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Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: National Poetry Month, Most Recent at Top [Help]
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1. More fun in the sun

Today's Totally Important Post is about class member Daphne Grab. Teen reviewer Gela gushes about Daphne's book, Alive and Well in Prague, New York. Check it out.


Now, back to this week's topic: Group Marketing...

Debbie Reed Fischer is the other person who was part of the dynamic duo that took SCBWI Florida by storm in January. Let's find out what she has to say about doing a workshop with another author.

Debbie?

Chatting online every day for months creates a very unique bond with someone, and that is especially true in 2k8. Like the rest of the class, Jody and I had already spent hundreds of hours discussing book promotion, as well as sharing opinions, triumphs, disappointments and jokes. So when I arrived at the conference and we found each other, it wasn't the polite, tentative greeting that usually takes place when meeting someone for the first time. From the moment we hugged in the main conference room, I felt as though we'd been friends forever. When we did sit down to discuss our presentation, there was a comfort level of two people who had been working together for a long time. It made planning and executing our presentation as easy as two friends talking about a common interest. That was a direct result of being in the Class of 2k8.

The really great thing about 2k8 is that members have professional backgrounds in areas other than publishing. How is that a plus, you ask? Well, when Jody and I were speaking about book promotion, I was grateful she had worked in the related field of advertising for many years. It was reassuring to have her expertise handy.

One attendee told me, "You usually see workshops on the same thing at all these conferences. This was something truly different." That 'something different' is another thing 2k8 brings to the table, and Jody and I were eager to talk about it. We have mutual enthusiasm for the group and its purpose, which really showed in our presentation. Our Class of 2k8 brochures were received with interest and curiosity, and a lot of people wanted to know more. Another attendee complained that our workshop wasn't long enough, after we spoke for an hour and a half! Not to mention it was the very last workshop of a three-day conference!


M.P. Barker also knows how important group marketing is...

Being part of 2k8 has helped me because I'm a terrible procrastinator, very disorganized, and know absolutely nothing about marketing. I'm very bad at meeting personal deadlines if I'm not responsible to anyone but myself, but fear of shame and humiliation makes me very good at meeting deadlines when they're imposed by somebody else. Having a group to be answerable to forces me to get my act together and get things accomplished. It's also great to have a support group of people whom I can learn from and who are going through all the same things I am.


Liz Gallagher simply puts it this way:

It makes the fish a little bigger in that big pond.

So, if you're thinking of joining a group to help you get the word out about your books,

JUMP RIGHT IN

and

MAKE A SPLASH

that the publishing world won't soon forget!


0 Comments on More fun in the sun as of 1/1/1900
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2. Spoken Word, Borders and Juan Felipe Herrera


187 Reasons Mexicanos Can’t Cross the Border:
Undocuments 1971-2007
by Juan Felipe Herrera
November 15, 2007

ISBN:
978-0-87286-462-7 $16.95













Congress debates immigration legislation, Americans grow more polarized in their opinions, and Juan Felipe Herrera provides a fresh and accessible perspective on this crucial human rights issue through this collection of his poetry, prose, and performance.

Catch the 187 Express!
Addressing immigration issues with dynamic innovation, the 187 Express tour launched on Nov. 15, 2007 at City Lights Books in San Francisco.

Herrera, frequently accompanied by guest artists, will present a mix of spoken word performances, music, and poetry throughout the Border States and up and down California.

Herrera has spent the last three and half decades assembling the collection found in 187 Reasons – at rallies, walkouts, under fire and on the run, in cafés, under helicopters and in the midst of thousands of marchers for civil rights and new immigration policies.

Raised in the fields of California in a family of migrant workers, Herrera has blended art and activism for over 30 years as a pioneer of the Chicano spoken word movement. Juan Felipe Herrera is Professor of Creative Writing at the University of California, Riverside. Author of 23 books, he is a community arts leader and a dynamic performer and actor.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Before you read the first piece in this collection, let me say a few words. This is badder and bolder than any of the Beats. (Yes, I even mean Howl by Ginsburg, Fast Speaking Woman by Waldman.....)

Herrera's work is part grito, part incantation. As a matter of fact, it is closer to the writing of María Sabina, la curandera. A legendary healer, she was the wellspring for a generation of Beat poets, who used her chants as inspiration and struggled to imitate their power.

It's lean, sinewy writing, without a wasted syllable. It lays bare the wounds of race and culture clash, sutures them back into wholeness with resolve, with defiance. It's an unblinking eye cast on where we triumph, where we stumble and fall. And make no mistake, those who make decisions, make policy, and sit in judgment have been served.

We're coming, we're here, and we won't be silent.


187 Reasons Mexicanos Can’t Cross The Border (Remix)

--Abutebaris modo subjunctivo denuo

Because Lou Dobbs has been misusing the subjunctive again

Because our suitcases are made with biodegradable maguey fibers

Because we still resemble La Malinche

Because multiplication is our favorite sport

Because we’ll dig a tunnel to Seattle

Because Mexico needs us to keep the peso from sinking

Because the Berlin Wall is on the way through Veracruz

Because we just learned we are Huichol

Because someone made our ID’s out of corn

Because our border thirst is insatiable

Because we’re on peyote & Coca-Cola & Banamex

Because it’s Indian land stolen from our mothers

Because we’re too emotional when it comes to our mothers

Because we’ve been doing it for over five hundred years already

Because it’s too easy to say “I am from here”

