Online Floricanto: Writing From Our Immigrant Hearts

Immigrants: Poetry Brain-Drain Out of Europe, Asia, America

Michael Sedano  

Northeast Los Angeles' venerable arts hub, Avenue 50 Studio, represents some of the most creative painters in California. The multifaceted gallery regularly reaffirms its reputation as a vital center for poetry readings, most recently this past Sunday when the gallery, with Moderator Thelma T. Reyna, hosted Writing from Our Immigrant Hearts.

Sunday's panel of poets illustrates the vital gifts immigrants bring to U.S. culture. Reyna's guidance leads listeners through a thoughtful seminar on immigration poetry and human decency. The discussion lays superb context for beautiful readings that generate a spirited Q&A. Look for the third and fourth communion of these poets in early 2024. Cultural organizers will want to study how a "regular" poetry reading becomes a significant cultural event for its audience.

The Moderator encourages each individual to share intimate insights into her personal story and voyage into the present. A rapt audience leans in to hear and listen closely. Despite no PA, the gallery's acoustics are suitable; it's that each poet's expression is flavored with the sounds of their first language and the audience delights in the aural banquet while adjusting Unitedstatesian ears.

Diversity on the panel challenges stereotypic ideas about immigrants. These poets started their moves from Spain, Italy, Venezuela, and Vietnam. Teresa Mei Chuc flees her homeland with incredible hardship. The other poets arrive as adults with middle-class confidence to soften the psychic shock of making peace with their new place in the world.

Immigration demands change, displacement, degrees of anomie, silliness. These adaptations nurture and perhaps injure a soul in the process of adjusting and changing into a person of a new local culture. Reyna's insightful questioning guides the panel into profound insights as well as a few good immigrant chuckles.

Poetry gives voice to a single poet's thoughts that inescapably mirror thoughts and experiences shared with other immigrant voices. These poets speak as outsiders, spectators in their new world. Each has seven minutes to craft an ethos and an insight. Their poems express heightened awareness of place, of fitting in, of moving on. Change exacts at times profound hurt, as one poem grieves castaway memories and the absence of everything remembered.

La Bloga-Tuesday happily shares work from the event. Look for announcement of the next readings here.

 Teresa Mei Chuc

Immigration

It is October, when the winds of Autumn blow strong in 
the Pacific.

There are over two thousand of us, sardines,
barely human and starving. We sleep on the floor and
wash ourselves with seawater. People are sick.
When someone dies from sickness, s/he is wrapped
in a blanket and tossed overboard during a Buddhist
chant.

I was only two years old and cannot recollect the dying
next to me, nor can I recollect my constant coughing nor
can I recall seeing my mother’s worried countenance as she
contemplated our future, how my constant crying made
her want to jump overboard. 

 Alicia Viguer-Espert

April

Pigeons take cover under a red awning, 
a lone seagull, far away from home, 
sits with them in convivial silence.
The scent from citrus blossoms and
honeysuckle mixes with damp soil,
everything is quiet but by nightingales
triumphantly singing the anthem of April.
 
Jasmine flowers open their five arms
to welcome all, and I ask myself, 
how should I greet this season, 
what rains should I use to wash 
my soul’s debris, how can I sit 
in convivial silence with strangers 
from another tribe, honor their ways, 
what luminosity can I generate, 

how should I live my life in April?

 

Toti O'Brien

Commuting

And the surface so thick not just Jesus

but everyone could have walked on water.

 

Psychedelic colors that veered from teal

to purple to pink.

 

It would last, said the captain, less than

an hour.

 

Close your eyes and hang to the rope.

Don’t mind the prickly feeling.

(You should have worn gloves).

 

Close your eyes.

Don’t mind the smell of sardines.

It’s the cargo.

 

It will stick to your nostrils for days.

Better than the fumes of petroleum.

 

Crossing will be smooth, he

said, like a freshly pressed shirt.

 

You’ll arrive before you know.

Your card will be stamped

and you will begin to forget.

 

Like a morsel of bread

crumbling in a pocket.

 

Like a bundle of hair removed

from your brush, released

into the wind.

Lisbeth Coiman

Immigration Status: Grieving

Humanity lost in the dossier Documents of birth applications and fees

Pero sin papeles para el luto

Without the therapy of a funeral No six-feet deep burials Dressed in black
Next to a casket

Mourning forever

Grieving in the distance No visas for grieving

 

Meet the Panel

MODERATOR:

Thelma T. Reyna is an author, editor, and book publisher, the founder and owner of Golden Foothills Press, in Pasadena, CA, one of the few literary indie book presses in the U.S. owned and operated by a Latina. Her poetry, short fiction, and nonfiction have collectively earned 22 national and international book awards from 2010-2022. She has written 6 books—a short story collection, 2 poetry chapbooks, 2 full-length poetry collections, and a memoir in poetry; and has edited 4 anthologies of poetry and prose, collectively comprising the works of over 200 authors from California and across the U.S. Dr. Reyna served as Poet Laureate in Altadena, CA, in 2014-2016. She was a Pushcart Prize Nominee in Poetry in 2017. 

