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 New Poems by Ivan ArgüellesTAMAZUNCHALE antes de abrir la demencia para descubrir palabra tras palabra que no tiene sentido diccionario de pulmones ! pulgas y rascacielos ! para mejor comprender lo que pasa dentro del ladrillo rojo al margen de la calle que nos lleva al sur donde los muertos tratan de olvidar lo que pasó ayer cuando la gran máquina de nubes y sonidos se acostó al lado del mar que sufre tantas camas inexplicables y sin eco y ahora dime que quieres con tus ojos apagados y tu mente como sirena de ulises llamando a todos los náufragos que la ambulancia está lista a partir ! ya me voy hacia la mejor tortillera que hay para besarla en su coma de vidas paralelas y entonces con una tristeza mundial seguiré caminando un brazo mas famoso que el otro una oreja de piedra y otra en ninguna parte para qué poner en dos el uno ? multiplicar significa morir ! 07-21-20 TEOCALLI for Joe who appeared yesterday morning for a fraction of an instant in the doorway standing in the light of the morning sun confused with radiance and dazzling the stanzas of an unwritten poem shift in the monumental distances of air crane-feathered shafts rotate like minds ablaze in the pyramidal distances of sky stone built on stone stepping to heaven solar flares like tongues speaking loud the destructions of cloud and thunder and ever deeper the effects of amnesia rain drowning cities of fine dust citadels of bone and tumult havoc of wheels spun out of control bringing down all ten directions and mountains reared overnight to mark off the western margin where the archaic sea darkens rushing to mirror itself in a dream of feathers and the twins up and down they go tracing each periphery of rock and grass measuring how far it is to the lunar aleph fading like dissolved aspirin at dawn what fills the ear at such an early hour if not the Sanskrit parrot reciting chronologies and adamantine dynasties names none can rightly recall inscribed on the reverse of coins or obliterated by a mere thumb on porous sandstone libraries ! the tomb of words and to speak the labyrinthine dialects communing with deities of the Unseen and Unheard pages torn at random from the codex depicting the origins of divine Chaos night ! splendors of ink in canyons where the dead revive use of their hands such a morning atop the great Teocalli converting sums of air into breathless voice hail all the heights and renown of fire ! we have come down the Panamerican visiting each of the summers of 1953 and talking backwards to mummified relatives wrapped in serapes of liquid gold we will never reach tomorrow for sure the Nymph death will take one of us before the prophesy can be fulfilled every day is this single bright moment standing like phantom pharaohs immobile in the pellucid movie film of memory you are me and I am you ! there is grass and maps strewn all over the lawn and avenues that stretch as far back as the first city carved out of the womb ten minutes apart the matching Teocallis that cast no shadow only black light ! 06-11-20 canción del parque chapultepec cronología del aire ! arquitectura de las nubes ! soy de poco valor que lástima ! las abejas en sus columnas verticales de azul incendiado chupando chupando los huesos de la hierba dormida soy azteca soy caldeo soy de mucho valor sierras de sueño blanco que veo nomás cuando estoy nadando en mi césped de memorias todo verde desde el hombro izquierdo de césar vallejo hasta la rodilla derecha de garcía lorca acumulando los dos las muchas muertes de la luz aunque vivimos como momias en Tenochtitlan apenas sufriendo el tránsito de los motores de las plumas yo lo único que soy es la luna chafada y transparente como aspirina a mediodía y hay mares invisibles que suben los pirámides de la frontera pistolas con ojos ! ahi viene la bala ! dame mi caballo corrompido yo soy peruano el último dios soy el mero dios de la basura hieroglífica de chapultepec fumando como nunca las chispas baratas de las olas que han venido a ahogar el estado de california poco a poco y a menudo con sus pronombres y hierro de lenguas mas muertas que el sol negro tapadera y tumba del fuego silencioso de mis pasos en el jardín unitario de la duda y por eso digo yo soy 06-17-20  Ivan Argüelles is an American innovative poet whose work moves from early Beat and surrealist-influenced forms to later epic-length poems. He received the Poetry Society of America’s William Carlos Williams Award in 1989 as well as the Before Columbus Foundation’s American Book Award in 2010. In 2013, Argüelles received the Before Columbus Foundation’s Lifetime Achievement Award. For Argüelles the turning point came with his discovery of the poetry of Philip Lamantia. Argüelles writes, “Lamantia’s mad, Beat-tinged American idiom surrealism had a very strong impact on me. Both intellectual and uninhibited, this was the dose for me.” While Argüelles’s early writings were rooted in neo-Beat bohemianism, surrealism, and Chicano culture, in the nineties he developed longer, epic-length forms rooted in Pound’s Cantos and Joyce’s Finnegans Wake. He eventually returned, after the first decade of the new millennium, to shorter, often elegiac works exemplary of Romantic Modernism. Ars Poetica is a sequence of exquisitely-honed short poems that range widely, though many mourn the death of the poet’s celebrated brother, José.
