El Literati Boricua: El Profe's Guide To Poetics, Politics, and Papafritas

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: An Anthology of Latino/a Literature from 2003-Present

2011-06-06T15:49:00.003-04:00

Please forward this note to all relevant parties.

June 4, 2011

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

Acentos is a community-based organization fostering audiences for Latino/a literature through the discussion, promotion, teaching, performance, and publication of work by Latino and Latina writers. In our various incarnations, we have been a reading series, an online journal, and a poetry workshop.

We will be recording this work in an as-yet-untitled anthology chronicling nearly a decade of our efforts to highlight and develop Latino and Latina writing, without translation or apology, from our homes in the South Bronx.

This book will document the history of the organization and showcase the depth of Latino poetry, fiction, and nonfiction in the years since Acentos was founded. The writers represented in the archive of Acentos participants—in its readings, workshops, and public events—represent the deepest possible cross-section of genres, styles, and ethnicities; from the academic to the non-academic; from text to ear to all schools of Latino and Latina writers. This book will seek to complicate and deepen the narratives that make up the labels Latino and Latina literature; it will provide an alternative piece of scholarship for students and teachers of literature to (re)consider the American literary canon; and it will remind its readers that pan-Latino/a identity and solidarity in the literary world and the world at large has a home in the South Bronx. In Acentos.

If you have been a featured reader for the Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase from 2003 to the present, if you have written poetry in the Acentos Writers' Workshops, if you have been a participant on an Acentos reading or panel, or if you have been published in The Acentos Review, we invite you to send your work to the editors, Rich Villar and Oscar Bermeo, at the email address acentosanthology@gmail.com.

Deadline for all submissions is August 31, 2011.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

-For your work to be considered for publication, you must have a) been a featured reader at the Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase between 2003 and the present; b) published work in The Acentos Review; c) attended at least four sessions of the Acentos Writers' Workshops or been a fellow in one of its two intensive workshops, OR d) been a participant in a public reading or panel sponsored by Acentos.

-Your cover letter is the body of the email you use to submit work. In it, please indicate where you fall in the above rubric.

-All submissions must be emailed, submitted as an attachment in .doc, .docx, or .pdf formats only.

-In the subject line, please indicate the genre you are submitting to, followed by a comma, followed by your full name. (Example: POETRY, John Doe)

-Submissions in multiple genres are okay, BUT please send your submissions to each genre in separate emails.

-Please include your name, snail mail address, email address, and daytime telephone number on the header of each page of the submission, and number each page.

-Though we definitely prefer unpublished work, we will consider previously published work, as outlined below:

FOR POETRY: Three to five poems in a manuscript no more than ten (10) pages in length. Poems submitted may either be unpublished poems, or poems previously published with the Acentos Review, or work published within the last two years from the date of this call, properly attributed.

FOR FICTION: One or two pieces, 500-7500 words in length. Pieces may either be unpublished pieces, or pieces previously published with the Acentos Review, or pieces published within the last two years from the date of this call, properly attributed.

FOR NONFICTION: One or two pieces, 500-2000 words in length. Pieces may either be unpublished pieces, or pieces previously published with the Acentos Review, or pieces published within the last two years from the date of this call, properly attributed.

Thank you all in advance for your time and talent, and we look forward to hearing from each and every one of you. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact the editors anytime at acentosanthology@gmail.com.

Saludos,

Rich Villar and Oscar Bermeo
Editors

"Latino Studies" in Radius...

2011-03-05T17:20:00.002-05:00

My thanks to Victor Infante and Lea Deschenes, editors of an excellent new online journal called Radius, which has published my poem "Latino Studies" alongside poetry by Willie Perdomo and Sean Dalpiaz.

This post highlights my work, the work of a mentor (Willie), and the work of one who is considered "emerging" (Sean). Not having published a book yet, I feel a bit like the emerging poet myself, so this is actually a neat little privilege to have my work mentioned here. And I actually sound halfway intelligent in it, so that's a plus.

It's been an interesting few weeks and months for me, one that has gotten a fire lit under me to put the work out in the world and be visible. It's easy to drop away when the only work you're known for is your 9-to-5. And even that's not all it's cracked up to be, especially when you live in a state where your governor is hostile to educators and nonprofits alike. I need to go tell a little truth once in a while, and have people listen. For that, I'm grateful to the editors for letting me out of my cage.

