Tag Archives: poetry

And for my Next Act…..

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This is my next poetic exercise. I am excited to try my hand at a new poetic style and getting to play dress up. If you are in the NYC area RSVP and come through.
Gracias to el Museo del Barrio for choosing me to take part in this exciting event.

Woodlawn Cemetery, 501 East 233rd Street, Bronx, NY
Sunday, October 10, 2010
2:00pm – 4:00pm
FREE ADMISSION

Prepare for the most lively cemetery experience of the year. As part of Nueva York, El Museo is partnering with the Woodlawn Cemetery and City Lore to offer a walking tour of the final resting places of renowned Latinos Celia Cruz, Carmen Miyares de Mantilla, Juan Machado, and others. Learn more about these notables through Calaveras, a form of poetry created during Day of the Dead celebrations to humor celebrities, performed on-site by poets and spoken word artists.

Please note: Participants should meet at the entrance of The Woodlawn Cemetery, located at the Jerome Avenue entrance.

Subway Directions: Take the #4 train (Lexington Avenue express or local) to the end of line – Woodlawn Station. At the base of the station, walk about a half block, and the Jerome Avenue entrance will be on the right.

RSVP required at www.elmuseo.org/en/event/nueva-york-woodlawn-cemetery

NUEVA YORK en el Cementerio Woodlawn en el Bronx

Domingo 10 de octubre del 2010
2:00pm – 4:00pm
Cementerio Woodlawn, 501 Este de la Calle 233, Bronx, NY
Entrada: Gratis

Prepárate para la visita al cementerio más alegre del año. Como parte de Nueva York, el Museo del Barrio se ha asociado con el cementerio de Woodlawn y City Lore para ofrecer un recorrido a pie de los sitios donde descansan latinos y latinas ilustres que forman parte de la historia de Nueva York, incluyendo Celia Cruz, Carmen Miyares de Mantilla, Juan Machado, entre otros. Aprende más sobre estos notables a través de Calaveras, una forma de poesía recitada durante el Día de los Muertos con la que con humor e ironía se honra a los familares difuntos, y que será presentada por poetas y artistas in situ.

El grupo se reunirá en la entrada del cementerio Woodlawn, ubicada en la Avenida Jerome y la Avenida Bainbridge.

Cómo llegar: Toma el tren # 4 (Avenida Lexington expreso o local) hasta Woodlawn, la última estación. Una vez en la calle, camina media cuadra y verás a tu derecha la entrada al cementerio sobre la Avenida Jerome.

Reserva tu asistencia: www.elmuseo.org/en/event/nueva-york-woodlawn-cemetery

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Azul RIP Con Rosado

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Tienes que desaparecer como lo hizo el.
Out of sight
Out of mind
and you
remind me
that I was wearing you
when I met him.

Tienes que ir con tu hermana
la rosada
who also started to remind me too much
of what a failure I am at relationships.
A crear nuevas memorias
encima del cuerpo de otra mujer
who may have better luck
quien quizas transformara tu color de luto
en color de festival

Jubilido
Retirado

adios

Poema Para Arizona : Los Pies Adentros

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No son los zapatos,
Sino los pies adentros.

Shoes were things mami and abuela before her never skimped on,
Even if we didn’t have socks
Or the socks had holes.
El pie
Each pie
Was unique enough to deserve it’s own special casing
That eventually would take the form of it’s wearer
Y ahora nos preocupamos de zapatos y papeles.

Es que ellos no saben que la magia es en los pies
no en el cuero
tampoco en la suela.
Cada uno de los diez dedos
estan cansados de trabajar en las tierras ancestrales
Y en las maquiladoras
Sueñan de los tiempos de baile and juegos de niños.
Ahora se colaboran
Kilometro por polvoroso kilometro
Caminando hacia algo prometido
Hacia la sobrevivencia
Marchando por la libertad
Corriendo de la injustica
Cantando viejas canciones de cuna
En lenguas denominadas ilegales.

Si nos identifican por los zapatos
Dejamos los zapatos a un lado
Al lado de los caminos ya hechos
Y las que se van a hacer al andar.
Forzándolos a mirar las arrugas
Incrustadas con historias y cuentos
Forzándolos mirar las unas
Pintadas de colores del arcoíris del sueno.
They don’t know
That the magic is in our feet
That we will now use to fight
A luchar
A marchar sobre la planeta que fue brindado a nosotros hermanos
Porque nos miran los zapatos
Sin entender que la magia es en los pies.

