Michael Sedano
Combining the best of broadcasting and glossy magazine layout, Latinopia brings visitors a trinity of appealing features. The site is: visually accessible, content driven, resonates culturally. These values will draw visitors into the site repeatedly, to explore a subject more fully, to browse for new knowledge, to revisit a happy link.
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Treviño, a lifelong documentarian and chronicler of la cultura chicana, is drawing from his archives as well as conducting ongoing interviews and videography to provide quality content. In Art, for example, Latinopia’s interview lineup features a who’s who of artists from Magú to the venerable Museo del Barrio.
One of the best reasons to become a Latinopia regular is the site’s dedication to younger writers and artists. In music, for example, Latinopia introduces Los Angeles’ conjunto Los Pochos, singing a toe-tapping original number. In literature, Latinopia showcases youthful Austin poet Mónica Teresa Ortíz, from Mónica’s reading at Festival de Flor y Canto Yesterday • Today • Tomorrow.
But the best reason to spend time at Latinopia is its invariably informative and entertaining approach. Because of that, one visit will never be enough.
On-Line Floricanto
Last week’s assassination of a little girl and several other Arizonans sent tremors of rage and despair throughout Unitedstatesian media.
“Vitriol” became a polite word for hate speech. One politician denied she had put cross hairs on anyone. Still, gente know exactly what tea baggers like her stir up among their birther crackpot and knucklehead ilk. Latinopia is probably illegal in Arizona classrooms.
The Facebook group Poets Responding to SB 1070 received a flood of contributions, as if the week’s upswelling of despair and outrage found release in poetry. Thus, this week, La Bloga’s On-Line Floricanto doubles its offering, presenting the work of ten poets responding to all the crud that is the worst of Arizona the worst of our nation, on this penultimate Tuesday of January 2011:
1. "Awakening at Night" by Carmen Calatayud
2. "Angels and Arizona" by Andrea Hernandez Holm
3. "Anger Management" by Diana Joe
4. "Let Us Be Gandhi / Seamos Gandhi" by Francisco X. Alarcón
5. “La Ultima Palabra" by MamaCoAtl
6. "To Be a Storm" by Susmita Paul
7. “Today We Will Plant Chia” by Doug Patzkowski
8. “Burn Brightly” by Tim Wozny
9. "Borders" by Sharon Elliot
10. ”Sophist Game” by Ricardo Villalobos
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Poem:
Awakening at Night
For Rep. Gabrielle Giffords
(And All Who Want Humane Immigration Reform)
By Carmen Calatayud
Anger creeps
through my fingers
to tips that buzz
with frustration.
Marigolds pop
and wither,
turn into crust.
Under the gypsy moon
I witness my heart
of coal grow tentacles,
reach out to strangle
the pain my people hold.
Flamenco ancestors
play castañets,
express their rage
through the heels
of their shoes.
My stomach kicks
as Venus appears
in the red wing sky
and I feel the wise
child of belonging
who reminds me
That time has always
been on our side.
That our hands
protect the land
That our souls collide
moment to moment
That our sleep has been
disturbed for centuries
but we are never too tired
to speak the truth.
Angels and Arizona
by Andrea Hernandez Holm
Turn, open your eyes
See the angels falling
Pummeled in mid-flight
by invisible fists
knuckles
that must have been beaten raw
by frantic wings.
Turn, arch your neck
So you may see the top of the wall
And watch the angels
Break under the weight
Of a young man
Plummeting to the desert floor.
Turn, quickly
And you will see a child
Who the angels stole away
From a world that did not deserve her.
Turn, listen closely
So you can hear the heavens weeping
As the angels turn their backs and walk away.
ANGER MANAGEMENT AFTER A SHOOTOUT
*in honor of the deceased for Tucson's Giffords. (poets responding To ESE-1070)
By Diana Joe
PRIMERO QUE NADA MIS RESPETOS A LOS FINADOS.
BEFORE ANYTHING RESPECT FOR THE DECEASED ONES .
AYER POR LA MANANA WHEN
EVERYBODY THOUGHT IT TO BE A REGULAR MORNING
A CONGRESS WOMAN OPENS HER ARMS TO HER CONSTITUENTS.
