In January I spent time wandering the northeastern parts of Mexico with multimedia artist (and brother) Jonathan Brennan, photographing and filming whenever permitted (and, occasionally, when not permitted). Hopefully, the footage gleaned from these trips will be used for a film version of one of my poems. I’d worked with Jonathan on a poetry film before (winning the inaugural poetry film award at the Drumshanbo Written Word Weekend festival, ‘Four Attempts at Making a Human’ can be viewed here) and so felt confident in bringing him on board for this project.
One of the locations I wanted to visit was the Ex-Hacienda del Muerto in Nuevo León. Located in the municipality of Mina, about an hour outside Monterrey, this ruined complex dates from around 1894. I chanced upon it on my first trip to Mexico in 2003 and it looked like the kind of place that could have featured in one of those old Spaghetti westerns: vernacular and ecclesiastical ruins in a desert setting. From what I can see on Instagram it appears to be a popular location for wedding/romantic couple photo shoots and biker gangs. It also seems to have been used in a promotional campaign for a local strip club. I remember photographing it all those years ago from the roadside (using the panoramic setting on a disposable camera) but not walking up to it, whether this was because it was closed to the public or because we were in a hurry to get to the astonishing oasis town of Cuatrociénegas, I can’t remember. Eighteen years later, I tried to visit but it was closed during the COVID lockdown. A year after that I looked it up on Google Maps and could see that it had recent reviews and photographs though there were warnings about irregular opening times and, worryingly, about a security guard threatening a woman and child with a machete. (I have no idea if this is an accurate characterisation of whatever happened but the comment remains on Google Maps). When we arrived in 2022 we were told that we needed a permit to visit and/or take photos. The guard was curt but no machete. He told us to leave. This time, January 2024, we found the gate open and drove in. As the guard cycled over I asked my brother to start filming anything he could as I was sure we were about to be asked to leave. The guard, however, seemed enthusiastic (though suspicious) to receive visitors and asked us to sign a sheet, giving our details and reasons for visiting. Are you making a film? No. Are you shooting a commercial? No. What are you doing here? We were just passing by and decided to make a quick detour. I chatted with the guard, keeping him occupied while Jonathan wandered the grounds to quickly film an assortment of stucco structures in advanced stages of disintegration. In the chapel songbirds swooped down from the rafters and the wind whistled through the open door and gaps in the masonry. The guard spoke about gunshot holes, the revolution and real footage of a ghost on YouTube. He gave me a few details about the place, details that conflicted with other sources. He hunkered down at a black circle of ash and asked me to come closer. See this? A bone. Yes. This is a human bone, a rib, from the revolution. Bleached by the desert sun and almost glowing its whiteness felt astonishing. It was a bone. I don’t know that it was human .
Two police cars pulled up to the entrance and made their way towards the chapel. Six officers got out, dressed in black uniforms with lots of pockets. I’ve been here long enough to know police means trouble. They were heavily armed. The furtive filmmaking, the cops with their heavy artillery, the Google Maps review with the machete, the bones… I was starting to feel uneasy. In the distance, by a windmill water pump and heap of stones, I noticed Jonathan quickly putting away his gear. He later told me he felt far enough away from very young cops for his shoulder rig to be mistaken for a sniper rifle and close enough to be riddled with bullets. They approached us quickly with their hands on their weapons. When they got to the chapel door they looked at me and asked me if it was okay to take a few pictures. It’s fine with me but ask this man here, he’s in charge. While the cops took selfies we made our way back to the car.
Whenever the film is available I’ll mention it here. I may upload more photos from other filmmaking locations. Please remember that the best way to support me is by buying my book, if you can. If you can’t please consider sharing and/or subscribing for free. Let the Dead is available here.
In other news, I’ll be in Berlin in July as part of the Zeitgeist Irland 24 programme of cultural events. In a showcase of Banshee Press poets I’ll be reading alongside Rosamund Taylor and Gustav Parker Hibbett at the Curious Fox bookshop. Hibbett’s debut poetry collection High Jump as Icarus Story is forthcoming this summer and it’s definitely one to look out for.
There’ll be a small Mexico City Let the Dead launch event in April or May. Details coming soon.