More projects on the horizon. More. Feeling really good, people.

Rich's Panel Presentation at AWP 2011

2011-02-05T08:01:00.000-05:00

PRESENTED AT AWP 2011: Poets/Editors on Race and Inclusivity.

Poet/editors discuss inclusiveness (and lack thereof) of minority voices in literary publications. Representing both mainstream and more community-based projects, the panelists consider the challenges of inclusiveness, and how successful (and unsuccessful) they have been. They consider how, in an atmosphere of perceived mistrust, constructive dialogue can be forged towards the goal of better presenting the broad spectrum of American poetry.

*************************

In racking my brains for a systemic way to approach this topic, I heeded some good advice and simply went back to the panel description.

POET/EDITORS DISCUSS INCLUSIVENESS (AND LACK THEREOF) OF MINORITY VOICES IN LITERARY PUBLICATIONS.

In all fairness, it is hardly accurate to call me a poet/editor. I've been the fiction editor for The Acentos Review for a comparatively short time. I have been a poet, though. So I feel more comfortable speaking, for the most part, about my voice as a Latino poet, and where I fit in this sentence. The question for me is, am I a minority voice? If we're talking in terms of ethnicity, here is the tale of the tape: I am Puerto Rican and Cuban, identified with the African diaspora, born in Edison, New Jersey, and despite tea party protestations to the contrary, a natural-born American citizen. Where I grew up in Paterson, NJ, the majority was Black and Latino. To be more specific—African-American, West African, Jamaican, Boricua, Dominicano, Cubano, Peruvian, Colombian, Guatemalan. But, not by much. Paterson is also home to one of the largest Palestinean and Syrian communities in the United States. Still, until the advent of round-the-clock Dunkin' Donuts, my favorite place to acquire cappucino was at an Italian storefront called Cafe Capriccio on 21st Street, run by a tiny Italian man who apparently sold nothing but the stuff. I don't know if I can rightly call myself a minority voice, but Paterson taught me that I am one voice out of many kinds.

In terms of influence. I drop my coin, of course, in the fountain of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. I also would have said Mark Doty straightaway, except that Mark was kind enough to point out to me at a reading once that he gets HIS penchant for exacting, revelatory detail from Elizabeth Bishop. So there's Doty, and there's Bishop. I would trace my fearlessness with vernacular speech and code-switching—that is, my right to use it as I see fit—to Langston Hughes, Sterling Brown, and Willie Perdomo. And I am unafraid to mention my cultures, my politics—in other words, my specific stories, the ones only I can tell—because of the examples of Martín Espada and Sandra Cisneros. And the fact that I am a writer at all can be traced to where I started: the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe, the louderARTS reading series at Bar 13, the Acentos Poetry Showcase in the Bronx. Not exactly the MFA system. And that's where the picture gets interesting for me.

While my identity as a Latino, or as a writer, or as an American, has never been in doubt for me, I have engaged in some very creative accounting as it relates to my identities in the literary world. By literary world, I mean the conglomeration of presses, literary foundations, Universities, organizations, editors, journals...basically, anyone that you could conceivably submit a cover letter to, or that asks you to write a bio. My bio studiously hid my experience in the spoken word and slam worlds, and for good reason, I thought: because editors look at slam and spoken word in someone's bio and immediately turn into pillars of salt. I wish I could chalk this up to simple paranoia on my part, except that I began hearing first-hand anecdotes about how true it was. Not so much the salt pillars, but how panelists for foundational awards tended not to even read the manuscripts from spoken word writers, or how anthologies would make mention of slam and spoken word, but not publish the work itself because it is built for the stage. Even now, anthologies containing these so-called spoken word or slam writers get published with the words "warrior," "revolution" and "outlaw" alongside them, or with the stated need to Bum Rush the Page, or Take the Mic.