Because Latin American petrochemical juice flows first

Because what would we do in El Norte

Because Nahuatl, Mayan & Chicano will spread to Canada

Because Zedillo & Salinas & Fox are still on vacation

Because the World Bank needs our abuelita’s account

Because the CIA trains better with brown targets

Because our accent is unable to hide U.S. colonialism

Because what will the Hispanik MBAs do

Because our voice resembles La Llorona’s

Because we are still voting

Because the North is really South

Because we can read about it in an ethnic prison

Because Frida beat us to it

Because US & European Corporations would rather visit us first

Because environmental US industrial pollution suits our color

Because of a new form of Overnight Mayan Anarchy

Because there are enough farmworkers in California already

Because we’re meant to usher a post-modern gloom into Mexico

Because Nabisco, Exxon, & Union Carbide gave us Mal de Ojo

Because every nacho chip can morph into a Mexican Wrestler

Because it’s better to be rootless, unconscious, & rapeable

Because we’re destined to have the “Go Back to Mexico” Blues

Because of Pancho Villa’s hidden treasure in Chihuahua

Because of Bogart’s hidden treasure in the Sierra Madre

Because we need more murals honoring our Indian Past

Because we are really dark French Creoles in a Cantínflas costume

Because of this Aztec reflex to sacrifice ourselves

Because we couldn’t clean up hurricane Katrina

Because of this Spanish penchant to be polite and aggressive

Because we had a vision of Sor Juana in drag

Because we smell of Tamales soaked in Tequila

Because we got hooked listening to Indian Jazz in Chiapas

Because we’re still waiting to be cosmic

Because our passport says we’re out of date

Because our organ donor got lost in a Bingo game

Because we got to learn English first & get in line & pay a little fee

Because we’re understanding & appreciative of our Capitalist neighbors

Because our 500 year penance was not severe enough

Because we’re still running from La Migra

Because we’re still kissing the Pope’s hand

Because we’re still practicing to be Franciscan priests

Because they told us to sit & meditate & chant Nosotros Los Pobres

Because of the word “Revolución” & the words “Viva Zapata”

Because we rely more on brujas than lawyers

Because we never finished our Ph.D. in Total United Service

Because our identity got mixed up with passion

Because we have visions instead of televisions

Because our huaraches are made with Goodyear & Uniroyal

Because the pesticides on our skin are still glowing

Because it’s too easy to say “American Citizen” in cholo

Because you can’t shrink-wrap enchiladas

Because a Spy in Spanish sounds too much like “Es Pie” in English

Because our comadres are an International Political Party

Because we believe in The Big Chingazo Theory of the Universe

Because we’re still holding our breath in the Presidential Palace in Mexico City

Because every Mexican is a Living Theatre of Rebellion

Because Hollywood needs its subject matter in proper folkloric costume

Because the Grammys, Emmies, MTV & I-Tunes are finally out in Spanish

Because the Right is writing an epic poem of apology for our proper edification

Because the Alamo really is pronounced “Alamadre”

Because the Mayan concept of zero means “U.S. Out of Mexico”

Because the oldest Ceiba in Yucatán is prophetic

Because England is making plans

Because we can have Nicaragua, Honduras, & Panama anyway

Because 125 million Mexicans can be wrong

Because we’ll smuggle an earthquake into New York

Because we’ll organize like the Vietnamese in San José

Because we’ll organize like the Mixtecos in Fresno

Because East L.A. is sinking

Because the Christian Coalition doesn’t cater at César Chávez Parque

Because you can’t make mace out of beans

Because the computers can’t pronounce our names

Because the National Border Police are addicted to us

Because Africa will follow

Because we’re still dressed in black rebozos

Because we might sing a corrido at any moment

Because our land grants are still up for grabs

Because our tattoos are indecipherable

Because people are hanging milagros on the 2000 miles of border wire

Because we’re locked into Magical Realism

Because Mexican dependence is a form of higher learning

Because making chilaquiles leads to plastic explosives

Because a simple Spanish Fly can mutate into a raging Bird Flu

Because we eat too many carbohydrates

Because we gave enough blood at the Smithfield, Inc., slaughterhouse in Tar Heel, NC

Because a quinceañera will ruin the concept of American virginity

Because huevos rancheros are now being served at Taco Bell as Wavoritos

Because every Mexican grito undermines English intonation

Because the President has a Mexican maid

Because the Vice President has a Mexican maid

Because it’s Rosa López’s fault O.J. Simpson was guilty

Because Banda music will take over the White House

Because Aztec sexual aberrations are still in practice

Because our starvation & squalor isn’t as glamorous as Somalia’s

Because agribusiness will whack us anyway

Because the information superhighway is not for Chevy’s & Impalas

Because white men are paranoid of Frida’s mustache

Because the term “mariachi” comes from the word “cucarachi”

Because picking grapes is not a British tradition

Because they are still showing Zoot Suit in prisons

Because Richie Valens is alive in West Liberty, Iowa

Because ?[is this supposed to be a ?, or are we waiting for a name? I think I know, but thought I ought to ask, in case…] & the Mysterians cried 97 tears not 96

Because Hoosgow, Riata, Rodeo are Juzgado, Riata and Rodeo

Because Jackson Hole, Wyoming will blow as soon as we hit Oceanside

Because U.S. narco-business needs us in Nogales

Because the term “Mexican” comes from “Mexicanto”

Because Mexican queers [do you want to use this word? How about queers, a little more politically correct, though still problematic.] crossed already

Because Mexican lesbians wear Ben Davis pants & sombreros de palma to work

Because VFW halls aren’t built to serve cabeza con tripas

Because the National Guard are going international

Because we still bury our feria in the backyard

Because we don’t have international broncas for profit

Because we are in love with our sister Rigoberta Menchú

Because California is on the verge of becoming California

Because the PRI is a family affair

Because we may start a television series called No Chingues Conmigo

Because we are too sweet & obedient & confused & (still) [what about the brackets here? Should it be parenthesis?] full of rage

Because the CIA needs us in a Third World State of mind

Because brown is the color of the future

Because we turned Welfare into El Huero Felix

Because we know what the Jews have been through

Because we know what the Blacks have been through

Because the Irish became the San Patricio Corps at the Battle of Churubusco

Because of our taste for Yiddish gospel raps & tardeadas & salsa limericks

Because El Sistema Nos La Pela

Because you can take the boy outta Mexico but not outta the Boycott

Because the Truckers, Arkies and Okies enjoy our telenovelas

Because we’d rather shop at the flea market than Macy’s

Because pan dulce feels sexual, especially conchas & the elotes

Because we’ll Xerox tamales in order to survive

Because we’ll export salsa to Russia & call it “Pikushki”

Because cilantro aromas follow us wherever we go

Because we’ll unionize & sing De Colores

Because A Day Without a Mexican is a day away

Because we’re in touch with our Boriqua camaradas

Because we are the continental majority

Because we’ll build a sweat lodge in front of Bank of America

Because we should wait for further instructions from Televisa

Because 125 million Mexicanos are potential Chicanos

Because we’ll take over the Organic Foods Whole Foods’ business with a molcajete

Because 2000 miles of maquiladoras want to promote us

Because the next Olympics will commemorate the Mexico City massacre of 1968

Because there is an Aztec temple beneath our Nopales

Because we know how to pronounce all the Japanese corporations

Because the Comadre network is more accurate than CNN

Because the Death Squads are having a hard time with Caló

Because the mayor of San Diego likes salsa medium-picante

Because the Navy, Army, Marines like us topless in Tijuana

Because when we see red, white & blue we just see red

Because when we see the numbers 187 we still see red

Because we need to pay a little extra fee to the Border

Because Mexican Human Rights sounds too Mexican

Because Chrysler is putting out a lowrider

Because they found a lost Chicano tribe in Utah

Because harina white flour bag suits don’t cut it at graduation

Because we’ll switch from AT&T & MCI to Y-que, y-que

Because our hand signs aren’t registered

Because Freddy Fender wasn’t Baldomar Huerta’s real name

Because “lotto” is another Chicano word for “pronto”