1 Comment
Two Poems: |
 | Karen Valencia is a first generation Mexican American poet born and raised on Chicago’s Southwest side. A Northwestern graduate, Karen has appeared in Huizache, The Magazine for Latino Literature (2014) and most recently in the Literary Issue of Southside Weekly (2019). Karen is also a fashion stylist, model, DJ and co-creator of DESMADRE, a Latinx fashion styling collective. To see more of her work you can visit her website (karenvalencia.com) and to check out her other projects, follow her on Instagram (@karennoid). |
César Chavez, age 16 in U.S. Navy ca 1946
Believing in equality for all
A tribute on Memorial Day 2019
Patriotismo – Que Es?
By San Juana Guillermo
Do we have to go to war in an unknown land
and fight for our country in order to prove our patriotismo?
Do we have to risk our lives against soldados we know nothing about,
except that they, too, are fighting to defend their country?
Will this war change the world? We ask of all the wars.
Nuestros padres, nuestras parejas, los hijos, los hermanos. Tienen que
sufrir our absence while we prove our patriotismo?
El patriotismo no nomas se demuestra en la Guerra, en una tierra extraña,
contra soldados que no conocemos, or that we personally have
nothing against.
Patriotismo se demuestra when we served in the military
even in the face of discrimination.
When we are only allowed to scrub the deck or paint the ship.
O, trabajar en la cocina peeling the potatoes y lavando los trastes.
We went and defended our country, in spite of this.
when our troops were separated by color, like when you do the laundry.
One war receiving 45 sons from Hero Street, Illinois,
sending them to the Philippines because of their Spanish tongues
only to be silenced when they returned to their homes.
Patriotismo is watching your child going off to war
and your heart is heavy and your spirit cries because
it does not know if there will be a reunion embrace.
The neighborhood of Edgewood in San Antonio losing 54 to another war,
with 2 of them still M.I.A., 10 of them graduating in the same year from
the same high school.
Yet, “We’re a very patriotic family,” said Gloria Carson, sister to one of the 54.
Many of our returning soldados never honored until after death
Or, the families of those we lost in the battles, esperando años para recibir
el Honor to be bestowed on their loved ones.
Patriotismo is knowing you have to drink from a different water fountain
and enter through the back door.
Yet, we do not hesitate to take up arms to defend la poquita libertad
que los permiten.
“Foreigners in our land” quizas, but it is our land.
Y a pesar de todo, we are orgullosos of our Patriotismo.
Patriotismo is not just defending and sacrificing in times of war.
Patriotismo is forming The American GI Forum, to serve and assist
the needs of our veterans and their families.
And fighting for our veterans’ rights, who are American after all.
Patriotismo is leaders like Cesar Chavez,
who fought at home and sacrificed for the dignity deserved to all.
Patriotismo is fighting in our own land upon returning home,
not with weapons of mass destruction
but with weapons of words and fearless leadership.
Patriotismo is encouraging people to vote,
organizing them as a community, empowered with the knowledge
that they are all capable of accomplishing the impossible
regardless of circumstances.
Patriotismo is Believing in equality for all and achieving
civil and labor rights with nonviolence.
Marching so that men, women and children have access to decent wages,
education, decent housing and food to eat.
Patriotism is holding the country you sacrificed for, accountable to fulfill
its promise of equality and freedom for all people.
