10 Best Poems of 2011

La Bloga On-Line Floricanto, One Three Twelve. 

Michael Sedano

La Bloga is pleased to begin another year celebrating floricanto every Tuesday. It's an added joy working with Francisco Alarcón and the co-moderators of a Facebook group, Poets Responding to SB 1070,  as we have since La Bloga began this on-line floricanto in mid-2010.

Inaugurating 2012’s weekly floricantos, we’re taking a final look back on 2011 so we can honor ten  poems published in 2011 as the best of the year. And, since one of the poems is a dual-language gem, La Bloga’s top ten numbers eleven poems for 2011.

La Bloga On-Line Floricanto's Ten Best Poems of 2011 are inspirations of Devreaux Baker, Carmen Calatayud, Elena Díaz Bjorkquist, Odilia Galván Rodríguez, Nancy Aidé González, José Hernández Díaz, Sonia Gutiérrez, Genny Lim, Ramon Piñero, Hedy García Treviño.

This Is Not My Empire by Devreaux Baker

Awakening at Night by Carmen Calatayud

Bellota Harvest by Elena Díaz Bjorkquist

Border Inquest Blues by Odilia Galván Rodríguez

La Virgen de Las Calles by Nancy Aidé GonzálezPublish Post

This Serpent Tongue Cannot Be Colonized by José Hernández Díaz

La maza y cantera de una poeta by Sonia Gutiérrez

The Same Thing by Genny Lim

I Am America by Ramon Piñero

Keep Hope Alive By Hedy García Treviño

This Is Not My Empire

Devreaux Baker

This is the night

that only ends when one person says Enough

and passes on the words that sing solidarity

from heart to hand to mouth

so an unbreakable bond is formed

a chain is forged

an empire is dismantled

so a new land grows up

out of the shadow world into the light

where even the voices of those whose language

we do not speak is understood

is cradled between our hands

like a new beginning

is offered up to wood, water, air and fire

like a prayer

This morning I walk through a dream

of desperate men and gaunt women

lining up to knock on my doors

or calling out to me from

their beds of slippery dark

I woke up to the words this is not

my empire… I did not release the orders to kill

children in countries I will never see

I did not permit people to use the crosshairs

of guns to hunt down innocent men, women and

children. I was born in a time of war

to an empire that I never claimed as mine.

I move through the morning

like a sleep walker

in a dream of terrible consequence.

This is not my empire

(La Bloga – January 25, 2011)

Awakening at Night

Carmen Calatayud

For Poets Responding to SB 1070 and Rep. Gabrielle Giffords

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 holds.

Flamenco ancestors

play castanets,

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.

(La Bloga – January 18, 2011)

Bellota Harvest

Elena Díaz Bjorkquist

“¡Vamos a las bellotas!”

Abuelita invites us, her familia.

All the family, tías, tíos, primos,

Abuelita, abuelito,

Run to pack cars and trucks

With the necessary goods

For a road trip followed

By a picnic.

“¡Vamos a las bellotas!”

Pots of frijoles y nopales

and chile colorado con carne,

Ice chests packed with soda and beer

Thermoses full of rich, thick coffee

Old cochas folded into squares

Ready to spread on the ground

To capture the harvest

Of shiny brown nuts stuffed

With sweet golden kernals

And an occasional gusano,

Canvas botas heavy with water

Hang from radiator caps

“¡Vamos a las bellotas!”

We pile into vehicles

For a caravan to Nuevo Mexico

Where the oak forest

Near Silver City

Bears the sweetest bellotas.

“¡Vamos a las bellotas!”

Primos, primas cheer as we

Chase each other among the oaks

Tías, tíos, shake the oak trees

Shower their bounty

On the colorful cochas beneath.

A season’s harvest of bellotas

Poured into flower printed flour sacks

Tied with a knot on top.

“¡Vengan a comer!”

My oldest tía calls out.

Tías load paper plates

With fat burritos

Filled with frijoles y nopales

Or chili colorado con carne

Warmed over an open fire.

Family seeks shade under oaks

Sit on cochas now empty of bellotas.

Abuelita sits on the running board

Of an old Chevy truck

With her youngest granddaughter

Relishing huge slices

Of watermelon

Grown in family gardens.

Sunburned, tired, full

Of good food and memorias

La familia heads back

To Morenci chasing

A glorious sunset,

Snacking on bellotas.

Darkness falls before

La familia gets home

Cars, trucks part to go

To their homes

In different parts of town.

