Guest Alcatraz Poet

ALCATRAZ--I've been doing time on this rock four weeks now, and I've tried my hand at a poem or two, but this poem by Richard "Joerg" Jorgenson (if only I could figure out how to write that with the umlaut it requires) comes from a place of more experience--both with Alcatraz and with poetry...

MYTHS AND SECRETS
Every day, new people arrive,
seeking mystique,
the ghosts, the guardian past,
to quarry the mysteries of Alcatraz.

They often wander around the jail in a daze,
guided by the audio tour,
lost in a mental mist,
awed by the tiers of tiny cells
in the huge house, chill as a walk-in,
by the thought of spending 23 hours a day
in a 5 X 9 foot cage of concrete
with a steel-barred grate for a door,
by the sound of cellblocks slamming
closed by remote control,
by the words of narrators, men
who were paid or punished here.

Each day, as part of my commute,
I board a ferry that people save all year
to take on vacation from jobs in Germany,
the Romantic lands, Low Countries and Nordic nations;
Spanish, Portuguese and French speakers
from North, Central and Sounta America;
the Mediterranean Holy Land and the Oriental;
island states: Britain, Ireland, Down Under,
Nippon, Hong Kong, the Phillippines;
folks from all over the U.S.A.:
sports teams, scout troops, schools
and corporate conventions.

We get paid to ride that boat
bobbing across the bay.
While Rangers guide their walks and talks,
Interpreters tell their tales
and maintenance workers change the lights,
my mates and I distribute the tapes
in six tongues, collect them,
deal with problems, answer questions,
direct the traffic flow, as the waves
break on the shore of the penitentiary door.
"Thanks" is the operative word.

And we watch the fronts sweep in, as a brush,
the washer and dryer of the sky,
cleaning, greening and browning;
the fog, as an army, invading, evading;
the rainbows and sunsets painting horizons;
the weather diverse as the cultures
coloring the S.F. Bay Area.
We live in a melting pot
where people from 150 lands reside.
We work at a former fort,
the first Pacific light,
a sanctuary for nesting birds
and famous prison,
a symbol of isolation,
which now brings people together,
a kind of U.N.,
as the island's exotic flora:
Monterey cypress,
Australian eucalyptus,
Mexican cactus
thriving in imported soil.
We come in a common search
through the layers of time
for the secrets and myths
of a singular isle.

--from Alcatraz: Poems of the Rock by Richard "Joerg" Jorgensen, available from City Lights Bookstore, 261 Columbus Ave. (North Beach), San Francisco, or mail $10 to R.E. Jorgensen, 559 Valencia #46, San Francisco, CA 94110