On first looking into Wilson’s Homer

 On first looking into Wilson’s Homer

Michael Sedano

Much have I travelled in realms of Attic Greek, but that was as a college student, translating  first Xenophon, then Lysias, with big plans to go to Texas and work with Richmond Lattimore, to translate Aristotle for the modern student. Then my Uncle Sam said, 'a-knock knock, here I am.

As I stared across the Pacific on the military flight to Korea, my Greek skills already waning after Basic and Radio School, I figured that dream had gone by the wayside. I was no Odysseus but I was, and am, a polytropos, a man of many means. I turned to other realms, contented myself with good memories and a literary fealty to translations--any and all--of Homer.

Richmond Lattimore was the assigned translation in the Classics program at UC Santa Barbara. Robert Fagles hadn’t made his mark back in the mid-sixties. 

When I discovered Fagles' version I loved what Fagles does that Lattimore has not—captures a sense of oracy less obligated to imitate the ceremonial formality of antique warrior declarations. In short, Fagles’ translation removes a lot of the ancient from Homeric Greek, in English. 

I would have been satisfied leaving it at that—Lattimore for the authentic flavor of a rhapsode, Fagles for a contemporary treatment of something so old it needs adaptation to a modern ear. 

Then along comes Emily Wilson, whose consideration of the text attends entirely to the modern ear, endeavoring a colloquial story-telling voice. Wilson creates a loose verse form in conversational language peppered with archaisms inherent in the original source. It's a modern retelling of ancient lore.

That Wilson is the sole female interpreter among a history of male translators leads numerous readers to point to Wilson’s woman’s language being less attuned to a macho persona and nuanced to a woman’s view. Maybe nuanced isn’t right; Wilson’s is outright a woman’s interpretation.

Wilson’s Odyssey raises a welter of objectors and appreciative advocates, starting at page one, Odysseus’ adjectival expletive, polytropos. 

Conventionally translated as clever, resourceful, a man of many means, Wilson starts off with “complicated.” This alters a reader’s perception of the lost sailor’s personality. 

A complicated man is not necessarily a good nor heroic figure. Likewise, readers point to Wilson’s description of Penelope’s household staff not as maidservants but as slaves, used and raped by the suitors. 

Lattimore, too, cites their slavery, but leans into the maidservant variant: twelve women who lay in secret with the suitors, Lattimore describes. These twelve are forced to and influenced by Aphrodite, in Wilson’s view. Ni modo; the twelve get strung up in hideous pain in both translations; it’s complicated.

I enjoy, and recommend, reading Lattimore and Wilson in tandem, to get a sense of how two masterful linguists understand the same story and characters, to witness how each handles Greek spelling in English, the one capturing the ancient tongue, the other accommodating contemporary mores. For example, Greek masculine nouns end with “os” and use kappa, “k”, with no “c” in the alphabet. Lattimore holds more faithfully to ancient orthography. Wilson favors old Latino spelling, exchanging “us” for “os” and “c” for “k”:

Lattimore; Book 22, 320: beheading the priest

Then looking darkly at him, spoke resourceful Odysseus: 

“if you claim to be the diviner among these people, 

many times you must have prayed in my palace, asking 

that the completion of my sweet homecoming be far off 

from me, that my dear wife would go off with you, and bear you 

children. So you cannot escape from sorry destruction. 

So he spoke, and in his heavy hand caught up a sword 

that was lying there on the ground where Agelaos had dropped it 

when he was killed. With this, he cut through the neck at the middle,

and the head of Leodes dropped in the dust while he was still speaking.

 

Wilson; Book 22, 320: beheading the priest

The calculating hero scolded at him. 

“If, as you claim, you sacrificed for them, 

you must have often prayed here in my hall 

that I would not regain the joys of Home, 

and that my wife would marry you instead, 

and bear your children. You will not escape. 

Suffer and die!“

                                           Agelaus had dropped 

his sword when he was killed. With his strong arm

Odysseus swung, slashed down and sliced right through 

the priest’s neck, and his head, still framing words, 

rolled in the dust.

 

Lattimore; Book 22 line 390: Eurykleia the jefa de esclavas

Then at last resourceful Odysseus said to Telemachos:

‘Telemachos, come now, summon in the nurse, Eurykleia, 

so that I can say what is on my mind to say to her.’

          So he spoke, and Telemachos obeyed his dear father. 

He opened the door and called out to the nurse, Eurykleia

‘Rise and come here, aged woman, you who watch over 

all that the serving women do here in our palace. 

Come here. My father calls you. He has something to tell you.'

 

Wilson; Book 22 line 390: Eurycleia the boss slave

Odysseus, still scheming, told his son,

 

“I need to say something to Eurycleia

Hurry, Telemachus, and bring her here."

Telemachus was glad to please his father.

He pushed the door ajar and called, “Come, Nanny, quick! 

You supervise the female palace slaves.

My father has to talk to you; come on!"

 

Reading the two versions of the same story provides hours of double enjoyment, although as books, Richmond Lattimore’s translation requires greater visual work with its densely-packed lines and eye-challenging print size. 

I’ve captured above Emily Wilson’s ample use of white space in her work. Lattimore's publisher elects a smaller font size than Wilson's. The larger font and ample white space make Wilson's book a lot easier to read and to keep your place as you read down the page.

Wilson’s Homer moves fast, like a good yarn fashioned by a clever storyteller owning the narrative, spoken in her own voice. Lattimore’s way is that of a capable recitation, a performer retelling a story keeping to the way they heard it the first time, succumbing to awkward bits and pieces that don’t quite fit into English. 

Wilson blazes a new trail through the density of Homeric grammar, tossing the lexicon behind her to propel readers straight ahead, making story, not fealty to an old oft-told tale, the raison d’être of Homer’s Odyssey.

Timeo daneos ta dora pheruntes, pero sabes que? I welcome the gift of Homer from those Greeks.

 

Guest Columnists: Lucha Corpi And Nuria Brufau Alvira, From Eulogy To Loa. Banned Books. Carlos Fuentes Conference. On-Line Floricanto.

From Eulogy to Loa

Loa a un ángel de piel morena, Nuria Brufau Alvira’s translation into Spanish of my novel Eulogy for a Brown Angel, was released late in 2011 by the University of Alcalá de Henares’ Instituto Franklin, to whom I am indebted for making this possible. I was thrilled, of course, and posted the news on my Facebook wall. Michael Sedano sent his enhorabuena to me. He commented that he was looking forward to reading the opening scene at the National Chicano Moratorium march and riot in the novel in Spanish. He then asked for my impressions, for my feelings when Gloria Damasco first “spoke” to me in Spanish. I had asked myself similar questions when I had read the first and the final drafts of Nuria Brufau Alvira’s splendid translation of my Gloria Damasco mystery novel. Long before, I had also assisted Catherine Rodríguez- Nieto when she translated my poetry into English, and voice in translation became one of my concerns.