A LITTLE NINE-YEAR IN CROWD DESIRES TO LEARN ABOUT POLITICS AND THE POWER OF HER VOTE IN THE FUTURE THAT WILL NEVER MEET HER.
I WANT TO BE CALM.
I WANT TO NOT SCREAM.
I ALREADY CRIED YESTERDAY.
I AM NOT FROM ARIZONA BY WAY OF BELLY BUTTON CEREMONIAL RITES.
I AM FROM TEJAS INDIGENOUS COUNTRY NOT OIL MANS.
I AM NEW HERE IN ARIZONA NEAR 15 YEARS NOW.
MOUNTAINS,VALLEYS,FEDERALLY MANAGED LANDS CALLED SOVEREIGN.
LATELY IT IS HARD TO NOT BECOME ANGRY.
IT IS HARD TO NOT SENSE THE PROVOCATION OF MY PERSON OF MEXINDIN DESCENT.
I AM ONE PERSON ALONE IN THE DESERT HOMELAND OF MY PATERNAL CLAN THE YAQUI MAN!
I AM NOT A REGULAR AMERICAN.
I DO NOT HOLD ON TO THE FLAG OF THIS LAND I HOLD ON ONLY TO THE EARTH LAND.
I AM NOT A REGISTERED ONE,AN RECOGNISED MEMBER IN BOUNDRY MARKED LAND.
I AM NO LONGER ANYTHING ACCORDING TO THE POWERFUL MANS PLAN.
A TREATY CALLED GUADALUPE HIDALGO GIMME A PINCHI QUEBRADA MAN.
AIN'T ALLOWED TO TEACH THE CHILDREN THE PLAN, THE TREATY , THE SCAM.
ETHNIC STUDIES REMOVED IN TUCSON WHERE THE YAQUIS CAN CROSS THE BORDER HAND IN HAND WITH THE AMERICAN THAT HATES THEM?!
ANGER MANAGEMENT.
ANGER MANAGEMENT?!
I AM UNDER ANGER MANAGEMENT,YOU HATER BETTER BE GLAD THAT I COME WITH AN ANCIENT MEDICINE!
A MEDICINE THAT SERVES THE EARTH!
A MEDICINE THAT SERVES ONLY THE ONE THAT WILLS TO REMAIN ALERT.
NOT YOUR FAKE SCHOOLING IDEALS, OR YOUR THIS LAND IS TAKEN DEALS,OR THIS LAND IS MY LAND DEALS.
ANGER MANAGEMENT.
I AM MEXICAN !
I AM BENITO JUAREZ!
I AM DOROTEO ARANDA IN THE NEW MEXICAN WITH BIGOTES AND PICHES PISTOLAS STILL SMOKING.
I AM THE TRUE STORY OF GERONIMO..NOT THE US.MOUNTED GIDDY UP VERSION!
I AM THE DISMEMBERMENT OF THE BODIES BURNED IN PILES OVER AT..THE BLOODY ALAMO!
I AM UNDER ANGER MANAGEMENT.
LOOK AT ME!
HOW I CAN USE THE WAY YOU TAUGHT ME, TO DEFEND MYSELF!
THIS LANGUAGE THAT WAS FOREIGN JUST A FEW HUNDRED YEARS AGO,I PERFECTED IT!
I AM MIXED.
I AM PROUD THAT I AM MIXED,BECAUSE I AM ABLE TO SAY I AM WHITE,YELLOW,RED,AND BLACK ALL TOGETHER JUST LIKE THAT..A PERFECT MIXTURE WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE!
LOOK AT MY ANGER MANAGEMENT.
LOOK AT MY DISCIPLINE ALL OVER THE EARTH I AM!
I AM THE BAKER,THE SHORT ORDER COOK,THE WAITRESS,THE WINDOW WASHER,THE SHOE SHINER,THE SHOE MENDER ,THE MIND BENDER ,THE WIND, THE FIRE,I AM THE NEXT IDEA BUILDING A WHOLE NEW BARRIO DESIRE.