Tías, Tíos, unload leftover comida,

Sleeping niños and precious bellotas.

“¡Vamos a las bellotas!”

Una memoria of an autumn picnic

With la familia, to be enjoyed

on cold winter days as we

snack on the harvest of bellotas.

(La Bloga – September 27, 2011)

Border Inquest Blues

Odilia Galván Rodríguez

at what crossing

could my poems

become bread

or water to offer

a people

the thousands

who cross so many

miles of misery

perched on trains

like birds

with clipped wings

who only fly

in their dreams

but decide to search

out the promise of

a better life at any cost

which of my

careful word choices

make a difference

to scorched tongues

that can no longer

even form a whisper

let alone cry out for help

in a desolate desert

there are no

flights on 747's

for a people

with only prayers

without papers

thick with words

that legitimize them

in an illegal world

full of legalized criminals

that form tempests

to tease out fear and

who year after year

think up new ways to hate

at the same time taking

even a person's last breath

if it benefits their profits

at what checkpoint

do my words become

more than arrows

sharp in their bite

or mere criticisms of the "Right"

still not hitting the target

or putting an end

to this war

(La Bloga – June 28, 2011)

La Virgen de Las Calles

Nancy Aidé González

She stands on the

busy street corner

selling delicate red

and white roses

hugged by baby's -breath

and luminous cellophane

resting in a

once discarded

plastic bucket.

She understands the innate

beauty of roses,

their fragility

their fragrant hope

as they grow slowly

from bud to

emerge

embracing change,

as they flush into

full bloom.

She knows of

piercing thorns

and truth,

of crossing

barbed wire

borders.

She understands

the prickling sting,

the aculeus

of being an outsider.

She wears a large

sweatshirt with USA

emblazoned in block

print across her chest

but she misses

Mexico and the

small town she was

raised in .

A red and green

rebozo hangs down

upon her head shielding

her from the flugent sun,

a gift from her mother,

a reminder of home.

People stride past her

lost in their own thoughts

hustling to work,

on pressing errands,

wandering down the tangle

of the Los Angeles

landscape.

She is La Virgen de

las Calles,

waiting with a

heavy heart,

full of yearning,

dreaming of

new horizons,

a fountain of

humble tenderness

and abounding love.

La Virgen de las Calles

comprehends the

nature of roses,

their vulnerability

their need for nettle.

(La Bloga – November 22, 2011)

This Serpent Tongue Cannot Be Colonized

José Hernández Díaz

To those who say

Our voices must conform

To proper English

And/or Spanish,

I offer you this

Humble poem—

This jaguar roar:

Mezclado,

With love and squalor…

I was born

To a proud

And ignorant

Mother who

Bravely immigrated

From the bucolic

Fields of Guanajuato;

After crossing to El Norte,

She stumbled as she

Landed on

The dry, gringo soil –

She spoke to me

With heavy chains of

Broken English –

But her turquoise heart

Was always full of love;

Her tranquil song

Reverberated in

The belly of

The sun.

...Please,

Cuauhtémoc,

Do not weep…

When I was placed

In ESL classes

In elementary school,

I yearned to join

The American students

In traditional courses –

I wanted to say

The pledge of allegiance

Without a hint of

A Chicano accent –

When that day

Finally arrived,

I was filled with

Yankee pride;

Today, I cherish

The memory

Of my Abuelo’s machete –

Swiftly cutting the

Tuna del nopal –

At times,

Subtle sounds

Are more profound

Than the rigid

Perils of language.

...Por favor,

Cuauhtémoc,

No llores…

Tomorrow,

With the coming

Of the Sixth Sun:

I yearn to

Speak the

Silent language

Of sun-burnt peasants –

With a vibrant accent,

Colorful with

The pulse of

Ancient myth:

This serpent tongue –

This pride –

Cannot be colonized.

...Tlatlauhtilia,

Cuauhtemoctzin,

Amo ancoconetzitzintl…

(Portion of poem first published in Hinchas de Poesía; the author gratefully acknowledges Professor Francisco X. Alarcón for his assistance with the Nahuatl translation of the last stanza)

(La Bloga – December 6, 2011)

La maza y cantera de una poeta

Sonia Gutiérrez 

Porque estos dedos toscos
no tocan guitarra,
mis letras se levantan
como nudos desatados
del pueblo
de mi garganta.