Of course, literary provocateur that he is —in the best of ways— Michael then invited Nuria and me to write companion pieces about our respective experiences as author and translator for La Bloga. And here we are:

Lucha Corpi

Oakland (California), 2012

A translator´s account of the process

And once again, Lucha and I have intertwined our discourses in order to ease the access to the translation chamber, that frontier space between languages and cultures, where we, as author and translator, have met. And it has been a real encounter because we were coming from different locations with dissimilar ways of loving the text we were going to work on.

Allowing someone to translate one’s text constitutes the maximum act of generosity, because despite the impossibility of having absolute control over the meaning of our own words, we all write in the hope that we will be transmitting certain ideas and values, and that we will be stimulating certain senses in our readers. Honestly speaking, all writers aim at spreading a specific message, be it aesthetic or of another kind. By allowing someone who is alien to such a creative act to rewrite our text we assume the risk of that someone not sharing or even misunderstanding its intended sense, or purpose. For that reason, having one’s text translated really is, as I see it, an act of bigheartedness and trust. On the translators’ part, accepting such a task implies the need to welcome each new text with the open attitude of someone that is willing not only to understand and feel, but also to help others to understand and feel too. After all, translating is allowing communication between those who are different.

Luckily enough, in this case our efforts of generosity and warm welcome, as well as of mutual trust, have been greatly and mutually corresponded. Lucha had written the text thinking of an American audience who is more or less familiarized with the Chicano movement and its claims, but who might also hold some prejudices about such community. She also wanted to show Chicanas who are not victimized but proactive, who are able to combine their feminist agenda with their Chicana one. And she applied different strategies in order to convey this whole message of political claims, but also of cultural clarifications that allow for the breaking down of the “single story” —as Chimamanda Amichie reminds us— about Chicanas.

Most interestingly, Corpi chose a literary genre that is not usually linked to Chicanismo or Chicano/a literature: a mystery novel. Most Chicano writers prefer to offer fictionalized life-stories that allow them to show their (main character’s) Mexican (family) origins and their struggles within the new American context. Also, no particular attitudes were associated to one specific origin. She showed people as humans, not as mere race or gender-associated characters. By doing so, she managed to alter some of the readers’ expectations. Content wise, Lucha opted for a female main character, Gloria, and a female alter-ego, Luisa, that mostly silently accompanies her along the many challenges she faces in her investigation, thus offering a split version of herself. Both are decision takers. Lucha introduced male characters too, but they never appear at a higher level than Gloria, Luisa or other female characters. In addition, Lucha showed evil and good in both female and male characters, as she showed tenderness and pain in both genders too. Down with stereotypes!  

Moreover, she tended to explicitly draw out Gloria’s thoughts, either as a narrator or in the form of interior monologue, in order to explain, succinctly but sufficiently, some cultural events in an effort to help readers contextualize the story. It is a very subtle way of participating in the readers’ meaning construction process.

Lucha offered very detailed descriptions of certain scenarios so that we can all more easily visualize the events. And she often mentioned —one way or another— the skin color of the characters, which contributes to recall readers’ of their origin. In that sense, she used language too. In some cases, some Chicano characters mix English and Spanish, in others she just introduced some Mexican Spanish words, for example to name objects that belong to the Mexican culture. However, she did not reflect the “accent” that some Chicano characters may have had in “real life,” as some authors prefer to do. This helps to keep a smooth reading of the text, while it avoids contributing to enhance the “foreignness” of certain characters: a wise strategy to blur the constructed images of Chicanos within the broader American culture. This has been done by other bicultural writers, like Rosario Ferré, for instance, who translates into English her own books and alters the social status of her characters by making them sound more polite in order to avoid racial stigmatizations.

Lucha also introduces some secondary characters that are relevant because of what they do, though not because of who they are, and so appear without an explicit gender (doctor, etc.).

These are some of the choices and strategies Lucha made when she wrote Eulogy for a Brown Angel in order to reach her literary target —to entertain through a fiction story—, and to convey her message of disarticulation of stereotypes connected to the Chicano culture.

In reality, none of this was spoken between Lucha and me when we first exchanged emails, and it might be that all these ideas are but the result of my personal interpretation, but it seems to me that somehow Lucha understood what I had read and seen between the lines. Of course the challenge for me as a translator was to transmit all that, in content and through form, to a new audience both in time and —mostly— in space. The new audience was broader. The Spanish version should work for both Latin Americans and Spanish readers. Was the message to be understood similarly? Are the stereotypes to be disentangled the same?

In such circumstances, some of the translation strategies to be adopted were clear to me since the beginning. First, bilingualism had to be respected and shown. We wanted the audience to be reminded of the difficulties of living in between languages. Of course not all the story is to be written in both, but some expressions in English should appear to recreate the Anglophone context where the story takes place. Second, Mexican Spanish words referring to cultural particularities should appear marked (in italics) to show the richness and the distinctiveness of the Mexican-Chicano culture. Third, we added a glossary to offer readers in Spain, Latin America, elsewhere, the chance to learn a bit about this culture. Some translators prefer to add footnotes to ease the understanding of such words right away. In this case, I thought that adding a subtle intra-textual clarifying formulation of sentences —when needed— would help to get a general idea, just in case readers preferred not to stop to find out right then what a bandana or a sarape exactly are or look like. Lucha agreed on all these suggestions and she helped me with the definitions of some of these “culturemas,” as translation theorists call them in Spanish.

“I didn´t see nothing. Understand? Nada.” Mando looked at Joel´s hand, put his palms out, and took a couple of steps back.

“How do we know it wasn´t you who killed this chicanito?” There was a double edge of contempt and defiance in Joel´s voice, which surprised both Luisa and me.

Mando stood his grounds across from us. His eyes moved rapidly from Joel´s face to his torso and arms, locking on the camera hanging from his neck. A wry smile began to form on Mando´s lips. He spat on the ground, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Later, vato,” he said, waving a finger at Joel.

“Cuando quieras,” Joel answered back, accepting the challenge. “Any time”, he repeated.

Irritated with their childish confrontation, Luisa commanded, “Stop it! Both of you!” She looked at Joel, then added, “A child is dead. That´s why we are here.”

—Nothing, I saw nothing. ¿Entiendes? Nada. —Mando se fijó en la mano de Joel, alzó las palmas y dio un par de pasos atrás.

—¿Y cómo sabemos que no fuiste tú quien mató a este chicanito?

Había un doble sentido de contención y reto en la voz de Joel que nos sorprendió a las dos.

Mando se mantuvo firme frente a nosotros. Movió los ojos con rapidez del rostro de Joel al torso y los brazos, hasta quedarse mirando la cámara que le colgaba del cuello. Se le dibujó una sonrisa de ironía en los labios. Escupió al suelo y se limpió la boca con el dorso de la mano.

—Luego, vato —respondió mientras amenazaba con un dedo a Joel.

—Cuando quieras —acepto Joel—, any time —insistió.

