To my awareness, The Girls from the Revolutionary Cantina is the first chicalit novel written by a man. Reading HOWL Aloud in Hollywood
The invitation caught my imagination immediately. Poet and poetry promoter Rafael Francisco Jose Alvarado put out an open call to attend a group read aloud of Allen Ginsberg's seminal poem, Howl. What an imaginative way to acknowledge the current motion picture starring James Franco, Howl.
1. “The Chicano People’s Sacred Hoop” by Diana Joe
2. "How John McCain Cried for Mercy though He Was Not Merciful: A Sonnet to Remember the Golden R" by Edith Morris-Vasquez
3. "They Didn’t Know I Was So Mexicano (on my application)" by Patrick Fontes
4. “Survival of the Fittest" by Andrea J. Serrano
5. “De sinónimos, eufemismosy algunos tropos” por Xánath Caraza
6. "The Fifth Sun" by Genny Lim
IT WAS NEVER MENTIONED IN THE BOOKS
NONE OF THEM
WASN'T IN THE SCHOOLS
IT WASN'T IN THE RECRUITERS OFFICES
MAGAZINE RACKS AT THE PUBLIC CLINIC
I NEVER SAW IT
NEVER HEARD OF IT
IT WASN'T MENTIONED BY THE CHURCHES
OR THE SYNYGOGUES
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
WHAT IN THE WORLD IS IT?
A SACRED HOOP QUE ONDA?
IS IT LIKE THE HULA HOOP YOU KNOW LIKE IN HAWAII-JE JE
OR THE BASKETBALL HOOP YOU KNOW YA SABES-ORALES.
IS IT LIKE THE GLOBE IN THE CLASSROOM
GEOGRAPHY,MATHEMATICS,SCIENCE OR TECHNOLOGY?
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IT IS DUALITY
IT IS A WOMAN IN A MANS BODY
AND A MAN IN A WOMANS BODY
HALF OF A WHOLE
IN EACH OF THE TWO
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IS THE SUN AND IT IS
THE WATER
WATER REFLECTING BECAUSE OF IT
A MIRROR
SI UN ESPEJO
IT IS THE MOUNTAIN
WITH IT CHEST OPEN
WITH IT'S TREASURES
EXPOSED FOR HER CHILDREN
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IS THE ONE NASA HAS KEPT
FORBIDDEN
IT IS THE MOON'S DUST
REFLECTING OFF OF THE SUN
THE HORIZON MADE ORANGE
IT IS THE HORIZON
IT IS THE SOUTH DOOR
THE WEST DOOR
THE NORTH AND THE EAST
IT IS THE CENTRAL FOR
INTELLIGENCE, WISDOM
THE FIRST COLLECTIVE PHILOSOPHY
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IS THE ONE THAT HAS NOT BEEN
MALICIOUSLY
DELIVERED
TO THE MAL GOVIERNO
IT HAS TAKEN CARE OF ITSELF
THROUGH THE MILLENIUM
QUIET QUIET
DISCIPLINED
NEVER TAKEN NEVER BROKEN
SYMBOLIC EMBLEM
OF THE SERPENT
OF THE HUMMING BIRD ORDER
OF THE JAGUAR
OF THE TREE OF LIFE
THE CENTER OF CREATION
CREATION CREATION CREATION
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
A REASON FOR ENVY FROM THE GREED FED ONE
A REASON FOR WAR WAGED AGAINST US
A REASON FOR THE ONE WITHOUT REASON
A CHIMALLI
MACEHUALLI
LA TILMA
MI COPPILLI
WE'RE READY
DUALITY SISTER
MONSTER SLAYER
BROTHER
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IT IS SPOKEN OF AS A NEW BOOK