PANELISTS:

Toti O’Brien is the Italian Accordionist with the Irish Last Name. Born in Rome, living in Los Angeles, she is an artist, musician and dancer. She is the author of Other Maidens (BlazeVOX, 2020); An Alphabet of Birds (Moonrise, 2020); In Her Terms (Cholla Needles, 2021); Pages of a Broken Diary (Pski’s Porch, 2022); The Past, Ineffable (Cholla Needles, 2023); Odd Arcana  (Cholla Needles, 2023); and Alter Alter (Elyssar Press, 2023). In addition to her poetry and nonfiction, Toti is also a musician, dancer, jewelry designer and creator, and textile artist. She is also the author of a new collection of short stories titled Alter, Alter, to be published in 2024.

Alicia Viguer-Espert born and raised in the Mediterranean city of Valencia, Spain, lives in Los Angeles. She is a three-time Nominee for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry. Her work has been published in journals, print media, and anthologies, such as Colorado Boulevard, Lummox Anthology, Altadena Poetry Review, Panoply, Soul-Lit, Amethyst Review, and Spectrum Publications. She is author of 3 chapbooks: To Hold a Hummingbird; Out of the Blue Womb of the Sea; and 4 in 1. She is included in “Top 39 L.A. Poets of 2017,” “Ten Poets to Watch in 2018,” and “Bards of Southern California: Top 30 Poets,” by Spectrum.

Teresa Mei Chuc was born in Sài Gòn, Việt Nam and fled her Vietnamese homeland with her mother and brother shortly after the American war in Việt Nam,  spending three and a half months in a freight boat stranded in the South China Sea before being rescued. Teresa is the author of three full-length collections of poetry: Invisible Light (2018); Keeper of the Winds (2014); and Red Thread (2012). Her poetry chapbook, Incidental Takes, was published by Hummingbird Press in 2023. She teaches literature and writing at a public school in Los Angeles. Teresa was Co-Poet Laureate in Altadena, CA in 2018-2020.Lisbeth Coiman

As a bilingual poet, Lisbeth Coiman  seeks to create awareness about the human rights violations and the humanitarian crisis afflicting her homeland, Venezuela, and those she holds dear to her heart. She identifies herself as a brown woman who speaks the languages of the colonizers of the Americas, crossing over intersections of race, gender, mental health, and immigration. Coiman has wandered the immigration path from Venezuela, to Canada, to USA, leaving pieces of her heart scattered in the places she’s lived. She lives in California, where she teaches literacy skills and English as a Second Language to adult migrants. 

Playwrights' Arena presents the world premiere of my play, WAITING

By Daniel A. Olivas

In the summer of 2018, I wrote a New York Times opinion piece about my fictional response to Donald Trump’s election in the form of my 2017 dystopian short story “The Great Wall” where the President has finally constructed his long-promised southern border wall, and used the adjoining detention center to separate undocumented parents from their children. I argued that a year after creating this fictional, horrific world, my dystopian tale had essentially become a reality. In other words, for many immigrants and their children, the dystopia was here.

But it got worse. Trump flailed and sputtered—usually in late-night or early-morning Tweets—attacking anyone who opposed his policies and laying blame on others for failing to fulfill his promise to build the wall. He eventually unilaterally highjacked billions of dollars of the military budget to fund his wall. Even some Republicans were aghast at such self-help from an increasingly volatile president.

A year later, I believed that “dystopia” no longer fully described what we were witnessing. In my mind, the irrational hatred aimed at immigrants by Trump and his followers amounted to absurdity in its purest form. Merriam-Webster defines “absurd” as “having no rational or orderly relationship to human life: MEANINGLESS.” Under the Trump administration, we were certainly living in absurd times.

For over two decades, I had used fiction and poetry to depict and honor my Mexican American culture and experience all the while taking aim at the systematic bigotry my community has suffered for over two centuries in this country. But Trump took it to a new level. Don’t get me wrong: his thuggish, ignorant bigotry was nothing new. But to witness such unabashed hatred of immigrants—and anyone who looked like an immigrant—proclaimed and implemented as policy at the highest levels of our government in this day and age was flabbergasting.

