Thirty poetry collections in 30 days. Shout outs to all the used bookstores and library sales where we found so many of these classics. There are more than a few of these volumes that go for ridiculous amounts of dollars (that do not reach the poet or presses) on internet web sites. Don’t fall for it. When bookstores open again it is worth it to take the time to look for some of these treasures. Love to Barb who found so many of these.
Vivas To Those Who Have Failed: Poems, MartÃn Espada – W. W. Norton & Company – 2017
Blessing the Boats: New and Selected Poems, 1988-2000, Lucille Clifton – Boa Editions – 2008
Shoulda Been Jimi Savannah: Poems, Patricia Smith – Coffee House Press – 2012
Poems, Roque Dalton – Curbstone Press – 1984 Translation by Richard Schaaf
The Woman Who Fell from the Sky: Poems, Joy Harjo – Norton – 1996
Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima – City Lights Books – 1974
Today’s read: Song Of Protest by Pablo Neruda – Quill – 1985 Foreword and translation by Miguel AlgarÃn
Favorite AlgarÃn line: I focused my entire attention on New York until I learned to survive. Soon, however, I felt dissatisfied. It was not enough to have the new. I needed a history as well. I needed my memories, and for that I needed Spanish back. â€” from “The Politics of Poetry”
Favorite Nerdua line: I have a pact of love with beauty: I have a pact of blood with my people. â€” from “Do Not Ask Me”
My memories of poetry and Pablo Neruda are deeply intertwined. Neruda was not the first poet I read and I am not sure if he was even the first Spanish language poet that I read. I do know that Neruda was the first poet where the Spanish and English side of the pages actually spoke to each other and I was the voice. I remember picking up a copy of Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair for a friend’s birthday. Before gift wrapping the book, I began to thumb through the pages with every intention of just reading the English translations. I then decided to fumble through some Spanish. (I learned to read Spanish as an eight-year-old; a gift from my mother that is its own story) Soon, I was not fumbling through the Spanish. The Spanish, some broken for sure, was coming through me and making sense as sound and feeling. I gave up on reading the English and stayed focused on the Spanish. I was, as AlgarÃn mused, connecting with a history in myself. It was one of my first decolonizing memories made even more impactful by the fact that I did not even know there was such an act as decolonizing.
Neruda continues to impact me as a poet let me about a Neruda biography that details Neruda raping a Sri Lankan woman. This is powerful information and begins a new chapter of my relationship with Neruda. I have met enough poets in my own life to know that great writing does not make for a great person. I am going to be processing a lot on what Neruda means to me with this new information. I am good with reading old poems again and asking new questions.
Today’s read: while they sleep (under the bed is another country) by Raquel Salas Rivera – Birds, LLC – 2019
Yesterday I did an hour+ of translation during a Zoom town hall for the families in my school. It has been hard to maintain focus and stay engaged during regular Zoom meetings but this one was a particular challenge as I navigated taking notes, monitoring the facials of the speakers and some of the audience while also praying hard to all the WiFi gods.
I have a clear memory of the first time I did a town hall translation at work. I only recently moved from New York to Oakland. I was getting a crash course on Bay Area Spanish and educational language (English and Spanish). I did fine for the first few rounds but then I had to translate the simplest word ever: backpack. I went with the Nuyo Spanish word I had always grown up with ‘maletin’ and the audience went dead silent. I knew I was lost and in some deep water in my first month at my job. A lady in the front row with the kindest voice whispered “mochilla” to me. I didn’t even blink and just repeated the sentence using mochilla. The town hall continued on and all was well.
I have gotten into the practice of apologizing for my Spanish at the start of almost all big translation meetings especially with families that I am just meeting. In fifteen years of doing translations I have only had one person who would consistently correct my big and small errors. The person would also come up to me after meetings and recount how many times I was wrong. This is just how life works. There is always one person like that but the reality is that I have had many more people appreciate that even my weak Spanish is a service they are grateful for.
There are times when poetry feels so much the same. The language is right there, the experience is common, but the grammar is a bit off or the diction is not quite right. There will be those who will jump and correct the misuse of a semicolon or the over eloquence of a word. This is how poetry business works. The need for precision, the reliance on ceremony, the call for the perfect translation tries to get in the way of communicating the story.
Today’s read: Puerto Rican Obituary by Pedro Pietri – Monthly Review Press – 1973
And this poem took me a place I did not expect to go. It brought me right to the heart of Trump’s America as they check for a stimulus check that is either not there or not enough. Because, in Trump’s America, that is where you live flat broke or thinking you are flat broke. And when you live between extremes you know nothing else. You may know the news or some news or the right news but even that is shaky lately. Numbers are not adding up. Trump’s America is doing fine and then it’s not. This used to be ok. Trump’s America has always been reality TV but now even that is not enough. Numbers don’t match the story of Trump’s America. Now you need to make Trump’s America true again. You hear that Clorox can fix this. Trump’s America has always wanted to be pure, clean, sterile. Now is Trump’s America’s chance to stop the spread harmful bacteria. Trump’s America’s wants to deliverance of a brighter and longer-lasting whites future. Trump’s America wants medicine and even if the numbers, the TV, the stimulus, do not add up that will not stop Trump’s America from that injection, the pure disinfectant, that can deliver the light (a powerful concept). The promise of a true cleaning.
There is at least some truth here. A limpieza is necessary. A sprinkle of Agua Florida, the deep balm of VapoRub, the fog of salvia, the divinations of Walter Mercado. A good talking from that auntie that tells all your business complete with a deep side eye when you interrupt. The waves hitting MSG when Manu Dibango taught the Fania All Stars bout the mama sa mama so mamakosa, mama say mama so mamakosa, hay soul makosa, and we all where in the throat of sax and bone of vibraphone. When you ready for that act of change then you can begin to let the medicine do the work.
Today’s read: Profeta Without Refuge by Raina LeÃ³n – Nomadic Press – 2016
A few years back, I began a practice of demanding. If a person was asking for something then I demanded that they acknowledge me first. It doesn’t have to be much, just a smile Hello, or How are you? will do. But if there is no acknowledgement then I began to call people out. In the time I have been doing this practice there continues to be one repeat offender: Anglos.
Anglos have a way of just demanding things from me without any kind of simple acknowledgement. So one day, I just paused and then after a long pause I looked at the Anglo in the face and told them that I don’t do anything for anyone without an acknowledgment.
This is when it gets interesting.
A few times, I have had the person recognize their error and thank me for pointing this out to them. I usually smile but do not respond to them any further.
The normal scenario is that the person is just stunned. I am not sure what they are more confused about: their lack of manners or my resolve. Either way, they usually walk away at this point which is fine by me.
The worst was the white woman at a local spice shop who was utterly fascinated by the sweatshirt I was wearing. It said “Unconditional Education” on the back and she thought it was the most amazing thing. Amazing enough to tell me to stop and model the sweatshirt for her friend. I went into my resolute stance and let her know I don’t respond to orders. She accepted this and agreed but then went on to tell me how her friend is an educator and would love to see this message. I leaned into the word No and kept up with my business. The white woman then did what white people do: use the power of whiteness.Turn it on and off as fits the situation, and when things get real tough, turn it on so bright that then you just blend into the background.