ANGER MANAGMENT IS NOT SOMETHING I HAD TO GO LEARN,IT ISN'T SOMETHING I GOT FROM A BOOK,OR AN OPRAH EPISODE ON THE TUBE,YOU TUBE..IT IS ANCIENT MEDICINE..INSIDE OF ME.
IT IS THE TIP OF MY SPEAR.
ANGER MANAGEMENT IS MY WAY OF WATCHING THE HATERS CRASH AND BURN.
IT IS A COLLECTION OF ARROWS GIFTED TO ME IN A BUNDLE FOR TIMES LIKE THESE.
MY ANGER MANAGEMENT IS MY SHADOW.
MY SHADOW IN FULL REGALIA IN TIMES OF MISERY IN A STATE SURROUNDED BY HATE SHARKS IN THE DESERT THAT FLY IN AND OUT IN AIRSHIPS WITH MINUTEMEN WANTING TO PRETEND THEY PATROL THE GATES OF HELL THEY CREATED.
I AM UNDER ANGER MANAGEMENT.
I WILL NOT TELL YOU THAT YOU PRAY WRONG!
I WILL ONLY WATCH YOU THROUGH THIS STARSCOPE WATCH YOU BECOME INTOLERANT OF MY PEOPLE AND WATCH YOU BECOME IMPATIENT WATCH YOU COME OUT RUNNING WITH YOUR SILLY GUNS AND YOUR LOUSY MILITARY TACTIC..KILLING LITTLE CHILDREN.
PASS ALL THOSE LAME LAWS THAT FLY OFF IN THE WIND..GUADALUPE HIDALGO DIED IN THE DESERT YESTERDAY.
IN THE DESERT BONES BECOME A PART OF THE COYOTES,IN THE DESERT THE ONLY THINGS THAT TRAVERSES IT ARE THE DISCIPLINED.
THROUGH PRAYER,MEDITATION AND ANCIENT ANGER MANAGEMENT.
All Rights Reserved
Diana L.--joe
Tsaile ,Az
the navajo rez.
* I write in solidarity to those persecuted all over Az. ppl that have a treaty,that they know nothing about. teach our children anyway!
journey well to those that were massacred yesterday in Tuscan in pursuit of JUSTICE!
Adelante!
LET US BE GANDHI
by Francisco X. Alarcón
let us be Gandhi
Martin Luther King Jr.
Nelson Mandela
bearers of peace
reason, tolerance, good will
not hatred, anger
let us never be
bullets but true healing hands
pressing bleeding wounds
run away from lions
and eagles, always content
to be butterflies—
from complete despair
sorrow, fear, pain, let us draw
new joy, trust, faith, hope
January 9, 2011
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
SEAMOS GANDHI
por Francisco X. Alarcón
seamos Gandhi
Martin Luther King Jr.
Nelson Mandela
enviados de paz
razón, tolerancia, bondad
no odio, coraje
nunca seamos balas
sino manos que curan
heridas que sangran
huyamos de leones
y águilas, contentos siempre
de ser mariposas—
de la desesperanza,
miedo, dolor, saquemos
nuevo gozo, fe, esperanza
9 de enero de 2011
Wisdom
A common Gmc. compound (cf. O.S., O.Fris. wisdom, O.N. visdomr, O.H.G. wistuom "wisdom," Ger. Weistum"judicial sentence serving as a precedent"
La Ultima Palabra
by MamaCoAtl
Because I am sick with words.
I am sick of the truth,
I am sick of concepts and designations,
Status and jurisdictions,
Sick of economics and psycho spiritual jargon.
I am tired of numerology, revolutions, the Zodiac, the Bible,
The English week, the constitution, the Gregorian year, the Cross and the Rose, the sacrificial goat…
I am sick and tired of the program; of killing to eat, to shop, to invest, to survive, to forget.
I am running out of words and I am running out of time,
And at the same time
I feel so paranoid about mass destruction, you know?
I feel the urge to run
It’s hard for me to look up when I daily see the streak of metal
The man made cloud
I suspect poison in everything.