WITH TRUE MAPS AND OLD POINTS AND MORE
POINTS
THE OLD AVENUE OF THE DEAD
COME TO LIFE
COME TO LIFE
COMING TO LIFE
IN CALIFAZTLAN
IN ARIZONAZTLAN
IN TEJAZTLAN
IN NONANZIN
SPELL IT
OR DON'T
SPELL IT
C.A.N.T
A VISION
LA FRONTERA IN UNISON
UNISON
WE HAVE NO WALL
WE SEE NO LAW
IT IS FREEDOM
FREEDOM LIKE THE
BEAT IN LEONARD PELTIERS
HEART
IMPRISONED ONLY FOR A
MOMENT
CALIFAS,ARIZONA,NUEVO MEJIKOTZIN,TEJAS
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
THROUGH THE DANZING
THROUGH THE SING IN
THROUGH THE HOOP IN
AND THROUGHOUT
ANAHUACTZILIN
HUITZILLI HUITZILLI HUITZILLINNN
OTHER INDIN NATIONS TELLUS
THEIR HOOP
IS BROKEN THAT
THEY ARE GIVEN NUMBERS
TO WAIT IN LINE
IDENTIFIED THROUGH PERCENTAGES
OF PURENESS IN THEIR BLOOD
I SEE WHERE IT'S BROKEN
SPLINTERED,FAULTED,ALTERED
THEY HAVE TO
WAIT IN LINE
WAIT IN LINE
EMBARRASSED,TIRED
CAGED
FILLED WITH GENERATIONAL
SHAME
NOT US
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IS NOT SHAKEN
IT IS NOT BROKEN
IT IS THE SUN
COOKING SNOW
YEAR FOR YEAR
COOKING EXPERTISE
BAKING
LIFE
FLOWERS
GROWING GROWING GROWING
SINGING SING SING SINGING
CEREMONIES IN THE STREETS
OF A PLACE CALLED
THE AMERICAS
LOOKING
HUARACHES INANA HURRY
RARAMURI MEDICINE
CARRY ANCIENTNESS
RUNNING
LUNGS BLESSED
A SICK ONE IN THE DESERT NEEDS TO SEE!
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
IS EVERTHING AND EVERYBODY
NO BOUNDARIES
NO ENEMIES
NO LIES ,NO BROKEN TREATIES,NO TERROR
NO FEAR
LOOK UP TO THE CLOUDS DRESSED FOR THE DAY
CROSS THE RIVER
FEARLESSLY WITH ALL YOUR FAMILY!
WE ARE THE GHOST DANCERS
CROSSING THE CHECKPOINTS
UNSEEN AGAIN AND AGAIN
CHILDREN
MY CHILDREN
PALABRA DE LA TIERRA
CROSS THE DESERT INTO THE HOOD
PAUSE IN REVERENCE FOR AND OF
THE RESERVATION THE RESERVATION
THE RESERVATION WASHING THEM BY THE TON
NOT US
NOT US
THAT IS A PROMISE
KEPT ONLY FOR US
IN
THE HIGH MESAS
THE HIGH CLIFF HOUSES
THE MACAW'S JUNGLE COLOR
THE EAGLES CLAWS
THE CHICANO PEOPLES SACRED HOOP
STEADY STEADY STEADY
FOR THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN
THOSE LAWS ARE NOT CONNECTED
TO THE COSMOS
THEY ARE SIMPLY IGNORANT
LAWS
IMMIGRATION LAWS ARE NOT
CONNECTED THEY ARE NOT
CONNECTED
THEREFORE THEY WILL VANISH.
*WROTE THIS IN SOLIDARITY
FOR THE PEOPLES OF THE AMERICAS
THE ONES BEING PERSECUTED BY
CRIMINAL GOVERNMENTAL RACIST LAW.
I’m John McCain after I’m dead. Ha ha!
I’m not around to suffer my shame. Dreams
of Youth? Psshaw! Gays can’t be open, or Armed!
As for Immigrants, I’ll meet you in hell.
The Angel of Affliction interrupts
this speech, “Hola, proud Juanito, recall
the words you spoke at your Fillibuster?
the Tea Party has good reason. So suck
on this Americans (Sarah Palin
in 2012!) I won’t allow Dreamers
or Hopefuls to find a Situation
that’s Less Painful. There's no justice for all!"