Because we won’t nationalize a State of Immigrant Paranoia

Because the depression of the 30s was our fault

Because “xenophobia” is a politically correct term

Because we shoulda learned from the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882

Because we shoulda listened to the Federal Immigration Laws of 1917, ’21, ’24 & ‘30

Because we lack a Nordic/ Teutonic approach

Because Executive Order 9066 of 1942 shudda had us too

Because Operation Wetback took care of us in the 50’s

Because Operation Clean Sweep picked up the loose ends in the 70s

Because one more operation will finish us off anyway

Because you can’t deport 12 million migrantes in a Greyhound bus

Because we got this thing about walking out of everything

Because we have a heart that sings rancheras and feet that polka


Gente: go to his website where there's more info and audio clips! And don't forget to BUY THE BOOK!

http://187express.com


Lisa Alvarado

5 Comments on Spoken Word, Borders and Juan Felipe Herrera, last added: 12/1/2007
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3. Acentos News

Tuesday, November 13th @7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase
The Uptown's Best Open Mic and Featured Poet
EDUARDO C. CORRAL

Eduardo C. Corral holds degrees from Arizona State and the Iowa Writers'
Workshop. His poems are featured in a chapbook published by Web Del
Sol. His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Post Road, The Nation,
and Verse Daily. His work also appears in The Wind Shifts: New Latino
Poetry. He's the interview editor for Boxcar Poetry Review. His work has
been honored with a "Discovery"/The Nation award and residencies from
The MacDowell Colony and Yaddo. He is currently the Olive B. O'Connor
Fellow in Creative Writing at Colgate University for the 2007/08 academic
year.

In addition!
Limited edition broadsides of "Pear," by Eduardo Corral, will be made
available for this reading on a first-come, first-served basis,
courtesy of Red Dragonfly Press and Letras Latinas at the University of Notre Dame.

The Bruckner Bar and Grill
1 Bruckner Boulevard (Corner of 3rd Ave)
6 Train to 138th Street Station
Hosted by Rich Villar
FREE! ($5 Suggested Donation)

Coming from MANHATTAN:
At the 138th Street Station, exit the train to your left, by the last
car on the 6. Go up the stairs, to your right, to exit at LINCOLN AVENUE. Walk
down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on Bruckner. Walk past the bike
shop. The Bruckner Bar and Grill is at the corner: One Bruckner Blvd.,
right next to the Third Avenue Bridge.

Coming from THE BRONX:
By Train:
At the 138th Street Station, exit to your RIGHT, by the FIRST car on
the 6. Go up the stairs, to your right, to exit at LINCOLN AVENUE. Walk down
Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on Bruckner. Walk alongside the
bridge, past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar and Grill is at the corner: One
Bruckner Blvd., right next to the Third Avenue Bridge.
By Bus:

Bx15 to Lincoln Ave. and Bruckner Blvd. Walk one block west, past the bike
shop, to the Bruckner Bar and Grill. Bx1, Bx21, Bx32 to 138th and 3rd Ave.
Walk five blocks south along the left side of 3rd Avenue to the end
(Bruckner and 3rd). The Bruckner Bar andGrill will be on the corner.

For more information, please call 917-209-4211.

0 Comments on Acentos News as of 11/11/2007 3:01:00 PM
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4. ACENTOS NEWS and MORE ABOUT OUR FRIENDS

Tuesday, October 23rd @7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase
The Uptown's Best Open Mic and Featured Poet


BLAS FALCONER

A poet and creative writing teacher, Blas Falconer teaches poetry and
the memoir at Austin Peay State University where he is an Assistant
Professor in the English Department. Falconer completed his MFA degree
from the University of Maryland in 1997. He earned a PhD in English,
with a concentration in Creative Writing, from the University of
Houston in 2002.

Falconer has won the New Delta Review Eyster Prize for Poetry (2000) .
He was a semifinalist for The Nation Poetry Prize in 1998, 2002, and
2003. His work has appeared in numerous literary journals, including
Another Chicago Magazine, Third Coast, Puerto del Sol, Lyric Review,
Poet Lore, New Delta Review, and the Baltimore Review.

The Bruckner Bar and Grill
1 Bruckner Boulevard (Corner of 3rd Ave)
6 Train to 138th Street Station
Hosted by JOHN RODRIGUEZ
FREE! ($5 Suggested Donation)

Coming from MANHATTAN:
At the 138th Street Station, exit the train to your left, by the last
car on the 6. Go up the stairs, to your right, to exit at LINCOLN
AVENUE. Walk down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on Bruckner.
Walk past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar and Grill is at the corner:
One Bruckner Blvd., right next to the Third Avenue Bridge.

Coming from THE BRONX:
By Train:
At the 138th Street Station, exit to your RIGHT, by the FIRST car on
the 6. Go up the stairs, to your right, to exit at LINCOLN AVENUE.
Walk down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on Bruckner. Walk
alongside the bridge, past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar and Grill
is at the corner: One Bruckner Blvd., right next to the Third Avenue
Bridge.

By Bus:
Bx15 to Lincoln Ave. and Bruckner Blvd. Walk one block west, past the
bike shop, to the Bruckner Bar and Grill.
Bx1, Bx21, Bx32 to 138th and 3rd Ave. Walk five blocks south along
the left side of 3rd Avenue to the end (Bruckner and 3rd). The
Bruckner Bar and Grill will be on the corner.

For more information, please call 917-209-4211.

AND

This Wednesday October 24, at UC Berkeley, Ted Genoways (Virginia Quarterly Review) Jon Sawyer (Pulitzer Center for Crisis Reporting) and I will be hosting a panel discussion called South America: Untold Stories. We'll be presenting the current issue of The Virginia Quarterly Review entitled "South America in the 21st Century."