Patriotism is collectively believing what Cesar Chavez once said:
Once social change begins, it cannot be reversed.
You cannot uneducate the person who has learned to read.
You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride.
You cannot oppress the people who are not afraid anymore.”
Patriotism cannot be taken away because we ARE this Tierra and Patriotismo is US.
and fight for our country in order to prove our patriotismo?
Do we have to risk our lives against soldados we know nothing about,
except that they, too, are fighting to defend their country?
Will this war change the world? We ask of all the wars.
Nuestros padres, nuestras parejas, los hijos, los hermanos. Tienen que
sufrir our absence while we prove our patriotismo?
El patriotismo no nomas se demuestra en la Guerra, en una tierra extraña,
contra soldados que no conocemos, or that we personally have
nothing against.
Patriotismo se demuestra when we served in the military
even in the face of discrimination.
When we are only allowed to scrub the deck or paint the ship.
O, trabajar en la cocina peeling the potatoes y lavando los trastes.
We went and defended our country, in spite of this.
when our troops were separated by color, like when you do the laundry.
One war receiving 45 sons from Hero Street, Illinois,
sending them to the Philippines because of their Spanish tongues
only to be silenced when they returned to their homes.
Patriotismo is watching your child going off to war
and your heart is heavy and your spirit cries because
it does not know if there will be a reunion embrace.
The neighborhood of Edgewood in San Antonio losing 54 to another war,
with 2 of them still M.I.A., 10 of them graduating in the same year from
the same high school.
Yet, “We’re a very patriotic family,” said Gloria Carson, sister to one of the 54.
Many of our returning soldados never honored until after death
Or, the families of those we lost in the battles, esperando años para recibir
el Honor to be bestowed on their loved ones.
Patriotismo is knowing you have to drink from a different water fountain
and enter through the back door.
Yet, we do not hesitate to take up arms to defend la poquita libertad
que los permiten.
“Foreigners in our land” quizas, but it is our land.
Y a pesar de todo, we are orgullosos of our Patriotismo.
Patriotismo is not just defending and sacrificing in times of war.
Patriotismo is forming The American GI Forum, to serve and assist
the needs of our veterans and their families.
And fighting for our veterans’ rights, who are American after all.
Patriotismo is leaders like Cesar Chavez,
who fought at home and sacrificed for the dignity deserved to all.
Patriotismo is fighting in our own land upon returning home,
not with weapons of mass destruction
but with weapons of words and fearless leadership.
Patriotismo is encouraging people to vote,
organizing them as a community, empowered with the knowledge
that they are all capable of accomplishing the impossible
regardless of circumstances.
Patriotismo is Believing in equality for all and achieving
civil and labor rights with nonviolence.
Marching so that men, women and children have access to decent wages,
education, decent housing and food to eat.
Patriotism is holding the country you sacrificed for, accountable to fulfill
its promise of equality and freedom for all people.
Patriotism is collectively believing what Cesar Chavez once said:
Once social change begins, it cannot be reversed.
You cannot uneducate the person who has learned to read.
You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride.
You cannot oppress the people who are not afraid anymore.”
Patriotism cannot be taken away because we ARE this Tierra and Patriotismo is US.
San Juana Guillermo, Texas-born, but raised in Chicago Heights, Illinois, where her migrant family had settled out to raise a family, arrived in San Antonio in 2015 from Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she had moved and raised her own family. Grandmother to 14 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren, she wrote her first poem at age 60 and has been published in several San Antonio-based zines and chapbooks by Jazz Poets of San Antonio and Voces Cósmicas. San Juana is active with local writers’ groups and at public readings. She may be contacted at sanjuanaguillermo1005@gmail.com.
R i n c o n c i t o es un
i “rincón pequeño” especial para escritos cortos:
n un poema, un cuento, una memoria, ficción de repente, y otros.
c
o Un par de poemas / A pair of poems
n
c By José Clemente Carreño Medina
i English translations by Toshiya Kamei
t
o
Delirio
Un placer que se saborea solo no es placer.