Then he flew him to the Desert and said:
"Now's your turn to cross it... Got Coyote?”
I couldn’t tell you which was first
much like the sun versus the moon
they always existed
fought for space
in my mouth
in my soul
both languages born of the same colonization
yet one feels like home and
the other feels like the other
the second choice
the unwanted visitor
the guest who never went home
the conqueror who claimed my tongue
claimed land
claimed us through generations of punishment and our only survival
came by learning to form words that made no sense
changing our names
and accepting a fate that was decided
when Manifest Destiny
made her journey west
and invaded our homes
Home
Home language that isn’t aboriginal but abnormal to this land
a colonizer’s language
learned as a means of survival by our grandmothers
who had no words
to describe bearded white men in steel helmets
who descended into their homes
into their private spaces
fools in search of God, Gold and Glory
fooled by sun shining on adobe
but when they didn’t find gold
they found women
and land
and slaves
they found expansion for a crown
that existed oceans away
they baptized in the name of
The Father
The Son and
The Holy Spirit
baptized an entire new breed of people
baptized within the thick walls built
by the very people
they intended to eliminate
be it by disease
or breeding
or language
they intended to eliminate
and yet, it’s home
through reclamation
and renewal
we baptized a new language
a cross of aboriginal and abnormal
and we created a home
I couldn’t tell you which was first
I can tell you I learned early on
which one was acceptable
and which one wasn’t
“cual quieres?” my mom asked me
when I was six years old
asking me to make a choice at the grocery store
and I pretended I couldn’t understand her
pretended I couldn’t hear her
until she asked
“which one do you want?”
I don’t know how I learned to pretend so early on
but I just knew I had to
generations of grandmothers whispered in my ear
I learned to reply in the other tongue
refused to acknowledge the mother tongue
refused to acknowledge the words that spilled
from my mother’s tongue
answered my grandmother in the other tongue
when she spoke to me
never understood that my paternal grandmother knew the other tongue so well
because it was beat into her
at the Indian School
because the mother tongue
and the original tongue
were both cause
for punishment
A baby was born
and her name was little angel
and when the Kindergarten teacher-nun asked the six year old auntie the baby's name
she said Angela
because Angelita
sounded too foreign
and she knew she had to pretend…
I couldn’t tell you which was first
but I can tell you
that the other now flows easily
and I consistently try to go home again
words and lines slip in
jarring the other
making the other irrelevant
creating a new language
altering the other
to fit my mouth
fit my soul
cual quieres?
I want this one
Which one do you want?
quiero esto
I want this one
this is me
I couldn’t tell you which was first
but I can tell you
which is last
everlasting
I can tell you there is space
in my mouth
por la ultima
Libertad y educación son palabras sinónimas para mí.
Profesor, maestro y activista social también lo son.
Pronunciar en voz alta los idiomas ancestrales de mi sangre. Un acto de resistencia.
La voz del sol. Un eufemismo para ese mismo acto.
La ley SB 1070 de Arizona es como la vergüenza. Un símil.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una aliteración.
La base de la economía de los Estados Unidos e inmigrantes son sinónimos obvios.
Los escritores son héroes y heroínas de bronce. Una metáfora.
El estado de la vergüenza es eufemismo para la ley SB 1070 de Arizona.
Mis heroínas y héroes favoritos están en las aulas, esas heroínas y héroes favoritos. Una epanadiplosis.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una súplica.
Por espada sus libros, las letras por su escudo. Un quiasmo.
¡Oh tierra de las oportunidades que encarcelas! Una paradoja.
134 cuerpos de inmigrantes indocumentados encontrados
desde el 1 de enero al 15 de julio en el desierto. No es una exageración.
Cuántas lágrimas por los caminos del desierto, cuántas horas de lamento. Una realidad.
Los escritores son héroes y heroínas de bronce. Una metáfora.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una aliteración.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una plegaria.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una súplica.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una petición.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Un ruego.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una imploración.
Viento lleva el tiempo de libertad hasta el silencio del desierto. Una oración.