Panelists include:

Filmmaker Gabrielle Weiss screening her film on the Ghost Train of Buenos Aires

Journalist Pat Joseph discussing the environmental impact of soy production in the Brazilian Amazon

Journalist Kelly Hearn exploring Camisea, Peru's largest natural gas deposits, and the race to control it

The work of Etiqueta Negra journalists will also be presented.
Refreshments will be served, and the magazine will be available for purchase.

South America: Untold Stories
Geballe Room, 220 Stephens Hall
Townsend Center for the Study of the Humanities
UC Berkeley
Oct 24, 6pm


Lisa Alvarado

1 Comments on ACENTOS NEWS and MORE ABOUT OUR FRIENDS, last added: 10/22/2007
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5. From Our Friends at ACENTOS

Tuesday, October 9th @7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase
The Uptown's Best Open Mic and Featured Poet
MUNDO RIVERA

Mundo Rivera is a Nuyorican writer, born and raised in El Barrio.
He has attended artist residencies at La Fundacion Valparaiso in the
south of Spain and the La Napoule Art Foundation in France, near
Cannes. He has published articles in Urban Latino Magazine and the
New York Post, and is currently working on a novel and a collection
of poetry tentatively titled The Deliberateness of El Cuco in the Tree.
He is currently teaching 8th grade English/Humanities at the Urban
Assembly School for the Urban Environment in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn.

The Bruckner Bar and Grill
1 Bruckner Boulevard (Corner of 3rd Ave)
6 Train to 138th Street Station
Hosted by JOHN RODRIGUEZ
FREE! ($5 Suggested Donation)

Coming from MANHATTAN:
At the 138th Street Station, exit the train to your left, by the last
car on the 6. Go up the stairs, to your right, to exit at LINCOLN
AVENUE. Walk down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on Bruckner.
Walk past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar and Grill is at the corner:
One Bruckner Blvd., right next to the Third Avenue Bridge.

Coming from THE BRONX:
By Train:
At the 138th Street Station, exit to your RIGHT, by the FIRST car on
the 6. Go up the stairs, to your right, to exit at LINCOLN AVENUE.
Walk down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on Bruckner. Walk
alongside the bridge, past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar and Grill
is at the corner: One Bruckner Blvd., right next to the Third Avenue
Bridge.

By Bus:
Bx15 to Lincoln Ave. and Bruckner Blvd. Walk one block west, past the
bike shop, to the Bruckner Bar and Grill.
Bx1, Bx21, Bx32 to 138th and 3rd Ave. Walk five blocks south along
the left side of 3rd Avenue to the end (Bruckner and 3rd). The
Bruckner Bar and Grill will be on the corner.

For more information, please call 917-209-4211.

1 Comments on From Our Friends at ACENTOS, last added: 10/9/2007
Display Comments Add a Comment
6. Santeria Garments and Altars: Ache is All



Santeria Garments and Altars is a literate, accessible, beautifully photographed book by a man who is a member/initiate in a house of Oshun. Its subtitle is, ‘Speaking Without A Voice.’ How appropriate! The emphasis is the striking photographs of the variety of altars to the different deities, members of a variety of houses preparing for, or engaged in aspects of worship.

By way of background information -- A ‘house’ is a group of devotees of a particular god or goddess under the leadership of a ‘babalawo’, or priest/priestess. Oshun is another one of the Seven African Powers who represents the archetypical female principle and the power of eros. Interestingly enough, abstinence or asexuality, and a virginal principle of female sexuality has no icon, nor any particular social importance.

Another interesting feature is that the author is a male practitioner, much in the tradition that the gods choose individuals to serve them regardless of gender. My own Catholic upbringing was full of gender separation, nuns as brides of Christ, servants of the male hierarchy, etc. While there are some tasks separated by sex, it does not appear to be as rigid, as attenuated as in a Christian/Catholic context.

One off the major tenets of this religious practice is the construction of altars, which every believer is required to do. There’s a synthesis between aesthetic and spiritual significance. It is considered one’s duty to create, as service to the deity to whom one has pledged oneself. A further illustration of the nexus between creativity and belief is the Santeria/Yoruba belief in ‘ache’, the universal life force present in all things. Each devotee is assumed to have within them the power to create a beautiful altar, one infused with ‘ache.’

In my performance pieces, there are ‘anchor ‘ points--static elements that have life infused into them. (In REM/Memory, there is a central, supine figure, hidden in a mass of blankets, who comes alive as the piece starts, and the nightmare begins. In Resurgam, a chaos of white fabric is stripped away to reveal a captive figure who finds release as the piece begins.) I see a similarity between a finished altar containing ‘ache,’ and a performance’s ‘anchor’pieces being the place where it all comes alive, more specifically, where it reflects at least the possibility of sacred ritual.

There are several points of connection for me here. When the author created an altar to Oshun, it was clear that it could also be seen as a ‘site-specific installation.’ Size of the space, mood of the space, prominent observation points are all taken into consideration. These are the same consideration I make with each piece, the same considerations any installation artist might make.

In the design of an altar dedicated to Oshun, ‘found’ elements are brought into the piece that symbolize her attributes. Since Oshun represents eros, obvious choices illustrate sensuality. Honey, honeycombs, silks and laces are standard items in such an altar. I constantly bring found items from daily life into my performances, hoping to create common imagery for myself and the audience as it unfolds as a shared experience. In Resurgam, during the 'communion’ section, I offer a papaya sliced in half to the audience, sharing its womb shape with them as the symbol of The Living Body--juicy, ripe, the source of all things, ever replenishing.

Lastly, I want to comment on the Santeria idea of ‘coolness.’ Essentially, it is the principle of balance, harmony, a reflection of the connectedness of all things. An altar, no matter how ornate, is not considered ‘cool’ if it does not have these attributes.

Even though my approach is spare, I try to layer things enough to suggest complicated ideas and experiences. It's work with a a consistent point of view, root motifs that I communicate to the audience, an arc of interconnectedness between myself, how I tell the story, the audience, and a unifying force that exists in the moment of performance, a force that I call Spirit.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
About the author:


Dr. Flores-Peña was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Studies: University of Puerto Rico, B.A, Catholic University of Puerto Rico, MA. Ed. UCLA M.A and Ph.D. Publications and lectures on Afro-Caribbean Ritual Art and Afro-Cuban religious cultures and Latino Folklore. Lecturer at WAC, Center for Afro-American Studies, and Adjunct Professor at Otis College of Art and Design.

