Lucrecia Guerrero and The Tree of Sighs, y más eventos en Kansas City, MO

Xánath Caraza

Greenlease Gallery, Rockhurst University

Lucrecia Guerrero visited Rockhurst University in Kansas City, MO on Monday, March 24 and Tuesday, March 25.  Students and professors were looking forward to hearing the author of the Tree of Sighs speak and meet her in person.  Lucrecia graciously visited three different classes including my own, U.S. Latino Literature, in addition to the classes of Rocío Duncan, Ph. D. and Leslie Mercedes, Ph. D.  My students were particularly excited to meet Lucrecia since they were involved in bringing her to Kansas City.  Other organizations participating were Sigma Delta Pi, the Spanish Honor Society, the Global and International Perspectives Committee, and the Department of Classical and Modern Languages.  Special thanks to Rocío and Leslie. 

Next is a series of photos of a variety of Lucrecia’s activities in Kansas City, and, yes, Lucrecia and I had a magnificent time together.   We laughed, laughed and laughed again.  What a pleasure it was to have you in Kansas City, Lucrecia. 

La clase de U. S. Latino Literature

Firmando libros

At the American Jazz Museum with Glenn North, Poet Laureate

At The American Jazz Museum

Greenlease Gallery, Rockhurst University

Los Libros

Coffee Break

En La Plaza, Kansas City, MO

La clase de la Dra. Duncan

Lucrecia y la Dra. Duncan

Más Eventos:

Rigoberto Gonzalez

Rigoberto González in Kansas City, MO at UMKC on Tuesday, April 8 from 5-8 p.m.

                      

As part of Literature for Life Week, American Book Award recipient, Rigoberto Gonzalez will be speaking and reading from his work.

Please make plans to attend his reading on Tuesday, April 8 from 5-8pm in the Student Union Room 401BC.

The reading will be followed by a Q&A and a book signing with refreshments provided.

Cesar Chavez Lecture by James Edward Olmos in Kansas City at UMKC on Tuesday, April 15 at 6 p.m. in Pierson Auditorium

In Brazil

LO QUE TRAE LA MAREA/WHAT THE TIDE BRINGS book presentation today Monday, April 7th, in Apucara, Paraná, Brazil.  

Lo que trae la marea/What the Tide Brings

CON TINTA NaPoMo 2014

CON TINTA NaPoMo 2014 is here, send your poem to creativexc@gmail.com and/or mouthfeelpress@yahoo.com (Mouthfeel Press) y celebra la poesía. This is Con Tinta's third year celebrating NaPoMo, more to come. Viva la poesía!

Algunos poemas

Beauty Sleeping

By Barbara Curiel

           

Beauty is 14

so sleep eludes her

like a lost housecat.

Her dreams are haunted

by Beasts who in a blink

would snatch a girl

on the way home from school.

So Beauty casts spells

with baggy pants, black lipstick, running shoes,

but all the girls know these tricks

and still the front pages scream

the bones of factory girls in the desert.

Girls still disappear into clouds

of dust and the screech of tires

and some Beasts even appear

at a girl’s bedside in the night

pretending to be princes.

True, there are those who escape:

girls whose hairclips enchant

car trunk locks,

insomniac girls who hold vigil

until the Beast sleeps

then grab for keys,

girls who kick,

who take the knife

into their own strong hands.

At night Beauty resolves

to be one of these girls,

then checks every lock in the house,

counts the sleeping heads of her parents

and of her seven useless brothers.

At 2 a.m. Beauty turns

over in bed, wishes

she could sleep

for a hundred years.

Barbara Brinson Curiel, from Mexican Jenny and Other Poems, 2014, Anhinga Press, book chosen by Cornelius Eady as winner of the 2012 Philip Levine Prize.

África de mi sangre

Por Rossy Evelyn Lima

África de mi sangre

mi abuelo mulato me heredó algo tuyo

¿te acuerdas de Cuba?

Traigo tus tambores en mi pecho.

Aunque de ti nadie haya hablado

te encontré en el trapiche, en el viaje, en el repudio.

África de mi sangre

mi abuelo español te trajo

a parir dolores en una isla bendita,

y a mí entre los dos me pintaron la cruz y el canto.

Emancipada tu lengua que repica en la mía,

te mezclaste con el impacto y floreciste,

vas arando en mi fisionomía,

con tu tierra y con tu voz negra.

África de mi sangre, te entiendo en mis caderas,

en los músculos que se tensan

al apretar con fuerza el tambor con el que te llamo,

mis palmas elevadas hacia el cielo,

mis hombros herederos de tu clamor.

África de mi sangre, ¿te acuerdas de Cuba?

desde allá se empieza a enredar

este hilo que me remienda por dentro.

From Ecos de Barro (Otras Voces Publishing, 2013)

Convinced

By Yolanda Nieves

 Your memories are lies you’ve convinced yourself are true.

-Reza Aslan

My earliest memory is orange;

round with two people in it

in a blue room

with a smell of onions

in the air

neither sweet nor bitter

I am out of place-

no word rhymes with orange.  

 

          Staying in the flood 

          By Emmy Perez

            Why the tom

            Spraying the screen

            Window, why

            Floodwater

Leftover from
Hurricane Alex

A spring after last summer

Weed seeds sprouting

Downriver

Why the woodpecker's
Off and on wing
Pause causing
Vertigo, why
Confuse herons with

Egrets.  Aztlán:

Land of white herons.

Why the sap stains
Like accidents
Why the borderpatrol
Woman in a blue truck
With camper big
Enough to haul
Livestock. Why
The anacahuita
Flowers, why one
Giant swallowtail butterfly

Why the debris

Of paloverde flowers
Gathering on asphalt
Edges like
The path of hair
Under your belly button
Or a path of marigold
Petals welcoming
The dead home

And why the busted-
Up nopal like a bullet
Target or a Just-
Married sign
In April

Strung with
Tecate cans
Hitched to an
El Camino
Why is it still
Blooming
Yellow roses?

~Emmy Pérez

published in Cuadernos de ALDEEU

Vol. 26, numero especial, Otoño 2013

 

 CATÁLOGO DE NUBES

Por Javier Bozalongo

El agua evaporada del océano

no tardará en volver

como siempre regresan las olas a la orilla;

tal vez no sea hoy ni sea aquí:

las nubes viajan a merced del viento

igual que los recuerdos caprichosos

que aparecen en distinto lugar

a aquel que dabas siempre por seguro.

Es conveniente que al mirar al cielo

sepamos distinguir lo que nos muestra:

cirros a escasa altura

-de memoria cercana, sin interés alguno-

matizando la luz que el sol ofrece;

estratos de tamaño preocupante

que traen lluvia continua

oscureciendo el día como malos augurios,

como amores lejanos;

y cúmulos hinchados de veraniega luz,

con formas vanidosas

que nos hacen creer que no son nubes,

adoptando un estado más allá de lo líquido

para no convertirse, cuando llega el otoño,

en recuerdos que caen como hojas muertas.