A boy ran up the hill with his one o’clock kite
He glided his yellow ballerina over rooftops
across the bluest sky
Blood froze on his ruby lips at six o’clock
when the ecstatic ballerina was freed
Without purpose, time places the hour of the day
like a white glove on the pulse of memory
Without reason, the sky placed him on this earth
to burden the breeze with his smile
What will the baker do when the long night
kneads the bread of darkness?
What will the mother do when the clouds
descend over the gypsy butterflies?
You won’t find one echo following you to the afterlife
Absence wraps its gray mantle over the house of prayer
Poets turned soldiers carve the replicas of their women
with the butts of rifles in desert sand
and await letters that never come
So go memories that fill the empty shells of
imagination’s wounds
So goes the burning ring of fire amid
the muezzin’s twelve o’clock cry
under the flaming fifth sun
© 9/22/10 by genny lim
Tomo la ruta 81,
la que se desliza por la calle Figueroa
la ruta de los estudiantes y trabajadores,
la que me lleva y me trae.
El bus se metamorfosea
en la ruta 81,
donde los usuarios organizan
batallas entre politonos funkies,
donde los rostros cansados
son siempre los mestizos.
Los pañuelos de papel eliden
el olor mugriento a dejadez
en una atmósfera cargada,
los bomberos presumen
de sirenas estridentes,
en la ruta 81
Pantallas gigantes
dan luz a la noche
y advierten:
college football
is coming
Una plaga de luciérnagas eléctricas
dan color a las ramas desnudas
de los árboles contaminados de pop posmodernista
Stop requested
recuerda
speed limit 30
en la ruta 81
Manos libres
one way
bluetooth adherido a la oreja
de un ciborg que comparte
intimidades ya públicas
Es la ruta 81
en la que estevie Wonder
aparece con garrota y auriculares
performance singular
para un público ciego y sordo
Club Galaxy 100 beautiful girls
versus
girl's super burger,
comemos o follamos?
Expand your business right here
en la ruta 81
El 90 de los Lakers
presume de trasero
mostrando sus glúteos
firmes y morenos
ain't nuthin' but a...
El escenario eclipsa
al king of the chicanos,
Athena parking
wicked fun for everyone
it's Halloween time
Burritos, tortas, sopes,
huaraches y gorditas
Aparece el rey,
sí, el de José Alfredo Jiménez
En un despiste ocular
se cruzan nuestras miradas
El rey baja de su trono
para dirigirse a la plebe,
me sugiere un ex-change:
tu palestina por mi bufanda
ante mi negativa
compartimos una sonrisa con hielo
the last exorcism?
jale el cordón para pedir parada
Chinatown-North Pasadena
please stay behind the yellow line
El rey se concentra
en el tercer ojo
Su interlocutora,
eclipsada por la profundidad de concentración,
escapa en la siguiente parada
dejándome desprotegida
sobre todo
evitar el contacto visual,
sobre todo
evitar el contacto visual
repito como mantra
conteniendo la risa escandalosa
que de vez en cuando me traiciona
Welcome to the route 81
Mary Poppins
es una octogenaria japonesa
que utiliza su paraguas para solicitar
la próxima parada
Menudo birria posole
esto es la Figueroa
please use rare exit
y recuerde
the don't right turn
A palabras necias, oídos sordos
piden dulces, les doy fruta
Necesitas un ride?
no, prefiero
la ruta 81
Donde los ensayos prematuros
de un rapero por la causa
alegra mi viaje,
donde los olores a dulce y a grasa
se fusionan,
ahí está la ruta 81.