ISBN-10: 087805703X
ISBN-13: 978-0878057030

Lisa Alvarado

0 Comments on Santeria Garments and Altars: Ache is All as of 9/20/2007 4:37:00 AM
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7. Charles Wright, from Littlefoot (#8)

Good luck is a locked door, but the key's around here somewhere. Meanwhile, half-hidden under the thick staircase of memory, One hears the footsteps go... Read the rest of this post

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8. Eliza Griswold, "Wideawake Field"

I've never been where we are, although the glass studded with soldier's rusted buttons says we aren't the first. The airstrip's islands of cracked macadam... Read the rest of this post

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9. Cathy Park Hong, "The Lineage of Yes-Men"

Nut'ing but brine jars y jaundice widows en mine old village. I's come from 'eritage o peddlas y traitors, whom kneel y quaff a lyre... Read the rest of this post

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10. Matt Donovan, "Charlie Chaplin Dug Up & Ransomed: A Prayer"

That my body, Lord, might rise too, resurrected reluctantly from earth, given the rainwater, the dawn begun, grave walls pitched into ooze, given that the... Read the rest of this post

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11. Nathaniel Bellows, "Horticultural"

I could not see the fallen tree—not all of it had fallen—because somehow each spring, the rotted half still mysteriously bloomed. In the orchard we... Read the rest of this post

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12. A Poem a Day #30

Well…here we are on the 30th day of April—the final day of National Poetry Month—my last day to post A Poem a Day! I thought I’d dedicate my poem today to my poet friend Janet Wong. It seemed most appropriate to dedicate a list poem to her. Last September, Janet wrote to tell me that another poet was compiling an anthology of list poems and suggested I submit some of my poetry for consideration. And just the other day she made mention of list poems in a comment at one of my posts.

This poem is for you, Janet. Thanks for all your help and support!


FULL OF
by Elaine Magliaro

Shoes are full of feet.
Candy’s full of sweet.
A pig is full of slops.
A bunny’s full of hops.
A farm is full of cows,
Chickens, pigs, and plows.
April’s full of showers
That bring us springtime flowers.
Winter’s full of snow
And blizzard winds that blow.
A forest’s full of trees…
Leaves swishing in the breeze.
The sky is full of blue…
And all the oceans, too.
The dawn is full of light
And dark fills up the night.
Bees are full of buzz
And black and yellow fuzz.
A spider’s full of silk.
A cow? Chock full of milk.
Rain is full of drops.
It drips and plips and plops.
Dreams fill up your head
At night when you’re in bed.
“And you?” you ask of me.
WHY…
I’m full of poetry.

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13. One day to go -- a National Poetry Month post

Today was a difficult day. Unlike in Lily's Purple Plastic Purse, however, tomorrow will not be better. Today was difficult because we got a new puppy. An adorable, fuzzy black puppy, who is sweet and loving and loveable and a complete time suck of a being. Until said puppy, whose name may or may not be Wally, is house-broken, my life will consist of a lot of ins and outs (and ins and outs) and cleaning up mess. But I digress.

Tomorrow, as you know, is the last day of April and hence the last day of National Poetry Month. I'll be ending the month with my promised interview with Adam Selzer, author of How to Get Suspended and Influence People, which I reviewed yesterday. For those wondering, I read the book and loved it so much that I contacted Adam and asked if he'd let me interview him. So I'm not pandering a book for an established friend. More like I'm pandering for an interview with someone whose work I already admire. Just in case any of you are in the Read Roger camp on these sorts of thing. Which I doubt.

Today, I'm sharing a poem by A.E. Housman. It is a hopeful sort of poem, I think. And because it is late, and I am tired, and I think this one is so clear and perfect, that nothing more need be said:


Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall

by A.E. Housman

Stars, I have seen them fall,
&emsp But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
&emsp From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
&emsp Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
&emsp And still the sea is salt.






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14. One day to go -- a National Poetry Month post

Today was a difficult day. Unlike in Lily's Purple Plastic Purse, however, tomorrow will not be better. Today was difficult because we got a new puppy. An adorable, fuzzy black puppy, who is sweet and loving and loveable and a complete time suck of a being. Until said puppy, whose name may or may not be Wally, is house-broken, my life will consist of a lot of ins and outs (and ins and outs) and cleaning up mess. But I digress.

Tomorrow, as you know, is the last day of April and hence the last day of National Poetry Month. I'll be ending the month with my promised interview with Adam Selzer, author of How to Get Suspended and Influence People, which I reviewed yesterday. For those wondering, I read the book and loved it so much that I contacted Adam and asked if he'd let me interview him. So I'm not pandering a book for an established friend. More like I'm pandering for an interview with someone whose work I already admire. Just in case any of you are in the Read Roger camp on these sorts of thing. Which I doubt.

Today, I'm sharing a poem by A.E. Housman. It is a hopeful sort of poem, I think. And because it is late, and I am tired, and I think this one is so clear and perfect, that nothing more need be said:


Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall

by A.E. Housman

Stars, I have seen them fall,
&emsp But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
&emsp From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
&emsp Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
&emsp And still the sea is salt.

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15. A Poem a Day #29

Today I have a fairy tale poem for MotherReader. I did try to write her a special poem about a book that told of the travails of a china rabbit—but I just couldn’t get past the first few lines. I think we all know how much MR loved that book! Who could forget her special Tulane Readers Theatre blog?


My failed first attempt at a poem for MotherReader:

That book about a bunny
Wasn’t funny.

That tale of Ed Tulane
Gave me a pain!!!



So...sad to say: There's no rabbit poem for MotherReader--just a poem about a wolf and a clever little piggy.

THOUGHTS OF THE WOLF AS HE DESCENDS THE THIRD LITTLE PIG’S CHIMNEY
by Elaine Magliaro

This Pig’s outwitted me before.
No, I won’t knock upon his door,
Won’t threaten him, won’t huff and puff.
I’m finished with that macho stuff.
WELL…down the chimney here I go.
I’ll get that little pig. Ho, ho!
Can’t wait to taste his tender meat,
His juicy snout, his porky feet.
I’ll serve him up with grated cheese,
Potatoes, parsley, parsnips, peas.
Yeh! That’s my kind of swiney grub.
Uh-oh!
Splish-splash!
Bubble!
GLUB!
I guess I’m in hot water now.
Goodbye, cruel world.
I’m piggy chow!


