Rinconcito is a special little corner in Somos en escrito for short writings: a single poem, a short story, a memoir, flash fiction, and the like. On Reincarnation by Michele Shaul Were I to subscribe to reincarnation I would call him Hugo Augusto Anastasio Fidel Men interested in their own aggrandizement In the guise of stabilizing the whole Contemporaries abound that offer parallel Egos and interests They connected, Bonding in their embodiment of self-interest, exploitation, and greed But even those bonds were not enough to fulfill his insatiable needs, to maintain his self-absorption, To bolster his insecurities His counterparts quickly fell short in worshipping at his shrine Escalation of efforts to uplift his need pushed ahead No concern for consequences No shame at deception Yet soon, God willing, Our own defective incarnation will disperse just as the edge of twilight slides into obscurity. ![]() Michele Shaul was born in Oakland, CA to a Kansas farm boy and a Key West girl. Her mother’s maternal family immigrated to Havana, Cuba and subsequently Key West, FL in the 1800s. Her paternal grandfather was born in Havana and moved to Key West where he married her grandmother and managed the local tobacco factory until his death. Michele currently lives with her family in Charlotte, NC where she is the Director of the Center for Latino Studies and a professor of Spanish at Queens University of Charlotte, formerly serving as Chair of the World Languages Department for 22 years. She is co-founder and co-editor of the e-journal Label Me Latina/o and is involved in several arts and social outreach projects that use art as a vehicle to address the topics of diversity and tolerance. Her writing has been predominantly academic in orientation although in recent years she has had the opportunity to write more creative pieces. Her critical essays are published in a number of journals and collections. Her translation of the novel The Suitcases was published in 2005 and her poem “Vida cercada” appeared in Minerva (5 (2), septiembre-diciembre 2005. Mellen Press published her book A Survey of the Novels of Ana Castillo: A Contemporary Mexican American Writer (2016). Her short story “Mixed Reviews/Reseñas mixtas” has been selected for inclusion in Nos pasamos de la raya/We Crossed the Line Vol. 2 (Slough Press, 2021 anticipated). The collection of essays Not White/Straight/Male/Healthy Enough: Being “Other” in the Academy coedited with Michael Moreno and Kathryn Quinn-Sánchez was published by Cambridge Scholars Publishing (2018). Her essay “We Met Pregnant at the Snack Bar” is included as part of the collection. The book Contemporary U.S. Latinx Literature in Spanish (Palgrave, 2018) was co-edited with Kathryn Quinn-Sánchez and Amrita Das. Teatro latino: Nuevas obras de los Estados Unidos, coedited with Trevor Boffone, Amrita Das, and Kathryn Quinn-Sanchez, was published by La Casita Grande (2019). The collection of essays Whiteness in the Workplace edited with Michael Moreno and Kathryn Quinn-Sánchez was published by Cambridge Scholars Publishing (2020). Her translation in partnership with Erin Debell and Liliana Wendorff of Miguel Orosa’s play Brave Women and Laughter (Quite a long night’s journey throughout Latin America) was published by Proyecto Ñaque Editorial (2020) and her translation of Enrique Weichs’ Anteayeres (Before Yesterday), also teaming with Erin Debell, is currently seeking a publisher. Michele directs the Latino Studies Project which is a student/faculty research project that seeks to document the story of the Latino population in the Charlotte region. She is the recipient of the Queens’ 2016 Hunter-Hamilton Love of Teaching Award.
