Florencia [ Prose Poem] The Hidden Underworld Kingdoms of the Amuc (Revision III)
[A Peruvian Love Tragedy, in Poetic Prose]
The Hidden Underworld Kingdoms of the Amuc
In English and Spanish
By Dennis L. Siluk
Copyright © By Dennis L. Siluk, 11/2007
[A Peruvian Love Tragedy in Poetic Prose]
Illustrations by the Author;
Translated from English to Spanish by
Rosa Penaloza de Siluk
Prologue (The Account): There are many kingdoms that have come and gone on earth, throughout written history, mostly documented, but there is only one group of kingdoms, that I know of, that has come, and has not gone, that has existed for eons, it is the Hidden Underworld Kingdoms of the Amuc, which consist, actually four kingdoms, somewhat interconnected; I repeat, they are not on the surface of the earth, rather, they are in the crust, the gravel, the dirt of the planet.
I have talked to many people in the Andes, and in the villages beyond, talked to the miners, and old timers, they all believe in them—the Amuc, some have saw them, others have heard the legends of them. Some say they have blond hair, others say they have steel wings, and are a foot tall. I first heard about them in 1999, when I first came to Peru, and went to the Andes, and then I came back every year since (nine times to Peru so far), and the year is still 2006, at least for another six weeks. Anyhow, I bought a house in Lima, and one in Huancayo, in the Mantaro Valley. And then I purchased an adobe hobby farm of sorts, in the Village of San Jeronimo de Tunan, and this is when it all started. I mean this is where my story actually originated. I don’t expect anyone to believe me (I myself, am still digesting it) but I shall nonetheless give it to you (that is, the actual account that took place).
Close to my property, which is about seven hundred-square meters, with tall adobe walls surrounding the land, perhaps three feet thick, with several small dwelling within this enclosure, is where I live (when I’m visiting the Mantaro Valley, near Huancayo, beyond the Andes), live on the weekends that is (my wife, Rosa and I live in our apartment ((residence)) in the city of Huancayo, during the week); an old Church (1539 AD?) called St. Sebastian, is nearby my property, up an old dirt road a bit. There one weekend in the month of August, of 2006 (most recently, from writing this story)) for I am now in Lima, Peru)), I was carving out a garden in one section of my soil, by one of the adobe dwellings, and I found a sculpture, effigy type, it was carved into the liking of a midget size king—that looked a tad like a rat, but much taller than a rat, yet smaller than a midget; at the time I thought it was a goblin, but I am not in Ireland, I told myself, and it was not a fairy, although it could have been, perhaps it was something in-between, like one of those Amuc people I heard about.
Oh well, let me get on with the story: the adobe foundation to my property was build around 130-years before I had bought the place, it went through the Pacific War, the one between Chile and Peru, about 1879 to 1883 (that was the time when the famous and courageous Avelinos fought against the Chilean Soldiers, and that is in itself, another story). So I thought it to be a statue, or a grave marking of some sort, and perhaps was buried somehow, and brought to the surface (my guess would be right—I think—but in the opposite direction, in that it was somehow, I believe, long and deep under the ground, and yes, somehow surfaced in time). And so, it was, but it was not of the war I talk about, it was of a great Amuc that once lived, or maybe not so great, we shall see how he fares in history. Oh yes, now we are getting into the real heart of the matter, are we not. Well, that is why I call this story, an account because that is just what it is.
So let me go on with this account: I dug deeper into the ground, in the silenced of the night so no one would be the wiser, twilight is always haunting and worth a good dig, and eerie it was, and it really made the spell of the digging more enchanting, smoke like figures even crossed the moon, and moonbeams shot (so it seemed), shot right down through the porthole I had made in the roof over my dig, so as to give me more light over my head.
Shadows swept like lotus—to and fro—over the gray ebbing clouds above the crown of my head, it was a warm evening, to say the least. I had even added adobe walls around the dig; thus, it was a structure now: twenty feet deep the hole was, with a rope ladder attached to the adobe walls, tub by tub for three weeks I dug and brought up dirt from the hole, piled it here and there, little mounds everywhere in my yard. Woops, I forgot to tell you, I found the second part of the gravestone I mentioned above, of the same man or Amuc I presume, and it read in Quechua (one of the oldest languages on earth, which my wife could decipher, being Peruvian, and from the Mantaro Valley region). It read as follows:
“King Niobla of Remora (King of the West Kingdom) scornful heart he had, and a wicked laugh for all. He died in 642 AD, and blessed was the underworld for this, thereafter; and lets all hope he’ll be imprisoned in Hell. Inscribed by: the Un-grieving”
As I dug deeper, the walls started crumbling, that is when I found the coffin of the king, and when I opened it, he did have steel like wings, as if angelic, but they were laid to his side, perhaps he felt he could fly, they were attachable. He was no taller than a foot or more, perhaps fourteen inches, in all. And he still had his skull oddly attached to his neck, and deep-rooted socket for eyes in his head, yet he did not resemble a rodent so perhaps the sculpture was some sort of jest.
I was at this time, twenty-two feet below the surface, and hence, I dug another week, another ten feet, slowly, now thirty-two feet, then at forty-feet, I found a tunnel, and it went downward, but it was cramped, I am 172-pounds, and five foot, eight inches tall, not tall for today’s, primates, but tall for the average Peruvian, and a giant according to the corpse and statue I had found. As I pushed my way through these skin tight walls, I was scared I’d be buried alive, and only with a flashlight (and small shovel in hand); I saw a few hundred feet down further (in front of me), an item lay in the dirt, when I got to it, it was a hat, presumably for a small females head, so my guess was at the time, then I noticed foot prints, small, but I could make them out to be footprints nonetheless. I was starting to push my body backwards, I had had enough of this, air was thin, and I was scared, and cramped, and it was muggy and dark, going ahead I observed, would be most difficult, for the tunnel got even thinner, how would I make it, I asked myself. Then (and I must say, there will be a lot of ‘then (s)’ in this account), I heard behind me the crumbling of the walls, I couldn’t turn around, and it would be most difficult to go forward, pushing and heaving my way through that thin cramped space (it got no wider for about twenty feet beyond, where I was at that moment, and then, it was no wider than where I was now—if I could squeeze my way through to the wider side beyond that twenty-feet—that is; I was using up my options quicker than I hopped to, and in the process becoming fatigued.
I reiterate, I did have a little shovel with me for digging, it was what I had been doing for close to four weeks now—or perhaps it was a few days beyond four weeks, so why not try to dig my way through to wherever the tunnel led me to (that is, dig around the twenty feet in front of me, enlarging the space for my body), or rot where I was, and then I saw a little woman, beautiful as could be, faintly she appeared, and this is were my narrative comes from, not sure if I dreamt it, or was told it when I was passed out, or delirious, for I was incapacitated for a while, and exhausted when I tried to back my way out, and tried thereafter, to squeeze and dig my way forward, neither being of any good end result—, if possible, perhaps I may have gotten the story— instinctively, in some unconscious form unknowing to me through that Little Princess, and perhaps it was Florencia all along, or whomever, or whatever, but when I woke up I was back outside my tunnel, in the shack I had built around the hole, it was as if I was pulled out by my feet, my shoes were off, and my ankles had red marks around them.
