On-Line Floricanto.

Michael Sedano

Reflection and assessment of On-Line Floricanto

Moderators of Facebook's Poets Responding to SB1070 submit a weekly list of poems for republication here at La Bloga. On-Line Floricanto has become one of the most popular features of La Bloga's weekly array of seven daily columns.

Francisco Alarcón's team of moderators select from memorable poems contributed by Facebook users who comply with a simple eligibility process. (Ed. note. This corrects an error in earlier editions of La Bloga 10/26/10).

There’s generally an abundance to select for La Bloga. From the earliest grumblings out of state government, decent gente spoke out against both the text and the sentiment proposing laws like SB1070. Poets responded in large number and frequency. The Facebook group's work fit beautifully into La Bloga's character and La Bloga started its weekly On-Line Floricanto.

Times change. SB1070 is in court. Tucson public school curriculum fights a battle for survival. Law or no law, it’s still unlawful to breathe while brown in Arizona. “Think I’ll take my papers,” is a standard joke among travelers to the territory, boicot or no boicot.

How has the On-Line Floricanto responded to change? Movimiento poetry tends to collect itself around common themes or motives, including an edenic Aztlán and Amerindian homeland; lost and ruined homeland of the barrio and its natives; the Devil undisguised, namely Jan Brewer, Joe Arp**o, Them. Advocacy poetry thankfully has a counterpart in that portion of writing devoting itself to being merely a poem. The difference alludes to the distinction seen in the phrases chicana poetry and poetry by a chicana.

La Bloga hopes On-Line Floricanto is engaging. That La Bloga's On-Line Floricanto becomes a way to involve oneself, to gauge the development, of our sentimientos. An effective poem mirrors its cultural milieu and allows the poet to influence your view of cultural trajectories.

How’s On-Line Floricanto doing? Do you have several memorable titles? Shared a poem or two with correspondents? Overall, does On-Line Floricanto keep pace with what’s happening in Aztlán, in the community, in your sentimientos? Is On-Line Floricanto the same anthology it was back in May 2010, or does it feel contemporaneous with late October 2010?

Beginning next Tuesday, Francisco’s team is narrowing the field to five poems for the weekly On-Line Floricanto. The selection process remains otherwise unchanged. I hope this helps moderator and reader focus on what each considers vital in making a poem worth sharing. I invite La Bloga readers and the moderators to Comment on How’s On-Line Floricanto doing? To Comment on the direction the poetry is taking, is this what you want to read?

Click on the Comment counter below to share your ideas. And do remember, La Bloga welcomes guest columnists. When you have an extended response—counterstatement or expansion, an arts, cultural, or community event to share, send me an email to discuss being a La Bloga guest columnist.

On-Line Floricanto October 26, 2010.

1. "Culture Doesn't Border (Response to SB 1070)" by Rah~Mah Mercy
2. “Disguised as a Winged One, I Free My People” by Diana Joe
3. "In Fourteen Hundred Ninety-Two... " by Andrea Serrano
4. "Knowledge of Generations Gone" by Odilia Galván Rodríguez
5. "To The Authors of SB 1070" by ALPharaoh
6. "Homage to the 33 / Homenaje a los 33 " by Javier B. Pacheco
7. “I am waiting for Lawrence Ferlingetti" by Mari Herreras
8."Mestizaje" by Andrea Hernandez Holm


Culture Doesn't Border (Response to SB 1070)

by Rah~Mah Mercy


It is hard to tell race from the profile view
when shards of history lies in a person pupils
and police uniforms are stitched with invisible laws
stating that breathing without being Caucasian is a crime

as if the stares of hatred from every KKK offspring
who didn’t know a “colored” could make it to college without having a litter
of children wasn’t dehumanizing enough
now,
it is required that I prove I have permission to do so at any given moment upon request

when God knows every time I pull out my US citizenship papers
a little more of a Lagos road is erased from my proud ancestries story that lives in my eyes

unfortunately the memories of what it looks likes cannot be placed back
by busing me across to the other side of the US/Mexico border,
I was not born there,
didn’t ride on top of freight trains to get north,
do not share the same heritage,
but I am no more American than them,

Nigeria seeps from my pores,
The scent of Lagos lingers behind my lungs,
I am being lynched by my family’s Uraby language
every day the memories of them talking in native tongues replay,
the thought “will this be the day the police stop me while walking on my Arizona college campus to see if I really am worthy of being there” follows,

now being called an immigrant has the same effect as nigga,
and proof of citizenship always makes me think of slaves having to show freedom papers,
as if people of color were really the ones were infamous for stealing people land,
back in the day,
they titled us 3/5 human
now replaced it with illegal Alien,
I didn’t know Africa was a planet of its own,
When did spaceship and slave ships become interchangeable words?