Irritada por aquella disputa infantil, Luisa ordenó:

—Basta ya, los dos. Luego se dirigió a Joel—: Hay un niño muerto. Por eso estamos aquí.  

She was also fantastic in filling my cultural gaps of the context. For instance, the many University names that appear in the novel were confusing for me. However, there was another challenge: the Spanish language itself. When the audience of the United States reads the English Eulogy, every time a character is described as dark, or a Spanish word is introduced, they visualize a Chicano character. On the contrary, if the translation appears in Spain´s Spanish only, no Spanish or other Latin American reader will visualize Mexicans or Chicanos, they will see Spaniards. Or, at least, it will be strange for them to imagine these speaking in peninsular Spanish. So, the text in Spanish needed to be “Mexicanized” to be credible. Lucha read Loa chapter by chapter trying to hear the dissonant voices in my text, and made suggestions for changes. We both thought that adding more Mexican words than the ones found in the original was not only legitimate but also very good for the final result.

“Sí. Gloria. Claro. Come in. I´m Cecilia Cadena,” she said while she walked to the playpen and got the baby settled in it. Okay, Little Sister, don´t fuss. No. Stay there.”

—Sí, Gloria. Claro. Pasa. Come in. Soy Cecilia Cadena —explicó mientras caminaba hacia el corralito y dejaba allí a la niña—. Está bien, hermanita, no hagas jaleo. ¿Eh? Quédate aquí.

And, I have to confess, this is one of the parts of the process I have most enjoyed: discovering, thanks to Lucha, expressions like darse un regaderazo, encender la lavadora de trastes, meter a un bebé en el corralito, and other just delicious sayings that belong specifically to the Mexican variety of Spanish has been a real pleasure. Lucha told me the Mexican words for some things, as they would sound more natural for her. Instead of just introducing them, I opted to suggest including those Mexican words, which do not appear as “Mexican” in the English version, but they do in the translation, in the glossary. In addition to this, the intercultural dialogue we kept electronically contributed much, as I see it, to enhance that fantastic collaboration we have had all along the translation process, as well as our mutual professional respect and affection.

 On the other hand, it might be because Don Quixote was written in Spain —who knows?—, but (at least some) Spanish speakers might tend to think that their Spain’s Spanish is the purest version of this already global language. It is not my intention to discuss such an idea, especially since our Spanish might have been much more influenced by other languages than the many other varieties of Spanish around the world, thus becoming much less “pure”, and as if most Spanish speakers in Spain spoke our beautiful language with absolute correction. In any case, whether we like it or not, I feared that Spanish readers would see some Mexican expressions as “weird Spanish”. Allowing that to happen would have contributed to our own intra-linguistic cultural stereotypes, and I definitely wanted to avoid that. For that reason, I tried to be very careful with the grammatical formulations, their closeness to a correct and common standard Spanish, while allowing the text to become more Mexican. It has been hard to find the balance. It is thanks to our author-translator —Chicano-Spanish— negotiation that this has been possible.

Also, there is something Lucha said to me once, which made it all very obvious for me; she was concerned about how Otilia sounded in Spanish. I realized then that I had forgotten an identity intersection: the age-race one. Otilia, being a grandmother of Mexican origin should sound much sweeter and down-to-earth than in my first drafts. I have to admit that all the efforts of the world on my part would not have been enough to give Otilia back her real voice. It was thanks to Lucha that this was finally possible. Lucha gave Otilia her voice back in all its dimensions. And she also cleaned Gloria´s.

As for the neutral professional characters, we both agreed that altering the readers’ expectations would be good. So the neutral doctor appears as a female character in the Spanish version, just as the neutral nurse appears as a male.

Descriptions were also a challenge. Lucha had a neat image of the scenarios of the novel. In some cases they were neat to me too, but in others I had to ask her for further explanations. I particularly remember the description of one of the houses, where there is a patio, a vineyard, etc. I even needed a drawing to finally see with Lucha’s eyes and correctly explain that in Spanish!

As for dialogues, I wanted to show the connection between Luisa and Gloria, their natural understanding. In some cases I have divided sentences into two, or the other way round, to make their conversations sound more natural. Last, but not least, the translation of the title was also challenging. It had to bear the same homage to the “brown angel” as in the original, but saying “ángel moreno” did not sound just right. It shows too much. The word “loa” was chosen for its poetic connections, whereas adding “la piel” made the title as ambiguous and mysterious as the original. Only when you read the novel will you understand why this is so important.

Of course, other translation micro-decisions have been taken along the process, specially connected to the smoothness of the reading in Spanish, which requires constant elimination of repetitions, introduction of more complex subordinate clauses, conversational adaptations, special attention to articles, rendering of possession through verbal pronouns instead of possessive adjectives, and other changes in grammatical categories —what we call “transposition”—, as well as alterations in formulations and expressions — “modulation”—, and many other details. But the most challenging ones, the macro-decisions that are implemented at the macro and micro levels of the text, those that result from an intersectional analysis before and during the translation process, those have been discussed and negotiated with Lucha.

This fantastic and stimulating translation journey is usually done with more preliminary limitations and as a solitary adventure. On the one hand, it has been a real pleasure to enjoy the institutional support of the Instituto Franklin, represented by Cristina Crespo, and Ana Lariño later on. They have allowed me to make translation decisions, for which the Instituto deserves fair credit and my greatest gratitude. On the other hand, Lucha Corpi’s collaboration in the project has been a blessing. It has implied for me constant reflection on the choices made, bargaining for solutions that would please us both, and a mutual personal recognition process. I think we are both happy with the result, and I also believe we have both learnt something along the way.

If the intention of the Instituto Franklin is to stimulate cultural encounters, congratulations! Loa a un ángel de piel morena is a very fruitful one. And one to be enjoyed by readers, who, on both sides of the Atlantic, might —again, who knows?— broaden their views about Chicanos and Chicanas.  

I began arguing that translating implies an act of generosity and that requires an open and collaborative attitude. After the account of this particular translation, you might agree that Lucha’s Eulogy has turned into our Loa. The author´s generosity has increased the global dimension of her initial message of justice, love, peace, tenderness and friendship. And I really hope that all my efforts as a translator to treat her work as it deserved have been good enough as to spread and strengthen such a message. This is “theory in the flesh”, dear readers, a fantastic example of “closelaboration,” as we call it. Querida Lucha, I am as fond of you now as I am of Loa and all its characters. Gracias a ti, Lucha. Gracias.

