boceto – Poesia/Ivo Uquillas – ©2017
Portoviejo/Manabi Province/Ecuador
My friend Alexandra Cevallos Castro recently sent an email, “Lisa… Ivo will be reading his poetry and I’d like to invite you to attend…” – – – and I certainly attended!

Alexandra Cevallos Castro
Alexandra and Ivo Uquillos have known each other/have been friends forever; we met in 2012 when they graciously supported the opening/inauguration of The Mola Series. Ivo and Alexandra also presided over the opening of “Lisa Brunetti – A Journey” which opened last November in the same Museo Portoviejo.
Between those two events, all three of us have dealt with personal challenges, including the 7.8 earthquake’s collective imprint on our psyches. (April 2016) I experienced the earthquake from a barely-safe distance in Mindo’s cloudforest, while Alexandra and Ivo witnessed their beloved city of Portoviejo fragmented into crumbles. The people – numbed and trapped in raw emotions of angst, fear, worry and sorrow – often struggle to reclaim a sense of peace, and the trauma is often branded deep into their souls.
Just this past week while I was walking to the market, two ladies stopped me and asked, ‘Where are you from?” and then asked, “Where were you when the earthquake hit?”
When they learned that I was from Jama, their faces sobered. I quickly changed the topic to a slightly-lighter one, that of the dengue/chikungunya epidemic, as many people in this province now identify with chikungunya’s lingering side effects. We swapped stories of cramped hands and crippling gaits, which are often amusing to replicate when one is no longer suffering. Epidemics and natural disasters often unite people – even years later.
Another friend recently shared greater depth into his own personal hell of the night of the earthquake. Numbness provides a buffer, and it might take years to process trapped emotions and view them with neutral vision. Sometimes there are no words, no artful ways to deal with emotional trauma, and with time or with a patient listener, we open those windows that we slammed so tightly shut, and we release the pain. Slowly the inner burdens, observations – and sometimes guilt – are acknowledged and eventually released.

Near Rio Jama/Ecuador – The locals and the birds in the canals and ponds kept me entertained!
Almost each week in the six or so years before the earthquake, I walked from Casa Loca (at the last bend of Rio Jama) into town along the same predictable route. I often paused to say Hello to friends at the edge of Jama, and the second stop was to greet friends Chana and Arturo at their small tienda near the center of town. If I bypassed their corner, Arturo might spot me when he rode his bicycle through town. No scolding was needed – Ecuadorians have a talent for speaking without words! My final stop before leaving town would almost always be my friends’ tienda, and I often pulled up a stool and sat for ten minutes or half an hour – depending on the demands of that day. I departed either on foot or via mototaxi, also depending on how many purchases I carried home.
When friends wrote to say that my own beloved town of Jama had been devastated by the earthquake, I made several ‘remote’ imaginary walks through that town. When I ventured near the corner of the tienda, I sensed a great loss. “Chana? — Arturo?” Flitting between the two options, I felt a stronger loss regarding Chana. Each time I did that exercise, I sensed that someone had died there, most likely Chana. Moving on to the center of town, I also paused when I pondered ‘Rosa’ the matriarch who presided over the area facing the park. Several other areas prompted me to pause and ponder, but concerns about Chana and Rosa were the strongest.
I was not surprised when friends wrote to say they were sorry to pass along news of both women’s deaths. My premonitions prepped me and helped to soften the news. Months later I spent several hours at the cemetery and paused at many new graves, including my friends.’ After I left Rosa’s site – lovingly planted with new roses, two Burrowing Owls escorted me out of the cemetery. Coincidence? Naming them Chana and Rosa, I smiled at the thought of my friends watching over those who loved them.

Chanita and Rosita, the guardians of the cemetery.
During October’s (2019) recent protests, I walked the almost-empty streets of Portoviejo. It seemed quite eerie that most businesses were closed, that people were home and unsure about venturing out, that the corner tiendas offered not even a banana for sale – while the absence of traffic sounds and absence of people imprinted on the gringita’s psyche. It was like walking through a ghost city, yet the policemen held silent vigils at strategic points.
Perhaps that is why I cried when Ivo’s words captured my own emotions, of another who walks the streets and ponders the silent trauma of the masses. His poem captures universal grief and concern, especially following a disaster.

Ivo Uquillas
With Ivo’s permission, I share one of the poems from page 15 of his book ‘boceto’ – translated by Alexandra Cevallos Castro. He wrote this after the earthquake, when – unable to sleep – he walked the streets of Portoviejo each night. (Ivo’s original Spanish version follows the English one.)
EMPTY SPACE
Empty space, no one in the streets,
Face of abandoned cemetery.
City covered by loneliness
No one goes in, no one goes out,
No one goes up, no one goes down.