If you're thinking to yourself what this has to do with race or ethnicity, consider for a moment this partial list of foundational writers for much of what we call spoken word and slam: The Last Poets, Gil-Scott Heron, Sekou Sundiata, the writers of Nuyorican movement including Pedro Pietri, Miguel Algarín, Miguel Piñero and Sandra María Esteves; Patricia Smith, Saul Williams, Jessica Care Moore. And I found myself surrounded by black and Latino writers in the slam scenes of NYC: Roger Bonair-Agard, Lynne Procope, the aforementioned Patricia Smith, Edward Garcia, Willie Perdomo, Miguel Algarín, and the 150 or so nationally-known and ethnically diverse Latino writers that have passed through Acentos, the reading series I curated in the Bronx. Not to mention the numerous and multiplying Cave Canem fellows who live and write in the New York area. All this to say, the idea that there were writers of my ilk, my ethnicity, my races, my familia, that somehow felt left out of the American canon, or out of certain anthologies and journals, or who felt mistrust toward anyone because they were marginalized, was not only foreign to me, but infuriating.

Yet, the one common thread I can link all of these writers to is a phenomenon I call Table of Contents Anxiety. This is not an affliction, to my knowledge, that is suffered by Anglo writers. (I will happily stand corrected if need be.) Table of Contents Anxiety arises when the first reaction to holding a new journal or anthology in your hands, before you even read one line of literature, is to flip open the Table of Contents and quickly scan it for black folks, or Latinos, or Native Americans, or anything, ANYTHING, besides the usual Smorgasboard of the Unsurprising when it comes to editors and their lists. I know I am not alone in this TOC Anxiety. I know some of you in this room suffer in silence. I know some of you in this room haven't shut up about it since the 1970's. However you deal with your particular anxiety, know that is it very real, and it goes to the heart of this perceived mistrust within the literary community, and definitely contributes to my presence here today.

REPRESENTING BOTH MAINSTREAM AND MORE COMMUNITY-BASED PROJECTS, THE PANELISTS CONSIDER THE CHALLENGES OF INCLUSIVENESS, AND HOW SUCCESSFUL (AND UNSUCCESSFUL) THEY HAVE BEEN.

Please understand that all the original panelists had a hand in crafting this panel description. This part, however, escaped my notice until I started considering how, among slam poets, self-sabotage often contributes to isolation. What I do isn't poetry, they'll say. Well, who's to say? And similarly, who's to say what I do at the Acentos Review isn't mainstream? And considering that we've gotten submissions from as far away as Brazil, that we have published an interview with Ana Castillo, that we seek out new writers with as much aplomb as we accept established writers, I'd say we've been pretty successful at what we do. But we're not mainstream. CAVEAT: We only publish Latinos. Well. Maybe that makes us community-based. Maybe that makes elena minor's PALABRA journal community-based. Because Latino equals community. Because Latino does not equal mainstream.

So what's mainstream to a poet? Well. If I were an alien to this planet (tea partiers be damned), I might look to relatively large, well-paid entities with ambitious titles like The Poetry Foundation, or Poetry magazine, or The Poetry Society of America. And until recently, I would have been hard-pressed to find nary a Latino within their published works. To that end, for what progress has been made on those fronts, I want to very publicly thank Don Share, the editor of Poetry, as well as Francisco Aragon, who I know has been an advocate for Latino writers all over the country.

That said, these are only two people in the world. They are not able to go out and singlehandedly change every book awards ceremony that hands awards to Latinos at the same rate that ice melts in Greenland, nor can they alter the editorial policies of every journal that overooks Black writers, nor can they re-anthologize the anthologies where "regional" editors separate the Chicano from the Puerto Rican. And here is where I will invoke:

THEY CONSIDER HOW, IN AN ATMOSPHERE OF PERCEIVED MISTRUST, CONSTRUCTIVE DIALOGUE CAN BE FORGED TOWARDS THE GOAL OF BETTER PRESENTING THE BROAD SPECTRUM OF AMERICAN POETRY.

Sometimes, when the atmosphere is of perceived mistrust, when one's colleagues are feeling marginalized, and when writers of color suffer their anxieties in private or public, we go out and create our own tables of contents. This is what the Black Arts movement did. This is what the Nuyoricans did. This is what Third World Press did. And this is what we did at the Acentos Foundation: Raina Leon and Eliel Lucero, two poets from the Acentos collective, decided to create a journal for Latinos, by Latinos, online. Not a lot of distribution cost, not a lot of paper being pushed, or resources wasted. And, unsurprisingly, plenty of entries to wade through. When Latino poets are given the space to write and code-switch without translation or apology, when they are given the space to stretch and not worry about how some schools of political thought play out in a narrative, when they are given the freedom to not think 24/7 about the fact of their Latinidad, amazing things result, things like Latinos actually submitting work to you.