So, in the summer of 2019, I was inspired to write my first play, Waiting for Godínez. Looking to Samuel Beckett’s iconic Godot play as the framing of my tale, Estragon, Vladimir, Pozzo, and Lucky were now embodied in my characters Jesús, Isabel, Piso, and Afortunada. In my play, Jesús is kidnapped each night by ICE and put into a cage. But the immigration agents forget to lock the cage, so Jesús escapes and makes his way back to Isabel as they wait for Godínez in a city park. It is a wholly different play, of course, but Mr. Beckett’s absurdist spirit runs through my work.

I wrote it almost in a fever—it was the literary equivalent of a primal scream. I immersed myself in Beckett’s text and watched many filmed versions of the Godot play available online. According to my journal, I started writing my play on July 23, 2019, with a working title of Waiting for Gómez. On August 3, I changed the title to Waiting for Godínez because, as I explained in my journal, it “fits better than ‘Gómez.’” The next day, I proclaimed in my notes: “Finished Waiting for Godínez!” In other words, I wrote the play in 13 days.

I then went about the business of submitting it to theatres and play competitions. I had never written a play before, and I do not have an MFA. So, I had to teach myself how to write a play and then figure out how to get someone to read it. In my research, Playwrights’ Arena looked like a potential home for what I was trying to do, so I submitted my play on August 7, 2019. The odds were stacked against me. But then remarkably, ten months later, I received an email invitation for my play to be included in Playwrights’ Arena 2020 Summer Series. I was suddenly a playwright.

That acceptance resulted in Waiting for Godínez being read on July 5, 2020, via Zoom, by professional actors and directed by Dr. Daphnie Sicre, a drama professor at Loyola Marymount University. I was bitten by the playwriting bug, and there was no turning back. I was invited the next month to submit a new draft of my play that addressed several notes made by Playwrights’ Arena’s artistic director, Jon Lawrence Rivera, and literary managers, Jaisey Bates and Zharia O’Neal. I quickly turned around a new draft and submitted it. But as I had learned from my research, there was no assurance that Playwrights’ Arena would make the commitment to fully stage my play. I was fine with that. My experience was already beyond anything I could have imagined, and I felt deeply gratified that my artistic challenge to our country’s anti-immigrant policies reached an audience, albeit a small one.

I started on a second play as part of a playwriting group sponsored by another local theatre. Then in November 2020, I received an email from Playwrights’ Arena asking for a Zoom meeting to discuss Waiting for Godínez. We were, at that point, well into the pandemic without widely available vaccines. In-person theatre was almost non-existent except for a few pandemic-friendly productions such as Playwrights’ Arena’s Garage Theatre where a small audience could watch a live play from the safety of their cars.

At the meeting, Jon gave me the wonderful news that Playwrights’ Arena wanted to produce Waiting for Godínez but I might have to wait a year or two for that to happen. Alternatively, I could rewrite it into a shorter, pandemic version—essentially trimming it by half—for a Garage Theatre-style production for the summer of 2021. After consulting with my director, Dr. Sicre, and my wife (not in that order), I decided to take on the challenge and rewrite my play for an earlier production.

The result is Waiting, which I like to call my pandemic remix of Waiting for Godínez. It is about half as long as the original, and the pandemic is now part of the storyline. In fact, the pandemic theme served an important role in helping me to trim and rewrite it into a shorter play that maintained the spirit of the original but that stood on its own as a separate and new theatrical work.

And as Playwrights’ Arena’s production of Waiting moves forward, we are still witnessing the residual violence done to immigrant families by the Trump administration. And the current administration—though eons better than the last—is still grappling with the harsh realities of a broken immigration system and the cruel politicization of the border.

Through absurdist humor, I hope that my play shines a bright light on the human rights tragedy suffered by immigrants while also humanizing that suffering. My goal is to give a voice and face to those members of our community who deserve to be respected and appreciated for their humanity. In other words, though I looked to Beckett’s absurdist theatre for inspiration, I actually do believe that there is something to be done. The alternative is too much for me to accept.

***

Waiting will have its world premiere on Saturday, July 24, and will run through August 15, 2021, at the Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90039. For show times and ticket information, visit Playwrights’ Arena’s page for this play. Tickets are now available.

Chuy’s Speech: “I want it to stop. No more cages, no more escaping, no more swollen feet.”

By Daniel A. Olivas

In my play, Waiting for Godínez, each night, immigration officials kidnap Jesús (aka Chuy) and throw him in a cage with the intent of deporting him. But each time, Jesús escapes and makes it back to the city park to be with Isabel (aka Chavalita) to wait for the mysterious Godínez. Inspired by Beckett’s iconic Godot play but with humor deeply steeped in Latinx culture, Waiting for Godínez explores the meaning—and absurdities—of identity and belonging.