How can one take a deep breath after fumigation?
Why do we keep shiting in clean water?
Where is the end of this occupation?
What kind of world will there be for my daughter?
While a cabal of incestuous predators
Rotting in historical plunder
Gamble with total impunity
The destiny of human kind
We’re down here
Standing in line for the newest vaccine
In total passivity swallowing the mortal lie
Sacrificing our sons
Dropping bombs in the name of a flag
We are down here
The highly educated cultural creature
Subject to the royal book
All we can do is repeat since
We can’t understand the sounds we emit
We can’t figure out the source of our pain
We are perfectly incapable to see
This prison is made
Out of language
Out of words like LOVE and LIGHT
Master terms crafted to convert us
Into FAITH, into FUEL, into FILES.
This prison is made of angular mirrors
Out of angels and lords,
Electrical shocks, the bugles of war,
Democracy heroine for the soul
This prison is made of gold.
And we are in here
Bewildered in perpetuity
Betraying our own descendants
Worshiping the executioners
The dazzlers, the wizards,
With their Adams and Eves,
Their pyramids,
Their 360 degrees,
Their little piece of the sky,
Their color, their crown,
Their mining civilization,
Their parasitic nature,
Their plans of extermination,
This prison is made out Roman-tic Law and language
And like romantic love the end is always tragic.
How does your mouth sing when you got nothing left to prove, nothing left to gain?
Where can our steps take us on this civilized race to self destruction?
How high can we get? How far? What is really the end? The promise to ascend?
To be saved by the same king, by the same thing?
We are nothing but steam for their engines, you know?
But we are sold on the idea of becoming what they want us to be,
Citizens, patriots, entrepreneurs, intellectuals
In the pursuit of profit we believe
Therefore we can’t help but to continue to weave
The veil that blinds us.
And we celebrate it as a holiday
As identity,
We sincerely pretend
We hide our real names, we evolve to the level
Of predator, polluter, population
And we never question the basic assumption.
Ay de mi mis hijos llorona!
Why don’t we question the basic assumption?
Why don’t we examine the root of despair?
Why don’t we break the mirrors, face the demons,
Claim our lives again and again?
Have we not had enough
Deception, oblivion, damnation?
Let us awake then!
Let us unwind, let us unbind!
Let us un-become all the way to the 20 moments of creation
The four winds and all the directions.
Let us then, call our mind back from the dungeons of imperial thought!
Let us be here now!
Firmly planted in the body of the ONLY ONE
Let’s be ONE down deep under
Beyond idiolect
Beyond the world of the dead,
Let us feel, let us know that we feel,
The heart beat
Of the only one who truly exists!
Because we in here
Are nothing but a handful of dirt
And a piece of time, you know?
A whisper in the empty space
Of the only one, of the all that is.
Despues del amor la tierra, despues de la tierra nadie
Our Mother already cured us yesterday and the day before
Our Mother already gave birth to us
Our Mother, our source, our sustenance
That from which we are made
Is the ONE we’ve been looking for
In spells and numbers,
In reflection, in theory…
Let us collapse this edifice
Let us begin sweeping the path
Let us walk back until we become
Medicine
In the open mouth
Of the Living Water.
MamaCoAtl ©
To Be a Storm
by Susmita Paul
the wind plays merry-go-round,
the grass bows near your feet,
clearing the streams,
making pathways to somewhere
you feel the bending wind
rushing through your veins
the madness of life
straining through the thumb
that press down the eye of the tornado-
it is dreadful to be there alone.
you may be brushed from the soil
and piled at another place, in another din.
the bones may rattle
with the newness of the blow,
and guard you into a shell ...
and yet,
the storm brews something in you
something with flavours.
something, you can feel.
you've never seen the skies so drunk,
you gesture them to calm down
but sobering seems a strain.
cut out the past in cardboard shapes
hang it in loose circles near the window
open the panes-
you may be the eye for a while.
From my blog
Today We Will Plant Chia
by Doug Patzkowski
Today we will plant chia,
those crisp little seeds
that are not all alike:
dark, light, or mottled,
yet they fall from the same
blue desert flower.