[Opening: to the Dream]: it was in the time, perhaps the 7th century or so, a time when the kingdoms of the Mantaro Valley were ruled, and captured by the Wanka Warriors, and Unishcoto, Arwaturo along with Wariwilca were just being inhabitant (now old ruins in the Ville); it was a time when the little people, known as the Amuc, lived underground in four kingdoms, the Northern Kingdom, the Southern Kingdom (remote and small, not a fighting kingdom for the most part), the Western Kingdom know as Remora (once the most dominate of them all), which was part of the Eastern Kingdom, yet the Eastern Kingdom was the mightiest of all the kingdoms of the Amuc’s underworld at this given point in time—and each had its separate kings. Remora feared the Northern Kingdom, of Drabmol, and under battle, they had lost more lives, yet these two kingdoms were not completely tested to the point of one was dominating the other.
Interlude: The Landscape
In this break of sorts (between the prelude, and the actual story), I want to talk briefly of the landscape, before we get into the account, for that is really what this is. Let me first say, I am not a geologist, so I care not to struggle beyond my limits (for I would not execute well) that is, try to describe to you, the reader (as it appeared to me), the interior cavity I saw in the crust of the earth; I shall leave that—for the most part—to your imagination—but I will say (or give) in passing a brief report on it (and then be done with the matter): there were frowning, primeval and precipitous cliffs, and pillar like rock formations—with steep and rough looking peaks; deep rocky canons with sheer drops, plunging deep into valleys below (culde-sac)) or blind ended)).
There laid all about, scattered stones crumbled from the cliffs of various sizes and shapes (perhaps usable for ammunition, by the Amuc.)
In many areas formed an inky blackness, where it came from I do not know.
(I suppose I could say now ((but I didn’t think of it at the time when I was part of this account), these were most unfavorable circumstances to live under, and are little short of miraculous, for the Amuc, or anybody.)
The Andean Underworld of the Amuc
The Love and Tragedy
King Dnusirut of Drabmol (of the Northern Kingdom), accepted Prince Niobla of Remora, as his guest, he was visiting the kingdom at his father’s request, to ensure peace was still abreast with this barbarian tribal kingdom of the north, and at the request of King Nitsuj, of the East. But the Prince had brought up a sour issue, said he:
“I request to be given the dagger I killed your son in battle with, to take it back home with me as a trophy of my conquest.”
So he told this to the host king in the throne chamber, and with tears in his eyes the king bowed his head in sorrow, saying, “Yes, I understand it is your right of conquest.”
The war between the two kingdoms was stopped prematurely, when the king from the East told all, he would take both kingdoms from both kings should they not make peace, and it was a threat he could fulfill. Now, when the request had been made, it happened to be, Prince Dnumiunc was nearby listening, and went historical, as he approached into the center of the room, said he, in no pleasant manner, after a great laugh—which boomed like iron bells:
“He was my brother—father, do not give him the dagger he cut the throat of my brother with!”
The father looked weary indeed, and knew he could make no concessions in this matter— so he said the only thing he could say, “Son,” (he said in a humbling, but steadfast manner) “…oh my son, Prince and someday to be king of this land of the North, you must keep its traditions and customs, it is like particles of our peoples blood that goes back some 100,000-years—back, way back behind us, we must give it or be shamed, now say no more, I am already disgraced by your lips, your mouth, go and hide from my eyes…!”
“Disgraced from this mad-god that has no courage, he should have taken the knife out of his heart when he had the chance, when he killed him on the battle field, why now…why now does the slayer come to do what he could have done before? I remember quite well, he plunged the blade into his heart, and then ran like the wind from our soldiers. I even lost count of him.”
Oh yes, there was heat and hate, and venom coming from the body gestures, and the mouth of the uncouth prince. Said the king with a sigh:
“Say no more, lest I have you removed from this imperial chamber, and that will be to your dishonor, it will be as I said.”
And that was the last words that came from the tongue of the contempt prince.
It was in the hallways Princess Florencia of Drabmol was walking, and she was the flower of all the kingdom, most beautiful, more so it was claimed, than Cleopatra, or even Helen of Troy, and more pleasing to the mind and eye than, Aphrodite, with her deep flood of hair, and dazzling deep eyes, soft skin, who was full of life and warmth, so when the Prince of Remora saw her he stopped, caught his breath, wide-eyed, said (in an unkindly manner and inquisitively), “My gosh, who are you, a stunning beauty among these Barbarians?”
Said she with her head held high, “I, my immature and obnoxious Prince, am Florencia, and I dislike you more than the scorn you received in the throne chamber, now leave me pass!” (The prince was her senior by only a few years.)
Oh, save for his life, he would not move, not for love nor money, king nor land, he would not move, he made his stand, “I will have you, you will be my bride to be…you will be in my bed, and bear my children.”
“You insidious, insufferable creature, how dare you speak to me like that, I am a Princess, and you will never have me, save my father will slay you first.”
The Prince, looked about, then commented, “And where is he, your father, and who is he?”
“His name is Prince Dnumiunc,” said Florencia.
“Oh yes,” said Niobla, “Him, I suppose I will have to slay him as I did his brother. Perhaps, once I am king, then we shall see who fares best in war and battle, with sword or stiletto, it doesn’t matter to me; and I hasten to say, but I will: without King Nitsuj’s hindrance—had it not been for He, in insuring we no longer war with you, we would have had you under our heel by now—.”
“So you say, but I think not.” Rejoined the Princess. Next saying, “You would have been our servants, is more like it.”
“I see you have an undomesticated mouth, so be it, I will tame that also, and put you under my loins, and make love to you, and you will wish I would never have stopped.”
“I have no lover, but if he were you, I’d cut your throat, or mine,” exclaimed Florencia, adding “if man could for a moment not think of his stomach or sex—uncompelled for just a moment, perhaps he would provide something useful to society, all I hear is ‘I want, you should, this is, that is…!”’
Then all of a sudden Prince Dnumiunc appeared, said he with hand to his sword, “Why do you talk to this vulture?” he asked his daughter.
“It was I mad prince of Drabmol, I stopped her and asked her whom she was, so I am at fault, not her. But she is beautiful, give me her hand in marriage, for my wife, or I will take her anyway, as my mistress.” Said Niobla.
“You are an bug, bacteria, to this kingdom, and you have out used your curtsey of being our guest, I hope you are gone by morning, I would love to put my sword into your chest, cut out your heart, and I need very little reason more.” Said Prince Dnumiunc.
“I am sure that your sword and skill are as dull as your wit and words, hide your sword and save yourself: by god, give me your daughter while you can, or prepare yourself for the worms of hell.”
Having said that, the scourged and love hungry prince dashed off to his room.
Prince Niobla of Remora
(The Western Kingdom)
[Nine months later] It was by the night they came, and through the princess’ window, subsequently, they bound her, and took her back to Remora, Prince Niobla was now king—and waiting impatiently for his new trophy.
Said King Niobla, to his captured mistress, Florencia, “You will lay with me one way or the other.”
“I will not willingly, nor do you dare, my father will war with you, slay you.” Said Florencia, nervously, yet trying to keep her composure.
“He must know you are with me by now, where is this father of yours, he is not knocking at my door, I see him not (he goes to the window, it is morning in his land and the surroundings are cool, he looks out it, then looks back at Florencia, his eyebrow goes up, he smirks).”
“You dare not…!” repeated the princess.
“Do you think for one minute I have gone through all this, to not have my appetite, my desire, and hunger met?”
“You dare not, my father will….” Reiterated the Princess.
“But I do dare, I will drink your father’s blood someday, I will drink it with my wine and mix it with his bones, bury him with the worms; yes, and time will show you it will be so.”
“My grandfather will war with your kingdom, and we almost tore your armies to shreds last time we battled,” said the princess.
