What we’re gonna do right here is go back, way back, back into time

last time, when our boy decided to blog about his continuing adventures, he decided to drop a random quote he found in martín espada’s excellent book of essays “Zapata’s Disciple”

since then i have quite the good times at home and at work. home is now a much larger space than i have ever been used to. and with great space, comes great responsibility and a fly ass tool box! for reals, y’all, i have never used a power drill so much in my life but i still refuse to allow it to define me… yeah right! i would be dead in the water without me trusty black & decker. i have also stayed busy in the kitchen and even dabbling in a lil gardening. all this has kept me damn happy and busy.

meanwhile, at the nine-to-five, i have adjusted to my surroundings in record time and a frequent comment is “you only been here for two months??” yeah, it feels like i have always been at this space which has quite its own history and i am happy to be a part of the new history that is generating from this space. to stay true to the spirit of the blog, i am NOT going to be bitchin when work is rough or dropping chinche when people piss me off or any of that other trivial shit that do make its way into some blogs but, i hope, this blog stays clear of. to echo the sentiment of the last paragraph, i am both challenged and content at my new desk.

wedding plans are in the fullest of effect with most of the details falling together lovingly in place. this too is keeping me busy and happy. wedding cake tasting (equals) yum!

all this leaves little room for the poem and my place in poem. privately, i have been talking a lot about theory, poetics and community but all theory and no practice makes oscar nuthing more than just another commentator. i recently dropped some poems on an open mic in SF during anthem salgado’s excellent set. this is the first time i have been in front of a mic in months and, seriously, i sucked. my voice cracked like three times, my delivery was slow paced and the emotion felt forced. maybe this has something to do with the (over)exuberant energy on the open mic, or, most likely, just with the fact that i am not as comfortable on the mic as i used to be. this, into and unto itself, is not a bad thing.

one of the great liberations of leaving new york was the fact that i could discard the OB persona and focus on just being oscar. the freedom of being able to share poems without any reputation preceding them was the biggest factor that sent me out to find the open mic and landed me in the community i called home for almost five years. the five year anniversary of being on the mic has come and gone sans fanfare which is all kinds of cool but i am still stuck in a place where i need outside stimulus to keep the writing going something i didnt need five years ago. well, maybe thats where i have to get back to. today sounds like a good day to start.

the artist formerly knows as ob.

set it off on the left, y’all

We are what we do, especially what we do to change what we are… A literature born in the process of crisis and change, and deeply immersed in the risks and events of its time, can indeed help to create the symbols of the new reality, and perhaps—if talent and courage are not lacking—throw light on the signs along the road… To claim that literature on its own is going to change reality would be an act of madness or arrogance. It seems to me no less foolish to deny that it can aid in making this change.
• Eduardo Galeano

"Aqui Que Paso Power is what’s happening"

this week’s writing assignment is pretty straight forward: a respone poem to allan ginsberg’s “howl“

confession: this past monday was the first time i have ever read “howl” even though i read the opening section years ago at another writing workshop, i never had the desire to read the complete poem. though i wish i had read it sooner i am also glad to be reading it now where i can compare it a lot better to some other work. the specific comparison that comes to mind is pedro pietri’s “puerto rican obituary“

though it uses shorter lines. pietri’s work also examines the (so called) lives of those dearest to him, his puerto rican people, and raises their (anglo viewed) ghetto lives as the stuff of true poetic mythology. he also employs a similair shift in the poem that strays to the “prayer form” evoking both the super natural and a mnemonic refrain. all this to say that i may actually base my poem more on el reverendo’s work than on ginsberg’s model.

while researching pedro today, i also came across some work from his nuyorican compadre– mikey piñero. if the nuyorican movement had a legitimate historian, i would love to ask them which came first “obituary” or the junkie christ’s “seekin’ the cause” cuz the similarities seem obvious to me.

i guess i should also note whitman’s “leaves of grass” except for one thing. i havent read it yet. and thats confession #2.

