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I speak of the immense city, that daily reality composed of two words: the others, and in every one of them there is an I clipped from a we, an I adrift,… I speak of the buildings of stone and marble, of cement, glass and steel, of the people in lobbies and doorways, of the elevators that rise and fall like the mercury in thermometers,… of the coming and going of cars, mirrors of our anxieties, business, passions (why? toward what? for what?), of the hospitals that are always full, and where we always die alone. I speak of the city that dreams us all, that all of us build and unbuild and rebuild as we dream, the city we all dream, that restlessly changes while we dream it, the city that wakes every hundred years and looks at itself in the mirror of a word and doesn’t recognize itself and goes back to sleep. I speak of the half-light of certain churches and the flickering candles at the altars, the timid voices with which the desolate talk to saints is heard in a passionate, failing language…

© Octavio Paz

novedad de hoy y ruina de pasado mañana, enterrda y resucitada cada día,
convivida en calles, plazas, autobuses, taxis, cines, teatros, bares, hoteles, palomares, catacumbas,
la ciudad enorme que cabe en un cuarto de tres metros cuadrados inacabable como una galaxia,
la ciudad que nos sueña a todos y que todos hacemos y deshacemos y rehacemos mientras soñamos,
la ciudad que todos soñamos y que cambia sin cesar mientras la soñamos,
la ciudad que despierta cada cien años y se mira en el espejo de una palabra y no se reconoce y otra vez se echa a dormir,
la ciudad que brota de los párpados de la mujer que duerme a mi lado y se convierte,
con sus monumentos y sus estatuas, sus historias y sus leyendas

© Octavio Paz

Listen to these stories, check out the facts and, most importantly, feel the pride that folks have about Oakland.

Small is beautiful – the best new journals

In the age of new media, when anyone can set up a blog or interactive webzine with minimal investment, you might have thought the days of the little magazine were numbered. In fact, the form has never been healthier.

Full article is at the Observer

One of this year’s unexpected X-mas gifts was a rejection letter from (Will Remain Anonymous) Press’ poetry chapbook contest. A part of me is cool with this. I know the game and it boils down to the fact that there will be winners and losers and this time around I was not one of the winners. Kurits Blow summed it quiet succinctly: And these are the breaks.

Another part of me is kinds mad that I went through the time, trouble and environmental waste of putting together a SASE. Hey, if all you are going to do is send out a form letter, wouldn’t it be greener to give folks the option of an e-mail response?

Another part of me is smiling at the evolution of the Bronx Projects kid into a full fledged Nor-Cal Tree Dapper. Dap: a man hug. Shoulder dap: a true man hug. Tree Dap: not a full hug but a sign of eco- respect. Word.

And there is the part of me that is wondering why I spend energy, not to mention cash, on these contests. The answer came to me as I was reading through Wind In a Box and even before the poems hit I see this line— Sincere thanks … for first acknowledging the poems (and previous versions of the poems) in this book.

You know, I’ve seen and used the word acknowledgment a few times but never really looked at it dead up solo. Acknowledge. Recognize. See. Accept. Validate. That’s what it all comes back to. Hitting open mics, hustling for features, slamming, submitting, applying for fellowships, querying, blogging. All so that folks can acknowledge me as a writer.

Well, Im’a flip it a bit and acknowledge folks who read this blog on a regular basis and the folks who leave comment for recognizing this process of not just becoming a writer but also trying to contribute something unique to American letters. Even if it’s only to a small audience, it’s a start and the launch pad for bigger projects. So thanks again y’all and here is to a better New Years.

Palabra.