Richard Vargas, Man About Town

(Above) The Cherry Zipper

The following is what my day with a poet, a real live poet, was like.

IF YOU’RE NOT TEN MINUTES EARLY, YOU’RE NOT RICHARD VARGAS

9:50AM Monday. Vargas arrives ten minutes early to pick me up. His promptness surprises me. He shows up sporting a Kangol and a freshly shaved head. The effect is charming and friendly and a little bit I’m A Bad Ass Mothafucka. It works.

He drives a red car. It is a happy, fun, peaceful car. There are two bumper stickers on the back. One is an Obama sticker. The other one in black and white asks the not so Yes or No question "Got Hope?”

He keeps his car tidy, inside and out. When he starts the motor, the radio does not automatically turn on. There is no clock on the dashboard. It is an automatic car and has manual windows.

IN ROSS WE TRUST

First thing he asks me is, "How is Mr. Ross?" Mr. Ross (aka David Ross) is my father. Whenever anyone asks me about my parents, I instantly respect and trust that person. I make a quiet decision to protect that person from any and all future harms. It is that simple.

We drive to Manny's for breakfast.

BREAKFAST AT MANNY’S

He orders pancakes. Me, juevos rancheros. We both drink coffee and delicious Albuquerque tap water. Chatting with Vargas is fun, but puzzling.

Here's why:

I’ve read both his books of poetry. He writes with impeccable clarity about ugly or naughty or political subjects, but his work never feels preachy or heavy handed. Just truthful and enlightened.

I’ve also been to one of his readings. It was April in Rockford. He kicked off his sneakers and read barefoot in the grass. I watched his toes clench into the soil as he read about politics and racism. His toes were clenched, but his hands and voice were calm and gentle. It was the first time I noticed a man speak with his feet. I think that is intense.

Jesse and I collaborated with him on a film (DLIPS, screened at the film festival and the reason we are having breakfast in the first place) and now I’m sitting across the table from him am wondering, “Seriously, someone? Who is this dude?”

Poets are mysterious like that. At least he is. But I decided I don’t need to know exactly who Richard Vargas is to appreciate him and his awesome talent.

Anyway, here is what we talked about:

POLITICS

He speaks to his disappointments about the current Health Care plan, Abortion Rights and Afghanistan. I am more boring and speak to my enthusiasm for cumulative change, change by degrees, change in my pocket and pirates. Richard holds a conversation with me, not a debate. I consider this is a big deal.

There are no great gestures or angry pauses. He doesn’t call each me names nor does he rely on sound bites to make his political points. He never utters what I consider the worst sentence ever and that is: "I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."

He eats his pancakes. I eat my huevos. Breakfast at Manny’s is quite fun.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP

Richard Vargas is an established poet. He has two books of published poetry (American Jesus and McLife) and has hosted, judged and participated in hundreds if not thousands of poetry readings and slams. He is a skillful organizer and has an amazing knack for picking up the phone and making things happen.

He is a loving, gentle gentleman who happens to be the son of two people who hated each other. His childhood was unsafe. His father was a heroin addict who did not live to tell about it. His stepfather was abusive and manipulative and a child molester. His mother was unapproachable and did not tolerate or celebrate birthdays or holidays. He survived, actually triumphed over his childhood by thriving in school. He received excellent grades, played on the football team, wrote poetry and fell in love with a French Catholic girl from Louisiana.

After high school, he parted ways with his sweetheart and joined the Army. He succeeded in the Army, professionally and personally. During that time, he married the woman he credits with saving his life.

He embarked on many adventures that only the military can provide (and only those in the military can understand) and even met and talked with Colin Powell. Something, however, was amiss. Vargas left the Army shortly before he was promoted to Captain. He also left his seventeen year marriage.

Since the Army, he lived in Rockford, Illinois for seven years which is where he and his wife parted ways. After the divorce, when he was in his forties, he decided to move to Albuquerque where he knew nobody, had no friends, no contacts and, worst of all, nobody to help him move. The energy and courage to actually uproot like this astounds me and obviously this choice works for Richard. He has published two books in the seven years that he has lived there and is on a scholarship at the University and will soon be receiving his MFA in poetry.