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Poems by Carlota Caulfield from her book Los juguetes de Bertrand / Bertrand’s ToysReconocimiento Hacía bocetos. Aquí y allá una palabra. Después todo fue simple, un fuego interior que lo consumió de golpe. Al poco tiempo, un exilio impuesto. Después un cambio de fotografías y un borrón en la fecha de nacimiento. Bordes geográficos desvaneciéndose y confundidos en garabatos infantiles, y voces, voces infinitas en asedio. Esperas. Reconstruyes tu perfil y tu acento, vuelves a entrar en tu pasado, permaneces en uno de sus rincones, recorres los barrios de sus excesos, y nunca eres un huésped inoportuno, eso nunca te lo perdonarías. Recognition He made sketches. Here and there a word. Later on it was all-simple: an inner fire gobbled him up. A little later, an imposed exile, Later on, different photographs and a blotch over his birthdate. Geographic lines faded and interchanged over infantile scribbles, and voices, infinite voices laying siege. You wait. You redesign your profile and your accent, you reach the past, you settle into one of its corners, you stroll the neighborhood of your excesses, and you're not an inopportune guest, you'd never forgive yourself that. El oratorio de Aurelia La primera mirada es una mano en movimiento. Una gaveta se abre, otra se cierra, y así combinaciones imposibles del cuerpo. Un trapecio de lo familiar, del perchero y la colcha de la abuela. Cortinas donde se esconde la niñez, esas cortinas rojas del teatro, y el show del circo imaginario para mayores de ocho años. Sabiduría del acróbata y del pintor en su gotear de rojos y esos verdes y esos amarillos. Casi se pueden tocar. Entonces, los waltzes pirotécnicos, los abrigos y vestidos con vida propia, la música de acordeón, tangojazz, y trombón, eso parece. Y cuando todo se ha vuelto un Magritte, el timbre de un móvil desata una pelea violenta entre los otros, audiencia de marionetas crueles. Fin de la primera parte. Aurelia's Oratorio At first glance, it's a hand in motion. A drawer opens, another closes, and thereby impossible body combinations. A trapeze of the familiar, of the hanger and Grandma's bedspread. Curtains where childhood hides, those red curtains of the theater, and the show of the imaginary circus for those over eight. Wisdom of the acrobat and the painter in his splashing of reds and those greens and those yellows. You can almost touch them. Then the pyrotechnic waltzes, the coats and dresses coming to life, accordion music, tangojazz and trombone, that's what it's like. And when everything has turned into a Magritte, the ring of a cellphone unleashes a violent fight among the others, audience of cruel marionettes. End of part one. The poem “Aurélia’s Oratorio” alludes to the theater piece of the same name, a combination of a magic surreal show and acrobatics created and directed by Victoria Thierrée Chaplin that her daughter Aurélia Thierrée performs with extraordinary mastery and grace in theaters around the world. Nueve poemas para Charlotte 1. Agrietadas de pasión, las manos del titiritero descansan. Sólo en un pestañear, las marionetas se mueven y se confunden, y se enredan en sus cuerdas. Conmoción de un instante. 2. Dentro del armario, la sombra de un antiguo Pinocchio es una marca perenne. Así se hace la memoria y eso es lo mejor de todo, dejar que el corazón se fragmente con el tacto. Lo inexistente ha dejado un recuento. 3. Sus labios en una taza de té. Un sabor verde de Himalayas se confunde con la vasija terracota curtida por el uso. Capas y capas de residuos, testigos impregnados en el barro. Pone a un lado su diario. Mapa Mundi. 4. Su nombre reaparece en diferentes formas. En caligrafía es trazo llamado Tao. Su efímera inscripción lleva la espiritualidad de los sentidos. Digo y cuento, aunque raras veces es también toque de inscripción propia. 5. Puertas hinchadas de aguas a destiempo, como si la torrencial lluvia se hubiese vuelto un dulce y pegajozo delirio mientras observas las vestiduras extraviadas de la madera. En la ventana, una silente figura vacila. Y de pronto, el espacio de sonidos se confunde con grises, blancos y verdes. Lo de afuera entra y roza tus manos. 6. Ella, la que eres tú en ciertos días, deja un rastro de bruma y se reclina sobre varios senderos. Atrapar lo inasible se vuelve aquí furor y apatía. 7. Pasas bordeando voces. No quieres quedarte en la orilla de la muerte. Como un animal ebrio de miedo te enroscas hasta que la lluvia cese. Palabras en desorden. Trabalenguas. 8. Tú misma eres una abstracción. Todos los remedios disolviéndose. Noches de insomnio cercanas a la locura. Así tu cuerpo. Las treguas conjuradas. La parálisis un abismo de telas. La corrugada pesantez de tu espalda mancillada por bloques terapeúticos. 