This was true, and the West, feared the Northern barbarians, but the new King would have his mistress nonetheless, and make her queen, one way or the other, or have her live as his mistress, like it or not, and he threw her on his bed. And it was that way for three months, each night, every night. He could not get enough of her. And then it came to pass, he was called to attend a meeting in the Eastern Kingdom, by none other than, Prince Dnumiunc, and King Nitsuj, and to bring Florencia along. Oh it was maddening for the new King Niobla to do so, but he heeded the King’s command from the East, lest he lose his kingdom, and mistress, Florencia—both out of pride, when he could perhaps persuade the king somehow to his way of thinking; he was no fool.
King Nitsuj, sat on his throne, as Prince Dnumiunc stood in front of him, and King Niobla, likewise, said the old king, King Nitsuj, “You have taken a princess out of a kingdom, and spoiled her, what do you have to say for yourself King Niobla?”
“This is true,” said the freshly daubed King, “and the heart sometimes cannot stop itself, I love her with all my heart, and I had to have her. I requested she be given to me, but her father has venom in his tongue, and blood because I killed his brother in fare battle, as all wars have battles, and loses, and now he wants revenge, and uses his daughter for this; had I not asked for the blade I cut his brother’s throat with, he’d have given her hand to me in marriage, perhaps.”
“This is no reason to take what is not yours in battle. You did not win the war, you slay only a man in battle, a prince, and imprison a princess under peaceful pretenses; you must be accountable for your actions, for you even admit you are at fault, guilty of this seditious and lustful offense, when I, and your father agreed there would remain peace between all kingdoms—what should be the judgment on a king who takes another kings granddaughter, what would your judgment be?”
“I want him dead!” bellowed Prince Dnumiunc.
“And what do you say to that?” asked the presiding king.
“Let Florencia decide what is to be done with me.” Said the accused king.
King Nitsuj, looked at Prince Dnumiunc, “And what do you say to that?” he asked.
Said the angered Prince looking at the King Niobla, “So be it, she will cut your throat, and your private parts off,” and he laughed with a vengeful grin.
At that, the old king had Florencia brought out, and she was asked what would be her judgment on King Niobla. She hesitated, so her father said, “Have him killed, Florencia, you hate him as I do.” But she could not speak those very same words. (In her heart, she knew deadly sleep was the only gift this selfish king could offer her, his kingdom, society, but she didn’t say that, she didn’t say anything of the sort.))
King Nitsuj knew that under the latch of freedom a king might take at will whatever he wanted, that if a king had an open door to do so, and no one was to restrain him—why not, especially for a youthful king that would feel infallible, therefore, there’d be no limits, no discipline, and continuous war and rebellion, rare would it be if humanity itself would not weaken, become degenerate, consequently, He knew He must bring forth somekind of judgment—now!))
“I must think of this a while,” she expressed, “perhaps a week would do.” Her father held his breath, a sigh came out, it was tension, and he was flabbergasted.
“I am with child, do I slay its father, and then tell the child when he is a young prince, ‘I killed him because he raped me?” All looked at her indecisiveness.
Said the old king, “It must be settled by you now, or I will make the decree…” and he murmured her indecisiveness.
“I cannot make the assessment today, it must wait.” Said Florencia.
“So be it,” said the Eastern King, adding, “you will have the right to join King Niobla at his kingdom, or your own, but should you choose his, you will be wed, and made queen. Should you choose your Grandfather’s kingdom, in the North, you will be Princess, and do with the child as you please. That is how it will be.”
And so it was that Florencia picked out the Western Kingdom, and King Niobla wed her as his wife, and adored her beauty, but hated her insults, yet for some reason he did not revenge those insults—no, retribution was not his game, rather he played with them with wit, for amusement. And when the child was born, it was a daughter, and the king was not totally happy, perhaps like most kings, they want a son first, to hand down the throne to, yet he accepted this fact, and adored her all the more, for it kept the Queen in place. He used it wholeheartedly, when she got too unruly, too disobedient (unmanageable), hence, he’d threaten her with the child, saying in so many words: he’d take his daughter away from a mad woman as she, and have her placed in some far off outpost of the province.
It was when the child was six years old, war broke out between the Northern Kingdom, and the Western kingdom, and Prince Dnumiunc was slain by one of his Generals, and his bones were brought to the throne chamber of King Niobla, and he picked out one, to have it inscribed, and silver tips fixed firmly on to it, and used as a mixing tool for his wine. It was during a gathering between he and his generals, they talked about warring with the South, and now that the Northern Kingdom was weakened (although not crumbling), they’d not come to their rescue should they attack the Southern sphere of influence, then they’d enslave the kingdom, use their gold, and men to dominate the Northern Kingdom, and perhaps, just perchance, take on the Eastern Realm. Awe, it was all circling in his head like thunder and rain clouds.
It was in this same hall a week later, the generals met with King Niobla, when he asked Florencia to come into the dinning hall, where all were feasting with a variety of meats and breads, and drinking wine and ale along with joking, and she did obey—un-cheerfully but complied, nonetheless, and upon approaching the king said, “What is it that my sovereign ruler wants of me, that you would have me come to such a despicable place like this, and look at your drunken face, and your devil rats, that do your bidding?” She was not kind with her words, nor her looks, and the King looked smugly at her likewise, his left eyebrow went up, and at that juncture Florencia, interrupted the general’s small talk by saying to all:
“Men of power are buzzards, supported by their mouths and stomachs alone—and Kings like you (looking at her husband) and your generals included, meddle with impunity in the affairs of the sovereign people, yet you know them not, they are strangers to you.”
The king continued to sip his wine with relish, then abruptly said, “You are at perfect liberty to say as you wish, you are my Queen, but, alas, I have a perfect formula for that!” (He had only wished to show her off, but now it was a contest of wit and pride, all mixed insidiously.)
“Old dogs, with new tricks, what a combination.” Said the Queen.
“With such insults to me and my generals, perhaps I should have one of them take you to bed and see if he can tame that wicked tongue of yours, they have done this in past times, and are quite good in tactical warfare, perhaps even better than I, which one would you choose?” He asked.
“Oh choose me,” said the old fat general, “I will give you male twins, “ and he laughed, and they all drank more wine.
“No,” said a tall thin general, “do not take the fat one, he will kill you with his belly in the way, take me, I will give you a strong male to rule the kingdom in time when you are old, he will protect you from your husband.” And they all held their bellies laughing and pouring down more wine and ale.
“So you see,” said King Niobla, “you have all these brave generals—willing to take on my wild rat, although one remains quiet, and one of these Generals killed your father, I have here in my hand, this silver tipped bone, with his name on it, Prince Dnumiunc, so who would you pick to be your new bed partner?”
“I have a child, but they would all be better than you, and I have my God, and would not soil my soul with such an answer.” Said the Queen.
“Here, take this bone and stir my wine,” and he held up his silver chalice, in one hand, the bone of her father in the other, “I said take it, or I will have your daughter removed from your presence, and taken to another outpost of our kingdom.” She hesitated but she knew he would do as he said.
Her heart was bleeding, and every inch of her wanted to murder him, but she took the bone, and stirred his wine, tears coming down her face,
“I curse you, for you will lay in Hell and beg the demons to let you glance through their magical mirror of water to see me, and I will be vomiting on your grave, and I will pick out your gravestone and it will be simple, not of a great king, but rather of a small, rodent in human form. It is mans inevitable contact—I think, with power—men such as you—which bears him—be he standing, sitting or laying, that keeps ones greedy mind wanting more, more and more, and it is only the force of gravity that brings one like you down; or the full concentration of your own self-interests, that also will bring you into touch with an early death (and she murmured almost in a silence: ‘…and so be it’).”