Sb 1070 is nothing more than a segregation bill passed by Arizona,
where racial profiling is acceptable because a profile view may not deem me to look legal,
like melanin filled skin are God made warning signs

They say Hispanics will suffer from this bill,
but I know a person from the Dominican Republic that looks just like me,
I have a sister that looks like she could be El Salvadorian,
a friend who can trace her family tree in America so far back that it was still the 13 colonies
but looks more Asian than every business owner in Chinatowns everywhere,

but somehow legal has a look,
a profile view that can protect tax dollars,
using racial profiling as a way to make sure this melting pot doesn’t have too much of an ingredient,
as if one too many peppers could really make a country sneeze,
now I wonder from the side will my worry lines look too similar to tribal scar
was it really believed the 50 stars on the flag were reflective of the color of every US citizen,
America made up from minorities
has made limits for what they never rightfully acquired,
and now the tree that consisted of forbidden fruit
has been chopped down to print a bill
that anyone who doesn’t reflect the look of the original thieves
may suffer from,
look around,
that may be you too.




“Disguised as a Winged One, I Free My People” by Diana Joe


UNITED STATES DEPT.OF IMMIGRATION'S GOT NOTHING ON ME.
DISGUISED AS A WINGED ONE, I FREE MY PEOPLE.

FOR THE ONE IN THE DESERT, I AM A CACTUS WREN.
I WILL SING HER INVISIBLE,SING HER MY ROUTE PLAN.

FOR THE ONE ON THE RIVER I AM A HERON.
FOR THE ONE ON THE RIVER I AM EXTENDING MY WING.

FOR THE ONE CAPTURED I WILL SHOW HER FLIGHT.
FOR THE ONE IN THE VAN I WILL SING IN HER HEART.

FOR THE ONE CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN, I AM A HUITZILLI.
I AM THE HUITZILLI ANCESTOR OUTFITTED TO FIGHT FOR FREEDOM.

FOR THE ONE IN THE DETENTION CAMPS I AM THE DOVE COOING.
I AM THE DOVE COVENANT BETWEEN THE EARTH AND THE CAMP.

DISGUISED AS A WINGED ONE,I FREE MY PEOPLE.
I AM THE EAGLE THAT LED US TO ESTABLISH OUR FIRST DIGNITY.

DISGUISED AS A WINGED ONE,I FREE MY PEOPLE.
I AM THE ALBATROSS GAURDING THE SEA.

I AM THE ALBATROSS ON THE ATLANTIC AND ON THE PACIFIC.
I AM THE ALBATROSS DOING THE DANCE FOR ALL TO SEE.

DISGUISED AS A WINGED ONE,I FREE MY PEOPLE,
REAPEATEDLY.

I AM THE MACAW IN THE JUNGLE URGING THEM TO NEVER
SURRENDER.

I AM THE RED HEADED PERICO EN AL PURISIMO EJERCITO EZLN.
I AM THE GRITO OF THE FALCON.

I AM STAYING DISGUISED SO AS TO HELP MY PEOPLE,ESCAPE.
LOS MEXICANOS PERSEGUIDOS E HUMILLADOS .

LOS ARRESTAN Y LOS AVERGUENSAN Y LES GRITAN!

I AM A WINGED ONE, FREE,SO I CAN,I CAN HELP THEM!

I AM THE CACTUS WREN IN THE DESERT TELLING THEM WHEN.

TO WALK ACROSS.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO RUN ANYMORE,HERMANO.


diana joe writes for rights
writing for the freedom and recognition
of the underdocumenteds..liberation.




