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MARTIN ESPADA was characterized by Sandra Cisneros as “the Pablo Neruda of North American authors.” Born in Brooklyn in 1957, Espada’s eighth collection of poems, The Republic of Poetry, will be published by Norton in the fall. His last book, Albanza, New and Selected Poems contains what is arguably the finest poem written on the tragedy of 9.11.0,Alabanza(See The Chickasaw Plum, September, 05.) A professor in the Department of English at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst, he teaches creative writing and the work of Pablo Neruda. He is the recipient of numerous literary awards to include the Patterson Award for Sustained Literary Achievement. Much of his writing arises from his Puerto Rican heritage and work experience that range from bouncer to tenant lawyer. The Chickasaw Plum appreciates Martin Espada’s kind permission to reproduce the below poems which originally appeared in Hanging Loose 88.

 

 

 

The God of the Weather-Beaten Face

 

                                    -- For Camilo Mejia, conscientious objector

 

The gods gathered:

the crusader god took off his helmet, the desert warrior god stood his shield in the corner,

the sword-maker god sat between them sharpening blades,

the bombardier god spread his maps on the table,

the god who collects infidel heads traded trophies

with the god who collects heathen scalps,

the god of gold opened his handkerchief

for the god of oil to wipe his dripping chin,

the god who punishes sin with boils scratched his boils

and called the meeting to order.

 

And the gods said: War.

 

Sergeant Mejia heard t he prisoner moan under the hood

as the guards shoved him into a steel closet, then pounded

with a sledgehammer on the door  until the moaning stopped;

heard machine-gun fire slicing heads from necks

with a roar that would be the envy of swords;

heard a soldier sobbing in the toilet for the headless boy

who would open his eyes every time the soldier closed his own.

 

Sometimes a song drifts up

through the moaning and the sledgehammers,

machine guns and sobbing.

Sometimes a voice floats above the pandemonium

the way a seagull floats above burning ships.

Sergeant Mejia heard his father’s song,

the peasant mass of Nicaragua:

Vos sos el Dios de los pobres,

el Dios humano y sencillo,

el dios suda en la calle,

el /dios de rostro curtido.

You are the God of the poor,

the  human and simple God,

the God who seats in the street,

the god of the weather-beaten face.

 

Iraq was crowded with the faces of this God.

They watched as Sergeant Mejia said no to the other gods,

miniscule word, a pebble, a grain of rice,

but the word flipped the table at the war council,

where the bombardier god had just dealt the last  hand to the god of oil,

and cards with the dates of birth and death,

like tiny tombstones, fluttered away.

Sergeant no more, Camilo Mejia walked to jail.

Commanders fed the word coward

to the sniffing microphones of reporters

who obediently repeated: coward.

 

The cell crowded with faces too, unseen travelers

Wandering in from a century in jails:

union organizer, hunger striker, freedom rider,

street corner agitator, conscientious objector.

 

The God of the weather-beaten face

dressed as an inmate steering a mop,

smuggled in the key one day, and Camilo Mejia

walked with him through epiphany’s gate.

 

§

Between the Rockets and the Songs

                            New Years Eve 2003

 

The fireworks begin at midnight

golden sparks, and rockets hissing

through the confusion of trees above our house.

I would prove to my son, now twelve,

that there was no war in the sky, not here,

so we walked down the road

 

to find the place where the fireworks began.

We swatted branches from our eyes,

peering at a house where the golden blaze

dissolved in smoke. There was silence,

a world of ice, then voices rose up

with the last of the sparks, singing,

and when the song shattered down on us

through the leaves we leaned closer, like trees.

Rockets and singing from the same house, said my son.

We turned back down the road,

at the end of the year, at the beginning of the year,

somewhere between the rockets and the songs.  

 

 

And Admirer of General Pinochet Writes to the Website of General Pinochet

to Wish General Pinochet a Happy Birthday

 

To our leader, Captain General Don Augusto Pinochet Ugarte:

It is my high honor to send you birthday greetings.

 

On this most special of days, turn a deaf ear to the traitors

And enjoy the festivities with a clean consci3ence.

