Here's my biography...described in a poem
(published 1992, Gypsy Spurs; from the Triology of Private Showings)
The Dancer Trapped in the Mind of a Poet
by Ginger Enilde Ingels
I was born with a defect
in my feet
the doctor did detect,
but
my mother would not have it.
She wrapped my tiny feet with linens of love
and prayed with hopes of a future
in
a poor Argentine province
where the doctor could not convince
a stubborn woman
of her first
born daughter's
unusual circumstance.
I am now well over 21
but I continue to admire the rays
of the sun;
the way they stretch across the earth
like the arms of a dancer that was given birth.
So,
the rays of the sun stretched out over the pampas
and reached into the rivers and over the Gauchos,
Spanish
Gypsies who strummed folk songs under shade trees;
while cattle grazed on rich grasslands,
costumed ladies
tap-danced on the water
rythms of a heartfelt tango...
and the elderly?
Shared "un mate" with
the young,
passing along the passion of a people
and the tales of stories told of long ago...
I
am now well over 21
but I continue to admire the rays of the sun,
the way they stretch across the earth
like
the soul of a dancer that was given birth
in a land with pride, just the other side of the North
where
America belongs to the free.
So, this proud woman, left behind the
poverty
and the glory of Peron and the promises of Evita,
both the dancer and the prostitute, raped of
her crown,
a tribute to a town whose chest of jewels had long been stolen.
Hospitals and museums, schools
and dance studios bared her name,
in a land of the free where a musical
paid tribute to Evita's story.
So,
the rays of the sun stretched out over America
to the North of the Southern skies,
and shined upon the
immigrants with dreams far greater
than Evita ever imagined; America
took in this proud mother with children
of her own
one of which was buried in the new land,
one of which was born in the free land and
one
of which, the first born from Rosario, became
the dancer trapped in the mind of a poet...
A dancer not
trapped mind you, by any defect of her feet!
A dancer whose proud mother wrapped linens of love
round
baby ankles so she could walk and run and climb and stand
on pointe at the bar in front of a mirror.
A
dancer not trapped by physical obstacles
of imperfections seen or unseen
but a dancer trapped dancing
in
the mind of a poet;
where it doesn't hurt to bend or stretch or pull or kick
where she leaps in midair
and
spins on the stair
like Ginger with a flair waltzing with Fred Astaire.
You
see it's just me,
a sentimental Spanish Gypsy
tap-dancing in my dreams
on the waters of the
pampas listening to the stories told of long ago.
I was born of a proud people;
the writers and artists,
poets and guitarists,
dancing and dreaming in wide open fields
before the country was raped
before
politicians and before military,
trampled ballet bars
and shattered mirrors
and scattered
myths that
led to the downfall of the Falklands.
You see,
it's just me,
a sentimental Spanish Gypsy
spinning yarns of scarves blowing in the breeze...
dressed
in pencil, maybe ready to cancel
dreams to dance in concert on a stage,
trapped dancing in the mind of
a poet.
I am now well over 21 and I continue to lie about my age
for as long as my face can deceive my
years
and the rays of the sun allow me to skip and run.
I continue to admire the longing and the fire
inside my own soul
and the rythm in my healthy feet,
because I was born of this proud mother,
once
fully convinced
of her first born daughter's unusual circomstance
to dance
even after the
sun has set in a land of the free,
that once embraced the immigrants
who tap-danced a tango of freedom
in
a land which now with oath belongs to me.
Yes, I am now well, well past the age of 21
and I continue
to spin round a tale of a
a sentimental Spanish Gypsy,
trying to fit in, in a land where
the
poet is not really trapped anymore...
where on film, one can dance until well after
one hundred and twenty
one!!!
Where I live now,
I can pay tribute to this proud mother for the gift
she never imagined
could bring me such happiness...
Or did she know even then,
my need to run in the rays of the sun
that
stretch out across the earth
deep into the heart of a dancer that was given birth.