Food of the Aztecs
for centuries,
they gave strength
on long journeys,
retaining water
in the traveler's body
until the next spring
offered a transparent trickle
of liquid sustenance.
Today we will plant chia,
like the Tohono O'odham
who live in a desert cut in two
with a line drawn in the sand
between two young nations
that measure land by area alone.
The chia shares the life of the land
with those who live upon it.
It does not fear
thunderstorms
or drought,
but yields its seed in season
for a new generation of its own
and for other species to thrive.
There will be enough for all.
Burn Brightly
by Tim Wozny
While I stand
I know I'm not alone
While I stand
I bow down to no throne
While I stand
I see the first glance
While I stand
I now that there is still a chance
While I stand
I give voice to my beliefs
While I stand
I give notice to the worlds grief
Burn brightly
This candle of peace
Burn brightly
To touch the heart of all your reach
Burn brightly
To show we care
Burn brightly
to comfort those that dare
Burn brightly
To relieve the worlds stress
Burn brightly
To light the darkness
Stand with me my friends
Against war and hate
Stand with me my friends
Now before its too late
Stand with me my friends
To right what is wrong
Stand with me my friends
Before freedom is gone
Border Crossing
by Sharon Elliot
A umba wa ori
A umba wa ori
Awa osun
Awa oma
Leri oma
Liki awo
Ara Orun
Ka a we*
*traditional Lukumi (African-Cuban) chant to call the ancestors
I am going back before the funeral
the crossing brings me to the land of my ancestors
before the singing starts
the banshee wails
the pipers float their cries upon the wind
I look at all the borders
crossed or left alone
who is dragged there
who comes willingly
who is ready
who is not
I have been here all my life
standing at the invisible line
between being
and not being
between this world and the next
next
next door
neighbors
As I prepare to cross
I know that it won’t be a crossing
it will be an acceptance
flowing
flowering
embracing
Ten thousand feet
have walked this path
been thrown across that line
that lie
few chose it
their homes reduced to rubble and smoke behind their backs
their farmer’s hearts
forced to the sea
to sit on rocky wasted land
or on the boulders of the shore itself
forced to exchange their meat and wool and milk
for unfamiliar fish
that don’t come easily, if at all
to nets cast by untutored hands
Weeping accompanies their journey
out of the green and fertile highland valleys
into the lairs of other clans
tribal people who will not yield easily
until they too are forced to join the march
and what new border can they visualize
how can they keep each other straight
they learn to pull their plaid garments up around their
shoulders
over their heads
the threads and colors creating small visual borders on the cloth
screaming THIS IS ME!
my identity
my land
the place I long to lay down to rest
I carry it with me in sacred cloth
and when I am ready
when I have reached the road’s ending
and the last border stands before my feet
I will cleanse and wrap my body myself
before the ministrations of loving hands can do it for me
and I will go back
I will be back
I will smell the peat and heather
I will hear the birds and pipes
The laurel tree and hazel hedge will welcome me
And the voices that I hear shall speak all the languages I have
gathered
and sing to me in one I do not know
but carry always in my heart.
Sophist Game
by Ricardo Villalobos
Talking heads
PC TV
“both sides are responsible”
but who’s spewing the hate
disagreements one thing
vitriol another
the new hate words
immigrant
hitlist
lock n load
un-american
can’t speak the truth
w/o un-deciphered code
the tea party isn’t
a party
or about tea
who will talk freely
no mask
or PC code phrases
instead
heads spin
competing facades
the elephant
in the room
uses all the oxygen
we are all in the crosshairs
truth at stake
genuineness becoming extinct
knowledge irrelevant
greed and power
the only board game
BIOS
1. "Awakening at Night" by Carmen Calatayud
2. "Angels and Arizona" by Andrea Hernandez Holm
3. "Anger Management" by Diana Joe
4. "Let Us Be Gandhi / Seamos Gandhi" by Francisco X. Alarcón
5. “La Ultima Palabra" by MamaCoAtl
6. "To Be a Storm" by Susmita Paul
7. “Today We Will Plant Chia” by Doug Patzkowski
8. “Burn Brightly” by Tim Wozny
9. "Borders" by Sharon Elliot
10. ”Sophist Game” by Ricardo Villalobos
Carmen Calatayud is a poet and psychotherapist in Washington, DC. Born to a Spanish father and Irish mother in the U.S., her poetry has appeared in journals such as Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Cutthroat: A Journal of the Arts, and PALABRA: A Magazine of Chicano and Latino Literary Art. Her poems are anthologized in four collections, including DC Poets Against the War: An Anthology (Argonne House Press). Calatayud won a 2003 Larry Neal Poetry Award. She lived and wrote in Tucson in the 1990s, where she worked as a literacy advocate. She is active with the Split This Rock Poetry Festival in Washington, DC and is a poet moderator for the Poets Responding to SB 1070 Facebook group.
