Xánath Caraza
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| Ray Gonzalez in Minneapolis |
Spring
has sprung; poems are flowing and La Pachanga has bloomed. It is a pleasure to share with La Bloga
community the Introduction that Natalia Treviño gave for La Pachanga Award Ray
Gonzalez was given in Minneapolis, MN this year for all his outstanding
accomplishments. What is more, following
are some must-read poems celebrating this year’s National Poetry Month. Lastly are new book releases to watch for.
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| Natalia Trevino |
Introduction by Natalia Treviño for
Ray Gonzalez, La Pachanga & Award Ceremony 2015
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| Ray Gonzalez & Natalia Trevino |
I
was in a dark theater in downtown San Antonio, an undergrad, not really
understanding what a poetry reading was. Nervous.
I
walked to the stage, read my poems in a shaky voice, and stepped off to allow
my friends step into this strange, new light.
It
was a Sunday afternoon. It was at The Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center. Ray
Gonzalez was in the audience. He was the literature director of the Guadalupe,
and was actively working with the colleges to promote the careers of young
writers.
That
was in 1989.
After
that reading, he invited me to read at other venues. He hired me to be a
resident poet in various schools. He eventually published my work in two
beautiful anthologies. Mirrors Beneath
the Earth: Short Fiction by Chicano Writers was the first one. He included
me in a list of names I had never heard of: Dagoberto Gilb, Denise Chavez,
Sandra Cisneros, Luis Rodriguez, Rich Yanez, Lucha Corpi, Benjamin Alire Saez,
Juan Felipe Herrera, Luis Alberto Urrea, Ana Castillo, Ana Baca. I thought this
is what was normal kind of help given to all aspiring writers. I include this
to say this is just the kind of thing he did-- for lots of us.
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| Richard Yanez, Ray Gonzalez & Lawrence Welsh |
When
he left San Antonio, he left a gap that has not been replenished in our city--
but he now graces this city of Minneapolis and this chilly state of Minnesota
as a flock of sacred heron might create a shimmer of shape, affirmation of
motion, and the promise of light in an arrested, pale sky.
Quiet
in his manner and daily life as a stern and loving professor here at the
University of Minnesota for seventeen years, he is originally from El Paso, and
while he misses that dry heat of West Texas, he said in an interview with CLA
Today, "I do not have to live in west Texas or southern New Mexico to
shape new poems about my past life there because the magical aspects of poetry
have allowed me to bring the spirit of my home to Minnesota. Living in
Minnesota has given me fresh perspectives about the area I came from… Perhaps
my most powerful discovery in writing and teaching poetry in Minnesota is that
all poets carry their homeland experience with them, no matter where they go.”
Ray
simply has too many awards and publications to list in his amazing career as a
champion of and major contributor to Latino Letters, but I will share a few
today as we lift him up and hold him with this honor that Con Tinta bestows
each year to a Latino writer who has served others through writing and who has
had a lifetime of achievement.
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| Ray Gonzalez |
He is the persistent founder of the Camino del Sol series at the University of Arizona Press, which celebrated twenty years today at AWP just before this gathering.
He
is the author of numerous books of poetry, including The Heat of Arrivals,
which won the PEN/Oakland Josephine Miles Book Award; Cabato Sentora, a
Minnesota Book Award Finalist; The Hawk Temple at Tierra Grande; winner of the
Minnesota Book Award for Poetry; Consideration of the Guitar: New and Selected
Poems, another finalist for the Minnesota Book Award Finalist; Cool Auditor;
and Faith Run.
His
mixed-genre book Turtle Pictures received the 2001 Minnesota Book Award for
Poetry; The Religion of Hands, a follow-up to Turtle Pictures, received a
Latino Heritage Best Book of Poetry Award.
His
poems have appeared in The Best American Poetry and The Pushcart Prize: Best of
the Small Presses. He is the author of Memory
Fever from the University of Arizona Press, a memoir about growing up in the
Southwest, a collection of essays, The Underground Heart: A Return to a Hidden
Landscape, which received the 2003 Carr P. Collins/ Texas Institute of Letters
Award for Best Book of Non-fiction.