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16. I started Early -- a National Poetry Month post

Today, a little somethin'-somethin' from Emily Dickinson.

I started Early---Took my Dog--
And visited the Sea--
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me--

And Frigates---in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands--
Presuming Me to be a Mouse--
Aground--upon the Sands--

But no Man moved Me---till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe--
And past my Apron---and my Belt
And past my Bodice--too--

And made as He would eat me up--
As wholly as a Dew
Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve--
And then---I started---too--

And He---He followed---close behind--
I felt His Silver Heel
Upon my Ankle---Then my Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl--

Until We met the Solid Town--
No One He seemed to know--
And bowing---with a Mighty look--
At me---The Sea withdrew--


I must confess, I love the imagery in this poem. But first, I must confess a shortcoming of my own. I struggle reading Emily Dickinson's poems. Not because I can't understand them, or because I dislike them. It's all the em-dashes. Everywhere. Every blessed where. They get in my way, somehow, when I read her poems on the page. Kinda like reading a Barbara Cartland romance novel, when the spunky heroine attains her love interest at the end . . . and starts . . .to speak . . . breathlessly . . . (Those of you who haven't read a Barbarab Cartland romance will have to take my word on it, but the spunky, well-spoken ingenues always end up sputtering with ellipses by the end.)

However. This is overcome in part by reading her poetry aloud, and acknowledging each dash as a slight pause or break. As it turns out, it alters the pace of the poem in ways you might not expect. For instance, the last two lines of the first stanza "The Mermaids in the Basement Came out to look at me" gets run all together. The same goes for the first two lines of the second stanza (starting after the em-dash): "in the Upper Floor Extended Hempen Hands" all goes together, without a break after Floor (where you might expect one).

All of these keeping things together or apart are part of her poetry. The spaces between some of the thoughts, the brief silences in the gaps of the dashes, are as much a part of her text as are the actual words. And while that may be (arguably) true of other poets as well, it's decidedly the case when reading Miss Dickinson's work.

It makes the reading of the third from last stanza break out as follows (assume that you should pause after each line here):

And made as He would eat me up
As wholly as a Dew Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve
And then
I started
too

Because many, if not most, of her poems are in common metre, they can be sung to the tunes of Amazing Grace or the Theme from Gilligan's Island. But if you sing them, you will miss the meanings because you will leave them in four-line stanzas, without the pauses coming in the proper places in the text. You'd have read the second and third lines as separate ideas, when in fact they are one long, lovely image.

Traditionally, this is classified as a Nature poem, and it is accepted that the speaker went to the sea and stood there as the sea rose, then returned to land. Others give the poem a psycho-sexual reading, and go so far as to claim it's a masochistic erotic fantasy. While I've always believed that sometimes the Ocean is just the Ocean, and that this is more of a nature poem, I thought it had the subtext of a love poem -- the speaker's risk of being consumed by the sea fits with other poems Dickinson wrote about her fear of being all-consumed by love, and so I assumed it could have that as a second meaning. Masochistic eroticism never occurred to me.

But today, while putting this post together, I found another plausible interpretation that seems likely enough to me that I thought I'd point you to it. I found an 0 Comments on I started Early -- a National Poetry Month post as of 1/1/1990

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17. A Poem a Day #28

Today my poem is for Robin Brande--who most definitely has a terrific blog with some very interesting posts. One of my favorite “Brande’s” is Sometimes someone has to call you on your bull. Oh, yeh!


APRIL
by Elaine Magliaro

Days crackle with sunlight.
Tree buds burst tight jackets,
Stretch awake.
Jaunty daffodils announce
The return of spring.
Birds string themselves
Like beads along branches
Windows yawn open
And houses breathe deep
The warm green air.


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18. How to Get Suspended and Influence People -- a teaser

This is the way National Poetry Month ends, not with a whimper, but with an excellent interview of Adam Selzer, author of How to Get Suspended and Influence People, a book so funny that I laughed aloud (and, I might add, in public) many times while reading it. I'd already read a review of it over at The Edge of the Forest, so I expected it to be funny (and good). And it was both. And I'd also read Brian Farrey's Open Letter to Adam Selzer, so I knew better than to put food or beverages in my mouth while reading it. And thank heavens I heeded the warnings!

Why do I say it's a National Poetry Month event? Well, you'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, brace yourselves folks. Because come Monday, I'm posting the interview I just did with Mr. Selzer. And tomorrow, I'm posting a book review. But for now, I'm just posting this here teaser.

Nyah nyah.





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19. A Poem a Day #27

My poem Yellow Days got me to thinking about the “golden” days of summer. I must admit that summer isn’t my favorite season. I hate when our weather here gets hot and sticky. It’s hard for me to concentrate on anything but the HEAT and HUMIDITY!

But children and teachers love summer because it means school vacation and lots of freedom to spend their days as they please. So today my poem is for all of my former students and all of the outstanding teaching colleagues, librarians, other staff, and parents that I worked with over the years (1968-2004) at the Bell School.


COOL POOL
by Elaine Magliaro

The sun beats down.
It sears.
It scorches.
Sweating neighbors sit on porches
Sipping ice-cold lemonade
Waiting for the day to fade.
BUT
When I’m hot as steaming tea,
I stand beneath our maple tree,
Remove my sneakers, socks…and wade
Into a cool green pool of shade.



POETRY LINKS
Why I Love to Write in Rhythm and Rhyme by Jean Marzollo
Poetry and Literacy by Glenna Sloan
The Power of Poetry by Lee Bennett Hopkins

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20. Naked Wanting, Raven Eye and Her Sacred Body




Here's my review of both Naked Wanting and Raven Eye. If you're looking for spun sugar literary confection, and easy comfort, move on. But if you want to encounter poetry that disturbs you in the best possible way, keeps you up at night, demands that you respond with your heart and your mind, read these books.

Margo Tamez is a poet whose work is not easy, clearly born of experience raw and real, making the reader touch that place of pain, of personal wounding far, far, away from the romance of the Southwest and the stereotype of the "stoic noble" on the rez. Her writing forces us to look where the bodies are buried, when we want to turn a blind eye to the violence wreaked upon the individual and environment. Both Naked Wanting and Raven Eye gave me that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, the tight, clenched first buried in the chest. Bless her for that.

And bless her, too, for somehow still weaving threads of redemption and reemergence in the face of soul breaking sorrow, for offering real mythos and confronting false spirituality. But to put a finer point on it, read what others have written about this singular poet.