“Be gone before I have the generals rape you on the table, for a show.” And she left, to see her daughter in her room, but she made some observations, or at least finalized some previous ones: she thought on the way ‘…the King cannot stay in one position long enough to really think, he has to move (‘I shall not forget that’).
(The Dark Interior)
It goes without saying, but I will say it nonetheless, what was reality, I do not know, my mind at this time seemed to be lost in the labyrinthine maze of fogy events, in this underworld of sorts. My sensory perception (or senses) wandered off, for long periods, or so it seemed, having to have to grab them and bring them back, as if pulling back pieces of a puzzle and putting it together—; I remember limestone formations, and farther back were granite —caves! Perhaps, not any kind of formidable habitat for man or Amuc, but surely for beast, yet I saw none, none but for a few small mammals (rodents) and reptiles, yet I could imagine, big for the little people, I sha’nt go any farther into this, it was as it was, and is really of no consequence either way.
—I would guess, somehow the eyes of the little folks could dispel the darkness; mine could—during this account.
It was two years later when the Queen could take no more, she was either to run, and hide from this mad king, or kill herself, or kill the king himself. He had now taken over the Southern Kingdom, and his plans were going quite well. And she knew it was just a matter of time before her mind would break with hate and revenge for his blood. Yet she was used to him, and there was something unknowing in her fiber that leered out for him, was it hate or a dead kind of lust, or something shielding, how could it be love (she had asked herself), lest it be coated with worms; she told herself this many times perhaps out of benevolent curiosity, thinking she’d come up with a solid correct answer. She would miss him, if he was dead, so she assessed, but she would die with anger while he lived, and one can learn how to live with naught. And he had her father killed, and all the sins he put upon her house, and her: vengeance, the settling of scores, her mind could not rest until it was so, it was the only healer, and as she sat in her room she asked Adlitolca, her maid to come in.
“Is not your lover, one of the supreme chamber guards in the kings throne room?” she asked.
Adlitolca was taken back a ting, she didn’t realize the Queen was aware of him as being her lover, and she said shyly, “Yes my Queen he is.”
“Why do you not marry?” asked the Queen.
“Oh, he says he is too young, and does not want to be burdened with a wife and child.” Said the Maid.
“Oh, I have a plan, tell him to come into your room at midnight, and I will be there, and persuade him to marry you, or he be put to the sword.”
The maid was astounded to here such good tidings, and rejoiced, and kissed the hand of the queen. There perhaps was not a brighter day in her life. And she agreed eagerly to do as she was told. And at midnight, Suedereo came into her room, but on the bed sat the queen.
The Queen whispered, and the room being pitch black, one could not see the other’s face, “Why, Adlitolca, do you have it so dark in here, I can’t even see my hands?” Asked Adlitolca’s lover.
“Come over here,” said the queen, “you do not need your eyes only hands, feel by breasts, they wait for you.” And excitedly he came closer, and they lay together, and he was more haply than a schoolboy who had won a priced sword.
Said the soldier, “You are more delightful than I have ever have known you to be, more softer, you smell so sweeter, an almost perfect fragrance—stunning might be the word, and all is so perfect.” Then she lit a lamp, and Suedereo bellowed, “Queen Florencia…!”
“Yes, it is me, “ said the Queen.
“But why?” asked Suedereo, dumfounded.
“Do you not like what you had?” Asked the Queen.
“Oh yes, it is above all I’ve expected. But why?”
“You will help me kill the king, or be killed by the king for taking me, for no matter what you say, he will not understand.”
“But how is a simple soldier like I to do such a great feat?” he asked.
“It will not be so great a feat, I will drug him, poison him, and he will be weak, and we will get Sihcimteh to assist you, he will put the sword across his neck, and decapitate him.” Said the Queen.
The queen knew Sihcimteh had eyes for her, plus he had special privileges with the king, he could come and go where he pleased, he was one of three of his special guards that stood beside him most always, or behind him. Thus, he was called into the Queens chamber, when the king was off hunting.
“I have noticed,” said the queen, in a silk gown, the right portions of her body exposed, her long hair laying across her back and shoulders, “I say you have had eyes on me like a lion that was hungry these past years.”
“If I have,” said Sihcimteh, “it is because of your beauty, not that I would try and take you forcefully, lest I be a traitor to my king.”
“If I wished you to be a traitor to your king, would you?” Asked Florencia.
He hesitated, looked at her carefully, “Your beauty is beyond a mans dreams, and if I could be persuaded, it would be only if I had you by my side. I have adored you greatly, but knew you possibly prized the king; I would have killed him long ago, had I felt you would love me. But you accepted the king and have not left his side.”
“This is true, but not out of love, nor fear, but because of my child; I would have killed myself long ago to rid myself of this monster, but she has always brought me back to my senses, where would she be. Hence, my braver Supreme Soldier, it is not love you see, but a test of my devotion to my daughter. (So the queen said with graceful effusion). In my husband’s face there is always death for others, or dishonor,” remonstrated, the Queen, adding, “death takes what life has no longer use for…I have looked upon you as a mate, a fine fit for me, a love that could grow, a love that is somewhat. My heart would be grateful, should you take the sword to his neck when he is asleep—for I do believe life no longer has any use for him. (The king was a handsome man, but he deplored the size of his hands, they should have been given to someone other than a King, perhaps a craftsman, or builder, they were strong, and surely the supreme guard was considering this, if he were to chose to kill the king: for he pondered silently for moment, picturing perhaps a struggle and those big hands pushing and grabbing).”
“He is a brave soldier also you know, and no one to fool with.” Said Sihcimteh.
“Then you are scared, and weak and fear him.” Said the Queen. (In her mind she thought: ‘…the king has taught me nothing in this world that would benefit me in the next; and soiled me to the point I will be only remembered as: the dishonored virgin, what an epitaph.’)
“No, I do not fear him out of fear, but out of his skill to fight, he is equal to me, perhaps, but out of love for you, he will be dead if your desire is well planned, and from what I hear, your love for me can grow.”
“I do realize he likes to rule as he likes to fight, like a tiger likes to eat meat and both are always hungry it seems: so Suedereo, will assist, as I poison his wine, you and he will come into his bedchambers, and Suedereo will hold him, while you cut off his head—and the tiger will be no more.”
“And you will be my love forever?” asked Sihcimteh. (Eh, the Supreme Guard watched her lean her thigh against him, her gaze upon him ((‘…how long her legs are…’ he thought)); next, there was a moment both were silent, he under her silent seething gaze; him perhaps imagining a kiss, then her eyes turned into ice water, sharp, and it broke the moment, remote it was, and he could not grab that immaculate feeling back.))
“Yes, yes, I will be your love, and love you as you please.” Replied Florencia.
(Interlude)) Thoughts of Florencia)): ‘One becomes attached to things one has long known, even if at first (even if imprisoned), at first, one is not particularly interested in the thing. Even a part of youth had some-say in the matter of me staying with the king—like wine imprisoned in a wine jar, and so I am, but I could not stop myself from fermenting with despair and anger. I know I’ll never be completely comfortable, not like before, before I met my husband, King of the Western Kingdom, unless he or I fall asleep, never to wake again. He brought me fret, and it seemed omnipotent. Now I shall give him death.’
Sihcimteh, Supreme Guard to King Niobla
It was the following night; Florencia went into the king’s bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, by him, about to hand him a cup of wine and stirred it willingly for him, with the silver tipped bone of her father.
The king looked at her with unkind stiffness, a haunting look indeed, and not favorable in the least, and the queen was unsure if this was going to work, she held her insides steadfast, disengaging from any undesirable thoughts that he might pick up on her face, she held the wine cup up…
“Why does the wild rat come in to see me, drink with me, have I tamed the witch in her?” asked the king.
