This is a poem that was published in Genesis West
early last summer in which the series of my poems
were introduced by Barney Childs of the English department here.
This poem is called "Spanish BC."
And once again, I'm getting interested
in Vancouver Island plus other places up and down the coast
that happen to have Spanish place names,
but no Spaniards anymore because the Spaniards and the Russians
and the English and the Indians were all
competing for that stretch of navigable waters.
"Spanish BC".
"God is letting the shore lie where it may.
Edging out from here under ship's journey to Japan,
back into the land with feelers probing the shore dots
on the map stopping places of Spanish boats,
fish drying quacking little eyes watching
them come big barks with wings and Europe's diseases
brought around the horn.
Juan de Fuca, straight to the West Coast
and out to the ice cap.
Ana Cortez, wild islands swept brut shoulder
of Boulder and mud bank trees.
San Joseph Bay of seals and sea Lions locked in fog.
Galleon places these armada places,
Iberian places at the Natomas drop edge of the map.
Juan Perez sound, Laredo sound, caamaño sound,
Spanish sound remaining to it all the Anglo-Saxon Indian
stretch of British Columbia even the name shared.
Remaining to the city too, where rain will not
erase the dust of Juan de Fuca Alma street, Blanca street,
Balaclava street mispronounced by bus drivers
breaking by them.
Spanish banks of crumbling clay and historic markers
hidden in the tangled post lined trees.
God is letting the shore lie where it may.
While Broadway blasts into the middle of the thing,
sustaining plastic science over fish and chips emporiums.
Díos permite que la costa se apuye donde le gusta.
The city Vancouver last blow of commerce against the rock
absorbs by name only the effort of those dead Spaniards.
They fought across, drove a stake into the Pacific,
and turned North.
Created California, thick Spanish mane
on the way naming Oregon striving
on the rip of Juan de Fuca.
Dwindling numbers seeking a river
in the million frozen fjords of the Columbia coast.
In the end, the Nordic sea killed them, drove them back,
sent them to California summer or the bottom of the sea
back to Iberia for the ice wore them out, arrested them,
and waited for the British."