Seekin’ The Cause

he was Dead
he never Lived
died
died
he died seekin’ a Cause
seekin’ the Cause
because
he said
he never saw the cause
but he heard
the cause
heard the cryin’ of hungry ghetto children
heard the warnin’ from Malcolm
heard the tractors pave new routes to new prisons
died seekin’ the Cause
seekin’ a Cause
he was dead on arrival
he never really Lived
uptown . . . downtown . . . crosstown
body was round all over town
seekin’ the Cause
thinkin’ the Cause was 75 dollars & gator shoes
thinkin’ the Cause was sellin’ the white lady to black
children
thinkin’ the cause is to be found in gypsy rose or j. b.
or dealin’ wacky weed
and singin’ du-wops in the park after some chi-chiba
he died seekin’ the Cause
died seekin’ a Cause
and the Cause was dyin’ seekin’ him
and the Cause was dyin’ seekin’ him
and the Cause was dyin’ seekin’ him
he wanted a color t. v.
wanted a silk on silk suit
he wanted the Cause to come up like the mets & take the
world series
he wanted . . . he wanted . . . he wanted . . . he wanted
to want more wants
but
he never gave
he never gave
he never gave his love to children
he never gave his heart to old people
&
never did he ever give his soul to his people
he never gave his soul to his people
because he was busy seekin’ a cause
busy
busy perfectin’ his voice to harmonize the national anthem
with spiro t agnew
busy perfectin’ his jive talk so that his flunkiness
wouldn’t show
busy perfectin’ his viva-la-policia speech
downtown . . . uptown . . . midtown . . . crosstown
his body was found all over town
seekin’ a Cause
seekin’ the Cause
found
in the potter fields of an o. d.
found
in the bowery with the d. d. t.’s
his legs were left in viet-nam
his arms were found in sing-sing
his scalp was on Nixon’s belt
his blood painted the streets of the ghetto
his eyes were still lookin’ for jesus to come down
on some cloud & make everything ok
when jesus died in attica
his brains plastered all around the frames of the pentagon
his voice still yellin’ stars & stripes 4 ever
riddled with the police bullets his taxes bought
he died seekin’ a Cause
seekin’ the Cause
while the Cause was dyin’ seekin’ him
he died yesterday
he’s dyin’ today
he’s dead tomorrow
died seekin’ a Cause
died seekin’ the Cause
& the Cause was in front of him
& the Cause was in his skin
& the Cause was in his speech
& the Cause was in his blood
but
he died seekin’ the Cause
he died seekin’ a Cause
he died
deaf
dumb
&
blind
he died
& never found his Cause
because
you see he never never
knew that he was the
Cause.

© Miguel Piñero

The Bookshelf V

i really should keep the order right on these updates and not try to pump up the digits with my comic consumption, specially when you consider how quickly i can rip through a graphic novel. case in point: picked up – gasp! as in actually paid for! – Y: The Last Man Vol. 2: Cycles. not as fast paced as the jump off and i was underwhelmed by the (premature) exit of a villain and the rapid fire development/dismissal of a strange plot twist. yeah, a bit disappointed but still curious and invested in yorick and ampersand’s future.

also got to read Ex Machina Vol. 1: The First Hundred Days. big-ups to brian k vaughan for delivering another fresh twist on comic book storytelling. while not as fast-paced as Y, this bad boy does have some good layers and an interesting “secret” ima keep looking for this one on different bookshelves but ima wait till i get through the next story arc before putting down some cash.

meanwhile, back at the poetry-ranch, i got through Gorgeous Mourning in one sitting and walked away underwhelmed. i appreciate what jones is doing and she did keep me engaged throughout but i really couldnt find anyway into her work. mind you, the reason i was encouraged to read it was to read a collection that did not have a clearly defined entryway into the writers purpose. i guess that foreknowledge kept me from being completely turned off by the work but the real bottom line is that i am at a stage in my writing where i crave to read work that begs me to write a sequel poem. this is not me saying that i will go off and write the great follow up. in fact, i probably will fail to do such a task but i still need to try at this point.

not sure what to get my hands dirty with next but it better be good cuz my reading/free time has just been severely reduced thanks to my new job which starts in 10 hours.

love ya like ima love tomorrow’s strong morning coffee