“Must you say so much and look so hurt over the meagerness of this accommodation which I offer you? You are not my sire; you are my husband, my lover. (Trying desperately to assure the man on the bed that there was no ulterior motive behind her kindness, none whatsoever; trying to get that moment she knew she needed, when he couldn’t think of two things at once, when self-interest ruled.)
“No, it is I, whom wishes to make love, I desire thee, and I have been lonely for touch.” Said Florencia as she handed him the wine—stirring it, and he drank it, and as he drank it, she hid his dagger under the bed, lest he use it on her, or whoever else may enter.
It was a moment later the king tried to sit up from his bed, he was a ting sick in his stomach, “What did you put in the wine?” he asked.
“Not a thing, just the bone of my father,” she replied.
“No it is not true,” and he sat up (and Florencia also stood up and moved back away from the bed), looked for his knife, not finding it, and continuing to look, he hollered for his guards, and Suedereo and Sihcimteh came running in, Suedereo jumped on him, held him tight, but the king was strong—his big hands pulled him like a dead rabbit over him, slowly pushing him over his body—he rolled, then he spotted the dagger under his bed, leaned over to get it, and took one glance at Florencia before he grasped its handle of ivory and silver, and said “You devil’s witch …” and Sihcimteh’s sword sliced right through his neck, a millisecond later, and his head fell to the floor with a thump, as his body laid jerking across the bed as if it was electrified.
(Florencia was not crying on the shoulder of the king, her husband, the one who adored her, and scorned her—she was halfway in the arms of his killer. The Supreme Guard, the one that looked on with displeasure, but followed his heart; now she looked aimlessly about the room. ((‘So that is how a brave king looks with his head off…’ she told herself, quite ungrammatically so.)) Obdurate, in all he did, and here, in front of her, her divine king was turning gray and ugly now, so she thought. Now came beating of feet and the door opened and a deluge of light entered the room. She didn’t realize she’d react so shocked at his head being cut off, severed from its neck; inside of her she was starting to scream from the fright of it all, her body felt like crumbling to the floor, and then she walked out the door, bravely.)
In heist the Queen filled up a small caravan with the kingdom’s treasure, and headed east, there was a new king in the Eastern Empire, and she felt conceivably she could ask for asylum there, buy asylum that is, with a portion of her treasure, providing that is what the king desired, and she knew all kings desired gold and silver, and whatever else may go with it. He was young, and perhaps he had interests in her likewise, and that could be to her advantage.
Upon her arrival, she hoped that the King would be pleased with her beauty, and upon meeting of the king—it seemed so, she was asked in so many words: if the two soldiers that came along with her, had interest in her. She assured the young king from the East, they were only interested in the treasure, no more. And the king assured her, he would be interested in both her and her treasure, if this was so; and her being a queen (a queen at one time that is), she perhaps could be a queen again. He seemed to understand her killing of the King, knowing the long story of her oppressed life by him, but asked if this was his fate equally, should he trust her. And having expressed all this, he asked her to think about how much of the treasure he’d leave the two soldiers, should things work as premeditated. Therefore, she went to her room for deliberation.
The Supreme Guard took a quick stride from the king’s chamber through the uncarpeted hallways to Florencia’s room. He had done his duty, as he saw it, for the Queen, and closer he approached her chamber door, the faster his heart beat, discouraged: ‘Now I’ll see,’ he thought, exultantly.
With the King (her dead husband now), Florencia, always felt she had to tread in sand, now she was free… so she convinced herself, but on reflection, she was starting to doubt it (for was she)?
The queen paused before she said a word, smelling the freshness of the day coming in from the open window, she knew in a moment she’d have company, he’d walk though the door, the archway: ‘A day fades so quickly,’ she stated, ‘it is true of everything,’ she added softy, talking to herself, looking at the door, hearing his footsteps.
“I don’t know,” his voice said (‘why should she,’ he questioned in thought)
(‘He knows,’ she thought; ‘he’s a sentimentalist,’ she added to her thoughts, ‘He’ll enter the door archway ruefully, in a moment.’)
It was but a fleeting moment from her second to last thought ‘sentimentalist,’ Sihcimteh came busting into her room, bellowing, “Your love has faded to nothingness, what is this I hear, whispers around the kingdom, you and the new young king of the East will be one?”
Florencia looked at him, unshaken, gave him a glass of wine, “My love,” she said, “the kingdom talks because they wish to talk, I sat with the king and told him I wanted safekeeping and I’d pay dearly for it, I have a daughter you know, and it is true, my life would only burden you, it has with all men, although I’ve only known a few, and the few I’ve known seem to love war and killing, and are motivated by self-interest more than love, is this what a man is made of? Take a fourth of the treasure and go South, or North.”
Said Sihcimteh angrily, “It was only you I wanted, no more, and I will not let you go for any king, be it of the East or the West, or any kingdom or amount of treasure, we shall die together if we cannot live together, I will not be separated.” And then he started to sway, “You poisoned my drink, you little devil rat, come here.”
She hesitated, next, tried to flea, but he grabbed her by the hair, “You drink the rest,” he demanded, and she threw it to the floor. “No,” he said, “you will not escape me, I love you and we will die together, and he cut her throat, and she said, “Yes, yes…we will die together.” And they did.
Who is to know another’s heart? Many think they do, only to find out they were mistaken. In the account at hand, perhaps the queen didn’t know men, nor the king women; once the old, had warn off, the King would grow on her—so he thought, and I don't know, but maybe he was right, conceivable, he did grown on her; on the other hand, perchance, he forgot, or overlooked, her spirit, how spirited, or forceful she could be, or she really was—sweet looking yes, with a bitter heart that never had a chance to heal with his disposition; it couldn’t had been any other way, she was given a dreadful scar, and it never left, nor had it (I repeat) a chance to mend; he had forgotten all her despair, and abortive endeavor to nurse back to health the wounds between them, but he had mistaken them for challenges.
No, no indeed, he didn’t know her dark side, and by and large, he could no longer hurt her. It was as she once said, “When it is hot, the king never gives shade.” She said it in a hushed tone, to her maid, said it as if her life had become pointless; and through the sheer prevarication of events (state of affairs) she could not live the dream within herself, dreadfully disappointed; furthermore, he had forgot about a woman’s needs (or perhaps never knew them), to touch the heart, fill her dreams, and know her depth and limits; yet he gave only new sorrow on top of old sorrow; nor did he see her vessel sinking.
If she could have, she would have said something good to leave matters as they were, she wished to, something that would release her mind: something that said: I see a spark of hope in him. But she didn’t see this, what she saw was a snake, and there wasn’t any medicine for his bite, which is what she saw, thus, her mind became lost in the placid death of evening; an evening of planning, that would undo the harm he could cause in future time. She had come to the conclusion, she was not going to change humanity, but she could unburden her soul.
Florencia’s face was still beautiful after several years, yet you could see a rough and heavy appearance being molded here and there on that face, a light color to it, too light, for a healthy countenance; perhaps from years of troubling sadness. She had thought at one time (possible from a passionate desire, I would guess) to cling to something concrete; in a world of dark shadows, it seemed meaningful, but she was learning all men live under a self interested umbrella of sorts, it was their nature to war, as it was for a woman to love, and care take, or want to; in both cases, most always, anyways; hence, she had not found one that had not. And yes, at this point and time, she was bone dry, her marrow sucked out of its foundations, its roots severed.
We all wonder how our death will be, but Florencia had hers figured out, or at least she thought so, most details were looked at, each corner reviewed, and as we now know, she was not indecisive when it approached her.