9. Mientras intocable hasta en la palabra, la presión de dedos y el aire denso de lugar a lugar, a tus labios coarteados les frotas unas gotas de miel y los pules como si fueran un desgarrón purpúreo. Así tus huesos, nervaduras de sombras chinescas lanzadas al piso. Tú. Nine Poems for Charlotte 1. Cracked by passion, the puppeteer’s hands rest. With only a blink, the marionettes move and are baffled, and get tangled in their cords. The commotion of an instant. 2. Inside the wardrobe, the shadow of an ancient Pinocchio is a perennial imprint. This is how memory is made and that’s the best of it all, to allow the heart into pieces if touched. The non-existent has left a trace. 3. Her lips sipping a cup of tea. A Himalayas’ green flavor is fused with the terracotta cup stained by use. Residual layers and layers, witnesses impregnated in the clay. She puts aside her diary. Mapa Mundi. 4. Her name reappears in different ways. In calligraphy it’s a pen stroke called Tao. Its ephemeral inscription carries the spirituality of the senses. I say and tell, although rarely it’s also a touch of self-inscription. 5. Doors swollen by untimely waters, as if the torrential rain had become a sweet and clinging frenzy while you observes the lost garments of the wood. In the window, a silent figure hesitates. And suddenly, the space of sounds blends with grays, whites and greens. The outside comes in and grazes your hands. 6. She, the one you are on certain days, leaves a trace of mist and bends, over several paths. Here to grasp the unreachable is fury and apathy. 7. You stroll around voices. Not wanting to remain on the verge of death. Like an animal drunk with fear you huddle until the rain stops. Words in disorder. Tongue Twisters. 8. You are yourself an abstraction. All solutions are dissolving. Nights of insomnia close to madness. So is your body. Conjured ceasefires. Paralysis, an abyss of cloths. The corrugated and heaviness of your back sullied by therapeutic blocks. 9. While untouchable even by words, the pressure of fingers and the misty air from place to place, onto your cracked lips you rub some drops of honey and you polish them like a purplish tear. And your bones, too, Chinese shadows nervures tossed on the floor. You. Bosques de Bélgica Voz suelta. Pura respiración. Labios de breves heridas. Después, un tañido. Boca sobre el metal. Voz hueca y los labios un pico abierto de pájaro. El aire es murmullos, rumores, silbidos, y marca permanente en la cámara interio. Rapidez del movimiento de la vara, privilegio de una mano. La mano tiene forma de U. Es una U. En el cielo de Berkeley hay pocas nubes, decías lentamente. Cierto, el aerófono es latón ligero, tríptico en un cuadro donde un trombón de vara parece pájaro en vuelo y alas de ángel. ¿Quién recuerda el nombre del cuadro? ¿Cómo se llamaba el pintor? Belgian Forests Voice unleashed. Pure breathing. Lips of brief wounds. Then, a note. Mouth to metal. Hollow voice and lips a bird's open beak. The air murmurs, whispers, whistles, and permanently marks the inner chamber. Rapidity of the valve's movement privilege of a hand. The hand is U shaped. It’s a U. In the Berkeley sky, here are few clouds, you were saying slowly. True, the aerophone is a light brass triptych in a painting where a valved trombone looks like a bird in flight, and angel wings. Who remembers what the painting is called? What was the painter's name? ![]() Carlota Caulfield is a Cuban-born American poet, writer, translator and literary critic. She has published extensively in English and Spanish in the United States, Latin America and Europe. Her most recent poetry books are Cuaderno Neumeister / The Neumeister Notebook (2016) and Los juguetes de Bertrand / Bertrand’s Toys (2019). She is the recipient of several awards, among them The International Poetry Prize Dulce María Loynaz and The Ultimo Novecento, Poets of the World. Caulfield has also published widely on Argentine poet Alejandra Pizarnik, as well as on other Latin American and Latinx poets, including Magali Alabau and Juana Rosa Pita. She is the co-editor of A Companion to US Latino Literatures (2012 &2014) and Barcelona, Visual Culture, Space & Power (2012 & 2014). She is Professor of Spanish and Spanish American Studies at Mills College, Oakland, California. Mary G. Berg, a Resident Scholar at the Women’s Studies Research Center at Brandeis University, Boston, Massachusetts, has translated poetry by Juan Ramón Jiménez, Clara Roderos, Marjorie Agosín and Carlota Caulfield and novels by Martha Rivera (I’ve Forgotten Your Name), Laura Riesco (Ximena at the Crossroads), Libertad Demitropulos (River of Sorrows). Her most recent translations are of collections of stories by Olga Orozco and Laidi Fernández de Juan.
Dos Poemas del Destino |
(sobre motivos de George Orwell) |
Todo el poder que iría adquiriendo la casta de funcionarios (…) lo iría perdiendo el pueblo. José Martí, sobre La futura esclavitud |
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