My play previously went through development after its first reading with Playwrights’ Arena last year (directed by Dr. Daphnie Sicre). The current version of the play was chosen to be in The Road Theatre’s Summer Playwrights Festival and will stream via Zoom in a reading on Sunday, July 25 at 6:00 PM PST. This version is directed by Sara Guerrero. For more information on how you may watch it, please visit the Festival’s page.

One of the ways the play developed after that first 2020 reading with Playwrights’ Arena resulted in my writing of a new speech for Jesús/Chuy where he goes into the horrendous details of his capture by immigration agents. After sitting through rehearsals and watching the actors perform this portion of the play, I was in tears. The actors brought to life the anguish and absurdity of one person’s existence as he is hunted and hounded because of his immigration status. I want to share that speech with you now, and I hope you will make time to watch the entire play on July 25: 

JESÚS

(Sighs, resigned to ISABEL’s desire to hear all the details. Stands, limps to center stage, looks up at the tree, thinking, turns to audience, envisions the events he is about to recount, starting slowly, assuredly, but as his tale continues, he grows more agitated, frightened.)

Last night, you sat under that tree promising to keep watch over me as I sleep on this bench. You said, “Chuy, my dear friend, you have nothing to worry about. Te prometo. A promise from me is as good as gold.” That is what you say every night: Good as gold. So, I believed you. Why not? We have been friends since we were little children, and you have never lied to me. Pues, I closed my eyes, I was safe, and sleep came to me. And then it happened: I felt strong hands grab my arms, my legs, my head! These strong men and women –- agents -- in green uniforms lifted me from the bench. I struggled! I tried to call your name, but nothing came from my mouth. I hoped that you would see what was happening to me! I twisted my head even as one of the agents squeezed it with strong hands. And then I saw you! Asleep, snoring under that pinche tree! A carefree baby! I tried to scream, but my tongue was dead within my mouth. The agents tightened their grip, and carried me away. And you snored! They took me to a big, black van, threw me in the back with all of these men, women, and children. Los niños estaban llorando. And the agents piled into the front seat, and laughed at us. The driver said: “You are going home now.” Home! But I was already home, here in this park with you. ¡Contigo! And they drove throughout the night until suddenly we stopped, and an agent opened the back of the van. The other agents pulled us out, one by one, and herded us to a row of small cages. And one by one, they put us each into our own cage, so small, I could not stand, I had to crouch. The children kept crying, then their parents started to cry, too. And one by one, the agents closed the cages with a loud clang and they laughed at us. ¿Entiendes? The more we cried, the louder the agents laughed. And as we whimpered, the agents congratulated each other on a good job. Some lit cigarettes. Then slowly, they wandered off, laughing, joking, proud of themselves. ¡Qué valientes! Finally, we could hear them no longer. And after an hour or so, in those cold, dark cages, the others quieted down, and eventually the crying was replaced with soft, sad snoring. The children and their parents, all in their own cages, were tired, and all they could do was sleep. ¡Pero no dormí! I refused to sleep. I needed to come back here, to you, Chavalita. I needed to stay awake and come up with a plan. And then it happened. As I tried to get comfortable, crouching in that cage, to plot my escape, I leaned against the cage door, and it fell open! I could not believe my luck! Those babosos forgot to lock my cage! I crept out, on my hands and knees like a baby, and then stood, like a man. I looked at the pobrecitos in their cages, snoring softly, and my heart broke. But what could I do? I have no doubt the agents did not forget to lock all of the cages. That would make no sense. So, I was the lucky one. I looked around and could not see any of the agents -- they were probably drunk someplace, laughing at us, celebrating their great conquest. I crept away, silently into the night, to come back to this park, to this place, my home, to be with you, my friend.

(Sits again, exhausted.)

Esa es toda la historia. And do you know what I thought about as I walked those many miles back to this park? I thought of you, Chavalita. I thought of your face, your voice, your embrace. That is what kept me walking, step by step, mile after mile. The thought of you. But I also had other thoughts. Tenía preguntas. Such as: Why do you lie to me? You make promises to protect me, but you do not. And that means you lie to me, each day, every day. ¿Me estás escuchando?

ISABEL

Oh, Chuy, that story is unbelievable! How can any of this be true? You know I would always protect you, even from a horde of agents with strong hands. You must be dreaming. My word is as good as gold, I have told you. I would never lie to you. ¿Entiendes? If agents ever tried to touch you, I would fight them off!

JESÚS

¡Cada noche!

ISABEL

Oh, Chuy, lo siento. I know you would not lie to me. If you say it happens every night, it happens every night.

JESÚS

(calmer, sighing)

Cada noche.

ISABEL

(soothingly)

Sí, Chuy. Cada noche.