Review of: Florencia’s Outlook
[Florencia’s Mind: opinion by the author] “When I was young,” Florencia told her maid, prior to having the king killed, “my heart was beautiful and my emotions admirable, life was fun, perhaps an illusion, perhaps a male illusion, but fun nonetheless, before I knew better and I am—I can see in age ones importance subsides in the male world, in his illusive mind. Thus, given place to force us to do what we must do.” With growing despair, she watched and waited for her maids response, averting direct eye contact, and the only thing she discovered was a puzzled gaze on the maids face; the maid didn’t say a word, I suppose she was used to being a prop [a leg or crutch of some kind] for the royal family—in particular the queen, as the queen was a prop for the king [in his own way]; in both cases, ones self-interest being the motivator; for we all look out the window without being asked, to see what might be of interest, each to his own of course. The maid need not, she had no reason to look out the window, nor time, nor vital interests. As I look back on this account, the queen grew sociologically with her environment, but not psychologically, and perhaps that made all the difference in her decision, her outlook you could say, in perusing the decapitation of her husband. But this of course is just one man’s opinion.
Review of: The King’s Death
The king of the Western Empire was a stone of a character, as it was portrayed to me, a soldier with marble eyes; forever rigid in and out of eternal vigilance, and hardly ever fatigued, but quite readable by the queen, yet it has been said more than once, a woman can read a man, inside and out—thus, in this account, it definitely was true—or so I feel. On the other hand, he could feel her moral fiber disintegrating in the few years before his death—yet, it took him a moment still, while on his death bed to put two and two, together, he started to sense wrongdoing, espied upon—but could not sense his allotted years in life was to be shortened prior to this very moment, and by none other than his queen, his lovely wife; the question may come up: who then was the better deceiver; in point of fact, perhaps the king was not a deceiver to his wife, but everyone else, she being the only source he did not put on a pretense for (thus she could calculate his thinking if not reasoning, if not reaction, and plan better his death); yet it still comes to mind, conceivably he never deceived anyone, he was a brute of honesty; with a tinge of gray matter along his seams; if that makes sense. It all seemed most logical for him I suppose, clinging onto his wife, and kingdom and his underworld quest, it all was a process of mental grinding indeed, but he was young, and it is a young mans game, and he had time to figure out the deadly plot—so he thought, if there was to be a plot of his or any one else’s.
(Note: You must remember—by all means, you will be disappointed if you do not reread this account at least another time, to digest all its facts, and motives.)
End of the Story
Index of Characters and *Places:
Princess Florencia of Drabmol (Queen of *Remora)
(Also know as: Florencia of *Drabmol)) The *North Kingdom))
Prince Niobla of Remora (the *West Kingdom)
King Nitsuj, of the *Eastern Kingdom
King Dnusirut, of Drabmol (*Northern Kingdom, grandfather to Princess Florencia)
Prince Dnumiunc, of Drabmol (his brother slain by Prince Niobla of Remora)
Prince (became king) Niobla of Remora (Western Kingdom)
St. Sebastian Church 1539 AD/San Jeronimo, Peru (*Mantaro Valley)
Maid to Queen Florencia: Adlitolca
Suedereo, Supreme/Chamber Guard, and boyfriend to the maid
Sihcimteh, Supreme Guard to King Niobla
11/16-25/2006; Written in Lima, Peru, in part, at El Parquetito’s Café, in Miraflores, and my casa, nearby; Revision III
RPP: November, 21, 2006: —Milagros Valverde—Radio Programas del Peru (RPP)) National Radio)) interviewed Mr. Siluk on his book, “The Magic of the Avelinos,” with positive feedback about the book; adding, she said: “It is nice to know, that someone from a forgion country can write beautiful things about our country and adopt it as his, for differents reasons.”
The Contest of Children’s Story and the
Dennis L. Siluk is a globe-trotter American poet who anchored in Huancayo, and has fallen in love with the Mantaro Valley. He has already become known in our towns, where he participates in every holiday that takes place, as in the most recent one that took in Jerónimo de Tunán with the Avelinos.
“It is excellent to teach the children to foment their love to literature and to promote the love of nature through a contest of children’s story on ecology and human values,” he says referring to our announcement (contest).
According to Dennis Siluk, to write a story is a way of learning to value the natural resources. “It is very important to teach our children since early age, to spread the love to the nature and to the literature,” he indicated.
He told us that: “The College Independence, In the District of Cajas, has asked me to talk to the children about literature inspired by the ecology. I consider myself to be an old soldier in this struggle for spreading this type of literature; but now that I find out that there is this contest already, I do not feel alone because since Correo has begun to publish its page of Ecology, major interest is taking for this type of topics ".
He also stresses: “When literature is taught to the children since early ages, as well, the love of nature along with his and her culture, they become more sensitive persons, and then all their beautiful feelings are put onto a piece of paper. And certainly their self-esteem and personality is formed better.”
Finally he addresses and confesses to the children (by saying): “I want to say to the children they have a wonderful country and have many things of which they can feel proud of and to make Peru to become bigger than it is. Peru is a sleeping giant! The new generation has to wake it wake up, because it has everything to be a powerful country,” he concluded.
El Concurso de Cuento Infantil y el Poeta Trotamundo
Dennis L. Siluk, es un poeta trotamundo norteamericano que ancló en Huancayo, enamorado del Valle del Mantaro. El ya se ha hecho conocido en nuestros pueblos, donde participa en cada fiesta costumbrista que se realiza, como que recientemente estuvo con los Avelinos de San Jerónimo de Tunán.
“Es excelente que se les enseñe a los niños a fomentar el amor a la literatura y se promueva el amor a la naturaleza, a través de un concurso de cuento infantil sobre ecología y valores humanos” dice al referirse a nuestra convocatoria.
Según Dennis Siluk, hacer un cuento es una forma de aprender a valorar los recursos naturales. “Es muy importante enseñar a nuestros hijos desde temprana edad, a difundir el amor a la naturaleza y a la literatura”, señala.
El nos refiere que: “En el Distrito de Cajas el colegio Independencia me ha pedido dar charlas a los niños sobre temas de literatura inspirados en la ecología. Me considero un soldado viejo en esta lucha por difundir este tipo de literatura; pero ahora que me entero que hay este concurso ya no me siento tan solo porque desde que Correo ha comenzado a difundir su página de Ecología, se está tomando mayor interés por este tipo de temas”.
También remarca: “Cuando se les enseña a los niños a escribir literatura desde pequeños y a amar a la naturaleza y a su cultura, se les vuelve personas más sensibles, y luego todos sus bellos sentimientos plasmarán en una hoja; y por supuesto se les forma mejor su autoestima y personalidad”.
Por último se dirige a los niños y adolescentes y les confiesa: “Quiero decirles a los niños que tienen un país maravilloso y tienen muchas cosas de las cuales se pueden sentir orgullosos y hacer que el Perú sea un país aún más grande de lo que es. ¡El Perú es un gigante dormido! la nueva generación tiene que hacerlo despertar, porque tiene todo para ser una potencia”, concluyó.
—Periódico (9-18-2006): “Primicia”
“…Dennis Siluk, North American poet…fell in love with the Mantaro Valley…he writes in his works…. The landscape, the customs of the city…the food of the city (…all seems to come from an inspiration he draws out of the, and is captivate by, this region).