In Fourteen Hundred Ninety-Two...

by Andrea J. Serrano

They brought no women
no wives or lovers
they brought
disease and weapons
swords and spears
lust and greed
the need for power
I wonder if they repented on Judgment Day
when they stood before a God
in whose name they sought to
slaughter an entire people

I wonder if they repented
relented
admitted that what they did
was wrong
I doubt they did
in their feeble minds
they were working on behalf of a Crown
on behalf of Spain
on behalf of the Church
they were working on behalf
of the "civilized" man
sought to civilize the "savages"
and so they ravaged and raped and pillaged
in the name of civilization

They brought no women
no Queens or Ladies in Waiting
not even concubines
they brought ships named for women
Niña
Pinta
Santa Maria
vessels, like wombs, that delivered men
from the water
from land far away
they delivered
not from sin
but to create a battleground
land to be conquered
bodies to be enslaved
bodies to be owned
women's bodies were owned by bearded white men
who spoke gibberish
forefathers who fathered children
who didn't look like their mothers
mothers who were not lovers or wives or Queens
but rather
victims of conquest
victims of a crime
that had no name

Don't call me Spanish
my skin is Brown and my dark hair is straight
just because we speak the master's language
does not make us the master's children
we are of mothers
who were here
then
now
always

They brought no women
only weapons
they never left
and neither did we



knowledge of generations gone

by Odilia Galván Rodríguez


false knowledge fades
places, like Africa.
disappeared
in less than a century
languages die while
five or six hand-me-down
tongues like
high-heeled
chatter on sidewalks
take the place of drums.
still sounding
across the endless miles
telling the daily news under all that
ruse of an age of greater
communication.

faces
their loss
of more than
6,000 ways to greet
morning forever
gone.
prayers
layers of understanding
stripped away by shiny
globalized skin peelers

more than 6000 ways

to say mother. father.
sister. brother. daughter.
son. husband. wife.
the stars. the moon. the sun.
the rain….........................
…………………………………
…………………………………
…………………………………
the peoples. the creation.

and what about 6,000 ways

to say "I love you."

distinct and brilliant

6,000 languages

gone


© Odilia Galván Rodríguez, 2010




"To The Authors of SB 1070" by ALPharaoh


The authors of Senate Bill 1070/ Fail to address the severity/ of discrimination it will impose/ On tan skinned colored folks/ First is racial profiling/ then assets they’re liquefying/ Then they’ll be denying/ civil rights to ethnic chaps/ Followed by institutionalization/ Into concentration camps/ You can ask the Japanese/ about life in 43’/ And the horrors that they bore/ in the US by 44’/ How they were treated like enemies/ Due to their ancestries and/ Soon, government will hand out jalapeno patches/ Because the Jewish star is taken/ They’ll sow them to your clothes while saying:/ 2012 for Sarah Palin./ To her:/ Contribution payments silence the innocent wailing/ of school children that are left waiting/ for parents caught in a switch and baiting/ Cuz they believed they could be legal/ By registering and obeying/ Civil mandates,/ that now target them at alarming rates/ thanks to fascist laws that degrade,/ and rob hard working people of dreams to be great/ They weren’t swift enough when running/ And now await deportation processing/ For the bad guys most obvious disguise/ Are smiles and ill offerings/ Would you like a blanket?/ For this racial injustice,/ of the hateful self righteous/ Against the threat of a “minority”/ who has become the majority/ Is rooted in a conquistadores ideology/ This beef is older than you or I;/ it goes back to colonial times/ For we are more than Spanish speaking voters,/ or voters that speak Spanish/ Whether we learned it at school/ or it was taught as our first language./ We come from rich cultures,/ but our histories have been damaged./ Altered, and rewritten/ with the blood of the so called savage/ While the history books glorify,/ all the hate and ruthless carnage/ Making all these bastards crimes/ Sound melodic and poetic,/ through manipulated rhetoric./ I was made to feel ashamed,/ if I claimed my people’s past/ Didn’t know my ancestors were kings and Queens/ whose teachings would outlast/ the oppressors till the day/ their descendants would take what’s theirs back!/ But it’s dangerous you see:/ to think and speak freely/ To question why things are/ the way they’ve been set up to be./ Immigration policy has been broken ever since/ Special interest was replaced/ for good ole’ common sense/ Tell me, how many Latino hijackers/ crashed into the towered twins?/ Is it really that unnatural/ for us to drive a Benz?/ Can only certain ethnic groups/ thrive off the sweat from their skins?/ As a child I was told/ my forefathers were British immigrants/ That came to this land searching/ for better lives and dividends./ Sound familiar?/ So what then gave them the right?/ To stake claim on this land/ while asking the inhabitants not to fight?/ Try getting that one past an elder Iroquois or Cherokee/ I’m sure they’ll tell you differently./ and maybe you’ll understand why they’re treated gingerly/ I’m sure they’ll remember the trail of tears/ that led to the registration acts/ Full of rage and tears,/ they were forced into reservation camps./ That’s where their food/ was rationed and sitting bull wouldn’t eat/ That’s were children lost their culture/ while their mother's cried to sleep/ These new laws proposed,/ are this generations’ Jim Crows,/ Meg Whitman wants your vote,/ says the billboard ad campaign/ But only if you Americanize/ your first and last name/ Hypocrite:/ posing with Pete Wilson as a gubernatorial candidate/ She’s tough on Immigration/ depending on the votes she gets/ They call me an anchor baby,/ because I’m a citizen by birth/ Jan Brewer’s people call it:/ ethnic cleansing of their turf/ A safe neighborhood act/ makes it dangerous if asked,/ What hospital you were born in/ and which government paid the tax.