JESÚS

(resigned, calm, the storm is over)

Chavalita, I want it to stop. No more cages, no more escaping, no more swollen feet.

(Holds up right palm for emphasis.)

Ya basta.

Hear My Voice/Escucha mi voz: The Testimonies of Children Detained at the Southern Border of the United States

  

Publisher : Workman Publishing Company; Bilingual edition 

Language : English, Spanish

Hardcover : 96 pages

ISBN-10 : 1523513489

ISBN-13 : 978-1523513482

 

 

The moving stories of children in migration—in their own words.

 

 

Every day, children in migration are detained at the US-Mexico border. They are scared, alone, and their lives are in limbo. Hear My Voice/Escucha mi voz shares the stories of 61 these children, from Honduras, Guatemala, El Salvador, Ecuador, and Mexico, ranging in age from five to seventeen—in their own words from actual sworn testimonies. Befitting the spirit of the project, the book is in English on one side; then flip it over, and there's a complete Spanish version.

 

Illustrated by 17 Latinx artists, including Caldecott Medalist and multiple Pura Belpré Illustrator Award-winning Yuyi Morales and Pura Belpré Illustrator Award-winning Raul the Third. Includes information, questions, and action points. Buying this book benefits Project Amplify, an organization that supports children in migration.

 

 

"In Spanish and in English, a devastating first-person account of children’s experiences in detention at the southern U.S. border.... A powerful, critical document only made more heartbreaking in picture-book form." —Kirkus Reviews starred review

 

Where Do the Children Play?

Melinda Palacio

 ©2018 Lalo Alcaraz. Cartoon appears courtesy of the artist.

Looming over the joy of my new book, Bird Forgiveness, are the atrocities happening to our country, in our politics, and especially at the border where a zero tolerance policy enacted by Trump has led to severe trauma for babies and children who have been taken from their families and put in camps. Migrating to this country and seeking asylum is not a crime, but in Trump's eyes if a family is from a "shit hole" country then yes, lock them up and forget about where a poor non-english speaking child or baby was sent, and if they die trying to find their child, all the better says the wannabe dictator. This is where we are now. The children have been scattered all over the United States. I want to know why the people in custody of these poor babies don't speak up. They might make a trip to the emergency room where doctors note that these toddlers are not behaving like normal, curious babies. I don't need a medical degree to tell you that children who have been ripped from their mother's arms are not going to act normal.

I know I'm preaching to the choir, mi gente, the readers of La Bloga, but this is what is on my mind lately. While it is important to uphold our way of life and continue to make art, it is equally important to get out there and resist, vote, communicate, and respect existence. Our elders fought too hard to see this country re-institute concentration camps for babies, children, and migrant families seeking asylum.

Tomorrow: Saturday, June 30, Freedom for Families! Abolish ICE March, noon to 3pm, Congo Square Louis Armstrong Park, 701 Rampart Street, New Orleans, Louisiana 70116

In Santa Barbara: Saturday, June 30, 11 am De La Guerra Plaza.

Global: Find a march near you, contact moveon.org.

Review: Multidimensional Tripping. Armando Baeza, Sculptor. Gluten-free Chicano Cooks. Ellis Island Film. Veterans Day.

Review: Jesús Salvador Treviño. Return to Arroyo Grande. Houston: Arte Publico Press, 2015. ISBN-13: 978-1-55885-819-0

Michael Sedano


Not only can you, you should go home again. But it will never be the same. That’s part of the take-away from Jésus Salvador Treviño’s stories about raza kids who leave their extraordinary hometown to make careers elsewhere. As many others do, the kids of Arroyo Grande scatter after high school, off to the town next door, sluggard jobs, Hollywood studios, big time New York art world. Then, when disaster looms for Arroyo Grande, there’s a hometown power that pulls the kids together, old flames rekindle, old memories live, old magic is new. And they save the day.

But what if, in a parallel universe, the old barrio is razed, a casino sucks out all the decency the kids once showed each other?

Then again, what if, in an alternate dimension you wake up and your dead wife is alive, as if almost everything has been a bad dream and you struggle when people around you think you mad?

Then you’d have Jesus Salvador Treviño’s latest collection of short stories, Return to Arroyo Grande, hot off the presses from Arte Publico Press. Return to Arroyo Grande is an intricate segue from Treviño’s two earlier collections, The Fabulous Sinkhole and The Skyscraper That Flew. Not that a reading of the earlier works is required. Still, Return to Arroyo Grande will have readers rushing to Arte Publico's website, or their local indie bookseller, to order the predecessors.

Treviño takes that “save the hometown from the developers” plot and sets it in a world where time shifting multidimensionality sends characters and events spinning in wildly divergent realities before folding time back on itself to beat the bad guys.