Nuria Brufau Alvira

Khartoum (Sudan), 2012

For more information on Loa a un ángel de piel morena please check the following website: http://www.institutofranklin.net/en/publications/coleccion-camino-real

Meet Nuria

Dr. Nuria Brufau Alvira was born in 1980 in Salamanca (Spain), where she also carried out most of her studies, although she has also lived in Belgium, Italy and the UK at different stages of her University education. She gained her Ph Doctorate CUM LAUDE in 2009 at the University of Salamanca (Spain), where she also received the PhD Extraordinary Award 2009. In her Doctoral Thesis —Translation and Gender: a Proposal for a New Ethics of Translation in the Era of Transnational Feminism— she explored the areas of gender and translation. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Translation and Interpreting (University of Salamanca, 1998-2003), a Bachelor’s Degree in Arts and Humanities (University of Salamanca, 2002-2006), a Master’s Degree in Gender Studies (Autonomous University of Madrid, 2005-2007) and is an official Expert on Spanish as a Foreign Language Teaching (University Antonio de Nebrija, Madrid, 2009-2010). Her areas of research and interest are Translation Studies, Gender Studies, Cultural Studies, Communication and Text Management Studies.
She has lectured in various Universities in Spain (University of Salamanca, University of Alfonso X El Sabio [Madrid]), as well as in other institutions, and has published one book (Las teorías feministas de la traducción a examen: destilaciones para el siglo XXI, 2010) as well as quite a number of book chapters, articles and reviews in national and international magazines. She has attended many national and international conferences, and has participated in various research projects. In this sense, she is currently doing research on diversity management in higher education institutions.
In 2010 she arrived in Khartoum, where she worked for the Comboni College as a language teacher in Spanish, English and Italian, and at CLIK, for several months until she joined the Regional Institute of Gender, Diversity, Peace and Rights (RIGDPR) at the Ahfad University for Women (AUW) in February 2011. There, she lectures the courses Gender and Feminist Concepts and Theories, and Global and Regional Governance, at the four Master programmes offered. She is responsible for the MSc on Gender and Governance (GAG), and is also the Coordinator of the Norad-funded project RIGDPR 2010-2014.
She has worked as a freelance translator since 2003. She has so far translated 10 novels —two of which are Chicana novels— into Spanish for different publishing houses or institutions, as well as different non-fiction books and articles on history, art, gender, and translation. She is currently collaborating with an Iranian translator in the translation into Spanish of tales written by Iranian women authors.


Books Still Banned

"Oh brave new world to have such creatures in it!"
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on."

Those two lines from Shakespeare's The Tempest are banned from Tucson Arizona's classrooms. The school board banned the play. What if some important college admissions writing test prompt comes from this banned play? Goodbye Cal or Harvard, hello Flagstaff, for Arizona's brightest. Ignorant yokel didn't even know Prospero's speech, the evaluator will think.

The Librotraficante Caravan stands as a landmark satiric sharp stick in the eye of Arizona's abysmally failing public servants. Using mass media to keep alive the issue, Latinopia features running segment on the caravan. The third episode is up now, at Latinopia. Jesus Treviño is filming on the bus when a multi-car pile up in their path almost puts the kibosh on the trip to Denise Chávez' Mesilla NM hospitality.

La Bloga's first bloguera, Gina Marysol Ruiz, is committed to reading banned literature aloud. I recorded page 123-124 from Bless Me, Ultima for Gina's project.

You can view a larger screen and read the text slides at Read! Raza.

Carlos Fuentes Conference At Cal State LA

La Bloga friend and conference planner extraordinaire Roberto Cantu shows he's on a quest to put together the perfect academic conference. With town and gown programming, this year's event seems destined to surpass such earlier conferences on Sor Juana, Octavio Paz, Mesoamerica.

Per the Conference website, The 2012 Conference on Carlos Fuentes includes five sessions on the novels, short stories, and essays of Carlos Fuentes; one session on Ancient, Colonial, and Modern Mexico; and a full staging of one of Fuentes's plays:  Orquídeas a la luz de la luna (1982), with actresses Alejandra Flores and Azalia Correa playing the roles of Mexican film icons María Félix and Dolores del Río. The conference also includes five keynote and featured speakers who are distinguished  world scholars in the field of Fuentes studies.  For more information on this conference, write to rcantu@calstatela.edu, or to this address:        


Dr. Roberto Cantú
Professor of Chicano Studies and English
California State University, Los Angeles
5151 State University Drive
Los Angeles, CA  90032


Conjunto Festival Returns for Tres Equis

That's not a sponsorship plug for a light Mexican beer but the latino numeration identifying the thirtieth conjunto festival in San Antonio Texas, May 15-19. Events start early for the senior, run all night and all day for endurance tipas tipos.

Rosedale Park and the Guadalupe theatre host the various days. See the full schedule at the festival website.

On-Line Floricanto

Alma Luz Villanueva, John Martinez, Iris de Anda, Claudia Hernández, Andrea Hernández Holm

“Presente (Present, Always Alive)” by Alma Luz Villanueva

“Under the Thin Blue Sky” by John Martinez

“Injustice I see” by Iris de Anda

“Mujer tras el telón / Woman Behind the Curtain” by Claudia Hernández

"Harvest time in Pinal County" by Andrea Hernández Holm

PRESENTE (Present, Always Alive)

by Alma Luz Villanueva

Would they kill our

caramel skinned sons?

They would.

Would they kill our

cocoa skinned sons?

They would.

Would they fill their

prisons with our sun

kissed sons?

They would.

Would they steal their

blossoming dreams?

They would.

Would they steal the 

stories, the truth, of

their people, their ancestors?

They would.

Will we allow them

to kill our sons,

to kill their spirits,

to silence our stories,

to silence our truths,

to silence our ancestors?

A rainbow of humans,

all sun kissed colors,

gather, millions of us

wearing hoodies, carrying

wetbooks to Arizona,

writing poems, writing

stories, writing novels,

of memory, truth, ancestors,

our wetbooks

always born

from the womb

of resistance, human

love. No, 

we will 

not allow

them, Trayvon

Martin, PRESENTE...

*Cesar Chavez, PRESENTE

*Martin Luther King, Jr., PRESENTE

Alma Luz Villanueva

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

April 3, 2012

Into the Sixth Sun

To my son, Jules Villanueva-Castano,

who made it through the cultural gauntlet

and now helps others through,

always proud.

UNDER THE THIN BLUE SKY

by John Martinez

The mighty sun,

With its Monarchical sting,

Never saw, never

Cared, that there

Was dirt in my tray,

That the grapes

Were sweating

From my little brown hands

Pushing too hard,

But the Foreman cared,

His skin,

Alcohol puffed red,

Like Jackie Gleason,

He took my father

Over and they

Stood above me,

Under the thin blue sky,

Time, relentless,

But on my side

I was about to be taught a lesson.

I heard them, mumbling

Saying things

As I hurried

To turn the wooded frame,

To prepare another

Paper, one bunch

Of grapes to hold

It down against

The calm wind,

“Your kids are fucking up my field, Victor,”

I heard him say

From above,

I imagined him, a T.V., Clown,

The man at the Welfare window,

The black n white

Ward Cleaver,

Newspaper, in his face,

He was all of them to me

And then, I felt a kick

In my stomach

And my breath left me

Quicker than the song

Playing in my head,

Faster than a rat

Scurrying across the vine,

My breath went running

Down the row,

Laughing, my child’s laugh,

Grinning like my

Odd mouth does,

It was beginning to rise

Towards the sheep

Shaped clouds,

It was leaving me

And so I fell asleep

And dreamed of nothing

When I awoke,

My father, sad under

The shade of the vine,

Said to me;

“They are going to keep us here, Mijo,

But you have to be careful with the spreading.”