Homage to the 33

by Javier Pacheco
Oct 13, 2010


The world watched them
With interest
Without knowing them
Praying for them
So many men trapped
Within the womb of the Earth
Swallowed by a mountain

Another tragedy?
More lives lost,
martyrs and saints?
Not these men:
This story has another ending.

33 ordinary men
placed in extraordinary circumstances
33 strong men
brave,
in solidarity,
cheating Death
rejecting surrender
living day by day
on pure scraps
nourished only by their tremendous faith
and the indomitable strength
of their spirit

We learned the face of valor
That we are all the same
Flesh and bones
But also
Much soul and spirit

33 men descended down to Hell
and returned to life
like the Phoenix
resuscitated
establishing a new reality
created by optimism
by the strength of hearts
in the moments in which
the whole world palpitated
as one.

**************************

Homenaje a los 33

por Javier Pacheco
13 de octubre de 2010


El mundo los miró
Con interés
Sin conocerlos
Rezando por ellos
Tantos hombres atrapados
Dentro del vientre de la Tierra
Tragados por una montaña

¿Otra tragedia?
¿Más vidas perdidas,
mártires y santos?
Estos hombres, no:
este cuento tiene otro final

33 hombres ordinarios
puestos en circumstancias
extraordinarias
33 hombres fuertes,
valientes,
solidarios
engañan a la Muerte
rechazan rendirse
viven de día a día
con puras migajas
nutridos sólo por su tremenda fe
y la fuerza indomable
de su espíritu

Aprendimos la cara del valor
Que somos lo mismo,
carne y hueso
Pero tambien
mucho ánimo y espíritu

33 hombres descendieron al infierno
y volvieron a la vida
como el fénix
resucitados
estableciendo a una nueva realidad
creada por el optimismo
por la fuerza de corazones
en los momentos en que
todo el mundo palpitó
como uno.

I am Waiting for Lawrence Ferlinghetti
By Mari Herreras

I am waiting for my case to come up and
I am waiting in a world, cruel, wildly intentional
Chaos, beautiful chaos, my breath
And like all, all that is benevolent, otherwise
I am waiting
I am waiting for an eternity of bliss to cross over this world, this body
An enduring spell of peace, wonder
Peace and wonder
So, I am waiting

I am waiting for the second coming
I am waiting for religious identity deemed unimportant
For fundamentalists to forget about being right
For the anti-religious to find something else to distrust, to hate
I am waiting for this messianic tale to finally happen
I am waiting for the lamb to lie with the lion, a messianic age
I am waiting
I am waiting for an eternity of bliss to cross over this world, this body

I am waiting, waiting for my number to be called
The day when every Israeli marries every Palestinian
Their children rehabilitate shame, bury away guilt with their weapons
Rebuild on reconciliation
I am waiting for their births, and the act of childbirth recognized as it once was
Mystical, god-making
I am waiting for those plump statues of women to return to civilization
At filing stations, drive-thru’s and movie theaters
Thick women, real back-sides, real women
I am waiting
I waiting for an eternity of bliss to cover over this world, this body