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| Ray Gonzalez and George Kalamaras |
His
students are here at their local hangout, the Bryant Lake Bowl, mixing their
lives and hopes with his, and are joining us to celebrate him and note, not
only his extraordinary talent, or his numerous, prestigious accolades, but to
also note fora long time to come, his careful balance of beauty, his frank and
comforting humility, his sincere friendship with them and with letters, his
message to them through his work-- to strive, to dig, to think, to honor, to
notice, to awaken.
We
at Con Tinta are his colleagues, his friends, his writers, and his readers, and
had no hesitation in selecting Ray as this year's award winner. We send him
today with this award as a small gesture of gratitude, energia, aplauso,
bendición, and honor.
Let
us listen to our honoree, Ray Gonzalez.
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| Poetry by Ray Gonzalez |
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| Lucrecia Guerrero & Jerry Holt |
Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015
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| Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015: Poetry in L. A. Tia Chucha's Cultural Center |
Next are some of the poems
from the Con Tinta page, which have had the most readership. Enjoy!
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| Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015: Poetry and More: (casi todos) Los Blogueros |
Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015
La joven inmigrantePor Martha C. Galván-Mandujano©
La
misma historia de muchas mujeres,
mujeres
mexicanas y centroamericanasque tratan de cruzar por Cd. Juárez
para lograr llegar a tierras estadounidenses.
otras mueren antes de cruzar la frontera,
otras son violadas y asesinadas
por bandas o individuos criminales.
Algunas son prostituidas,
otras se quedan trabajando,
trabajando en las grandes maquilas.
y realizan el sueño americano,
como el caso de una joven potosina
que cruzó ilegalmente a las tierras texanas.
empujada por un coyote,
un coyote que le decía:
Si nos agarran diles que sola venías,
Te la verás conmigo cuando nos eche la migra,
Así que ruega que no nos agarren niña,
Y corre lo más que puedas después que crucemos las vías.
la joven escuchaba atenta a otros que decían:
¿Recuerdas al joven que mataron ayer aquí?
Una mujer dijo, “Sí, aquel que drogas traía”.
pero más atemorizada estaba
cuando el coyote le repetía lo de la migra;
la hora llegó y la joven corrió y saltó una cerca,
que le faltaba para poder ver a su madre
su madre que se encontraba del lado texano,
la madre que muchos años tenía de ese lado.
La joven logró llegar con vida,
pasaron los años y la joven
se graduó con dos licenciaturas y maestrías,
ahora ya casi es una doctora en Filosofía.
la joven nunca olvidara o borrara ese día,
el día que cruzó la frontera mexicana-texana,
esa experiencia la marcara de por vida.
Para compartir cómo muchas mujeres
Han cruzado ciudades fronterizas
Para llegar a estas tierras estadounidenses
Puedan contar sus historias
Como lo ha hecho esta joven este día
este día como otros, cuando recuerda esa parte tan importante de su vida.
The Crying Time
By Yolanda Nieves©
said, If you really need to cry wipe your tears with cotton,
only with cotton.
Entonces
puedes llorar.
She flew on a plane over the oceanonly once in her life,
with one huge tear held inside.
She gave it to me.
as I wash dishes, sort socks,
fold towels, and decide which perfume
to wear today-
I think about all the things that outline this life
how we grow old and close to each other
in time and in the life beyond time
into an old handkerchief.
llorona.