I've often heard the complaint lodged by editors about writers of color: how can we consider you when you don't submit to us? And I've often heard its retort: How can we submit to you when you never consider us? The Acentos Review is one of many answers to the problem. By showing the depth and breadth of Latino writing, and the insistence of Latino writers to get to the humanity beyond questions of identity in the United States, we are, in a small way, showing the broad spectrum of American poetry...or at least, the possibilities of it. Much can be said, and someone here may well say it, about the other entry points to the U.S. canon: To MFA or Not To MFA. Where do we seek out new voices? What's the difference between soliciting work and seeking work out? When has a journal gotten too big to see past its own prejudices?

I leave the rest of these answers and questions to the audience here, but in the meantime, it is my hope—especially considering the unfortunate absence of some of the original panelists—that is a beginning, not an ending point, and that constructive dialogues towards parity, inclusivity, and the end of Table of Contents Anxiety, can begin, at AWP, online, at home, in academia, and in the slush piles.

Floricanto In DC: A Multicultural Reading in Response to SB 1070

2010-12-06T12:31:00.006-05:00

February 4, 2011 @ 6pm
FLORICANTO IN DC: A Multicultural Reading in Response to SB 1070
True Reformer Building
1200 U Street NW, Washington, DC
$5 suggested donation. No one turned away.

Join us as over twenty poets lend their energy and language to a group reading in response to Arizona Senate Bill 1070 and in resistance to the atmosphere of national xenophobia under which the bill (and its emerging counterparts) were created. Confirmed readers include: Francisco X. Alarcon, Tara Betts, Sarah Browning, Regie Cabico, Carmen Calatayud, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Susan Deer Cloud, Martín Espada, Odilia Galvan Rodriguez, Carmen Gimenez Smith, Aracelis Girmay, Randall Horton, Juan Felipe Herrera, Dorianne Laux, Marilyn Nelson, Mark Nowak, Barbara Jane Reyes, Abel Salas, Sonia Sanchez, Craig Santos Perez, Hedy Trevino, Pam Uschuk, Dan Vera, Rich Villar, and Andre Yang. Co-sponsored and presented by the Acentos Foundation, Split This Rock, and the Poets Responding to SB 1070 Facebook group. Hosted by Oscar Bermeo.

Oh, you didn't know(?): This Week and Weekend in Poetry/Poesía in NYC.

2010-04-14T13:16:00.001-04:00

My peoples, my peoples, my peoples.

It's been made perfectly clear to me that the kind of note I'm about to write is opportunism and buffoonery of the highest order. Shameless self-promotion at best.

Well. If you know me at all, you know the answer I'd give to that involves kraken release and cardboard signs that say "C'MON SON" in Spanish. (Yes, I actually have one.)

When was the last time you got to revel in loving poetry? When was the last time you truly believed in the physical empowerment of listening to poetry read out loud, in a group of your favorite fellow listeners, some of whom are poets themselves? I can already hear you snorting, curling your furtive eyebrow skyward, raising a critical eye toward yet another live poetry reading, the kind that is above you now that you are a serious poet.

I missed the Acentos readings. I love the workshops, but...I really MISSED the Acentos readings. I love what I do nothing more than when I am in a roomful of poetas, wannabes, and eager listeners, listening and writing and giving my silent amens in response to the blooming in my ear canal. And this is what happened/happens when Acentos takes over a space.

We are Latino poets and Latina poets with a home in the Bronx. We love live poetry and we love it from all corners. Back when I had one poem in my life, and now that I'm thinking of a book, Acentos has always been home. In its life, Acentos has been two dudes; three dudes; three dudes and a woman; three dudes and several women; two dudes and 25 writers a week; 33 men and women in a college auditorium with 200 more listening; and a core troop of volunteers at a community college. At its core, we've always operated in honor of the Latino/a voice in American letters, always in a space that needed neither apology nor translation.

This weekend, our mission is in full effect.

So, we tried to put on a full-fledged festival with 14 workshops, panel discussions, and a blowout reading. That didn't exactly happen, but...we are going to get the reading part right. And well, we get to do it for three straight days. So actually, maybe it IS a festival of sorts. :-)

What's going on, Rich? Gawd, you are one long-winded bastard.

Yes I am. But with good reason. Let me clue you in to what's happening this week and weekend in New York.