Con sus ojitos desplomados
y trapos agujereados,
esa niña y niño
merecen vivir un cuaderno de la vida
sin balas,
con lápices de colores para pintar
sus buenos días y aguas
libres de lombrices.
Déjenlos subirse a los árboles
y enlodarse de sonrisas.

Y porque no tengo las brochas de Goya,
mis dedos pintan la sangre derramada
de brazos destrozados
como una tecolota
acribillada en su nido
mientras su tecolote huye
en terror a media noche.

Y porque para esta poeta, la poesía
es su único escudo y arma
sin violencia bruta;
teje palabras,
para que un pseudo-sordo mundo
escuche la historia
de su presagio.

A Poet’s Mallet and Quarry
Sonia Gutiérrez

Because these clumsy fingers
don’t play guitar,
my letters rise
like untied knots
in the throat
of my people.

With their slumped eyes
and riddled rags,
that girl and boy
deserve living a notebook of life
without bullets,
with color pencils to paint
their good mornings and waters
free of worms.
Let them climb trees
and be muddied with smiles.

And because I don’t have Goya’s paint brushes,
my fingers paint the bloodshed
of mangled arms
like an owl
gunned down in her nest
while her love flees
in terror at midnight.

And because for this poet, poetry
is her only coat of arms and weapon
without raw violence;
she weaves words,
so a pseudo-deaf world
listens to the history
of her presage.

(La Bloga – December 6, 2011)

The Same Thing

Genny Lim

“The trees on the mountain topple themselves

and the spring steals its own water.”

– Chuang ‘zi

In comparing how prison camp workers

rubbed grains from ears of wheat stalks

and popped them in their mouths

it was every man for himself

recalls Er Tai Gao

who wore the dead man’s coat

The young man had lied to his mother

that he was well, then died of starvation

wearing the blue coat she had made

In comparing our city’s homeless

wearing rags that no one had made

and stuffing themselves with food scraps

rummaged from dumpsters and

the cold fire of whiskey

I wonder if captivity or freedom

amounts to the same thing?

Two deaths amount to one

When a mother awakens

in the dead of night

to discover the son she once nursed

has succumbed to the suckle of whiskey

Two deaths amount to one

when a mother awakens

in the chill of dawn to

discover her boy’s letters from camp

have stopped for eternity

Two deaths amount to one

when the trees on the hillsides

can’t lift the heavy rains that come

Two deaths amount to one

when the fish can’t spawn upstream

because it’s everyone for himself

and captivity and freedom

have become the same thing

(La Bloga – June 7, 2011)

I Am America

Ramon Piñero

I am America.

from the

tundra to

Patagonia

from the

wheat fields

in Kansas

to the orange

groves in

Florida

I am America

from

New York

to Cuzco

from

Buenos Aires

to

Eagle Pass

I am America

my sweat

built the

railroads

I left

my blood

In Panama

in a canal

I am America

from Macchu Pichu

to Tenochtitlan

from Quintana Roo

to Appalachia

I left

my body

on the Trail of

Tears.

I am America

I died on the

Bataan Death March

and in

the mountains of

Argentina

An Aztec

took my

still beating

heart and raised

it to the

heavens

I am America

I sleep in

a dead end

alley

covered by

cardboard

I am America

I watched the

fires in Detroit

and in the

Bronx.

I died at

Wounded Knee;

I spent my

early youth

in Manzanar.

I am America

I conked

my hair

in the fifties

and wore

dashikis

and

a ‘fro

in the

sixties.

I was

one of the

first to die

in Vietnam

I am America

I am that

hillbilly

who

sees

that the

boot

on my

neck

is the

same as

the boot

on yours.

I am America

I rode

with

Geronimo

Bolivar

and

L’Overture

I died

in the

Ponce Massacre

I am America

I followed

the fruit

and the

vegetables.

La Caña

in

Belle Glade

El tomate

in Ruskin

la lechuga

en el Valle

y la uva

también.

I am America

United Fruit

and Dole

know

me by name

I am America

I sat with

Malcolm

and Martin

I drank

coffee

with Marti

and

Don Pedro

I am America

from the

Aleuts

to

Tierra del Fuego

from the Andes

to the

Florida swamps.

I am America

I made

Columbus

famous

for all

the wrong

reasons.