No one sits outdoors
To see no one pass by,
No one gives out hugs,
No one lives
No one is in the spaces,
No one thinks, no one talks,
No one buys, no one sells
No one gives credit, no one steals,
No one is silent, no one sings,
No one shouts, no one walks,
No one chases, no one runs away,
No one dies,
No one passes by, no one goes away,
No one plays anything
No one cries,
No one moves anything,
No one opens doors, no one laughs,
No one writes love letters,
No one leaves traces in the void.
No one is there,
No one says goodbye,
No one.
ESPACIO VACIO
Espacio vacio, calles sin nadie,
rostro de cementerio abandonado
ciudad cubierta de soledades
nadie entra, nadie sale,
nadie sube, nadie baja,
nadie se sienta afuera,
a ver pasr a nadie,
nadie reparte abrazos,
nadie habita en los espacios,
nadie piensa, nadie habla,
nadie compra, nadie vende,
nadie fia, nadie roba,
nadie hace silencia, nadie canta,
nadie grita, nadie camina,
nadie persigue, nadie huye,
nadie muere,
nadie va, nadie se va,
nadie juega a nada,
nadie llora,
nadie mueve nada,
nadie abre puertas, nadie rie,
nadie escribe cartas de amor,
nadie deja huellas en el vacio,
Nadie esta ahi,
nadie dice adios,
nadie.
………
…and yes, I cried.
Me too!
Thank you Margo, and of course you would cry – you’re such a kind and sensitive person, and you have also witnessed the lovely people of Jama…
Losing friends and close people this way is traumatic. Reality changes in an instant and it is like reminding ourselves over and over again that it is not how it has been… and every time again, it feels like learning about it for the first time. Sending you lots of love over, Lisa 💖
Thanks, Erika, and forgive me for not replying sooner! Internet ops remain hit and miss, and somehow I ‘missed’ seeing the notification for your kind thoughts.
Don’t ever worry, I don’t expect replies but I love leaving my thoughts to your posts, Lisa. Have a blessed Christmas time.
Sad but ‘beautiful’ poem. Thank you for it’s posting. Thoughts and prayers, Lisa.
Thank you, and thanks again for that wonderful Halloween ‘ghost’ story. Such a special story!
PS… loved seeing your recent comment on Immortal Jukebox — you have SO MUCH to add, so many amazing stories! Thanks again for your tireless support!
I’m so very sorry for your loss. May the warm and gentle memories of their love and friendship sustain you as you move onward on your timeline. Hugs!
Thank you dear friend, and yes, memories help so much, and I have a heart full of fun memories of Chana, who always enhanced my days – usually with something humorous! I think of her and smile!
I sincerely hope that time will help heal the wounds and hurt, Lisa.
Yes, time does in fact ease the heartaches, and we are also thankful for people like you who share such lovely images and stories that lighten our hearts. As always, thank you!
Thank you for always being so kind and warm-hearted, Lisa
We go wayyy back, and I treasure those memories!
And I cried, too. I cried because the poem reminds me of Nicaragua and the loved ones I left behind. I cried for my friends who suffered the atrocities and I still cry for those friends who are repressed heavily by an abhorrent government. I cry because I miss my Island home, the quirky lifestyle we led, and the simplicity.
Today I cry because of your post. I hope things are better.
I have a new blog called My Teeth Fell off the Charles Bridge. I can’t write about Nicaragua and it took me a year to regain my identity. But, I am stronger and more resilient. We are traveling and we are finally happy. I miss you. Thank you for this lovely post.
Of course your comment triggered my own tears, and of course you remain in my heart, oh partner in life! Of course you miss Ometepe and those lovely people.
Your post arrived and I am thrilled that you’re able to resume your plans, but wow, your challenges have been great ones. Hopefully now you’re standing high on that mountain of Life and are thrilled to have reached a place where you can say, “Ahhhhh,” and appreciate the many obstacles you’ve cleared.
I’m not sure when I’ll be back in the South, but we’ll have to coordinate a meeting point!
In Quito for a quick trip and returning to Manabi tomorrow… Are you two still in transit or back home? Of course am thinking of you…
I’m so sorry to hear of the loss of your friends. I know it’s always difficult and I hope you will find peace and comfort.
Thank you, and yes, those precious owls helped lift the grief, and now I think of Chana and picture her as an owl forever watching over the area! A Barn Owl often perches beneath a tin roof outside my bedroom window, so perhaps the owls are part of my ‘guardian’ team!
Presently things are calm and quiet, gracias a’Dios!
Such tragic times you have experienced, Lisa. But so much love! Sending hugs across the miles. 🙂 🙂
Thank goodness there are lovely and long stretches of serene times, and the people are nice – even to strangers – and that helps in a crisis!
Your own life remains one of lovely experiences, and I’ve been reading/admiring, though usually off line when I read the posts… You amaze me with the work it takes to sort and prepare the photos and text – and then share such beautiful posts.