THURSDAY:
At the Bowery Poetry Club, I am reading in a series called PAGE MEETS STAGE. I'm reading with the poet Martín Espada. If you don't know how excited I am to be doing this, then you really don't know me. And in case you don't: Martín is one of the biggest reasons I even decided to write poems. He's a great mentor and an even better friend. And we agree that White Castle may yet redeem this nation of its evils. We are reading together at 8pm on Thursday evening, and believe me when I tell you, it's going to be amazing. I'm at a place in my trajectory where I feel I genuinely have something to say. And he's got some insanely great new work. So, here we are. And we have a stage. And you? You could be there live, or you can check out www.bowerypoetrylive.com from anywhere in the world. But of course, live is living. And living poetry is kinda something special.

FRIDAY:
What's activism? How about a free, student-run clinic for the uninsured? How about one that is in the shadow of Columbia University, one called CoSMO? How about one that services an overwhelming number of Latino and Latina patients, along with a massive percentage of the underserved in Morningside Heights and beyond? The tickets for this event are $20 apiece, and it goes to benefit this amazing clinic. Who's performing? Martín Espada is reading poetry, and Yerbabuena is providing the music. Bomba, plena, poesía, y fiesta. You are not ready, folks. But, maybe you will be. It happens at the Miller Theatre, 7pm on Friday night at 2960 Broadway. Political poetry. Hell yes.

SATURDAY:
I won't be mad at you if you go to Sarah Lawrence. But you'll be mad at yourself if you had a chance to be at an Acentos reading like this, and didn't at least try to go: Martín Espada, LiYun Alvarado, Diana Marie Delgado, Carlos Andres Gomez, Marie-Elizabeth Mali, Paul Martinez Pompa, Anthony Morales, Urayoan Noel, Willie Perdomo, and some special guest readers. Hosted by your boy Fish Vargas, who is celebrating the move to California. And there WILL be guests. And it WILL be packed, and it WILL be amazing. And the best part is, we're coming home for it. The old Blue Ox Bar, where Acentos was born in 2003, has been transformed into a spot called Sweetwater's Bar and Grill, complete with a hi-tech audio makeover and expanded seating in the rear of the building. (No more sitting in the windows, for you vets.) Where is Sweetwater's? Why, it's at 139th Street and 3rd Avenue, one block from the 6 train, right around the corner from the Spanic Attack folks (look em up!), and right where it needs to be: The Bronx, NYC.

Here's what I can tell you. I just got home from a literary conference (AWP) that was amazing in what it defined as possibility. My future wife and I got to hang with friends and family, and we got to ask ourselves what it means to be community-oriented in the practice of literature and the writing of poetry. It seems absurd on its face. But when I tell you that the space founded by poets Oscar Bermeo and Fish Vargas in 2003 is something special...to me, one of the most serious embodiments of community they talked about at AWP...I am not suffering from hyperbole. If you are cynical, or if your eye simply switches at the thought of poets having epiphanies in large groups, all I can say, in the words of Willie Perdomo, is: Bienvenido. You can come too. And you can join us this weekend as we keep up telling the U.S. literary establishment that silence is not an option for this community.

I am excited to hear Latino and Latina poets. I am excited about poetry again.

Vaya familia. Come out this weekend. You'll be excited too.

Rich Villar.

Thursday, April 15 @ 8pm
Bowery Poetry Club
PAGE MEETS STAGE
featuring Martin Espada and Rich Villar
308 Bowery between Houston and Bleecker.
$12 cover.

Friday, April 16 @ 7pm
Miller Theatre
LA CURA DEL ENCANTO
featuring poetry by Martin Espada and music by Yerbabuena
2960 Broadway
$20 tickets

Saturday, April 17 @ 7pm
Sweetwater's Bar and Grill
ACENTOS PRESENTS: A FESTIVAL OF LATINO AND LATINA POETS
Featuring Martín Espada, LiYun Alvarado, Diana Marie Delgado, Carlos Andres Gomez, Marie-Elizabeth Mali, Paul Martinez Pompa, Anthony Morales, Urayoan Noel, and Willie Perdomo. Special guests. Hosted by Fish Vargas
FREE.

Acentos at the Split This Rock Festival in Washington, DC: March 13, 2010.

2010-03-09T18:58:00.001-05:00

PLEASE share with any and all interested parties...