I am

that baby

in a dumpster,

that junkie

on the

streets.

you walk

by me

and

cannot

see me

You call

me many

different

names

spic

injun

redneck

nigger

greaser

camel jockey

chink

I am

not

hyphenated

I am America

© Ramón Piñero

(La Bloga – November 13, 2011)

Keep Hope Alive

Hedy García Treviño

When love is obscured

by the shadow of fear

I will fan the embers and

keep hope alive

When the dreams

of our children are shattered

and tossed to the wind

I will call on the song of the eagle

When the mountain I climb

is covered in thorns

I will seek out

the softness of stones

When the river

is blocked

by rancid intolerance

I will launch into flight

When the doors and windows

are shuttered tight

I will search for

the key in the rubble

When the wind roars at my back

and tears at my flesh

I will chant the song

of forgiveness

When the song

of the mountain is silenced

When the double rainbow fades

I will return with Grandfather

to that sacred place

to beat the drums of hope

and whittle magic flutes

from river willows

(La Bloga – May 10, 2011)

BIOS

This Is Not My Empire by Devreaux Baker

Awakening at Night by Carmen Calatayud

Bellota Harvest by Elena Díaz Bjorkquist

Border Inquest Blues by Odilia Galván Rodríguez

La Virgen de Las Calles by Nancy Aidé González

This Serpent Tongue Cannot Be Colonized by José Hernández Díaz

La maza y cantera de una poeta by Sonia Gutiérrez

The Same Thing by Genny Lim

I Am America by Ramon Piñero

Keep Hope Alive By Hedy García Treviño

Devreaux Baker's poems have been published in many journals and anthologies including; The Bloomsbury Review, ZYZZYVA, Borderlands:A Texas Poetry Review, The American Voice, Crab Orchard, and A Paris Review. She was an editor of “Wood, Water, Air and Fire: The Anthology of Mendocino Women Poets” and has conducted poetry workshops in California Poets in the Schools,  the Rape Crisis Center, and with homeless children. She has published three collections of poetry; Beyond the Circumstance of Sight, Light at the Edge and Red Willow People, which was awarded a PEN Oakland 2011 Poetry award. She has received a MacDowell Colony Poetry Fellowship, the Hawthornden Castle International Writing Fellowship, The Helene Wurlitzer Poetry Fellowship, and three California Arts Council Awards to produce "The Voyagers Program of Original Student Writing, K-12" for National Public Radio.

She has poetry currently or forthcoming in; The Mas Tequila Review, New Millenium Writings , OCCUPY SF Anthology and Liberty’s Vigil, The Occupy Anthology; 99 Poets Among the 99%. 

Carmen Calatayud's first book of poems, Cave Walk, was chosen by poets Pamela Uschuk and William Pitt Root for the Silver Concho Poetry Series and is forthcoming from Press 53 in September 2012. Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Cutthroat: A Journal of the Arts, and PALABRA: A Magazine of Chicano and Latino Literary Art. She is a poet moderator for Poets Responding to SB 1070, a Facebook group that features poetry and news about Arizona’s controversial law that legalizes racial profiling. Born to a Spanish father and Irish mother in the U.S., Calatayud works as a psychotherapist in Washington, DC.

Elena Díaz Björkquist, a writer, historian, and artist from Tucson, writes about Morenci, Arizona where she was born. She is the author of two books, Suffer Smoke and Water from the Moon. She is nearing completion of another collection of Morenci stories entitled Albóndiga Soup. Elena has been on the Arizona Humanities Council (AHC) Speakers Bureau for ten years performing as Teresa Urrea in a Chautauqua living history presentation, and doing presentations about Morenci, Arizona and also the 1880’s Schoolhouse in Tubac. AHC recently selected her to do a presentation on El Día de los Muertos.

Elena is co-editor of Sowing the Seeds, una cosecha de recuerdos, an anthology written by her writers group. The project was funded by AHC. She co-edited a new anthology entitled Our Spirit, Our Reality; our life experiences in stories and poems that was released in November 2011.

A SIROW Scholar at the University of Arizona, Elena conducted an oral history project funded by AHC; “In the Shadow of the Smokestack.” A website she created contains the oral history interviews and photographs of Chicano elders living in Morenci during the Depression and World War II. Another project funded by AHC and the Stocker Foundation is “Tubac 1880’s Schoolhouse Living History Program.” Her website is www.elenadiazbjorkquist.net/. 

Elena is one of the poet moderators for the Facebook page “Poets Responding to SB1070. She recently received the 2012 Arizona Commission on the Arts Bill Desmond Writing Award for excelling nonfiction writing.