And as I watched from my knees,

Crushed grapes and warm sand

Pressed against my cheek,

The other side of my face

Like a fever,

When I watched my father

Walk, a crooked, Festus walk,

Down that row,

His grape knife dangling

From a string

Tied to his right wrist,

I thought about

What he thought

He had to do,

Because he, ultimately

Loved us all,

I thought about myself,

And how I would

Never forgive

These times,

But know them

To be my own

© John Martinez 2012

injustice i see

by Iris De Anda

justice is blind

she has been taken hostage

like the girls from 

los angeles to juarez

she is forgotten

by passerby

sometimes she whispers 

i hear her cry

justice is lost

she wants us to find her

like this time

will be different

she is ready

to step up

sometimes she wins

i fear not enough

justice is seeking

she removes her shackles

like the stories from

then and now

she is frozen

in time forever long

sometimes she sings

i hear her song

"we shall overcome

we shall overcome

we shall overcome someday"

injustice i see

unjust life

just once

give us this one

if we fight hard enough

we cannot fail

that our hearts may believe

truth and love prevail

Mujer tras el telón

por Claudia D. Hernández

¡Oh que temple de mujer!

Suspiraste agotada

Cada noche bajo una

luna dista.

Fuiste:

      Hermana

                 Hija,

                     Tía,

             Esposa,

     Madre.

Con manos pálidas

Acariciaste los rostros

De tus retoños.

Los nutriste con aromas

De viña cosechada,

Entrelazada con

Esencias de:

                Maiz,

                      Fríjol,

                   Y

        Calabaza.

Les diste de comer

Palabras dulces

Que rebosaron

En espíritus

Luchadores.

(La leña siempre

Ardió en tu hogar)

¡Ya no te escondas

Tras el telón—

Brilla con esplendor!

¡Oh que temple de mujer!

Tu abnegación dio a luz

A un Héroe Nacional.

Woman Behind the Curtain

by Claudia D. Hernández

Oh courageous woman

Who sighed exhausted

Every night under a

Distant moon.

You were a:

       Daughter,

               Sister,

                 Aunt,

             Wife,

     Mother.

Every night you caressed

Your offspring

With your pale hands.

You nourished them with

Harvested vineyard aromas,

Entwined with

Scents of:

           Maize,

                Beans,

               And

        Squash.

You fed them

Sweet words

And engorged

Their warrior

Spirits.

(The wood burned

Forever in your home)

Do not hide

Behind the curtain—

Shine with splendor!

Oh courageous woman,

Your dedication gave birth

To a National Hero.

Harvest time in Pinal County

by Andrea Hernandez Holm

I remember walking

Walking alongside my mother

My sisters so small still,

Me so small still,

And looking up, up, up

at the saguaro arms

stretched high above us

straight into the blue sky

fat, juicy fruit perched on their very tops.

The sound of the fruit

Dropping into our clutches

Like drumbeats

Heartbeats in the desert,

In the foothills of Table Top

Where the doves and quails

Greeted us

And our thanks floated away easily

On occasional breezes.

At the base of Table Top mountain

Today

The Neo-Nazis zoom across the delicate desert

On the backs of ATVs.

Their military weapons are draped across their shoulders

Hung low on their hips

Tucked into combat boots

And festering on the tips of their tongues.

The state would pay them

To harvest all the migrants they can find.

We are afraid

To go where we were welcome

Where the desert was kind to us

And let us love it back.

©Andrea Hernandez Holm 2012

BIOS

“Presente (Present, Always Alive)” by Alma Luz Villanueva

“Under the Thin Blue Sky” by John Martinez

“Injustice I see” by Iris de Anda

“Mujer tras el telón / Woman Behind the Curtain” by Claudia Hernández

"Harvest time in Pinal County" by Andrea Hernández Holm

Alma Luz Villanueva was raised in the Mission District, San Francisco, by her Yaqui grandmother, Jesus Villanueva- she was a curandera/healer from Sonora, Mexico. Without Jesus no poetry, no stories, no memory...

Author of eight books of poetry, most recently, 'Soft Chaos' (2009). A few poetry anthologies: 'The Best American Poetry, 1996,' 'Unsettling America,' 'A Century of Women's Poetry,' 'Prayers For A Thousand Years, Inspiration from Leaders & Visionaries Around The World.' Three novels: 'The Ultraviolet Sky,' 'Naked Ladies,' 'Luna's California Poppies,' and the short story collection, 'Weeping Woman, La Llorona and Other Stories.' Some fiction anthologies: '500 Great Books by Women, From The Thirteenth Century,' 'Caliente, The Best Erotic Writing From Latin America,' 'Coming of Age in The 21st Century,' 'Sudden Fiction Latino.' The poetry and fiction has been published in textbooks from grammar to university, and is used in the US and abroad as textbooks. Has taught in the MFA in creative writing program at Antioch University, Los Angeles, for the past thirteen years.

     Alma Luz Villanueva now lives in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, for the past five years, traveling the ancient trade routes to return to teach, and visit family and friends, QUE VIVA!! And taking trips throughout Mexico, working on a novel in progress, always the poetry, memory.

www.almaluzvillanueva.com

John Martinez studied Creative Writing at Fresno State University. He has published poetry in El Tecolote, Red Trapeze and The LA Weekly. Recently, he has posted poems on Poets Responding to SB1070 and this will be his fifth poem published in La Bloga. He has performed (as a musician/political activist, poet) with Teatro De La Tierra, Los Perros Del Pueblo and TROKA, a Poetry Ensemble (lead by poet Juan Felipe Herrera) and he has toured with several cumbia bands throughout the Central Valley and Los Angeles. For the last 17 years, he has worked as an Administrator for a Los Angeles Law Firm. He makes home in Upland, California with his beautiful wife, Rosa America y Familia.

Iris De Anda is a writer, activist, practitioner of the healing arts, and co-founder of the company Las Adelitas: Moda, Cultura, Revolucion. A native of Los Angeles she believes in the power of spoken word, poetry, storytelling, and dreams.  She can be reached at evoluxion777@yahoo.com

Claudia D. Hernández was born and raised in Guatemala. She holds a BA in Liberal Studies with a minor in Art and a BCLAD teaching credential. She is a bilingual educator in the city of Los Angeles and is currently working on a Masters in Multicultural Education. She writes, illustrates, and manually binds children’s books. Her photography, poetry, and short stories have been published in The Indigenous Sovereignty Issue of The Peak, Hinchas de Poesía, Chicana in the Midst, Poets Responding to SB1070, La Bloga’s on-line Floricanto, and in the first anthology of Colectivo Verso Activo.