Andrea Hernandez Holm writes from the desert, where she lives among the beauty and pain that is Arizona.
Francisco X. Alarcón, award winning Chicano poet and educator, is author of twelve volumes of poetry, including, From the Other Side of Night: Selected and New Poems (University of Arizona Press 2002), and Snake Poems: An Aztec Invocation (Chronicle Books 1992) His latest book is Ce•Uno•One: Poems for the New Sun (Swan Scythe Press 2010). His book of bilingual poetry for children, Animal Poems of the Iguazú (Children’s Book Press 2008), was selected as a Notable Book for a Global Society by the International Reading Association. His previous bilingual book titled Poems to Dream Together (Lee & Low Books 2005) was awarded the 2006 Jane Addams Honor Book Award. He has been a finalist nominated for Poet Laureate of California in two occasions. He teaches at the University of California, Davis.
MamacoAtlMission district Poet, Songstress, Healer, cultural and spiritual activist. She has curated ceremonies to heal the Amazonia River Mother of God at the border of Bolivia-Brazil-Peru, concerts for peace on places desecrated by femicide in Mexico’s highways and periodically organizes healing days (called LIMPIAS) in public plazas in the United States. Blessed by a mayoral proclamation, MamaCoAtl began curating the first International Day for the Elimination of Violence toward Women and Girls in San Francisco, and the 16 Days of ARtivism for the Healing of Violence.
She holds a MA degreee in Women Spirituality and and MFA in Creative Inquiry.
Susmita Paul has done her Masters in English Literature from University of Calcutta in India. Writing is her passion. She works as an Independent Scholar, is a poet and a translator. Studying history, symbols and culture interest her.Doug Patzkowski began the journey of learning the Spanish language and understanding more of Latino cultures as a teenager growing up in the San Joaquín Valley. He entered the field of education as a bilingual teacher, working with Spanish speaking children for many years. He now teaches English learners with diverse linguistic and cultural backgrounds in Monterey Park, California. He writes stories, poems, and essays with and for the children. Doug strives to understand and share the connections between the earth, human cultures, and the foods that the earth gives to sustain life.
Tim Wozny is a northern California poet and cyber activist who originally started fighting on behalf of the oppressed in his home state of Illinois. His proudest achievement are his three sons who have continued his legacy of making the world a better place for all people. He currently pays the bills by working a 9 to 5 but spends his off time creating music videos for rising musicians and bands, while also spreading the truth, as he sees it, to the world through cyberspace. His poetry is what he calls his "therapy", his way of venting his frustrations, sharing his passions and spreading his love.
Sharon Elliott is an Iyalocha, initiated priest, in the Lucumi (African-Cuban) tradition. She was born and raised in Seattle, WA, among the evergreens by the sea. She lived in Nicaragua for 2 years and worked with groups of teenage girls como Voluntaria del Cuerpo de Paz, during the Somoza regime, and it is still the home of her heart. Ecuador was also her residence for 2 years. She is a member of her ancestral clan, the Elliot Clan, in the Borders of Scotland. She’s an activist, writer, musician (violin and mandolin), singer of Orisha chants, folkloric dancer, loves yoga and contact improvisation dancing. She fights for love, peace and justice in her life and for the world. She lives in Oakland, CA.
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