In the process, Treviño lets his imagination run freely, and delightfully, through the mind-bending conundrum of time-shifting and alternate dimensions. Yoli, Choo Choo, and Jeannie pass in and out of the same-but-different worlds, joined by a host of characters named Max Martinez, Rolando Hinojosa, Gary Keller (what, no Nick Kanellos?) whose resemblance to actual people is a coincidence, Treviño claims with a sly grin.

The Library of Congress calls Return to Arroyo Grande a short story collection, but Treviño weaves the collection into an eight chapter novel with chapters ending with a “no, he didn’t” cliffhanger. Will Yoli get to Parsons in NY, or is she destined to be a grocery bagger the rest of her life? Will Choo Choo make his movie, Attack of the Lowrider Zombies, or will he be stuck as a trash picker at Universal Studios? Will pragmatic Jeannie stay in the closet and go about a life of quiet desperation? And Bobby, will those critters turn him into floating protoplasm? Will Junior help Charlie get over killing Choo Choo?

You have to read Return to Arroyo Grande to get all the nuances and funny, funny stuff that happens on every page. Choo Choo, for example, wants to go to USC film school. He does, but he’s killed when, eyes in the viewfinder, backs into the street while filming his senior thesis. Or, the thesis film gets him financing from Paramount and Choo Choo becomes a big time movie-maker.

In Arroyo Grande, anything can happen. Magic is real. Imagine a world, your world, cruising along the time-space continuum, and it’s not alone. Looping along next to yours are infinite versions of the world you’re in right now. You’re always you as you slip through parallel dimensions and the other world hits the pause button.

Return to Arroyo Grande isn’t all fun and games. As with all top-notch speculative fiction, important perspectives lurk just beneath the surface, like the stuff that floated out of Mrs. Romero’s front yard in Trevino’s 1995 first book, The Fabulous Sinkhole.

Yoli does go to New York and becomes a fabulous painter. Her best work, a mind-bogglingly great portrait of Mrs. Romero, owes its appeal not to Yoli’s ability but the tube of light-defying Xenosium paint Yoli pulled out of Mrs. Romero’s sinkhole. You have a choice, Junior, a shrink, tells the unfortunate Charlie, who didn’t. Treviño sets up the choice option in the person of a street painter whose canvases hang in museums and major galleries, purchased by rich guys for millions. Disgusted by that, he reproduces his work and sells it on the sidewalk to ordinary gente for ten bucks or whatever you can afford.

Yoli makes a similar choice. She destroys all her work because she’d rather be known for her skill than her magic. She doesn’t want to become a fabulous artist with a gimmick, she prefers to make it big on her own.

Arroyo Grande isn’t a man’s world, either. Choo Choo aside, Yoli and Jeannie are the key characters as the novel-short stories reach their climactic end. Along with Mayor Nancy Cervantes and the ghost of Mrs. Romero, women take the lead in getting the kids back home to organize against developers Rebber and Barrón. And when the pueblo achieves what they assume is their victory, the archbishop wants to throw a big party, ¡Ajua!

The party’s the thing whereby to catch the conscience of el pueblo unguarded. Rebber, Barrón, and their corrupt pals on the city council approve the razing of the barrio. It looks like a bitter ending after all.

Arroyo Grande is a magic place. Magic takes over, saves la causa. Yoli and Choo Choo settle down in the old home town but it’s a completely different Arroyo Grande than the home they returned to save. In the final analysis, el pueblo loses by winning. Nonetheless, there's lots of joy in change.

Is this yet another time-shifted dimension? Ay, yi yi; there’s the rub. And the fun.


Arte Publico makes it easy to order copies of Return to Arroyo Grande, for you and all your reading friends--in fact, all three of Trevino's fantasies--by phone, 1-800-633-ARTE, or via the publisher's website. The trilogy makes an outstanding holiday gift, or hostess present if you're doing turkey day with friends.


Studio Visit: Armando Baeza, Sculptor

Two years speed by when you're in and out of a sickbed not having fun. A couple years ago, Mario Trillo and I planned to have lunch honoring sculptor Armando Baeza's birthday, as we'd done in years past. 

Then Mando was hospitalized and endured an extended recovery time. Around the same time, I was felled by illness that required too darn long to recover. I got back as much as I'll ever have only this Spring. 

Finally our health and plans coalesced to allow some friends and me to pay Alice and Armando a visit in their fabulously artful home. Collectors for years--before there was "Chicano art"--the house is a treasure trove of important artists and in many cases, early and highly distinguished work. And as one would expect, a breath-taking array of sculpture by the Maestro.