This book is a challenging cartography of colonialism, poverty, and issues of Native identity and demonstrates these as threats to the environment, both ecological and social, in the borderlands. Each poem is crafted as if it were a minute prayer, dense with compassion and unerring optimism. But the hope that Tamez serves is not blind. In poem after poem, she draws us into a space ruled by mythic symbolism and the ebb and flow of the landscape—a place where comfort is compromised and where we must work to relearn the nature of existence and the value of life. —Norman Dubie

Margo Tamez’s poetry is an emotional journey, and I find myself softly invoking a line from her book: ‘may the way be in peace.’ Read it; you’ll know what I mean! —Simon J. Ortiz

Margo Tamez’s poetry works like a heartsong, it makes us brave. Her alive response to what kills makes us want to stand up with her and sing in the face of the enemy. She shows how hard it is to fight oppression and reminds us what is at stake: living beauty. . . Margo Tamez’s call to battle both instills fear and thrills us. —Heidi E. Erdrich
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In Naked Wanting, Tamez' lens tightly frames the direct links between miscarriages among indigenous women in the Mexico-U.S. borderlands and environmental racism, when damage inflicted on the environment by herbicides comes back to haunt us all at the level of women's reproduction. These are the bombs ticking within these astute and subtle lyrical narratives rendering the pierce of "the chemical cocktail seeping into the air ducts."

This poet speaks as someone who has experienced first-hand the body, literally re-structured by chemical invasions in air, water, soil and food, exposes the consequences and implications when our land and water are compromised.

For Margo Tamez, earth, food, and community are the essentials of life, our deepest wants, beyond human 'rights'--our responsibilities. She brings all of them together in these cautionary and lyrical poems that inspire us to move through compassion and, more concretely, to actions for a more sure footing on earth. Below is a sample that beautifully illustrates just that.


My Mother Returns to Calaboz

"The Lower Rio Grande, known as the Seno Mexicano (the Mexican hollow or Recess), was a refuge for rebellious Indians from the Spanish presidios, who preferred outlawry to life under Spanish rule." -- Americo Paredes, With Pistol in his Hand

The fragmented jawbones
and comblike teeth of seagulls
sometimes wash up from the gulf
to the levee of the river
and gather straited along the berms
where my grandfather irrigated sugarcane.

My mother, returned after forty years
working away from Calaboz,
walks there often now,
hassled by INS agents
when she jogs by the river
where her ancestors planted, hunted,
prayed and resisted invasions.

The INS think she runs away from them,
that she is an 'illegal', a 'savage'
'trespassing' from Mexico.

Used to the invasion,
she asks them how they assume,
how
exactly do they know
if she came from here, or there?
When she tells me this story
she exaggeratedly points to the spot
she stands on (here) and the land
I stand on (there) which means:
you idiot...we indigenous don't recognize
your violent settler borders

I am an an indigenous woman,
born in El Calaboz, you understand?
she says loudly, in mixed Spanish and Lipan-Nahuatl,
and they tear out,
the truck wheels spinning furiously,
sand sprayed into the humid air.

When I was a girl walking on the levee with my grandfather,
I thought I saw gull teeth
chomping at the soil wall.
The air was dank steam,
the scent of sand, roots,
and something alive beneath the soil,
deeper and older than memory.
when I immersed my hand inside
the cloudy water,
it became a fluid form,
soft, something becoming,
something ancient.

The air is still heavy with heat and damp,
and smells like diesel and herbicides.
the scent reminds me of failed gestations.
My reproduction, the plants', and the water's,
each struggling in the same web of resistance
and survival.

When I was a girl, my grandfather taught me
to put a small clump of soil in my mouth,
and to swallow it. I watched him.
Then I did.
I used to watch the gliding and swerves
of uprooted reeds in the river's unhurried flow
to the Gulf.
I reached with all my body,
stomach on the bank of the levee,
hands and arms stretched out like an acrobat
to touch and grasp their slender stems.
Once, my feet pressed into the soupy bog,
and stepping up was heavy, yet with the sound of gurgles,
puckering, a mouth opening,
like seaweed and millennium of soil, my ancestors and water breathing.

Now, I think I'd like to be,
that I will be
running with my mother
when she tells of la migra.
Listen to the bubbling duet of water and plant life,
listen to the sound of grandmothers and grandfathers
closely.
Again and again.

This is a visceral longing for home, for groundedness in the deepest and most literal sense. It reflects an abiding love for la tierra, but not the convenient, fantasy laden Southwest. It is a personal, damaged homeland, smelling of chemicals, shot through with run-off that is still somehow, unquestionably sacred. Tamez writes of border dwellers unbowed, unabsorbed, defiant, and ultimately triumphant---not noble, but stubbornly flawed and human.

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In her second collection, Raven Eye, Tamez explores desire and the construction of indigenous identity, while imploring readers to unite against oppression in all its forms.

Written from thirteen years of journals, psychic and earthly, this poetry maps an uprising of a borderland indigenous woman battling forces of racism and sexual violence against Native women and children. This lyric collection breaks new ground, skillfully revealing an unseen narrative of resistance on the Mexico–U.S. border. A powerful blend of the oral and long poem, and speaking into the realm of global movements, these poems explore environmental injustice, sexualized violence, and indigenous women’s lives.


Ceremony of Peyote

A snakebird sinuous dim form silhouetted
On the porchroof of the hogan--

Comes out of a monsoon sky
Banded thickly red and flint

Snakebird in me curves slowly
Over my bed

the sinew of what can't be said

Nine months full of ocean and yolk
Scents of beautifully made starmatter

A smell of tongue and lip
Of moisture a scent of Snaketown's Gila clay

I'm a brown and black puddle a scent I know

____

You spent hours in the heat of midday fidgeting with rage
I'm unpredictable not the kind of Indian you can present to

Men all wrapped up behind panIndian shawls eagle fans
Who never bring their women to pray
Whose diabetic eyes devour
My pregnant belly
Full of a bird boy raven boy
Ripe with beautiful worlds

Corn meat and berries
You say the order
Morning food for the relatives
always like that you say
The look in your eyes
don't mess up don't embarrass me
don't talk too long when you pray for the water

Can't risk my prayers to the morning star
Risk what I can say about
This medicine a Mexican Indian woman brought
North got Christianized by subjugated men

My morning prayers only suitable
For waterbirds
Anhingas and herons
Not men or women
In shawls
Fanning and chanting
In chorus of what they deny

My body
The yolks of my body
Stories we must tell to undo
What has been done

There is no easy, pro forma way to reconnect, no perfect prayer that can be prayed. Colonialism and racism have taken their tolls both in daily life and spiritual practice. But this poem reclaims and reframes ritual with a frank, and unvarnished fervor. Tamez refuses to shirk from the distorted in herself, or in her people. But in the boldest move, Tamez' poetry reveals that Spirit still lives, lives deeply for her in the body, in the process of birth and renewal and in the threads of communion that emerge despite everything.