Thanks, Lisa. That is much appreciated. It’s just a hobby that fills a few evenings for me, but I’ve made so many lovely friends, yourself included. 🙂 🙂 Hugs, darlin!
“just a hobby’ for you, but there are not a lot of people that i know who take such amazing images and have the ability to transport us to walk by your side, glimpse into ancient buildings or lovely gardens or walk in serene peace — as well as you do! i’m always more at peace after enjoying your posts!
And I cried! 🙂 🙂
Such a moving poem, Lisa… numbness is a feeling all too familiar after an earthquake, I know, coming from a country which …shakes its feathers every now and then. Although I haven’t lost someone close to me, I am familiar with the devastating aftereffects of earth’s wrath. You have my thoughts. Miraculously and even unfathomably we learn to overcome. Love and many hugs your way. 🤗
Your reply gave me a much-needed smile because of the heartfelt/tear-jerking comments that were ahead of yours in the queue. “Shakes its feathers every now and then,’ – I chuckled, and you’re so right – and convey with a gift of words! Yes, we get through the challenges and find we are stronger and oftentimes wiser….
You’re probably about to get very busy with the holiday seasons approaching!
I’m so happy to hear that, Lisa… smiling is the best healer and the greater enemy to ‘evil spirits’! 😉 On ‘busy’… I think I need a break but I don’t see one in the horizon! …not for a looooong time! 😉 Hugs to you, amiga! xoxoxo
It is always a gift to be able to prompt others into smiling.. and you, lovely lady, do that even from afar!
Aww… 😊 …as I say, best remedy for most anything. xoxoxo
Powerful poem. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Emilie! You surely appreciated the Spanish version as well!
What a painfully moving poem and post, Lisa. I am so sorry to hear of your losses, and those of so many…living in a country which is environmentally and politically relatively safe at present I simply cannot imagine what it must be like to live in the places you describe. But the warmth and care of good people shines out from amidst the pain and chaos…
Thank you Anne, and you can see how his words had such an effect on me – he read it with sensitivity and held us captive with his words.
Presently all is calm and so very serene. Such contrasts, but those difficult times are good reminders for us to always be prepared for the unexpected.
I’ve enjoyed your past two posts (thankyouverymuch!) but have been loading pages at restaurants or parks/etc and then reading offline at home!
Thanks, Lisa, I especially appreciate your following my efforts since it takes you quite an effort to do so!
Lisa, I’m happy to see you, but I mourn the loss of your friends and the hole that leaves in your life and the lives of their friends and families, as well as for all those lost in these terrible events. The poem truly conveys the feeling of emptiness and loss. At the personal level, small acts of kindness and remembrance may be the start of the way back and to healing.
Many blessings!
janet
Thank you Janet, and you will surely understand how trauma can be a catalyst to great art – and Ivo’s poem is a perfect example. Another artist of the area put his ‘trauma’ into sketches – using discarded papers and pencil or wedge of charcoal – and the drawings are amazing and so very sensitive. Like the Dengue/Chikungunya epidemic, those collective experiences also bond people, and I’ve witnessed that as well.
Thank you as always for your feedback and support!
I’ve often written poetry when in difficult times. I won’t say any of it was great art, but it certainly helped. So I do understand. 🙂
it’s always nice when we have creative ways to diffuse what’s percolating in our psyches… it’s nice to have many outlets.
when things are not going too well, my paintings turn muddy, but i can switch to drawing which seems to be improve.
I cannot imagine how deeply disturbing living through such an experience must be.
Thank you, Hugh. For those who experienced the earth’s wrath at it’s strongest, I think that numbness plays a role in getting thru the first few days. I am grateful to have been spared the trauma of what many described as a bucking bull – where the earth rolled like ocean waves. The absence of the ‘colonial’ buildings is a reminder, as many times just empty lots remain as silent scars.
Thanks, as always, for your support and feedback! I suspect it’s cold up there right now?
Ah, earthquakes. And my undying hatred of their wanton destruction. I was lucky. I left California after the last devastating one near Los Angeles in 1994. I could have perished like the people whose house slid down the hill only a mile away from me. Mine was on a hill too. For unknown reasons it didn’t go down the hill, although it tried. If there’s one thing I will never do, it’s live in earthquake country again.
I’ll always remember how fast you got the news and your compassion for all affected… Close calls can be very sobering, and if your house was spared where others were not, wow – I’d say that you were watched over by higher powers!
I understand about ‘never live in earthquake country again’ === as there are so many people who endured that quake and aftershocks – and they still tremble when suddenly surprised by loud noise or minor shake, etc.
My wife is from the Philippines, where two earthquakes and various aftershocks last month hit the region she taught in for 20 years before coming to the United States. In fact the very school where she taught suffered some damage, but I don’t believe anyone was killed. As you said, the psychological damage can linger for a long time.