Alice Baeza, a retired bilingual teacher, is also an artist, a weaver. A founder of the California Association of Bilingual Educators, Alice persuaded Armando to sculpt CABE's annual award for the year's top bilingual educator. Such a wondrous piece, I regretted not becoming a bilingual educator just to be in consideration for the trophy. 

Alice and Armando offered gracious hospitality and warm conversation about their art collection, Alice's looms and weavings, and Armando's studio. The weaving behind Armando in the foto above is one of Alice's works.

Alice shows Angel Guerrero and Barbara Sedano one of the three looms in the living room.

Just as Alice was explaining the loom, two more friends arrived, Mario Trillo and Naiche Lujan. After abrazos, it was a perfect opportunity for Armando to show Naiche an early sculpture by his dad, Magu. In the mirror, Mario Guerrero and Naiche admire the Magu, a piece Naiche did not know existed.

Typical of Magu, qepd, the sculpture was a gift from artist to artist.

After lunch, dessert was Armando's tour of the studio.

Armando is a whirlwind of sculpting frenzy these days. The 92-year old Armando explains he's had so many ideas building up, projects in process, and long-delayed reworks, that he spends hour upon hour in the studio. Baeza has been working so intensely that he's injured himself and has to wear a protective glove to ensure a firm grip on his tools. 

The studio is amazing, so completely gratifying to see finished work, various stages of work-in-process, but not without its heartbreaks.

Above, Armando shows a piece he's finishing. Red wax figures are one step from the final mold that goes to the foundry. But not all of them. The horses in the foreground, for example, are slated for destruction owing to flaws or likely problems in the casting process. Such wondrous work, but imperfections don't make it out of the studio.

Armando Baeza explains the position of the figure's hand will likely not cast effectively. He's holding a piece that he altered the position of the hand and that will be cast in bronze.

Slated to be destroyed, not to Armando's standards.

If the horses look familiar, you probably know the My Little Pony toys Mattel sells by the millions. Armando Baeza's career as a Mattel toy-maker included sculpting numerous My Little Ponies.

Slated to be destroyed because of the problematic right hand.

The elongated mother and child wax will go to the foundry. When it returns, Armando will clean up the various manchas and pits that invariably accompany the casting process. Raul Baeza, Alice and Armando's son, will add patina and fashion a base. In the foto below, Armando shows a finished sculpture from the red wax model in the foto above.

Angel Guerrero fell in love with un angelito negro. Mario asked Armando if he could buy it for his wife. Armando looks at it lovingly, and agrees to part with it.

"Is it signed?" Mario asked. Armando wasn't sure. He searched the surfaces for the inscribed signature.

Armando is pretty sure he signed it but wasn't sure. Above, Baeza examines the piece with magnifying lenses and sure enough, he signed her. Behind Angel's angelita is the figure with the problematic hand that Armando has now corrected by flattening the palm.

For the visitors, Armando's tour of his workshop offered puro excitement. For Armando, excitement grows from a promise Mario Guerrero made. Mario, a Cerritos College Distinguished Faculty Awardee in Machine Tool Technology, is setting up a 3D scanner and printing lab and has promised Armando a hands-on visit in the near future. Mario jokes he can take one of Armando's hand-wrought pieces, scan it, and run off a thousand copies on his 3D printer. La Bloga hopes to cover that meeting.

Below, our extended familia. Seated, Armando Baeza, Barbara Sedano, Alice Baeza, Angel Guerrero. Standing, Mario Trillo, Michael Sedano, Naiche Lujan, Mario Guerrero. The Baeza garden features wonderful epiphyllum cacti and is shaded by several gorgeous colors of Plumeria, along with fruits and other well-established ornamentals.

The Gluten-free Chicano Cooks
Pork Chop Bake on Quinoa

A hallowe'en fest at Casa Sedano came to an exciting conclusion when The Gluten-free Chicano discovered Concepción Valadez' delicious quinoa salad left-over in the icebox. Quinoa not only is naturally gluten-free, the seed's complex carbohydrates are healthful alternatives to rice and potatoes. 

That aside, anytime one cooks quinoa, there's likely to be abundant left-overs. Así es. So it's likely there'll be opportunities to use the quinoa in several ways.

Concepción's salad recipe mixed almonds and fruit, much like some gente prepare couscous, which is wheat. With an abundance of cooked quinoa on hand, el GF chicas patas went with the flow--Concepción's dressing featured lemon juice--and amended Dra.Valadez' dish with some whole raisins, chopped dried figs, and the juice of a Bearss lime.

Here is an easy and simple preparation for any cook, company eating or everyday chop.

