The Suicide of Miroslava Stern
Poem
I ran across the sad, convoluted story of Czech-Mexican actress Miroslava Stern’s suicide while following a Wikipedia trail (as I often do). Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about it:
Miroslava died by suicide in March 1955 by overdosing on sleeping pills, her body found lying outstretched over her bed. According to Miroslava's friends, she had a portrait of bullfighter Luis Miguel Dominguín in one hand, and they stated that her suicide was due to unrequited love for Dominguín, who had recently married Italian actress Lucia Bosè. Others, such as actress Katy Jurado, claimed that the picture that Miroslava had between her hands was of Mexican comedian Cantinflas and that her unrequited love was for Cantinflas, but her artistic manager Fanny Schatz exchanged the photo for that of the Dominguín. Jurado based this claiming she was the first to find the body; another source states that her body was found by actress Ninón Sevilla. Despite a lack of evidence to support it, a rumor persisted that she actually died in a plane crash when traveling with Mexican businessman Jorge Pasquel, and her body was moved to her bedroom and made to look like a suicide.
How could one not write a poem about this? But when I wrote it, it turned out not really to be about Miroslava Stern at all.
The Suicide of Miroslava Stern
March, 1955
A cool pre-dawn in Guadalajara –
the Englishman sips tea while Sarah,
his “companion,” lights a cigarette.
It isn’t warm enough for outside yet,
so I am stuck with their stupidity –
“ At least there isn’t much humidity”
the Englishman opines. “Not like Tabasco.”
The woman nods. “I forgot to ask you
if you’d like to try a restaurant today.”
She shakes her head. “You’ve not a lot to say!”
Sarah sighs and rises from the table.
“Mercedes, come and join me when you’re able.
In my bedroom, por favor.” “Do feel free,”
Senor Thomson smirks. “It isn’t me
whose beck and call you’re at.” I clear the things
from breakfast and, as six o’clock rings out
from the Basilica of the Assumption,
make my way to Sarah’s room. “The function
at the consul’s is today.” “Yes, Madam?”
“The consul doesn’t know Guy from Adam,
of course. It’s lucky that we’re on the list.
But one thing’s UNlucky.” Had I missed
a chore? I waited for her reprimand.
“You know of Miroslava Stern? The grand
Czech Jewish actress?” Yes, I did, I said.
“Well, here’s the thing. It turns out that she’s dead
Took sleeping pills.” She lets a little laugh
Escape her thin, pink lips. “A photograph
of some ridiculous man who spurned her love
was in her hands, they say. She was above
a Mexican, I would have thought, but no!
It was a matador. Only goes to show
how far some girls can fall. Your face is white,
Mercedes! Well, for you. Are you alright?”