Andrea Hernandez Holm was born and raised in Pinal County, Arizona. She grew up between Table Top Mountain and the Estrella Mountain range. Her heart is happiest in the desert and her writing is rooted there. Andrea prays daily for safety and peace to be restored to Central Arizona, which has become a hotbed of anti-immigrant sentiment and activism. Andrea is a student in the Mexican American Studies program at the University of Arizona; a moderator for the Facebook page Poets Responding to SB1070; and a comadre of Sowing the Seeds women’s writing collective. Visit her at www.andreahernandezholm.webs.com

Guest Columnists: Lucha Corpi and Nuria Brufau Alvira From Eulogy to Loa. : News&Notes : On-Line Floricanto

Guest Columnists: Lucha Corpi and Nuria Brufau Alvira. Translation and Voice: A poet’s and writer’s views.

Michael Sedano

La Bloga is honored and excited to present this two-part series by Lucha Corpi and Nuria Brufau Alvira, Translation and Voice: A poet’s and writer’s views. The pair examines the process of Nuria's translating Lucha's Eulogy for a Brown Angel into the 2011 Spanish novel, Loa a un ángel de piel morena. 

In Eulogy, Corpi writes one of the best opening scenes in chicana chicano literature, a woman fleeing the police riot at Laguna Park, stumbles upon grisly infanticide. Corpi grabs the reader's attention and hurls the reader into a moral morass. The publisher notes:

Loa a un ángel de piel morena es una novela trepidante, de gran suspense, y llena de personajes diversos e interesantes. En el apogeo del movimiento chicano a favor de los derechos civiles en 1970, el cuerpo profanado de un niño pequeño yace inerte en una calle del Este de Los Ángeles, durante una de las manifestaciones socio-políticas más violentas en la historia de California. La activista política Gloria Damasco descubre el cuerpo del pequeño y, en ese instante, se enfrenta también el hecho de que su modo de percibir la realidad es un «don obscuro» que va más allá de la lógica «normal». En el transcurso de las siguientes cuarenta y ocho horas, dos personas más mueren asesinadas. Gloria no se permite sino el seguirle la pista a los asesinos hasta verlos entre rejas, así le lleve toda la vida. Cada paso en su investigación la conduce de Los Ángeles a la Bahía de San Francisco. Así mismo, la introduce en el camino de una conspiración internacional, una sangrienta venganza, y la violenta y trágica conclusión del caso en la pintoresca región vinícola de Napa, California.

In today's guest column, Lucha Corpi relates the writer’s experience in seeing her creation transformed in the hands of another, in understanding the uniquely creative writing process of translating chicanidad along with the words.

Next Tuesday, April 10, Nuria Brufau Alvira relates the translator’s experience negotiating the confluences of language, speech, cultural content, plot, and character, to fashion for Spanish language readers the same novel United States readers recognize as a classic of la literatura chicana.

La Bloga readers can order both novels via their local independent bookseller.

Lucha Corpi. Nuria Brufau Alvira. Loa a un ángel de piel morena : una novela de misterio. Madrid: Alcala de Henares Universidad de Alcalá, Instituto Universitario de Investigación en Estudios Norteamericanos "Benjamin Franklin", 2011.

ISBN 9788481389432 8481389439


Lucha Corpi. Eulogy for a brown angel: a mystery novel. Houston: Arte Publico Press, 1992.

ISBN 1558850503 9781558850507





Translation and Voice: A poet’s and writer’s views

From Eulogy to Loa
By Lucha Corpi

Loa a un ángel de piel morena, Nuria Brufau Alvira’s translation into Spanish of my novel Eulogy for a Brown Angel, was released late in 2011 by the University of Alcalá de Henares’ Instituto Franklin, to whom I am indebted for making this possible. I was thrilled, of course, and posted the news on my Facebook wall. Michael Sedano sent his enhorabuena to me. He commented that he was looking forward to reading the opening scene at the National Chicano Moratorium march and riot in the novel in Spanish. He then asked for my impressions, for my feelings when Gloria Damasco first “spoke” to me in Spanish. I had asked myself similar questions when I had read the first and the final drafts of Nuria Brufau Alvira’s splendid translation of my Gloria Damasco mystery novel. Long before, I had also assisted Catherine Rodríguez- Nieto when she translated my poetry into English, and voice in translation became one of my concerns.

Of course, literary provocateur that he is —in the best of ways— Michael then invited Nuria and me to write companion pieces about our respective experiences as author and translator for La Bloga. And here we are:

Translation and Voice: A poet’s and writer’s views

For forty plus years, I have worked very closely with Catherine Rodríguez-Nieto, the translator of my poetry into English. In the process, Cathy and I have developed great respect for one another’s arts. We have also enjoyed a wonderful lifelong friendship that was cemented back in 1972, when she began the translation of the four poems that constitute “Los poemas de Marina/The Marina Poems.” She agonized over the translation of “La Chingada” into English, given that the term refers to the native Mexican woman who was sexually used and abused by the Spanish conqueror, and who bore his children. Catherine did a thorough search for a word or two that would convey its true meaning in English and still meet the demands of the poetic meter and line. Frustrated and unable to find a satisfactory solution, she had to settle for the word “whore,” a term that by a stretch of the imagination would be possible but offered only a minute and myopic view of the woman La Malinche was. After decades, Catherine still looks for the turn of a phrase that will convey the meaning of “La Chingada” and conform to my poem’s demands, and she sighs. The translator’s work is never done.

Through my participation in the process of translation, I have also learned a great deal about my own poetic process, my voice, and how to improve my art as a poet. Translation tests and highlights the strengths of a poem like nothing else, but it also exposes its weaknesses and identifies them for the poet. If a poem is not strong enough, it won’t withstand the process of translation, thus it won’t retain its integrity as a whole. In some ways knowing this hasn’t affected my creative process at the “inspiration stage,” as I still write the first draft of a poem in longhand, and as it comes to me, whether weak or strong, fully formed or missing a part or two. But I revise and rewrite as needed without feeling that I am stripping off its emotional content—a notion that seems prevalent among poets when we first begin to write poetry.

Once translated, the poem becomes a separate entity but continues to be mine. And yet, although I speak English fairly well, it has taken me a long time and much practice to be able to “appropriate” the voices in the “English twins” of my poems to do an effective and affective reading of them in public.

Working with Catherine has been such a gift that when Cristina Crespo Palomares from Instituto Franklin asked if I would be willing to be available to Nuria Brufau Alvira for consultations during the translation of Eulogy into Loa, I was excited about providing Nuria with any assistance or information she needed. My enthusiasm grew when I read her initial comments about the story, the characters, and the major themes in the novel. She laid out for me her ideas about the project, and the kind of feedback and clarification she would not only need but also welcome from me. I was immediately impressed by her professionalism, and soon we were engaged in constructive e-dialogue across continents. We began to trust one another, and in time this trust evolved into mutual respect and great affection.