–Erasmo de Rotterdan, Elogio de la locura
–Erasmo de Rotterdan, Elogio de la locura
aquí está nuestro pan y vino
tinto
nuestra palabra caduca de
tiempo
nuestro presente
conjugado
nuestro trozo de
eternidad…
tinto
nuestra palabra caduca de
tiempo
nuestro presente
conjugado
nuestro trozo de
eternidad…
Delirium
A pleasure savored alone is not a pleasure.
–Erasmus of Rotterdam, The Praise of Folly
–Erasmus of Rotterdam, The Praise of Folly
here are our bread and red
wine
our word goes out of
date
our conjugated
present
our piece of
eternity...
wine
our word goes out of
date
our conjugated
present
our piece of
eternity...
Muerte nocturna
Camino caminando los
pasos de tus huellas
Toco el viento con el
tacto de tu boca
Respiro a muerte en
cada palabra escrita
Bebo el vaso pleno
de tu ausencia
Vivo día a día una
muerte nueva
Muero noche a noche en
cada verso recién nacido...
pasos de tus huellas
Toco el viento con el
tacto de tu boca
Respiro a muerte en
cada palabra escrita
Bebo el vaso pleno
de tu ausencia
Vivo día a día una
muerte nueva
Muero noche a noche en
cada verso recién nacido...
Nocturnal Death
I walk keeping
track of your footsteps
I feel the wind with the
touch of your lips
I breathe death in
every written word
I drink a glass full
of your absence
Every day I live a
new death
every day
Every night I die in
every newborn verse...
track of your footsteps
I feel the wind with the
touch of your lips
I breathe death in
every written word
I drink a glass full
of your absence
Every day I live a
new death
every day
Every night I die in
every newborn verse...
José Clemente Carreño Medina, of Matías Romero, Oaxaca, México, grew up in Cuernavaca, Morelos, and now lives in Kirksville, Missouri, where he is an Assistant Professor of Spanish at Truman State University. He has authored four collections of poems,Vigilias (2014), Serpientes y escaleras (2015), Guerra de palabras (2016), and Como si fuese a dejar la tierra (2017).
For Caraza, poetry, like the Greek and Roman gods of antiquity, is half-deity and half-force of nature. She communes with it—or, rather, it chooses to commune with her, and she wholeheartedly surrenders to its voice.
—Hector Luis Alamo
Un extracto de / An excerpt from Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble
Por / By Xánath Caraza
Traducido al inglés por Sandra Kingery / Translated into English by Sandra Kingery
Sin preámbulos
Violeta es la mañana
sin preámbulos
se filtra la luz
en las grietas
se escurre el delirio
en los pétalos
saetas de color rompen
la superficie que tocan
tiñe aurora los recuerdos
polícroma melodía
violeta fue la luz
se desvanece
con la brisa
ráfaga de fuego
tiempo violeta
delinea la partida
tic-tac, tic-tac
tic-tac, tic-tac
sin preámbulos
se filtra la luz
en las grietas
se escurre el delirio
en los pétalos
saetas de color rompen
la superficie que tocan
tiñe aurora los recuerdos
polícroma melodía
violeta fue la luz
se desvanece
con la brisa
ráfaga de fuego
tiempo violeta
delinea la partida
tic-tac, tic-tac
tic-tac, tic-tac
Without Preamble
Violet is the morning
without preamble
light filtering
through crevasses
delirium sliding
down petals
colored arrows broaching
the surfaces they touch
polychrome melody
tinting memories dawn
violet was the light
it dissipates
with the breeze
bursts of flame
violet time
delineates the departure
tick-tock, tick-tock
tick-tock, tick-tock
Refulgente oleaje
Nacarada luz
golpeas la intimidad
perforas la soledad.
Se arrastran luminosos rayos
en los pisos de piedra
canto lunar.
Inhalo el opalescente aroma
y descubro las manos
que fijan las letras.
Las sílabas intersecan
con los recuerdos
refulgente oleaje.
En el horizonte
la rutina invade
las páginas.
Las cadenas se abren.
Una lluvia de tinta
inunda el papel.
Glistening Waves
Pearly light
you strike privacy
puncture solitude.
Luminous rays crawl
across stone floors
lunar chorus.
I inhale opalescent aromas
and discover the hands
that deploy the alphabet.