Greetings, DC familia and Gente from all quarters!

The Acentos Foundation is proud to be a part of the Split This Rock Poetry Festival: Poems of Provocation and Witness, in Washington, DC, taking place this Wednesday through Saturday, March 10-13.

Split This Rock invites poets, writers, artists, activists, dreamers, and all concerned world citizens to Washington, DC, for poetry, community building, and creative transformation as our country continues to grapple with two wars, a crippling economic crisis, and other social and environmental ills. You'll be hearing from these visionary voices and many others: Chris Abani, Lillian Allen, Sinan Antoon, Francisco Aragón, Jan Beatty, Martha Collins, Cornelius Eady, Martín Espada, Andrea Gibson, Allison Hedge Coke, Natalie Illum, Fady Joudah, Toni Asante Lightfoot, Richard McCann, Jeffrey McDaniel, Lenelle Moïse, Nancy Morejón, Mark Nowak, Wang Ping, Patricia Smith, Arthur Sze, Quincy Troupe, and Bruce Weigl.

On Saturday afternoon, March 13th, the AQUI ESTAMOS reading and panel (2pm at the True Reformer Building—1200 U Street NW in DC) celebrates the first annual Acentos Poetry Festival, which itself slated for April 17th at Casita Maria Center for Arts and Education in the Bronx, NYC. Scheduled to appear on Saturday are Acentos festival co-organizer Rich Villar, poet and translator Marie-Elizabeth Mali, and the festival's keynote speaker, Martín Espada.

And maybe...YOU.

Here's the thing. Split This Rock actually BUILT a community involvement clause into its panel proposal process. As a community-based organization ourselves, we plan to take full advantage of this.

If you are a Latino/Latina poet, whether you plan to join us in the Bronx in April or not, we invite you come to the True Reformer building, poem in hand, and be ready to share that piece with us on Saturday afternoon. There will be a signup sheet!

If you are a lover of poetry, and you believe that the Latino/a voice of American letters has a vibrant history, present, and future, we invite you to come listen as well. (Cave Canem and Kundiman fellows...THIS MEANS YOU!)

Be ready to share some ideas, thoughts, and discussion points on the state of Latino/a poetry and literature, its representation (or lack thereof) in the culture and academia, and what we as writers and human beings have to look forward to.

For further details on the Split This Rock Festival, go to www.splitthisrock.org and have a look all the events and venues slated for Wednesday through Saturday. Details on the Acentos event can be found below.

A special note of thanks to Francisco Aragón and Letras Latinas at Notre Dame for their generosity in co-sponsoring this reading.

See you in DC, gente. Pa'lante.
Rich Villar
for the Acentos Foundation

Saturday, March 13, 2010 @ 2pm
SPLIT THIS ROCK POETRY FESTIVAL: POEMS OF PROVOCATION AND WITNESS
AQUI ESTAMOS: A Sampling of Poetry From the Inaugural Acentos Poetry Festival

Featuring poets Martín Espada, Marie-Elizabeth Mali, and Rich Villar, plus many invited guests. Group discussion to follow.

Cosponsored by Letras Latinas, the literary program of the Institute for Latino Studies at the University of Notre Dame.

True Reformer Building
1200 U Street NW
Washington, DC

FOR COSTS AND ALL INFORMATION ON SIGNING UP FOR THE FESTIVAL ACTIVITIES, GO TO WWW.SPLITTHISROCK.ORG.

OPEN LETTER ON THE RENAMING OF EL MUSEO DEL BARRIO'S SPOKEN WORD SERIES "SPEAK UP/SPEAK OUT"

2009-12-10T22:09:00.004-05:00

December 9th, 2009

El Museo Del Barrio has responded to the controversy surrounding their spoken word series, formerly titled "Spic Up/Speak Out." The full text of this response, entitled "You Spoke Out/We Listened," can be read at their website: http://www.elmuseo.org/en/explore-online.

A publicly-funded, community-founded arts institution should know better than to market to audiences, poets, or anyone else using the word "spic."

In the last two weeks, this simple principle has led several diverse communities of artists, writers, teachers, and community members to gather, discuss, organize, and express their disappointment toward this unfortunate word choice. In recognition of this fact, and in response to the community's postings, letters, and emails to museum staff (including its executive director), El Museo has chosen the correct path and changed the name of the show to "Speak Up/Speak Out."

