry of the Miners…” includes photos of the author with: Historian Maria Rotworowski, USA Poet Laureate Donald Hall, Ing. Teodulo Quispe Huertas, Superintendente General of U.E.A. and Mayor of Cerro de Pasco, Ing- Tito Valle Ramirez.

Dennis creates here, a collection of extraordinary and ageless poetry, unique in all its refreshing services (with poems, notes, tales, epics, legends, and other writings on the miners of Cerro de Pasco, the highest city in the world, and at Peru’s most famous and largest quarry. He talks—in his poetic way—of the miner’s heart, family, his work, surroundings, dangers.
He also has some complimentary poems (by: Juan Parra del Riego, Apolinario Mayta Inga and Cindy White, all poets of good will, and standing) translated and edited by the author.

Mr. Siluk is a world traveler, prolific writer (his first poetry written at the age of twelve); he is a License Counselor (Psicólogo); has a Doctorate Degree in Education (Ed.D) and has attended several universities in the United States. In addition, he has been awarded the title of Poet Laureate (three times in Peru); and in 1993, he was ordained a Minister in Good Standing; he is also a decorated Vietnam Veteran.

About the Author

This is Dennis’ 37th book, 7th on Peru, 13th in Poetry. He lives in Minnesota and Peru with his wife Rosa. He has won two Columnist awards in the United States. One of his short stories took first place from “The English Magazine,” October of 2006.

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