 

I don’t know how long the undesirables of the left

Will keep on harassing the LIBERATOR OF CHILE.

They are everywhere, television, books,

Magazines, newspapers, as if they could

Change history, but no, my Great General!

They are beasts who scavenge by night

And turn into white doves by day.

 

Many little kisses…

 

§

 

 

 

ELIZABETH PIETRZAK of Claremont, California, is a mostly-vegetarian multi-talented poet who spurns the meat of global over-consumption in favor of a sustainable, locally grown lifestyle. She received her BA from the University of La Verne and is pursuing an MFA at Antioch University Los Angeles. She is writing her first novel as well as a collection of poetry. Her first chapbook, The Scent of Kisses in the Dark, was adapted into a performance by Kirsten Ogden in May 2005. She has also co-authored a solo performance with Rob'n Lewis which is currently in development.

 

 

 

First Winter Rain

 

Was it thirst or desperation?

A dry screaming lakebed

or diuretic spasm

which insisted the vigorous Colorado piss away his mighty blood,

a furious untamed river,

into the Los Angeles Basin?

 

The crisp brown Bermuda grass,

the hundred and ten degree August sun that baked her dry

while deaf and blind irrigation taunted

the whine of her plates and fissures.

Into the furnace: brazen, self-assured

of his imminent success.

 

As she crumpled under dry heaves or

evaporated his breath with her moan,

as she sank beneath the windswept, chapped and barren surface

that sheltered child within her womb, like a hidden geode,

would he ever believe his eyes

if she died right in front of him?

 

§

 

 

Remnants

 

1.         A deflated balloon

gashed open

where the sea burst

inevitable collapse

tricked into expulsion

a splinter of shiny steel

tiny teeth slipped inside

sub-aqueous membrane

slowly nowhere.

 

2.         A slice of warm apple pie

alone on a plate

without a fork.

 

3.         Once upon a time the rain

was not water but

sweat of clouds, no more

mad skies, no more

crying clown tedium

krump feed ricochet

down to the bone marrow

cave troll dragon

learn no more

suckle the virus no more.

It barely moves.

It goes on.

 

4.         An abandoned red sweater

mangled in the blue chair

just sitting there

not sitting, aching

to be stretched, pressed

crisp and firm stand tall

arms prefer to hug instead

a deformed half bitten pretzel

two animal crackers melted

together in the oven to become

the double-assed rhinociraffe

a wild and rare beast

more vehemently taunted

than the web-footed platypus.

 

Red flannel blue lining

red zipper white tags

beaten bruised and left for dead

sunburnt puddle in this junk

yard of chairs, tables, vending machines

alone to drip red tears on the ground.

 

 

 

§

The following is by Boston Poet Sir Gawaine Ross, a longtime friend of and contributor to the Chickasaw Plum.

Disassociation

Gawaine Caldwater Ross

 

Some people dash through fire,

Others plunge through ice.

Is Reality the only thing

If Chaos is the king?

Ring all your golden Christmas bells,

The sewer rats still dance.

Then the ice they buy and sell

Will wind up in your drinking glass,

All muddied and black,

That iridescent toxicity

In which the ship is lost.

The mutineers choose weapons

And toss the captain overboard

To feed her to the barracuda

By the reefs of broken glass –

Each mirrored fragment seizes nightlight

And cast werelit visions

Of her home bleeding, collapsing

As the boulders fall dead center.

She goes into her heart and mind

Which remind her of departing kin

Who told her of the doom that wheezes

Down the orchard’s razor walks.

-Too cold?—We’ll leave this

Television frame behind

To go and seek the whip  instead.

The radio commander never stops,

Hilarity dances with dank despair,

Barefoot through the hot springs,

Mudslides block the view.

She seeks a serpent that doesn’t bite

And settles for a badger’s den

With herself as Joan of Arc,

Cinderella, and the Virgin Mary

Or a raven squawking over food.

She has to shout in a crowded train

“Rubber plantation workers

Beat seedless grapes!

Venus is being invaded by dogs!”

 

 

 

 

The Chickasaw Plum  -  Volume III - Number 6 - June 2006

 

 

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