Syllables intersect
with memories
glistening waves.
On the horizon
routine invades
the pages.
Chains open.
A shower of ink
inundates the paper.
Es la lluvia saturada de perlas
Sólo es la lluvia
que perfora el mar.
Voz de fuego.
Llevo enredado
un collar de perlas
traídas de donde
nace el trueno.
Voz de agua.
Los tatuajes engañan
seducen las páginas.
Iguanas de oscura tinta
zurcidas en el papel.
Voz dolorosa.
El viento ulula llanto
es la lluvia saturada de perlas.
Violet is the morning
without preamble
light filtering
through crevasses
delirium sliding
down petals
colored arrows broaching
the surfaces they touch
polychrome melody
tinting memories dawn
violet was the light
it dissipates
with the breeze
bursts of flame
violet time
delineates the departure
tick-tock, tick-tock
tick-tock, tick-tock
Refulgente oleaje
Nacarada luz
golpeas la intimidad
perforas la soledad.
Se arrastran luminosos rayos
en los pisos de piedra
canto lunar.
Inhalo el opalescente aroma
y descubro las manos
que fijan las letras.
Las sílabas intersecan
con los recuerdos
refulgente oleaje.
En el horizonte
la rutina invade
las páginas.
Las cadenas se abren.
Una lluvia de tinta
inunda el papel.
Glistening Waves
Pearly light
you strike privacy
puncture solitude.
Luminous rays crawl
across stone floors
lunar chorus.
I inhale opalescent aromas
and discover the hands
that deploy the alphabet.
Syllables intersect
with memories
glistening waves.
On the horizon
routine invades
the pages.
Chains open.
A shower of ink
inundates the paper.
Es la lluvia saturada de perlas
Sólo es la lluvia
que perfora el mar.
Voz de fuego.
Llevo enredado
un collar de perlas
traídas de donde
nace el trueno.
Voz de agua.
Los tatuajes engañan
seducen las páginas.
Iguanas de oscura tinta
zurcidas en el papel.
Voz dolorosa.
El viento ulula llanto
es la lluvia saturada de perlas.
It is Rain Saturated with Pearls
Only the rain
pierces the sea.
Voice of fire.
I wear twisted
a necklace of pearls
obtained from where
the thunder is born.
Voice of water.
Tattoos deceive
pages seduce.
Iguanas of dark ink
mended on the page.
Dolorous voice.
The wind howls sobs
it is rain saturated with pearls.
Cenizas
Entierro las manos en el barro.
Guarda mi esencia.
El agua me rodea.
Isla de palabras sembrada de luz
donde las sílabas brotan.
Dadora de versos.
Ritmos luminosos en la montaña
sombras lunares dan vida
a mi silueta en esta isla.
Aquí enterré mi corazón.
Ulula, viento, espárceme.
Cenizas lunares renacen.
Ashes
I bury my hands in mud.
It preserves my essence.
Water surrounds me.
Island of words sown with light
where syllables sprout.
Giver of verses.
Luminous rhythms on the mountain
lunar shadows give life
to my silhouette on this island.
Here I buried my heart.
Howl, wind, scatter me.
Lunar ashes are reborn.
Only the rain
pierces the sea.
Voice of fire.
I wear twisted
a necklace of pearls
obtained from where
the thunder is born.
Voice of water.
Tattoos deceive
pages seduce.
Iguanas of dark ink
mended on the page.
Dolorous voice.
The wind howls sobs
it is rain saturated with pearls.
Cenizas
Entierro las manos en el barro.
Guarda mi esencia.
El agua me rodea.
Isla de palabras sembrada de luz
donde las sílabas brotan.
Dadora de versos.
Ritmos luminosos en la montaña
sombras lunares dan vida
a mi silueta en esta isla.
Aquí enterré mi corazón.
Ulula, viento, espárceme.
Cenizas lunares renacen.
Ashes
I bury my hands in mud.
It preserves my essence.
Water surrounds me.
Island of words sown with light
where syllables sprout.
Giver of verses.
Luminous rhythms on the mountain
lunar shadows give life
to my silhouette on this island.
Here I buried my heart.