Squeeze the juice over the quinoa and combine ingredients. The piquancy of limón blends perfectly with the sweet fruit and almonds to bring out the flavors to plate-licking goodness.

Prepare a baking dish with non-stick coating then pack the quinoa into the bottom. Preheat the oven to 350º.

Season both sides of the chuletas with coarse ground black pepper, sea salt, and paprika.  ¿Is it still a chuleta if it's boneless?

Place the chuletas on top of the quinoa. Cover with aluminum foil and bake 45 minutes then uncover and bake ten or fifteen more minutes to brown the surface.

Test doneness by slicing halfway into a chop. If the pork is barely pink, or already white all the way through, it's done. The meat continues to cook while you let it rest for a few minutes outside the oven as you prepare the plates.

The Gluten-free Chicano likes a simple meal, so he prepared frozen mixed vegetables. A scoop of veggies, a scoop of quinoa, the chuleta, complete the serving. If gente at your table have a sweet tooth, serve chilled applesauce as an extra side and skip dessert.

If you don't find left-over quinoa salad in your refrigerator, you'll find recipes for quinoa salad in cookbooks and the computer. As noted, you'll often have generous servings of left-over quinoa, so this bake is an excellent way to repurpose an already delicious, gluten-free product.

Provecho.


Ghosts of Ellis Island Screens at CSULA

Although I'm not a movie-goer, I could not pass up the opportunity to appear on the same stage with Robert DeNiro, whose comic turn as a conflicted mob boss in Analyze This, tickled my funny bone.

DeNiro won't be in the audience when Ghosts of Ellis Island debuts in Salazar Hall on the El Sereno campus of California State University Los Angeles, but Michael Sedano and several panelists will be there to share the viewing and discuss issues related to the film.

The art film by fotograffitist JR, Ghosts of Ellis Island, isn't funny. It's deadly serious. And a must-watch film that will show at community venues in coming months. Look for announcements in local papers, and La Bloga.

View the trailer and abstracts of the panelists' talks at the Chicano Studies sponsored webpage:

http://ellisatcalstatela.blogspot.com

The premiere screening of the film Ghosts of Ellis Island, Salazar Hall C162, 4:30-6:00 p.m.
November 12, 2015.


Veterans Day 2015

Armando Baeza is a Veteran of WWII and Korea. Among the gente who visited with Alice and Armando, three are Veterans.

Mario Trillo did a Vietnam tour at the same time I was in Korea. I came home with wild stories. Mario came home with a couple of Bronze Stars and Purple Hearts. A few weeks ago, Trillo got a new knee, free, to replace the one that took the hit nearly fifty years ago. He'll never get back that chunk of finger.

Mario Guerrero was a United States Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine.

Naiche Lujan's dad, Magu, qepd, was a Veteran of the U.S. Air Force.

They also serve who stand and wait. My wife, Barbara, is an Army Veteran, too. We were married at the end of August 1968. A month later, I got my draft notice to report in time for Thanksgiving. I managed to delay induction until January 1969. The day I left, Barbara held it together until the bus pulled away. Like a silent movie, I watched through the window as her anguished figure grew smaller as the bus gathered speed. A few months later, Barbara left the comforts of Isla Vista for a tiny shack at the edge of Ft. Ord while I attended Radio School.

I went AWOL every night. When I got busted on the last day of training, I told the Captain all my wife would have of me would be this memory if I bit the dust in Vietnam. He nodded agreement and took half my pay and my rank.

The night before I was to report for Orders--I was told the Orders would be sending me to Vietnam--Barbara desperately pleaded with me to desert. "Let's go to Canada," was her first idea. No dice, I said, "too cold."

Irony. The Army sent me to spend a winter atop the world's highest HAWK anti-aircraft missile site. Dang, it was cold on top of that mountain.

"Mexico," she said. "Mexico extradites," I argued, and she doesn't speak Spanish.

"I'll take my chances." I had decided.

"You might get killed!" Those nightly news clips of flag-draped coffins coming in daily burned into her consciousness. When she went to the PX there were soldiers at Ft. Old whose fatigues didn't hide the scars of their wounds. And seeing other soldiers on post, hapless blank-eyed trainees without a clue in the world, was like watching the walking dead. I didn't want one of them to take my place. I was drafted out of an M.A. program and figured I'd be OK. Always a survivor, that's me.

"If I'm killed, I won't know it." That was my final answer. It's a desolate thought, but she was young and would be able to start over, live a long life with an increasingly distant memory of that stupid dead GI she was once married to, who thought it was his Duty and to accept the luck of the draw. It is what it is, no alternate realities.

Plus, she would have gotten my military insurance, ten thousand dollars.

Specialist 4th Class Michael Sedano, Mae Bong (Site 7/5), winter 1969.