2. "How John McCain Cried for Mercy though He Was Not Merciful: A Sonnet to Remember the Golden R" by Edith Morris-Vasquez
3. "They Didn’t Know I Was So Mexicano (on my application)" by Patrick Fontes
4. “Survival of the Fittest" by Andrea J. Serrano
5. “De sinónimos, eufemismosy algunos tropos” por Xánath Caraza
6. "The Fifth Sun" by Genny Lim
During the Mexican revolution my great grandfather, Jesus Luna, crossed the border from Chihuahua into El Paso, then on to Fresno. In 1920 Jesus built a Mexican style adobe house on the outskirts of the city, it is still our family’s home and the center of our Mexican identity today. Nine decades of memories adorn the plastered walls inside. In one corner, a photo of Bobby Kennedy hangs next to an image of La Virgen de Zapopan; in another, an imposing altar to Guadalupe.
My very large Chicano family includes gang bangers, Pentecostal preachers, artists, tias who still roll tortillas at the crack of dawn, boozers, prisoners, and lots of working class men and women who wear their names on their chests. Mi familia es todo.
Currently I am a PhD candidate in history at Stanford University. My research involves border issues, Mexican religion, the Virgin Mary, immigration into the Southwest, and the criminalization of Chicano culture.
Andrea J. Serrano
Xánath Caraza is a traveler, educator, poet, and short story writer. She has published her original work and essays in Pilgrimage Magazine, Quercus Review, Antique Children, La Bloga, Pegaso, Latino Poetry Review Blog, Present Magazine, El Cid, and Utah Foreign Language Review. Additionally, her work has been published in the following anthologies: Woman’s Work: The Short Stories (Girl Child Press, 2010), Cuentos del Centro: Stories from the Latino Heartland (Scapegoat Press, 2009), Primera Página: Poetry from the Latino Heartland (Scapegoat Press, 2008), and Más allá de las fronteras (Ediciones Nuevo Espacio, 2004). Her most recent published work is scheduled for release in 2010 in the following anthologies and journals: Poetry Anthology in Nahuatl, English, and Spanish, Aztlan Libre Press, and 2010 Pegaso Literary Journal.
Genny Lim
Genny Lim has performed at jazz festivals from San Francisco, San Jose, San Diego to Houston and Chicago and has been a featured poet at World Poetry Festivals in Venezuela, 2005, Sarajevo, Bosnia-Hercegovina, 2007 and Naples, Italy, 2009. Her play "Paper Angels," was performed in San Francisco Chinatown’s Portsmouth Square to packed audiences on Sept. 15-17, 2010 and won the San Francisco Fringe Festival Top Ten Award for Best Site Specific Work. Her performance piece, "Where is Tibet?" premiered at CounterPULSE, S.F., Dec. 2009 and was performed at AfroSolo Arts Festival in August, 2010.She is author of two poetry collections, Winter Place, Child of War and co-author of Island:Poetry and History of Chinese Immigrants on Angel Island.
Raquel was born in Barcelona in 1979. She has a degree in Hispanic Philology. In 2001 she began linguistic research on the phenomena of Spanglish and discovered chicano poetry, since then " La Pocha Catalana" has embraced chicano culture, history, literature and art.Her most recent work occupies the realm of performance art. This transition came after participation in the La Pocha Nostra workshop, from that moment onward she decided to pursue performative work. Her first performance "The Post-Colonial Malinches: Tongues of Fire" was performed in 2009 at the El Mundo Zurdo: The First International Conference on Gloria Anzaldúa in the University of Texas at San Antonio and in the Milwaukee Avenue Arts Festival in Chicago. In this work she explores her identity, reinventing it through a ritual of chicanización to become Pocha Catalana, the way she defines herself.
This weekend, on the campus of California State University, Los Angeles, come enj
oy a two-day celebration of Latino and Chicano literature and culture. The Latino Book & Family Festival has become one of the Latino community’s most anticipated events of the year. It is at this festival that you can meet and interact with authors from all over the U.S. and Latin America. Please join us in recognizing and supporting the work of Latino/Chicano writers and artists who will be speaking and signing books at our event.In addition to the author presentations, the festival also features numerous activities for the whole family to enjoy, such as arts & crafts, story-telling, music, Folklórico dancing, various exhibits, and traditional Mexican foods. This is a two-day event where we can celebrate together the richness of our culture.
For more information, visit here. For a list of panels, visit here.
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