Howl, wind, scatter me.
Lunar ashes are reborn.
Xánath Caraza es viajera, educadora, poeta y narradora. Enseña en la Universidad de Missouri-Kansas City. Escribe para Seattle Escribe, La Bloga, Smithsonian Latino Center y Revista Literaria Monolito. Es Writer-in-Residence en Westchester Community College, Nueva York desde 2016. En 2018 recibió de los International Latino Book Awards primer lugar: “Mejor libro de poesía—un autor—español” por su poemario Lágrima roja y primer lugar: “Mejor libro de poesía—un autor—bilingüe” por su poemario Sin preámbulos. Su poemario Sílabas de viento recibió el2015 International Book Award de poesía. También recibió mención de honor como mejor libro de poesía en español por los International Latino Book Awards de 2015. En 2014 recibió la Beca Nebrija para Creadores del Instituto Franklin, Universidad de Alcalá de Henares en España. En 2013 fue nombrada número uno de los diez mejores autores latinos para leer por LatinoStories.com. Sus poemarios Donde la luz es violeta, Tinta negra, Ocelocíhuatl, Conjuro y su colección de relatos Lo que trae la marea han recibido reconocimientos nacionales e internacionales. Sus otros poemarios son Hudson, Le sillabe del vento, Noche de colibríes, Corazón pintado y su segunda colección de relatos,Metztli. Ha sido traducida al inglés, italiano y griego; y parcialmente traducida al náhuatl, portugués, hindi, turco y rumano.
Xánath Caraza is a traveler, educator, poet, and short story writer. She teaches at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. She writes for Seattle Escribe, La Bloga, The Smithsonian Latino Center, and Revista Literaria Monolito. She is Writer-in-Residence at Westchester Community College, New York since 2016. In 2018 for the International Latino Book Awards she received First Place for Lágrimaroja for “Best Book of Poetry in Spanish by One Author” and First Place for Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble for “Best Book of Bilingual Poetry by One Author.” Her book of poetry Syllables of Wind/ Sílabas de viento received the 2015 International Book Award for Poetry. It also received Honorable Mention for best book of Poetry in Spanish in the 2015 International Latino Book Awards. Caraza was the recipient of the 2014 Beca Nebrija para Creadores, Universidad de Alcalá de Henares in Spain. She was named number one of the 2013 Top Ten Latino Authors by LatinoStories.com. Her books of verseWhere the Light is Violet, Black Ink, Ocelocíhuatl, Conjuro and her book of short fiction What the Tide Brings have won national and international recognition. Her other books of poetry are Hudson, Le sillabe del vento, Noche de colibríes, Corazón pintado, and her second short story collection, Metztli. Caraza has been translated into English, Italian, and Greek; and partially translated into Nahuatl, Portuguese, Hindi, Turkish, and Rumanian.
Xánath Caraza is a traveler, educator, poet, and short story writer. She teaches at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. She writes for Seattle Escribe, La Bloga, The Smithsonian Latino Center, and Revista Literaria Monolito. She is Writer-in-Residence at Westchester Community College, New York since 2016. In 2018 for the International Latino Book Awards she received First Place for Lágrimaroja for “Best Book of Poetry in Spanish by One Author” and First Place for Sin preámbulos / Without Preamble for “Best Book of Bilingual Poetry by One Author.” Her book of poetry Syllables of Wind/ Sílabas de viento received the 2015 International Book Award for Poetry. It also received Honorable Mention for best book of Poetry in Spanish in the 2015 International Latino Book Awards. Caraza was the recipient of the 2014 Beca Nebrija para Creadores, Universidad de Alcalá de Henares in Spain. She was named number one of the 2013 Top Ten Latino Authors by LatinoStories.com. Her books of verseWhere the Light is Violet, Black Ink, Ocelocíhuatl, Conjuro and her book of short fiction What the Tide Brings have won national and international recognition. Her other books of poetry are Hudson, Le sillabe del vento, Noche de colibríes, Corazón pintado, and her second short story collection, Metztli. Caraza has been translated into English, Italian, and Greek; and partially translated into Nahuatl, Portuguese, Hindi, Turkish, and Rumanian.
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