Naked Wanting ISBN-10: 0816522480
Raven Eye ISBN-10: 081652565X

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My own words feel pale as I try to end this piece. Let me use last words of her interview last week -- gonya'a' golkizhzhi' (it has come a colorful place)

Margo, For truth's sake, in Her Name, thank you.

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And another entry in the "It's so good it bears repeating" department, I was able to attend the Victor Hernandez Cruz reading last week and lucky enough to be part of a intimate welcoming dinner just before the event, hosted by Palabra Pura.

It was a wonderful experience, with Francisco Aragón, Mike Puican, Mary Hawley and Ellen Wadey pulling together a salon-like experience for a small group of local poets and writers. Over dinner, we exchanged ideas and met with Victor in a relaxed, vibrant atmosphere. And on a personal note, Hernández himself could not have been more open and engaging, talking with us about all things poetry, the love of good food, and his time spent between both Puerto Rico and Morocco.

The crowning glory of the evening was the reading at HotHouse. Introduced by nationally known writer, Achy Obejas, we were treated to poetry brimming with musicality, resonant imagery and a lyrical sensibility. In a set that contained both material from the beginning of his career and his new book, The Mountain in the Sea, Hernández spoke eloquently to issues of Puerto Rican identity, the Afro Caribbean diaspora and urban culture. Achy also held a brief Q & A for the audience, where a larger group could also connect, discuss, and exchange ideas with a seminal poet and his work. Bravo to Palabra Pura!

And for those who are unfamiliar, Palabra Pura features Chicano and Latino poets reading work in Spanish, English and a combination of the two languages. The series offers Chicago’s large Spanish-speaking population, the third largest in the United States, a venue to read their poetry as originally composed and helps audiences learn more about the strong tradition of poetry in Spanish. A special emphasis is placed on poets who have recently published books or won recognition for their work.

Palabra Pura is a collaborative project between the Guild Complex, Letra Latinas of the Institute for Latino Studies at the University of Notre Dame, the Rafael Cintron-Ortiz Latino Cultural Center at the University of Illinois at Chicago, Arena Cultural and contratiempo. Co-sponsors for this special presentation are The Poetry Foundation and HotHouse, the center for International Performance & Exhibition. This series is partially supported by a grant from the Illinois Humanities Council.

And to further entice you, The Poetry Foundation's website posted an interview conducted by Francisco Aragón with Victor Hernández Cruz, plus five poems with commentary by local poets.

Get a glimpse of this spare and evocative poetry:
5 poets comment on 5 Victor Hernández Cruz poems
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/feature.
onpoets.html?id=179552


Francisco Aragóninterviews VHC:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/feature.
onpoets.html?id=179553



Lisa Alvarado

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21. A Poem a Day #26

We finally had some glorious days of fair and really springy weather here in Massachusetts. A few fine days interspersed amid weeks of cool, cloudy, misty, rainy weather are times to treasure...are better than a bag of gold--or even a box of bittersweet chocolates! With the sun shining down on me Monday as I sat out on my back deck for the first time this year, I felt enveloped in the warm yellow rays of the sun. Yellow, yellow, yellow days had arrived at last! It was mahvelous—as a true Bostonian might say. Ah, if only that spell of lovely weather had lingered!

Here is a poem for Grace Lin…a friend who is like a ray of sunshine. To Grace…who can make a cloudy day seem bright!


YELLOW DAYS
by Elaine Magliaro

Shower in the April sun.
Shower in the light,
Streaming down on yellow days.
Stand out in the pouring rays.

Like butter on a toasty bun,
Let the sunlight melt and run
In golden rivers on your skin.
Feel it glowing deep within.
Feel the gentle touch of spring.
Feel the warmth that April brings.

Shower in the pouring rays
Streaming down on yellow days.

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22. A Poem a Day #25

My haiku today is for Bruce at Wordswimmer. Bruce served on the Cybils poetry-nominating panel with me. He always had thoughtful and perceptive comments to add to our group’s discussions about the poetry books we were evaluating. Bruce writes a lot about the writing process at his blog.


BEETLE
by Elaine Magliaro

Beetle on a rose
in shining armor…ready
to battle the thorns

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23. A Poem a Day #24

Today I have a nursery rhyme parody for Liz B. at A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy. Liz likes to note that she thinks I'm a poetry overachiever when she does the Poetry Friday roundup at her blog. For the record: I stand guilty as charged. I love children’s poetry...and sometimes I get carried away. That’s the way it is! Liz, love your blog. Hope you like the poem.


JACK AND JUNE
by Elaine Magliaro

Jack and June went to the moon,
Crash-landed in a crater.
Jack broke his nose and seven toes.
(He’s a crummy navigator!)

Jack cried in pain. June tried in vain
To soothe her injured mate.
She bound his toes and kissed his nose
And asked him for a date.

Jack and June began to swoon…
Fell mad in love and they
Returned to Earth, their place of birth…
And wed the very next day.

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24. Albert Goldbarth,"The Initial Published Discovery"

In another poem, I chronicled my descent to a level of shadow and intermittent fiery light. It was a world of empty faces—almost sucked out,... Read the rest of this post

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25. A Poem a Day #23

My poem on this 23rd day of April in the year 2007 is for Betsy at A Fuse #8 Production. Betsy is celebrating a special date in history. Yep…29 years ago this bouncing baby book lover was born. It seemed most appropriate to dedicate a poem to her on this momentous occasion. (The “you” I’m addressing in the poem is Betsy herself.) Happy Birthday, Betsy!!!

CRINKLE, CRINKLE, MY OLD FACE
by Elaine Magliaro

Crinkle, crinkle, my old face…
It’s got wrinkles every place.
It’s got crow’s-feet; it’s got creases.
The aging process never ceases.

Saggy, baggy, flaccid skin...
I’ve got a droopy double chin.
I need a facelift--botox, too.
Then I’ll look as young as you!

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