Which brings us to:

TO ALL THE GIRLS I’VE LOVED BEFORE

When he speaks of his relationship with Albuquerque, it reminds me of the chemistry between two young lovers. The two don't necessarily have anything in common and it doesn't matter. It just works. He has lived in Albuquerque for just over seven years in a handful of different places. In terms of living spaces, he has been married, he has lived alone and he has lived with different girlfriends (and sometimes a girlfriend’s dogs.) Currently he lives alone, but enjoys a long distance relationship.

Richard is comfortable talking about the women in his life. He has had many loves. When Richard speaks of his past loves, he looks happy and kind and thankful. I appear dazed, maniacal and angry when I speak about the past so I consider this yet another astounding quality about Richard Vargas. I have heard about inner peace, but this is the first time I’ve ever actually witnessed it.

As I get to know him a little bit better, the inner peace that seems to inhabit him is reflected in his poetry. He has a way of writing about despicable subjects in a way that enlightens and provokes. That is talent.

THE CHERRY ZIPPER

We are on the road. He is a safe driver and is without a doubt someone who loves and knows where he lives. I privately refer to his car as the Cherry Zipper because 1997 Hyundai Elantra Hatchback is too hard for me to remember so Cherry Zipper it is. Cherry because it is red. Zipper, because he efficiently zips around town in it.

He has a relaxed way of pointing out the sights without selling them. He does not preface anything with, "This is the best place to_____! , or "This is the biggest ______! He elegantly points out what something is and does not tell me how to feel about it. I appreciate that quite a bit.

THE FIRST LAUGH

He drives up the path to the National Hispanic Cultural Center and points out the houses occupied by the Hispanic people who refused to sell their land. Their houses and land are surrounded by fencing. I see people working in their yards, minding their business but there is something about the fencing that reminds me of internment camps. He laughs hard at the irony of the National Hispanic Cultural Center. It is the first time I have heard him laugh. I take a moment to consider this.

EMBARRASSING

After seeing the Sandia Mountains, the Rio Grande, Rio Rancho, the Stadiums (Go Isotopes), downtown, the University, I ask him to show me something about Albuquerque that embarrasses him. “Embarrasses” is probably not the most effective verb, but you get the picture.

Richard obliges my dorky request and drives me through his old neighborhood and points out his old house which is directly across from a playground. He said the drug dealers there were despicable and prevalent. He made many phone calls about the drug problem. The drugs are out of that neighborhood now and so is he.

I take a moment to consider this. It take a lot of courage to call, call again and then call some more about a drug infestation. Nothing is anonymous anymore, if anything ever was. Violent retaliation was a possibility, but he called anyway.

NO CELL PHONE

We zip back to his place which is located in Nob Hill, just a few blocks from The Guild Cinema. I take a look inside, mostly because I am wondering what time it is, partly because I am curious about his digs. I see no evidence of a clock, but I see lots of books and his laptop. I notice his apartment has an honorable feel to it. It is decorated in a way that I consider an homage to poetry. It is dark, tidy, comfortable and uniquely connected to his past and his future. I notice a family picture, a children’s book (Roadrunner’s Dance by Rudolfo Anaya) that a friend of his girlfriend’s gave to him and a picture of Charles Bukowski. This is just a tiny sample of what I observed. My point is that they are all very different from each other, but in his home, in his presence, they are not in conflict.

He is scheduled to receive a critique that evening for his work-in-progress about the journey of employment and needs to call his prof about that. I go outside and wait. He does not have a cell phone yet is without a doubt the most effective user of the telephone I have ever met. Aside from busting drug dealers, he also has a knack for getting people to do the darndest things. I encourage you to give him a call some day and see for yourself what you end up doing.

I am outside. It is a perfectly sunny day. The neighborhood is quiet, but I can hear the city sounds in the distance. I could easily fall asleep in his backyard but think better of it because I remember reading somewhere that such behavior is considered rude.