You may remember my saying that I’ve heard nothing about Ecuador in the American news media. Well, on television last night Ecuador finally came up in a newscast. It was just a bare mention as part of a brief story about the ongoing civil unrest in a bunch of South American countries.
Between earthquakes and typhoons, wow – a sensitive person would have a lot of adapting to do in these times when the earth seems to be more grumpy than before. (I don’t blame her!) There was a really interesting article in a Spanish periodical that you might enjoy.
https://elpais.com/elpais/2019/12/04/inenglish/1575463799_435430.html
I was pleased that President Moreno was attending the Climate Conference, especially with young Greta’s amazing presence and the just-released Arctic report card..
Yesterday I was in Quito’s botanical gardens and thought of you. Such a balm – from many varieties of Brugmansia to two orchid houses, bonsai gardens, happy nasturtiums, people-friendly birds for easy reference photos, etc. I stayed for four hours and could have stayed the entire day – but duty called for other tasks.
Greetings from the Philippines!
The thought of you and Eve there gives me a grand smile!
I’ll see your smile and raise you one. The Philippines has many things in common with Latin America. Whenever I’m here I’m reminded of my Peace Corps days in Honduras. If you could magically materialize in the Philippines, you’d probably also be reminded of the places you’ve lived in Central and South America.
Not only flora but also see where your world over there is shaking like it often does here….https://watchers.news/2019/12/15/very-strong-m6-9-earthquake-series-of-aftershocks-hit-mindanao-philippines/
Yesterday my cell phone started making its emergency alert sound and when I looked at the message it was about the earthquake that had just happened, even though we’re hundreds of miles away. This latest earthquake was in the same area as the other recent one, which affected the town where Eve taught for 20 years. In fact her school suffered some damage from that quake. So yes, there’s a commonality between where we are now and where you are.
I’ve been off line until now, and I hope that the earth purged her temper tantrum and is now quiet over there… Thanks for that update!
You’re welcome. All quiet on our front since then.
Yesterday here in Sibonga we visited the town’s cemetery, which reminded me of those in Honduras. You won’t be surprised that I found some good subjects for photographs.
It’s always tremendously sad to lose people who are close to you. It’s like a hole in your heart has opened up. The poem touches that hole and the heart with its strong sentiment. Beautiful it all its sadness.
Thank you so much, Otto, and you have definitely witnessed your own share of loss and suffering. I still recall your stories and images from Africa.
With joy I read your post about next year’s workshops, and perhaps I can tailor a trip back to Costa Rica to see friends then hop over the border – ahem frontera – and at least say ‘Hi’ – and at the best attend the workshop. I visited San Juan del Sur in the year 2000 and returned to CR and told friends, ‘I wish I had enough money to buy an entire town.’ Several years went by before I returned, and – sigh – it was on the tourism radar and changing – yet still a great vibe. The olive-ridley turtle op is a great one, and the date is good, as you know. Here’s to 2020 being an amazing and highly-creative year!
Yes, may 2020 be a great year for creativity. And it would be fun to meet you in Nicaragua, one way or another. Talking about Costa Rica, I will be going there for the Chrismast and New Year holiday. 🙂
Wow! If your travels take you to the mid Nicoya Penisula, there are friends who would love to show you their world. One has sculpted a beautiful ‘Refugio’ including a labyrinth at the top (10 minute trek?) You must be preparing to leave, so buen viaje and enjoy your time in tropical America!
Thank you for your well wishing. We have talked about going to Nicoya, but so far only the southern part. But I’ll let you know. Thanks for the recommendation.
It’s very pretty there, though I’ve spent little time there – just enough while going in that direction for a border crossing/visa renewal. Enjoy your time – you’ve earned it, and your senses are surely on overload – seeing new things everywhere you look!
it seems no matter where we move mother earth can rattle our senses like nothing else…and I am always grateful for the way in which your art…through your camera and your brush remind us of the beauty that was there…is there…still in our minds and hearts…I love this and am saddened at the loss of your friends….and yet the image of them as guardians over all is a sweet one.
am grateful for your friendship.
love
gwen
Thank you, Gwen! I think of Chana and always smile. She was dear to me, and her memory lives on.
Yes, no matter where we move, there are chances for more surprises. I’ve decided that they are little ‘pop tests’ that Life gives us from time to time to see how we’re really doing!
Hope that the winter weather is kind , and that you have a lovely holiday season.
This is a beautiful post and poem, Lisa. I know it takes a long time for “no one” to turn into someone, but with poem readings and art-making and posts like this, it slowly gets better. Hugs to you. 🙂
Your post about your wordpress friend is still on the screen. It was a lovely tribute, and you’ve been on my mind a lot – you are surely still missing her.