‘Huancayo is a modern city that keeps its traditions…and its colorful fair (Sunday market))…I hope it does not change…”’
—(Editor: Mr. Nilo Calero Perez)
Reviews of the
Author Dennis L. Siluk
From the Counsel General of Peru: Efrain Saavedra: “How beautiful the poem (‘The Ice Maiden’),” as he read it in his Chicago Office, on 2/14/06 (Valentine’s Day).
Dennis received two columnist awards in the past three years. In addition, in 2005 he was awarded Poet Laureate, of San Jeronimo, Peru. He has met and briefly discussed his forth book of Peruvian Poems, with the Ex First Lady of Peru, now High Senator, Keiko Fujimori; and is friends with the Consul General of Peru, in Chicago, Efrain Saavedra.
—Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk
[June 2006] Dennis was number #1 Poet (out of 131), and number #1 author for Arts and Entertainment (out of 704), for an international magazine, Ezinearticles [Annual Readership: 12-million]. He presently lives in Peru, and Minnesota, with his wife Rosa. This is his 34th Book; he has a worldwide audience.
Additional Data on the Author
Dennis’ works comprise over 2725-writtings: 850-articles; 275-short stories; 35-books (to include novels of fiction, nonfiction; alcoholism, suspense, drama, plays, poetry and few horror stories); 16-chapbooks; 1550-poems (as of November, 2006).
SMS.ac, International mobile phone services, has now picked up Dennis’ writings, with over 50-million users. [June 2006]
Dennis has traveled as of October 2006, 696,000-air miles, throughout the world (he has been in over 60-countries and 46-states, in the United States), in which can be seen in his writings.
Mr. Dennis L. Siluk, He has over 55,000-readers go to just one of his 26-sites on the Internet annually; on Ezinearticles alone he has had over 250,000-readers in twenty-two months. Thus, he has about 25,000–readers a month, perhaps more. In 2006 alone, he was on TV, seven times, on the radio eight times, in the newspapers seven times, and in magazines three times. He has been twice on RPP (Radio Programs Peru), and schools and colleges from Lima to Huancayo, and throughout the valley have had him as a their guests for conversations or speaking engagements on culture, poetry and literature. Thus, Dennis is a person concerned about spreading the good news about the culture, beauty and heritage of Peru. Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk.
In 2006, Dennis was awarded the Grand Cross of the City, San Jeronimo, and Peru; was the judge for a school’s poetry contest, and is being considered ambassador-promoter for tourism of the Mantaro Valley (from Huancayo).
From the author and poet, E.J. Soltermann, commented on Dennis' poem in his new book, "Last Autumn and Winter,” called "Night Poem, In the Minnesota Cold," he said: "That is Poetry." I know that is not a lot of words, but a powerful statement it is, coming from someone who can judge poetry for its worth; as Dennis once said, “Only a poet is suitable to critique a poet’s poetry.” Rosa Peñaloza
By Rosa Peñaloza,
I have in the past written many comments about Dennis’ work, and today I want to share with you some of his reviews and comments other people have had. He has a variety of literature out there, from short stories (over 225 now), to articles (over 850), to poems (over 1400), to chapbooks (he has done about 13-chapbooks) —and of course his 34-books, and he is working on four other books. Of these poems perhaps 400 to 500 are in books, the rest he has not published for one reason or another. Yet still out of this figure, about 250-poems are on the Internet, not in books.
For the most part, I think Dennis is best know for his travels and poetry; he has traveled the world over, now it is almost 28-times around the world, or as he said: 694,000-air miles; not to include all the travels he has done cross-countries, on the road, etc., he did when he was young, going to: San Francisco, Omaha, along with Seattle, and the Dakotas; he lived in all those places in the 60s; in the 70s he traveled throughout Europe for four years, during this time he went to Vietnam, in 1971, and came back to Europe thereafter. Now he has spent, or taken eight trips to South America, where he has his second home, and where he loves the Mountains by Huancayo.
Here are some of his reviews:
Note 1: Recent interview on Radio Programas del Perú, concerning his two publications: “Spell of the Andes,” and “Peruvian Poems”; reaching five countries, and three continents; over 15-million people; by Milagros Valverde, 11/15/2005, 11:00 PM. (Milagros read poems from both of Mr. Siluk’s books: “Spell of the Andes” and “The Ice Maiden”.)
Note 2: “Spell of the Andes,” recommended by the Cultural Agency in Lima- Peru; located in Alfredo Benavides # 605 - Apartment 201, phone number 2428942
Note 3: Interviewed by JP Magazine, interviewer Jose Luis Pantoja Ventocilla, who had very positive comments and appreciation for Dennis’ Poetic Peruvian Traditions and Contemporary way of Life; 10/26/2005.
Note 4: Mayor of San Jeronimo, Peru, Jesus Vargas Párraga, “All mayors should recognize Dennis’ work (on his Poetic Traditions of Peru; and favorable articles for the Mantaro Valley Region) and publicize it.... (Paraphrased: we should not hide his work)”
Note 5: 91.7 Radio “Super Latina”, 10/19/2005, interviewer Joseito Arrieta, reaching 1.2 million people in the Mantaro Valley Region about the book “Spell of the Andes” (paraphrased): the Municipality and the Cultural House from Huancayo should give an acknowledgement for the work you did on The Mantaro Valley.
Note 6: Channel #5 “Panamericana” 10/16/2005, “Good Morning Huancayo” (in Huancayo, Peru ((population 325,000)); interviewed by reporter: Vladimir Bendezú, on Mr. Siluk’s two books: “Spell of the Andes,” and “Peruvian Poems”: also on, Mr. Siluk’s biography.
*Note 7: Cesar Hildebrandt, International Journalist and Commentator, for Channel #2, in Lima, Peru, on October 7, 2005, introduced Mr. Siluk’s book, “Peruvian Poems,” to the world, saying: “…Peruvian Poems, is a most interesting book, and important….” (Population of Lima, eight million, and all of Peru: twenty-five million)) plus a number of other Latin American countries: reaching about sixty-three million inhabitants, in addition, his program reaches Spain)).
Note 8: More than 240,000-visit Mr. Siluk’s web site a year: see his travels and books…!
Note 9: Mr. Siluk received a signed personal picture with compliments from the Dalai Lama, 11/05, after sending him his book with a letter, “The Last Trumpet…” on eschatology.
Note 10: Ezine Articles [Internet Magazine] 11/2005, recognized by the Magazine Team, as one of 250-top writers, out of 14,700. Christopher Knight, Editor; annual readership: twelve-million (or one million per month). Dennis has about 10,000 readers of his articles, poems and stories, alone on this site per month.
Note 11: Dennis L. Siluk Columnist of the Year, on the International Internet Magazine, Useless-knowledge; December 5, 2005 (Annual Readership: 1.5 million).
Note 12: Dennis L. Siluk was made Special Author, status, for the site http://www.freearticles.com/
Note 13: Mr. Siluk’s works are on over 400-web sites worldwide as of (early 2005)
Benjamin Szumskyj: Editor of SSWFT Magazine Australia
“In the Pits of Hell, a Seed of Faith Grows”
"The Macabre Poems: and other selected Poems,"
“…Siluk’s Atlantean poems are also well crafted, from the surreal…to the majestic…and convivial…” and the reviewer adds: “All up, Siluk is a fine poet…His choice of topic and theme are compelling and he does not hold back in injecting his own personal thoughts and feelings directly into his prose, lyrics, odes and verse…” (September 2005)
“…I liked your poem [‘The Bear-men of Qolqepunku’] very much. It is a very poignant piece.”
Researcher on the Practices
Of the Ukukus
“I just received your book ‘Spell of the Andes,’ and I like it a lot.’