I am waiting for the day
When all our affiliations meaningless
When America makes its promise
I am waiting for democracy to feel real, not a vinyl imitation
I am waiting for fathers to remember their daughters
For mothers to hold close their sons
I am waiting for mothers to stop comparing each other, stop asking
Are you staying home or going to work
I am waiting for an Atomic Betty of motherhood to explode over us
That allows us to take care, take care
I am waiting for an eternity of bliss to cross over this world, this body
This body of a people
A patient people, waiting, still waiting


Mestizaje

by Andrea Hernandez Holm


Chicana
Latina
Hispana
Mexican American.
White words pealing
off the holy t-shirt that stretches
across her too round breasts,
around her swelling belly
where the unnamed
kick and claw
in an unborn rage.
Too many miles, years and stories away from home,
she doesn’t even know to call on Cihuacoatl,
begging help from an English speaking Christ instead.

“My mestiza,” he calls me,
and maybe smiles
as he tries to understand
why words like Hispanic and Latina
lay flat on my tongue
and itch in a baby’s mouth
like a mother’s sour milk.

Let me say mexica,
let me color my skin brown instead of golden,
let me forget Cortes.
Let me say fuck Columbus
without my own blood simmering in offense.
Can I pretend that La Malinche
didn’t give birth to me?



I am mestiza.
I am mestiza.
I am mestiza.
I am mestiza.

There is strength in the words,?que no?
They begin to sing out from me
to bring my fragmented self together,
and I remember.
I was already here,
waiting for my own arrival long ago.

Long before our shores harbored ships
heavy with Spanish threats and gold
crosses, crowns and conquistadors,
I moved with this land
and I knew.
I knew that I was coming, becoming
mestiza.


Andrea Hernandez Holm (published in part in The Blue Guitar Magazine, Fall 2009



BIOS
1. "Culture Doesn't Border (Response to SB 1070)" by Rah~Mah MercyRah~Mah Mercy is an aspiring artist who has taken on the craft at a very young age. Starting presenting herself to the world of performance poetry at 11 years old. She is a full-time college student in Arizona majoring in Pre-law and Theatre with a passion that drives her to spend her summer dedicated to being a full-time traveling artist attempting to pay her way back to school in August. She spent 2009 competing in 2009 Brave New Voices Competition with the PG County slam team and went to St. Paul, Minnesota in August 2010 to compete in the Adult National Poetry Slam as a part of Arizona's Flagslam team. She has a deep passion about the arts and believes that it is the cure to all things and finds sanctuary in letting her work be her testimony of all she has been through to get to where she is.

2. “Disguised as a Winged One, I Free My People” by Diana Joe

My name is Diana Joe.
I am raised mainly with my Yaqui ways and therefore humbly offer this introduction as Yaqui. My indigenous grandparents are recorded to come as three from Mexico and one German, from the state of Kentucky, an early plantation keeper settler family.
I am a grassroots social justice/human rights advocate and activist.
My personal activism spans into four decades. I began my advocacy/activist work by watching my parents doing the same with family and community.
I enjoy my life as an activist it has been exceptionally satisfying and rewarding to me and my family. My ties to the community and my world are strong because of my love for the earth and its creatures.
I was born in 1960 in Brownsville, Texas. I presently reside on the Navajo Reservation.
I am self-employed as an cultural exchange consultant. I work in the schools here on the Navajo reservation and in other native American communities/tribes around the country and in Mexico and I do so, year round.
I live in the North Eastern Part of Arizona in a little town called Tsaile. I have lived here nearly fifteen years.
I write poetry and short stories. I am an open-microphone seeker as I have found that open-microphone venues enable me to send a political message to the masses! My writing is directed mainly into bringing betterment and empowering people of color. I specialize in working with the indigenous Mexican-American peoples.
Writing has enabled me to help others bring forth their own desire to self-advocate for the Earth. I have found it to be very satisfying to watch as others do grow and even excel in their personal lives through a humbled gathering of ideas and mere sharing of poetry.
I began to write about the age of eight . I wrote on everything from tree bark to toilet tissue squares. I didn’t save my work because I really had no idea what I was doing. I paint and create pieces of deco-art utilizing earth shared mediums. Things such as rocks and driftwood different colored sands and dirt become instrumental design element for home and out of door spaces.
A lot of my writes are based on the experiences that I have had from my personal life. I was born into a farm worker family and I feel very connected to the Earth because of that. I write about the Earth. I like to express my feelings of deep gratitude for the gifts that the Earth grants to us as living beings.