AFTERNOON REWRITE

After chatting in his backyard for awhile, we walk directly into Nob Hill. He has his bike with him now because he has to head to the University later in the afternoon. I say a silent prayer of thanks that he actually walks his bike and doesn’t sit on the seat and propel himself forward by the balls of his feet. (This has happened to me more than once.)

He parks his bike and proceeds to give me a walking tour of the neighborhood. It is a colorful, fun, well spaced out neighborhood. There is plenty of room to walk, bike or drive and parking is plentiful for those who need it. We stop at an outdoor patio to grab an Albuquerque Lunch. Lunch consists of a beer for Richard and some guacamole and chips for me. I decide Albuquerque water is too good to be true and have a Diet Coke instead.

He is soft spoken and has a way of conducting a conversation in a way I consider egalitarian. We talk about Michael Moore (who is less egalitarian), his childhood, my kids and Jesse, potential future projects and the booming film industry in New Mexico, specifically Albuquerque. People walk by us. He advises me to move my camera and purse to the other side. I do that. As people walk by, I scan them for watches and no one is wearing one.

After lunch, we walk around. He points out a few more sights, including the motel that was used in "No Country For Old Men." I find myself ecstatic that an actual motel was used and not something built on a studio lot. There is an authentic quality to the art scene in Albuquerque and I like it. There is an authentic quality to Richard Vargas and I like that, too.

We walk and talk about the neighborhood for a little bit longer before I witness him unlock his bike, hop on and zip away to his critique at the University. I dub his bicycle The Dragonfly. Dragonfly because I notice that he artfully maneuvers through some busy spots and is traveling a long distance to boot.

WALK THIS WAY

I have a couple hours to burn, or at least I think I have that much time, so I go for long walk up into a hilly, pretty area above Nob Hill before I head back down to The Guild Cinema on Central Avenue. I look all over for a clock at the top of a bank or some building and never see one. I don’t own a watch, so I have no idea what time it is.

Richard is already outside when I go to meet him. How is it he is so dang prompt? Anyway, we check out the films and then head to the Flying Star for some dinner. I order ABQ chile stew and he orders Chicken Pot Pie. They tell him they are all out and he looks pretty bummed out. It is the first time I’ve seen him actually look disappointed. Chicken pot pie can do that to a person.

We talk about the film festival a bit. I am more inclined to talk about the films. He is more inclined to talk about the festival itself. I can’t tell exactly how he felt about the whole thing and am currently kicking myself for not asking him, “Richard. Whadya think?” Maybe I did ask him and was too busy eating my awesome chile to remember. Chile can do that to a person.

THE LAST LAUGH

We walk back to his home. He locks up his bike and we get into the Cherry Zipper. I offer him a piece of gum and he says, “I’m good.”

He drops me off at my motel and tells me he’ll pick me up in the morning and drop me off at the airport. I am thankful and say as much. I hightail it back to my room and call Jesse and tell him through laughter all about my great day. Jesse laughs, too. I don't think either one of us know what we are laughing about, but that is okay. I say Good Night and See You Soon.

I fall asleep knowing I have just been given a gift.

The next morning, Richard picks me up and drops me off at the airport. The last thing he tells me is Tell Everyone I Said Hi. I thank him and promise I will.

UNTIL NEXT TIME

Richard Vargas is the real thing. He is as authentic as Albuquerque is and the two are a perfect match, at least for now, at least by my observations. I still don’t know who Richard Vargas is, but when I think of him, I see him digging his toes into the earth when he reads his poetry. I honestly hope I carry that image with me for the rest of my life. I know that what he is feeling and thinking is not something I will ever know but I do believe him to be deep, connected, growing, changing, peaceful and acutely aware.

MONEY WELL SPENT

I highly recommend you read his poetry. It is thoroughly inspired and thoughtful writing. If you are interested in reading his poetry, you can order signed copies of his books by sending $16.00 for American Jesus or $20 for McLife. Please pay with a check and enclose your mailing info to Richard Vargas, 2132A Central Ave SE, #112, Albuquerque, NM 87106. It will be money well spent.

Connie Kuntz