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)
simple time
nunca.
you can never make up
a moment wasted or gone by.
so I indulge in all that is right.
our very heart beats
keep an accurate count of time.
cada pulso
avienta sangre viva.
and we can anticipate
the stroke of midnight
or a mala hora,
but we cannot predict it.
clocks are just simplistic ways
of measuring relativity
and infinity.
This poem was taken from Canto Al Pueblo: An Anthology of Experiences, published by PENSA BOOKS, 1978, Texas.
Honoring the Legacy of Tomás Rivera
Source: University of California, Riverside
poetry surfing
1.
Read Noemi Martinez’s poem “synthesis” HERE, about
“…these folks
you know the type,
they have the feminist fist
tattooed on their ankles
want to visit my community
with their “poorest in the nation” shit
their novelty right now
is mexicans in the colonias.
My valley, my people”
Martinez blogs regularly at Hermana, Resist
2.
Gerald Early Can’t See Latinos. Vera has a collection of poetry out called The Space Between Our Danger and Delight, published by Beothuck Books. You can learn more about Vera HERE and also at his blog Wondermachine, where he has some very cool sketches posted.
3.
Check out sanctum at House of Nezua, and take in all the wonderful graphics at this site. Here’s a taste:
“don’t we need to make sure we have a reason, an excuse, an alibi, when the light comes on? don’t we make sure we have it all lined up just right? isn’t it too scary to just live and be and not be justified or righteous, to not be ascending perhaps, or maybe even not learning? isn’t life just too big for organisms that wander and float like mold, like spores, like smoke, like snow, like light?”
¿Que quiere decir ‘Brownsville’?
original art by Terry Ybanez, copyright @ 2008
Sarah Fisch takes a look at Bárbara Renaud González’s new book Golondrina, why did you leave me? in her essay ¿Que quiere decir ‘Brownsville’?: Identity lost and found in the borderlands, in this week’s SA Current:
“Golondrina, why did you leave me? is the epic saga of Amada (i.e. “beloved”, which seems an appropriate nod to Toni Morrison — indeed, of the skeleton of literary influences within this novel, Morrison’s the spine), a flawed and intelligent mexicana who abandons her family and emigrates to Texas, where her (second) Tejano husband, Lázaro (i.e. “risen dead guy from the Bible”) and their kids (one of whom, a daughter, is the narrator) wander through the mythic Texas landscape and ruminate on the Lone Star State’s complex and often-violent history. Lázaro and Amada search for work and love, try like hell to keep the family together while suppressing secret loves and shames, and give each other no end of trouble y lagrimas. The title is taken from corridos and love poetry, which often lament the golondrina, a type of small sparrow, flying away across la frontera.”
Xican@ Poetry Daily 
Sin Nombre
Related:
Ebert’s review of Sin Nombre
Gregory Nava’s El Norte
Luis Alberto Urrea’s Devil’s Highway
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