Your daily dose of Chicano poetry
"I write poems on walls that crumble and fall
I talk to shadows that sleep and go away crying.”
Luis Omar Salinas (1937–2008)
“Mi Identidad” by Marisol Picazo
Marisol Picazo studies Human Communications, Creative Writing and Social Action at CSUMB. For Picazo, this poem is “about applying her third root, her 3rd identity.”
Mi Identidad
I am marisol,Solecito,Sol, marii, lola,
mexikah, not Hispanic not Latina not mejicana.
I am from mi ranchito querido Guanajuat, México,
Where the smell of dirt after it rains
Promises a good crop of maiz in May.
I am from the dirty white house in east Salinas
Where the cops drive around, looking for the blue and red colors,
Where the brown neighborhood is terrified to go out and buy pan dulce
And who mutter “ya basta a la violencia.”
I am el reflejo de nuestros antepasados,
The voices of my grandparents Esperanza and Miguel Mejia,
Who advised me to get an education
To be proud of being a brown, educated woman.
I am from long days with my ESL teacher in high school
Where the white students criticized my accent.
I am from the computers in the library of Cal State University Monterey Bay
Where otter scholars hunger to learn.
I am la vergüenza de mi padre,
De sus gritos, “a dónde vas, hija de la chingada”
And with tears would respect his decisions.
I am a necessity for my soul,
Who feels complete having an education.
I am from those cold nights in Monterey looking up at Venus
Aligning with a crescent moon.
I am la mujer de color y de mirada baja.
I am from waking up at 5 a.m. to help mom with “el lonche.”
I am the smile of my beautiful madrecita,
The woman who sacrificed all for my brother in prison.
I am los ojos de mis hermanas.
I am the lazy child for my brothers.
I am el orgullo de mis abuelos.
I am the open book for my friends,
For those who believe in the education,
For those who believe in change,
For those who are down for la causa .
I am the creation of all elements.
I am tonantzin.
La Bloga: ¡CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!
Without Camels: A Caravan of Latino
WritingQuercus Review is putting together a special section of Latina and Latino imaginative writing—“Without Camels: A Caravan of Latino Writing”—for its 10th anniversary edition. The writer Fred Arroyo will help edit this section.From the editor: Jorge Luis Borges once suggested a caravan of imaginative writing that existed outside or without labels like “Latino.” Borges considered that what is authentic in literature cannot be limited by cultural, ethnic, or nationalistic markers. Borges tells us, “the first thing a falsifier, a tourist, an Arab Nationalist would do [in writing and trying to emphasize an “authentic” reality] is have a surfeit of camels, caravans of camels, on every page” (“The Argentine Writer and Tradition”). Latino writing springs from a rich tradition, and in its continuity and change there is a company of writers who are traveling together. This caravan is populated by diverse visions, aesthetics, experiences, and feelings that move outside and beyond labels. We want to capture this movement, this energia. And we want to see and hear and feel it in imaginative writings “without camels.” Caravan is also evoked to echo the song of the same name, which was written by the outstanding trombonist Juan Tizol (Puerto Rico, 1900-1984). Not actually a first, however, since the composition borrows or responds to Middle Eastern traditions. Those rhythms—that borrowing, mixing, and response—are also the caravan of imaginative writings by Latinos we want to share with a larger audience.
Poetry: Send 2-3 previously unpublished poems with cover letter and SASE. We do not accept simultaneous or electronic submissions of poetry. Please include a brief bio in your cover letter. We prefer poems that do not exceed 40 lines, though we will consider longer work.
Fiction: Send previously unpublished stories with cover letter and SASE. Simultaneous submissions okay with notification upon acceptance elsewhere. Please include a brief bio in your cover letter. We consider fiction up to 7000 words. All work must be double-spaced, paginated, with your name included on each page.
Please send submissions toFred ArroyoDepartment of English2505 University AvenueDrake UniversityDes Moines, IA 50311OrQuercus ReviewATTN: Sam Pierstorff, EditorModesto Junior CollegeDepartment of English435 College Ave.Modesto, CA 95350Please note: We will not read manuscripts that do not include an SASE (self-addressed, stamped envelope). Please submit separately for each genre. Also, please include an email address and/or phone number in your cover letter. DEADLINE: November 15, 2009.
Juan Felipe Herrera’s “A Certain Man”
A Certain Man
by Juan Felipe Herrera
The man over there
with educated fingers and fast
clouds
around his flag
rolls his shirt sleeves & calls
a taxi from church . . .
His eyeteeth clap like his family
for an encore of southwest earth
wolfed with fever
. . . Skilled and styled to believe
that Moctezuma blood & spirit
. . . are dead, as he pumps
a book through his ears.
Inside his stomach roast
meat (buttered in
philosophy)
makes yellow drops
on his hide overboil down
to his buttons.
Only heavy fur pulls
his head to a pillow
rusting completely overnight
. . . like his prayer.
Follow this link for more selected poems from Herrera’s Half of the World in Light, and to hear audio of him reading
Maia Chávez Dean
Gringa/Chicana
I
El sol brilla
caliente sobre el polvo negro
caliente sobre la tierra amarilla
caliente sobre las caras morenas
piel morena
calle de la ciudad
y el polvo negro en mis pies
en mis zapatos
y el calor sale del pavimento
a través del desierto
a través de las piedras
– pirámides
muy lejos
grandes templos de los dioses
subiendo
subiendo
y el cielo ancho y amarillo
color de la tierra
color de la sequía
y el polvo negro de la ciudad
en mis pies blancos –
cabello claro –
Güera!
sí,
aunque me dijeron allí donde nací
que era morena
niña morena
ojos latinos
chicana
bella
II
Sí pero eso fue en los Estados Unidos de América
“Home of the Brave”
Los Estados Unidos
unidos
un gran magnífico “crisol”
unidos
“All for one and one for all”
herencia
raíces –
¿Pero no es esto mi herencia?
¿Aquí bajo el cielo amarillo?
cielo de sequía
tierra morena,
¿caras morenas?
y Güera! Güera!
piel blanca
cabello claro
No! – digo – No!
soy una de ustedes
Mira!
Cómo mis pies caminan en el polvo negro.
Mira!
“my soul”
Mi alma! – grito.
Pero de pronto la lengua se me vuelve extraña
y no puedo hablar en su idioma.
Lo sé
pero no puedo hablar
Lo siento
pero no puedo hablar
y todo está perdido en el gran crisol.
III
Perdido
todo fundido
y mezclado con las lágrimas
los lamentos nostálgicos
lamentos, lágrimas
palabras habladas en voces dulces desde una tierra extranjera
una lengua extranjera
una canción extranjera
Lloro
Llorando
lágrimas por la tierra amarilla
por el polvo negro
por el hogar que nunca conocí
¿Qué es lo que soy?
chicana – gringa
media chicana, si tal caso.
Yo
Con mis manos contra la tierra
con las lágrimas cayendo
llenas
tan llenas de amor
Güera! – pero soy
Chicana! – pero soy
Gringa! – pero soy
Nada! – ay, no, pero SOY!
Mis manos cogen la tierra morena,
y soy.
Xican@ Poetry Daily 