As I had done with Catherine’s English translations of my poems, I also read aloud Nuria’s text in Spanish chapter by chapter as to internalize then re-appropriate each character’s distinctive voice and manner in that language exclusively. I referred to the text in English solely when I needed to check for the accuracy of content as it pertained specifically to Mexican/Chicana-o culture in southwestern U. S. or to historical or other factual data. I suggested changes to Nuria accordingly, explaining in great detail the historical or the cultural context for any expression or term that might be unfamiliar to her. In doing so, I became even more aware of the fact that the translation of any literary text is truly as creative an art as any other.

The process of translating a novel into another language is by the mere complexity and length of the original work an enormous and daunting task. Implicit in it is the urgency in and the pressure on the translator to interpret accurately the culture that forms and informs the language that gives it its voice. In the linguistic aspect the translator must find a way to express, as faithfully yet as intelligibly as possible, what is in the work accessible and in plain sight, as well as what is ineffable in it. She must find a way to express that which has non-assignable meaning and is unchangeable between two cultural-linguistic systems.

As if these tasks weren’t difficult enough, every Latino or Chicano text is both directly and indirectly nourished by two greatly heterogeneous cultures in the U.S. So the Spanish language that allows one of them oral or written expression is an amalgam of several linguistic modalities that share a common linguistic source but not a single and homogenous culture. We Chicanas/os and Latinas/os face this linguistic reality every day when we communicate in Spanish, a language that reflects the diversity of Latin American cultures, while we also try to express our daily thoughts and feelings in American English, a language in constant flux, reflective of cultures that are already undergoing a transformation as we speak.

No doubt this is also the reality the translator faces, and in particular that Nuria has managed with great skill and painstaking care to render an admirable translation of Eulogy for a Brown Angel into Loa a un ángel de piel morena, in a language accessible to a diverse group of Spanish-speakers anywhere in the world. Nuria has also added a glossary at the end of the book for any and all readers who might need or want a more detailed explanation of certain terms. Brava! Gracias, Nuria. Gracias, Michael. Gracias, lectores.

About Lucha Corpi

Born in Jáltipan, Veracruz, México, Lucha Corpi was nineteen when she came to Berkeley as a student wife in 1964.

Corpi is the author of two collections of poetry: Palabras de mediodía/Noon Words and Variaciones sobre una tempestad/Variations on a Storm (Spanish with English translations by Catherine Rodríguez Nieto), two bilingual children’s books: Where Fireflies Dance/Ahí, donde bailan las luciérnagas and The Triple Banana Split Boy/El niño goloso.

She is also the author of six novels, four of which feature Chicana detective Gloria Damasco: Eulogy for a Brown Angel, Cactus Blood, Black Widow’s Wardrobe, and Death at Solstice.

Corpi has been the recipient of numerous awards and citations, including a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship in poetry, an Oakland Cultural Arts fellowship in fiction, the PEN-Oakland Josephine Miles Award and the Multicultural Publishers Exchange Literary Award for fiction, and two International Latino Book Awards for her mystery fiction. Until 2005, she was a tenured teacher in the Oakland Public Schools Neighborhood Centers.



News&Notes
Journalist Joins Librotraficante Spirit

Political journalist Michael Collins has been my friend since the 1960s, Collins admits in his recent coverage of Tucson’s book banning evil.

Collins notes the Tucson atrocity had escaped his notice until I sent him a link to a La Bloga column. He investigated and published ten articles for his readership of political activists, covering the mentality of book banners, judge shooters, and Arizonans.

La Bloga happily reports that Collins, in his private capacity, has become a librotraficante. He’s using UPS and the United States Postal Service to smuggle banned books, a few at a time, to the John Valenzuela Youth Center, the Tucson landing site of the Librotraficante bus caravan.

Tony Diaz and Gloria Hamelitz, Director of Valenzuela Youth Center

News&Notes
Marathon Readings of Bless Me, Ultima Filling Your Organization's Coffers

The gente putting together the Monday April 23 marathon public reading of Rudolfo Anaya’s Bless Me, Ultima have a fabulous idea other organizations might profitably consider: recruit people to read for a few minutes and pay for the honor.

The 248 page novel—it celebrates its 40th year of publication in 2012—needs eight hours at 2 minutes a page for a cover-to-cover reading. La Bloga celebrates the publication with a week of columns the first of May.

UNM’s English Depto and Zimmerman Library will raise scholarship money through the reading. Last week’s La Bloga has contact datos.

La Bloga On-Line Floricanto: Mixing Memory and Desire 
Elena Diaz Bjorkquist, Nancy Aide Gonzalez, Jose Hernandez Diaz, Raul Sanchez, Francisco X. Alarcon

"Morning Meditation Walk" by Elena Diaz Bjorkquist
"Xilonen" by Nancy Aide Gonzalez
"Gate of the Serpent and Mirror" by Jose Hernandez Diaz
"ESL by Raul Sanchez"
"Litany for Cesar Chavez by Francisco X. Alarcon

Morning Meditation Walk
by Elena Díaz Bjorkquist ©2012

When I start my meditation walk,
The mountains around Tucson
Are blessed by sunlight
But only the promise of brightness
To come shines from behind
Rounded Aqua Caliente hill.

I walk East to where the sun rises,
To the place of the new dawn
To the place of new beginnings.
I walk East to reflect
That no matter how bad things
In life get, I can heal
And start again.

I walk East to the place of mystery
To the place of possibility
To the place of beauty.
I walk East to reclaim
The precious gift of life.

I walk East and chant
Taui, Taui, Taui, Taui.

As the sun peaks over the hill
I turn to the North,
The sun’s warmth kissing
My cold cheek.

I walk North to the place of the ancestors
To the place of mis abuelitas y abuelitos
To the place of wisdom.
I walk North to remind me
Of my roots
Of sacrifices they made
So I can be who I am.

I walk North and chant
Taui, Taui, Taui, Taui.

The sun has risen fully
And as I turn West
I feel its heat on my neck
Radiating warmth to my body.

I walk West to where the sun sets
To the place where life’s journey ends
To the graveyard of my loved ones.
I walk West to the place of letting go
To release my body’s energy
Of feelings of sorrow,
Ego, pity, fear, and hatred.

I walk West and chant
Taui, Taui, Taui, Taui.

The sun shines overhead
Warming the world,
Bathing all in its glory.

I walk South to the land of fertility
To where things sprout and grow
To where I find the child inside of me.
I walk South to nurture her
Toward the land of mis antepasados,
To pray for warmth and growth
And loving friendships.

I walk South and chant
Taui, Taui, Taui, Taui.

I arrive home
My starting place,
My ending place.




Xilonen
Nancy Aidé González

Aztec dancers
sway,
their brown faces
framed
by vibrant
feathered
headdresses.