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| Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015: Poetry in El Paso, Viva Flores |
Decimos Decir
Por Gloria Enedina Alvarez©
Son alas las palabras
Sombras
Hiel y lluvia
Fuego y nieve
Con miel de día
De tarde a noche
Están trazadas
En tantos cuerpos
Desnudos de olvido
En cada milímetro de
Memoria hormiga
Usamos palabras como escudos
Como frutas jugosas
Nos jactamos
Evadimos
Jugamos con ellas
Las tratamos con ternura
A veces les gritamos cuando
Nos llegan a la barriga
Silbido silente
Atorado en la garganta
Decimos decirlas auténticas
Con incalculable decisión
Y autoridad
Gloria Enedina Alvarez
En luna naciente, 2014
Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015
Recovery of CoatlicueBy Gabriella Gutierrez y Muhs©
she became one of the fingers of her hand,
after Huichilopochtli, after being broken by her children
she reigned, and ruled with one finger
the finger that points to the future
The one that is intrical for typing, writing, loving
With the other nine, she made do:
drove less than well, cooked acceptably,
knit unacceptably,
cried lovingly
one unharmed finger enough for all these tasks
throughout time,
what could she have accomplished unbroken?
a modern woman she is,
leaving her mother broken, yet whole, behind.
And the pieces of herself speak to herself and to others.
How many women can we be before we break again?
Christ was crucified by his own people
Coatlicue was broken by her children…
Unscathed…
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| Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015: Poetry con Sonia Gutierrez |
Laughing Monkeys
By Sonia Gutiérrez©
How did we
get here
you and me
sticking out
our tongues
and poking each
other’s eyes?
How did we
get here
you and me
trading
rocks for kisses
and tugging
at each other's
tails and ears?
How did we
get here
you and me
throwing pebbles
at each other—
even in our
sleep?
Changos riendo
Por Sonia Gutiérrez©
¿Cómo llegamos
aquí
tú y yo
sacando
nuestras lenguas
y picándonos
¿Cómo llegamos
aquí
tú y yo
sacando
nuestras lenguas
y picándonos
los
ojos?
¿Cómo llegamos
aquí
tú y yo
¿Cómo llegamos
aquí
tú y yo
intercambiando
piedras por besos
y jalándonos
las
colas y las orejas?piedras por besos
y jalándonos
¿Cómo llegamos
aquí
tú y yo
aventándonos
guijarros—
hasta en nuestros
sueños?
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| Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015: Poetry and more, La Casa Azul Bookstores, Aurora Anaya |
Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015
Las Diosas
Por Viva Flores©
Las Diosas viven en casas de cartón;
papeles desechados.Toman el agua que vive en
los charcos,
caminan solas por calles oscuras sin nombres
marcados.
debajo de las revoluciones.
vestidos y
hacen fiestas en los
callejones,
construyen moños de todos
los colores
usando
bolsas de plástico y
cordones.
que viven sin dulces realidades,
vendiendo dulces
en galaxias siderales
en puentes de plomo que separan dos lenguajes
y unen los vicios
comunales.
vendiendo su piel en las calles,
cuerpos sagrados
usando
disfraces.
gritando ,
pero como todo hacen cantando
no
las
escucha
nadie.
que están encomendadas a ellas por
humildes madrecitas.
cajas de refri con palabras escurridas ,
son sencillas-
no existen sentadas en sillas Divinas,
o altares con fruta y
cosechas de milpas.
Tirana Melancolía
Por Lourdes Soto©
“Ya no te espero.
Porque
de esperarte hay odio”
Silvio
Rodríguez
con el rencor en las manos
aferrado a una época
cercana en abrazos y caricias
me hace recordar
que siempre se regresa
con un adiós cargado
de tirana melancolía.
¡Pero te esfumaste!
como el vapor de mis lágrimas
testigo silencioso del recuerdo
que escondo de tu voz.
Así que juro, viejo amor
qué hoy no saldaré mi deuda
y tampoco
pediré perdón.
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| Con Tinta NaPoMo 2015: Poetry in Kansas City, The Symphony at the Gem |
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| The Siren World by Juan J. Morales |
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| Titanic by Mario Heredia (translated by Lawrence Schimel) |
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| Beautiful Scars by Edward Vidaurre |
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| Red Canyon Falling on Churches by Juliana Aragon Fatula |
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| DePaul University |
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| Donna Miscolta |