National Poetry Month : Sueño de la Virgin de la Alta Fidelidad

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Que significa cuando ella aparece en mis sueños mas que tu?
En el ultimo
ella
barrigona
ella
translúcida
como el imagen de la virgincita
pero no la morena
la original de la biblia
y pinturas de Roma,
ella me da su perdon
y yo
feliz
accepto
armamos un arbolito de navidad
quizas para colocar su hijo
su cristo
debajo de el
y mi mirada
no se mueve
de su pansa.

National Poesia Month : A Poem a Day Reflection

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It’s National Poetry Month and I want to, desperately need to find/return to the habits I formed years ago when I started this blog(s) and all of it’s incarnations. So I will share pedazos of works – finished and those I am working on everyday of this month.

Over the last few years though something has happened. On stage, on paper, and and on the internet, I’ve censored my voice because I became fearful of the scrutiny, the scalpel, of others’ eyes and their piecing together of my words, creating a story that is not an accurate representation of my feelings – forget history. That’s not to say that poesia, specifically my own, is not a reflection of my narrative. It is. Pero it is my narrative, which feels true only to my corazon pero may not reflect that of others who are intimately involved or who think they are.

Reconozco, I recognize that poetry is often about interpretation, pero only the poet really knows what she meant, or at least she fronts like she does. For me, it is often about what I don’t know. It is about the process unfolding under my pen, beneath the teclado. It is a channeling, lighting my fingers on fire and letting the ashes speak in tongues.
Abuela Lucia, I know you know what I am writing about.

So I do this, without apology pero tambien giving notice que estas son mis palabras. I own them and the place from where they are born. Everything else is just interpretation.

Slip on Indie Feed

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For those that haven’t heard my poetry before or seen me read in public, here’s a link to a piece I wrote in 2002 in response to an incident of a mommy site I was a part of. This recording came from the SPEAK! Radical Women of Color Media Justice Collective.

I’ll be speaking at Vassar with hermana BlackAmazon later this month.

Speak! doesn’t exist as a collective anymore, not an active one, and that has it’s own story with as many versions as members I’m sure. Pero what I am learning is that named collectives and collaborations are important and have their value pero the powerful connection, energy, love that I have shared, received, given from the other mujeres on that cd and the mujeres I interact with almost daily, that is almost to big for names, labels, organizational titles.

I don’t know how what I do happens, it just is my life and I am grateful for your place in it.
xoxox

Humbled and Blessed

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Mala breaks it down on the mic at the Bowery Poetry Club with her favorite lover between her legs, a glass of wine This past Sabado evening, I had the pleasure of reading at the Bowery Poetry Club as part of the debut performance event of the NYC Latina Writer’s Group.

I have been doing this poetry reading cosa for quite a few years now and it never gets old. The nerves start to rattle, I get flushed, then I get up on stage or in front of the mic and I just go, vibe of the audience, spit, flow, speak, release. Whenever I get off the stage I need a smoke. I’m usually trembling and it takes a few minutes for me to regroup, center myself. It’s like an amazing orgasm with an amazing lover who yes, really loves you.

There were two things that made this last reading extra special. One, my mom showed up. It was a total surprise and a nice one. For all my locuras, my mother has been one of my greatest fans. She was there when I was barely 18 and first read at the Nuyoricans and here she is now, wondering why the fuck I haven’t published a book yet. It’s not always easy having your mom in the audience, especially when my poems talk about fucking alot of the time. Who wants to hear about their daughter’s sex life, fucked up relationships, and struggles with politics and identity? Apparently my mom does because she keeps showing up to hear what’s new and I love her for that.

Two, the event was livestreamed. I had so much love coming from the twittersphere, it was almost more than a twitterputa could take. Kai, Bianca, Kevin, Maia, Alex, Lenee…and a whole mess of other loves of mine thank you, thank you, thank you. Just knowing that you were there in your chosen places on this planet we share, watching me, sharing that moment with me, gets me all kinds of teary eyed.

One of the things that I have really felt in these two weeks without poroto, has been how blessed I am. I really have surrounded myself in real life and in virtual life (and in intersecting places) with such an amazing group of gente. There are people that I really respect professionally and can count on personally. They are my extended familia and you, here, reading this are too.

xoxox
Mala