—Luis Guillermo Guedes, Director
Of the Ricardo Palma Museum-House
In Lima, Peru [July, 2005]
“The Original title of the book Dennis L. Siluk presents is ‘Spell of the Andes’ which poems and stories were inspired by various places of our region and can be read in English and Spanish. The book separated in two parts presents the poems that evoked the Mantaro Valley, La Laguna de Paca…Miraflores, among other places. The book is dedicated to ‘the beautiful city of Huancayo’…”
By: Marissa Cardenas, Correo Newspaper,
Huancayo, Peru [7/9/05]
Translated into English by Rosa Peñaloza.
Mr. Siluk’s writings, in particular the book: ‘Islam, in Search of Satan’s Rib,’ induced a letter from Arial Sharon, Prime Minister of Israel, along with a signed picture. 
“You’re a Master of the written word.” [Reference to the book: ‘Death on Demand’]
Editor of SSWFT-magazine out of Australia 
A poetic Children’s tale “The Tale of Willy, the Humpback Whale” 1982 Pulitzer Prize entry, with favorable comments sent back by the committee.
“Dennis is a prolific and passionate writer.”
Editor of ‘useless-knowledge,’ Magazine 
“The Other Door,”…by Dennis L. Siluk…This is a collection of some 45 poems written…over a 20-year period in many parts of the world. Siluk has traveled widely in this country and Europe and some of the poems reflect his impressions of places he has visited. All of them have a philosophical turn. Scattered through the poems—some long, some only three lines—are lyrical lines and interesting descriptions. Siluk illustrated the book with his own pen and ink drawings.” —St. Paul Pioneer Press [1981)
“Your stories are wonderful little vignettes of immigrant life….
“… (The Little Russian Twins) it is affecting….”
—Sibyl-Child (a women’s art and culture journal) by Nancy Protun, Hyattsville, Md.; published by the Little Peoples’ Press, 1983
“The Other Door, by Dennis L. Siluk-62pp. $5….both stirring and mystical….”
—C.S.P. World News 
“For those who enjoy poetry…The Other Door, offers an illustrated collection…Reflecting upon memories of his youth, Siluk depicts his old neighborhood of the 1960’s…Siluk…reflects upon his travels in poems like: ‘Bavaria’s Harvest’ (Augsburg, Germany and ‘Venice in April.’’’
St. Paul, Minnesota 
“Siluk publishes book; Siluk…formerly lived in North Dakota…”
—The Sunday Forum
Fargo-Moorhead, North Dakota 
“Dennis Siluk, a St. Paul native…is the author of a recently released book of poetry called The Other Door…. The 34-year old outspoken poet was born and reared in St. Paul. The Other Door has received positive reaction from the public and various publications. One of the poems included in his book, ‘Donkeyland-(A side Street Saga)’, is a reflection of Siluk’s memories…in what was once one of the highest crime areas in St. Paul.” 
St. Paul, Minnesota
“This entertaining and heart-warming story …teaches a lesson, has all the necessary ingredients needed to make a warm, charming, refreshing children’s animated television movie or special.” 
Report by Creative
West Hollywood, CA
The book: ‘The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon,’ writes Pastor Naason Mulâtre, from the Church of Christ, Haiti, WI; “…I received…four books [The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon…]. My friend it’s wonderful, we are pleased of them. We are planning to do a study of them twice a month. With them we can have the capacity to learn about the Antichrist. I have read all the chapters. I have…new knowledge about how to resist and fight against this enemy. I understand how [the] devil is universal in his work against [the] church of Jesus-Christ. Thanks a lot for your effort to write a so good book or Christians around the world.” 
Additional (mixed) Notes and Reviews:
Mr. Siluk was the winner of the magazine competition by “The Eldritch Dark”; for most favored writer [contributor] for 2004 [with readership of some 2.2-million].
And received a letter of gratitude from President Bush for his many articles he published in the internet Magazine, “Useless-knowledge.com,” during his campaign for President, 2004 [1.2-million readership].
Still some of his work can be seen in the Internet Ezine Magazine, with a readership of some three million. [2005, some 350 articles, poems and short stories]
Siluk’s poetic stories and poetry in general have been recently published by the Huancayo, Peru newspaper, Correo; and “Leaves,” an international literary magazine out of India. With favorable responses by the Editor
Mr. Siluk has been to all the locations [or thereabouts] within his stories and poetry he writes; some 683,000-miles throughout the world.
His most recent book is, “The Spell of the Andes,” to be presented at the Ricardo Palma Museum-House in October 2005, and recently reviewed in Peru and the United States.
From the book, “Death on Demand,” by Mr. Siluk, says author:
Author of Healing from Terrorism, Fear and Global War:
“The Dead Vault: A gripping tale that sucks you deep through human emotions and spits you out at the end as something better.” (Feb. 2004)
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
Visit my web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com/ you can also order the books directly by/on: http://www.amazon.com/ http://www.bn.com/ http://www.scifan.com/ http://www.netstoreusa.com/ along with any of your notable book dealers. Other web sites you can see Siluk’s work at: http://www.eldritchdark.com/ www.swft/writings.html http://www.abe.com/ http://www.alibris.com/ http://www.freearticles.com/ and many more.
Books by the Author
Out of Print
The Other Door, Volume I 
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale 
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant life 
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child 
Presently In Print
The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon
Angelic Renegades & Rephaim Giants
Tales of the Tiamat [not released]
Can be purchased individually [trilogy]
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
The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:
Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]
[And other Peculiar stories]
The Mumbler [psychological]
After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]
[Poems-Volume II, 2003]
The Macabre Poems 
Spell of the Andes 
Peruvian Poems 
Last autumn and Winter 
[Poems out of Minnesota]
Poetic Images out of Peru
[And other poem, 2006]
The Road to Unishcoto
[The Wanka’s Last Battle]
And Other Poetic Writings on the Mantaro Valley
To be out in January, 2007
[And Other Selected Unpublished Poetry]
To be out in 3/2007
[A Poetic Peruvian LoveTradagy]
Back Cover of book
“The Road to Unishcoto,” is about a Wanka warrior (his last battle). Also, there are poems on Huancayo, Sapallanga, and Concepcion, all Andean cities. Here again we see the culture, beauty and customs of the region flourish in Dennis’ poetry: along with, two commentaries on verse.
“…Dennis Siluk, North American poet…fell in love with the Mantaro Valley…he writes….
‘Huancayo is a modern city that keeps its traditions…I hope it does not change…”’
—(Editor: Mr. Nilo Calero Perez)
Siluk was awarded Poet Laureate of San Jeronimo, Peru (2005), in 2006, given the Grand Cross of the City. Los Andes University (Huancayo), the Mayor of San Agustin de Cajas, Director Mauro Rosales E. of Institution… “Independencia” acknowledged Dennis’ contribution to the culture of the Mantaro Valley. Furthermore, Mayor Jesus Chipana Hurtado of Concepcion asked Dennis to write a poem for the Inauguration of the new statue of the Virgin Mary.
You can see in the “Lost Sanctum #2”, October 2006, issue, an interview of Mr. Siluk, by Australian Editor, Benjamin Szumskyj.
“The Pulitzer Prize”
September 5, 1984
“…Cassie’s Guide and Text Book…It is clearly a book many people will find valuable. …”
Robert C. Christopher
(The Pulitzers Prize Board)
Dennis has chosen the beautiful Mantaro Valley of Peru, to call his permanent residence. This is Dennis’ 35th book, 11th in poetry, and his 5th on Peru.
Winner of two columnists’ awards (2004, 2005); awarded The English-Magazine’s top October story of the month, 2006.Interview by Ricardo Palma University, of Lima.