In movement
the long plumes
appear
ready for
flight.

The vibration
of the drums
pulse
course
through
their bodies
which sway
back
forth
to the beat.

Seed pods
rattle around
their ankles,
their bare feet
touch the earth.

The elders
chant
songs that have
been sung since
before the
mountains were
created,
before the rivers
flowed through
the land.

The dancers-
men
women
teenagers
children,
wear embroidered
clothes
embellished with
polished stones,
mirrors
reflecting light
in constant movement.

Sage
and copal
waft
rising up
to the
infinite
vast
turquoise
sky.

This ceremony
is a rite of passage,
she has learned
from the elders
that she is a
contributing member
of society,
they have planted
the seeds of understanding
indigenous ways.

She is a tender
ear of corn
ripening
under the
sixth sun,
the voices
of her ancestors
have called
out to her.

She has been
given gifts of
aromatic flowers,
perfumed candles,
delectable food.

She has sat in
the sweat lodge,
experienced
spiritual refuge,
mental and
physical healing,
she has stared into the
the flame,
aglow with
the luminance
of the red hot stones,
she has asked for
guidance
wisdom
and power
from the Creator
and Mother Earth.

Los danzantes
the elders
her family
friends
los antepasados,
welcome her
into womanhood.

Xilonen is featured in Mujeres de Maiz, Flor Y Canto: Rites of Passage Issue no.10



The Gate of the Serpent of Mirrors (History of Conquest)
By José Hernández Díaz 

Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.
-Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Mask of Anarchy.

Now that they have
Banned our books
In the Arizona desert,

We must take it
Upon ourselves
To learn about
The sunset:

We were once
A tree of jade
And purple grains
Were at our feet.

We were once
A thirsty jaguar
Floating in the
Sea of night.

We were once
A poem
Of pain
And rain was at
Our knees.

The midnight moon
Is full of yesterday—
Democracy is but
A dream.

If it is their iron law
To steal and scorn
And boast,

Then we must
Light our own
Blue flame

And claim it
As a ghost.




E  S  L  
By Raul Sanchez

Remember….

the classroom full of kids with different colored skins
learning the difference between a noun and a pronoun
remember how innocently everybody used to play together
in the schoolyard?

remember—

how you shared your lunch and others shared theirs with you
now you are in high school, the faces
in your classroom full of kids with different colored skins
have changed

remember,

how it didn’t matter where you came from
and that your indigenous features were not
a subject of repugnant scrutiny and
un-requested criticism

learning

from others the “differences” between races
and why one ethnic group doesn’t get along with the others
notice that the same color hang together
like worms in compost

now

you have been ostracized because of your skin color,
your name, your features, your other language
how does that feel? You - get pushed
to the end of the line your hair pulled by others

they say

you are a greaser and a wet back, your dad
washes dishes at a Mezkin restaurant and your mother
cleans toilets at juvy hall
they mock you - playing your violin

they tell you

go back where you came from
don’t speak your Espanish language
speak English
there is no class in the classroom

only

class divisions’ ignorance and prejudice
based on racial differences. Red man, yellow man,
black, brown, white ones too
What happened to the innocence of the early years?

everyone

learns the poisoned language of snakes
they use nouns, pronouns and verbs to hurt others
with their serpent tongues bifurcated contaminated
diseased approach to the culture of hate

growing up in America


©Raul Sanchez 3-17-12

BIOS
"Morning Meditation Walk" by Elena Diaz Bjorkquist

"Xilonen" by Nancy Aide Gonzalez

"Gate of the Serpent and Mirror" by Jose Hernandez Diaz

"ESL by Raul Sanchez"

"Litany for Cesar Chavez by Francisco X. Alarcon

My grandmother and great-grandmother

Elena Díaz Björkquist, a writer, historian, and artist from Tucson is happy to have resumed her daily two-mile walk. It’s not only good for her health but is great for generating poetry. Elena is grateful that the walk through her desert neighborhood takes her in the four directions. Her great-grandmother, Josefina Cruz Limón, called a blessing from the four directions every day of her life as a curandera and partera in Morenci, Arizona. Elena’s grandmother, Teresa Limón Díaz, didn’t follow in her mother’s footsteps to provide medical care for her town but she learned the blessing of the four directions going with her mother every day to the top of the sierras to greet the sun. Later when her sons, sons-in-law, and nephews were soldiers and sailors in WWII, she prayed the blessing at every sunrise and sunset until all came home safe from the war.

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 and the 2012 Arizona Humanities Council Dan Schilling Public Humanities Scholar Award in recognition of her work to enhance public awareness and understanding of the role that the humanities play in transforming lives and strengthening communities.

Nancy Aidé González is a Chicana poet who lives near the lush grapevines in Lodi, California.  She graduated  from California State University, Sacramento with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature in 2000.  Her work has appeared in Calaveras Station Literary Journal, La Bloga, Everyday Other Things, and  Mujeres De Maiz Zine. She is a participating member of Escritores del Nuevo Sol, a writing group based in Sacramento, California which honors the literary traditions of Chicano, Latino, Indigenous and Spanish-language peoples. Miss González has participated in several poetry reading events in Northern California.

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, In Xochitl In Kuikatl Literary Journal, The Packinghouse Review, Contratiempo, Blood Lotus Journal, among others. He has forthcoming publications in HUIZACHE Literary Magazine, The Progressive Magazine, and in the anthologies, El Norte que Viene, and Tan cerca de EE.UU. (poesía mexicana en la frontera norte). He is currently an MFA student at Antioch University Los Angeles and is fulfilling an internship with Floricanto Press as an 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.

Raúl Sánchez is a Seattle Bio-Tech technician, eschatologist, colletic, prosody enthusiast, hamartiologist, translator, DJ, and cook who conducts workshops on The Day of the Dead. His most recent work is the translation of John Burgess’ Punk Poems in his book Graffito. He has been a board member of the Washington Poets Association and is a moderator for the Poets Responding to SB 1070 Facebook page. Raúl comes from a place south where the sun shines fiercely. He lives in a place surrounded by asphalt, cement, full of rushing cars, coffee houses, fancy houses, empty houses. Where seasons shine and hide in the winter months. Where birds stop on their travel south to the land of the sun. Where blessed rain, oh! blessed rain falls. His first collection of poetry will be released in early April by Moon Path Press under the title "All Our Brown-Skinned Angels"

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.

Francisco recently participated in the First Children’s Poetry Festival in El Salvador (Nov. 8-10, 2010) and was able to visit Monseñor Oscar Arnulfo Romero’s tomb beneath the metropolitan cathedral of San Salvador. Monseñor Romero was killed saying mass in 1980 marking one of the most violent periods of the civil war in El Salvador.

He created a new Facebook page, POETS RESPONDING TO SB 1070 that is getting lots of poetry submissions and comments. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Poets-Responding-to-SB-1070/117494558268757?ref=ts