Nancy Aidé González is a Chicana poet, writer, and educator.  She currently lives and works in Lodi, California. Nancy graduated from California State University, Sacramento with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature in May of 2000.  She has contributed poems to Poets Responding to SB 1070. Several of her poems have been published on La Bloga.  Miss González is a participating member of Escritores del Nuevo Sol, a writing group which honors the literary traditions of the Chicano, Latino, Indigenous and Spanish-language peoples.

                        She teaches first-generation, Mexican –American migrant elementary students. She enjoys teaching her students and giving back to her community.  She holds a Master’s degree in Education with an emphasis in School Administration from California State University, Stanislaus. Nancy Aidé González is involved in Chicano Organizing & Research in Education (C.O.R.E.) a non-partisan, research and advocacy organization that aims to improve the educational environment of all Chicano/Latino students.   She is currently working on a novel about Chicana women.

José Hernández Díaz is a first-generation, Chicano poet with a BA in English Literature from UC Berkeley. José has been published in The Best American Nonrequired Reading Anthology 2011, La Gente Newsmagazine of UCLA, Bombay Gin Literary Journal, Contratiempo, Hinchas de Poesia, In Xochitl In Kuikatl Literary Journal, Indigenous Writers and Artists Collective, The Packinghouse Review, among others. José has had poetry readings at The Mission Cultural Center in San Francisco, at The Museum of Latin American Art (MOLAA) in Long Beach, and at El Centro Cultural de Tijuana. José is currently fulfilling an internship with Floricanto Press as a Poetry Editor. In addition, he is an active moderator of the online group, ‘Poets Responding to SB1070,’ where he has contributed more than 30 of his own poems.

Sonia Gutiérrez is divided by her many passions—teaching English and advising for the Palomar Poets and Encuentros United at Palomar College and for the Upward Bound Program (CSUSM), promoting education and social justice through poetry including translation, enjoying her family and friends, and sharing the work of artists and poetas at her bloguita, Chicana in the Midst. Recently, Sonia joined the Centro Cultural de la Raza in San Diego, California, where she plans to promote literacy and the arts con muchas ganas. Her manuscript, Spider Woman/La Mujer Araña is seeking publication. Sonia will dedicate 2012 to finalizing her novel, Kissing Dreams from a Distance and continue to add translations to her third manuscript (that was born about two months ago), Translating from Obsession: From a Witch’s Caldron/Traduciendo por obsesión: De la caldera de una bruja. La Bloga’s On-line Floricanto is home to Sonia’s Poets Responding to SB 1070 poems, including “Fishing Bait,” “Memografía”/“Memography,” “Mi bandera”/“My Flag,” “My Heart Is a Strawberry Field,” “The Passing,” and “La maza y cantera de una poeta”/“A Poet’s Mallet and Quarry.” Her debut La Bloga guest column, “Face to Face with La Bloga” is forthcoming on January 8, 2012.

Genny Lim has performed in poetry & music collaborations with such jazz greats as the late Max Roach and Herbie Lewis as well as Bay Area's John Santos, Francis Wong and Jon Jang. She has been a featured poet at World Poetry Festivals in Venezuela, Sarajevo and Naples, Italy. Her play "Paper Angels," was performed in San Francisco Chinatown’s Portsmouth Square to packed audiences last September 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., in 2009 at AfroSolo Arts Festival and Women on the Way Festival in January 2011.

 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.

Ramon Piñero. "Ex Bay Area poet living in the buckle of the Bible Belt, aka Florida. Where good little boys and girls grow up to be republicans who vote against their own interest. Father of three and Grandfather to five of the coolest kids ever. Niuff said...

Hedy Garcia Treviño (nickname Jaritta Little willow because i spent my childhood in the river by the willows). Born in Northern New Mexico to an Hispanic family who was in New Mexico before this area was a territory of the U.S,. and a native family who has been here forever. Mother of 2 wonderful children and 1 precious granddaughter they all live in Phoenix.

I started writing poetry as a young child when i was hit with a ruler for speaking Spanish in school. So poetry has always been my 'healer' my medicine, and poets responding is my temple.

Professionally I'm a substance abuse and mental health therapist.
I was raised by my Spanish speaking grandparents in rural new mexico surrounded by corn fields which sang to me. It was a blessed and fortunate event that my parents abandoned me to the care of my grandparents because i experienced the ancient histories of my familia due to that circumstance. I practice herbal healing and come from a long family history of 'healers' and gardeners and those who work the land. I feel best when my hands are connected to the blessed earth.