3. "In Fourteen Hundred Ninety-Two... " by Andrea Serrano

Albuquerque native Andrea Serrano has been writing and performing poetry for 16 years. Andrea has been published in various publications including Cantos al Sexto Sol: An Anthology of Aztlanahuac Writings (Rodriguez/Gonzales). Andrea is the youngest of six daughters and credits her family, her ties to land, language and culture and the experience of growing up in Albuquerque with influencing her writing. Andrea is a Community Educator specializing in sexual violence prevention, a student, an activist, and is a member of the band Cultura Fuerte.

4. "Knowledge of Generations Gone" by Odilia Galván RodríguezAuthor, Odilia Galván Rodríguez, is of Chicano-Lipan Apache ancestry, born in Galveston, Texas and raised on the south side of Chicago. As a social justice activist for many years Ms. Galván Rodríguez worked as a community and labor organizer, for the United Farm Workers of America AFL-CIO and other community based organizations and served on various city/county boards and commissions. She is the author of three books of poetry, of which Migratory Birds: New and Noted Poems is her latest edition. Her creative writing, both fiction and poetry, has been published in Reinventing the Enemy's Language: Contemporary Native American Women's Writings of North America; New Chicana / Chicano Writing: 1& 2; Here is my kingdom: Hispanic-American literature and art for young people, and in many other literary journals, and anthologies.

From 1998 – 2000 Odilia taught creative writing at the East Bay Institute for Urban Arts in Oakland California an art program for young people ages 15 – 23 whose goal it was to empower inner-city youth to become artists and activists; she has most recently worked as the English Edition Editor for Tricontinental Magazine, in Havana, Cuba under OSPAAAL an NGO, a non-governmental organization, with consultative status to the United Nations. She is also one of the facilitators of Poets Responding to SB1070 a Facebook page dedicated to calling attention to the unjust laws recently passed in Arizona which target Latinos.

Ms. Galván Rodríguez is hard at work on two books of poetry and a collection of short stories, and offers Empowering People Through Creative Writing workshops internationally.



5. "To The Authors of SB 1070" by ALPharaoh

A. Alex Alfaro aka ALPharaoh is a Spoken Word Poet, Actor, Writer, and Emcee from Los Angeles. He is the oldest of four siblings and son to immigrant parents. as a child, ALPharaoh moved around alot throughout the greater los angeles area. from East Los Angeles to Echo Park, to South Central L.A. he was forced to overcome the harshness of life in gangs, drugs, death, and Violence. Today, he uses his creative gifts to tackle issues of social injustice and immigration reform among others issues of social importance to him. He holds an associates degree in psychology from Cypress College, and is currently Earning a BS in Behavior Spychology from UC Irvine. You can hear ALPharaoh performing with the Uncultivated Rabbits of UCI and at various Open Mic venues in L.A. and Orange County. Film Credits include AKA Creek, Educating A Big City School Boy, a 1999 Documentary about public education reform. He can currently be seen on stage in "Almost, Maine" which opens November 12th, at Cypress College, Cypress California.

6. "Homage to the 33 / Homenaje a los 33 " by Javier B. Pacheco

7. “I am waiting for Lawrence Ferlingetti" by Mari HerrerasMari Herreras is a fifth generation Arizonan, who lives with her husband and son in her hometown of Tucson (Baja Arizona). She is a writer and poet, and currently works as staff writer for the Tucson Weekly, writing about local issues and everything in between that makes Tucson weird and beautiful despite Jan Brewer, Russell Pearce and Joe Arpaio who live up north in Maricopa County.


8."Mestizaje" by Andrea Hernandez HolmBorn and raised in the desert of central Arizona, Andrea Hernandez Holm is a keeper of stories and a teller of stories. She writes poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction. Most of her writing focuses on the exploration of identity. Andrea’s work has appeared in La Sagrada, The Blue Guitar Magazine, Wisdom of Our Mothers, Red Ink, and Tribal Fires. Visit Andrea at www.andreahernandezholm.webs.com