Unfortunately, El Museo has also chosen to continue concealing its poor artistic custodianship and community engagement behind the false fig leaves of free artistic expression and an ex post facto linguistic "context" of reappropriation (i.e. the act of reclaiming the word "spic") for the original naming of the series.

Among the items unaddressed in El Museo's three-page statement is that from the spring of 2008 until the summer of 2009, El Museo never claimed this context in its advertising, mailings, show flyers, or show descriptions. In fact, the first noted dispute over the title came from some of the very artists they sought to showcase, who in the summer of 2009 engaged in an email debate about the word choice in question. Then, and only then, did El Museo and its defenders attempt to supply a context of reappropriation to the series title. And only until an article appeared in the New York Times did the institution seem interested in entertaining a change in the name.

This alleged context for the naming of their series perpetuates the false parallel between individual acts of expression and the programming choices of a community-founded, publicly-funded institution.

To be perfectly clear, we believe that no artist should be censored or ostracized for their word choices, even those deemed offensive. We have never called for this series' cancellation, nor have we pressured individual artists to back out of the series. We reject any such calls. Instead, we encourage all artists contracted to perform in this newly-renamed series to use their considerable artistic talents to voice their agreement or their displeasure with the Museo's word choice as part of their performances.

We agree that the use of the word "spic" has a history in Latino literature. However, contrary to El Museo's statement, the history is not an altogether positive one. Not every creative use of a slur implies a reclaiming or reappropriation of that slur.

We take particular issue with the interpretation of Pedro Pietri's poem "Puerto Rican Obituary." Neither of the two instances of the word's use within the poem can be construed as reappropriation. Ironically, the one true instance of reappropriation in the poem is found in the Spanish word "negrito," a word used by some Caribbean Latinos as an expression of love and a backhanded slap at the racist traditions our cultures have historically engendered. Notice, however, that Mr. Pietri's line reads, "Aquí to be called negrito means to be called LOVE." It does not read, "Aquí to be called spic means to be called LOVE."

Regardless of the poetic interpretations offered or refuted, we reject out of hand the notion that individual uses of an epithet by themselves constitute an excuse for an institution to use an epithet as a program name. Our intent here is to remind El Museo Del Barrio of the difference between artistic expression and curatorial responsibility, a responsibility that has clearly been abdicated by means of El Museo's latest statement. We read it as neither a true acknowledgment of the community's outrage, nor as an apology. The fact is, nowhere in its missive does El Museo accept responsibility or explicitly apologize for offending people to whom they refer as "those for whom this term is offensive." They have instead attempted to define a serious curatorial miscue, the use of an epithet by an arts institution, as an act of free speech and artistic license. To say El Museo misses the point is a gross understatement.

To date, we have yet to receive full disclosure as to how this series name was conceived in the first place. We still do not know which curator, intern, administrator, or committee was responsible to putting the title to paper. No staff member, senior manager, or board member of El Museo was willing to put his or her name on the statement. El Museo's executive director, Julian Zugazagoitia, has not responded to a single email sent to him.

We continue to be hopeful for a fruitful community dialogue with El Museo and its management, given the activist history and community roots of the institution itself. To that end, we would suggest a community roundtable, one attended by the public and the Museo's Board of Trustees and management, to give a public, face-to-face airing of all points of view on this particular matter.

We also renew our call for Mr. Zugazagoitia, in his capacity as executive director, to engage this community positively and take steps to ensure that this incident and incidents like it do not recur. And we call upon Mr. Zugazagoitia, the Board, and the public and private funders of El Museo to examine their own statement of purpose and ask themselves if the original choice of the word "spic" in its public programming truly serves "to enhance the sense of identity, self-esteem and self-knowledge of the Caribbean and Latin American peoples by educating them in their artistic heritage and bringing art and artists into their communities."

Signed,
Richard Villar
Sam Vargas Jr.
The Acentos Foundation

Carmen Pietri-Diaz
Sam Diaz
Jesus "Papoleto" Melendez
El Puerto Rican Embassy

Fernando Salicrup
Taller Boricua

Previous articles for context:

"Poetry Series Spurs Debate on the Use of an Old Slur Against Latinos," by David Gonzalez. New York Times, November 20, 2009.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/21/nyregion/21poets.html?_r=1&emc=eta1

"Leaping The Barricades," by Rich Villar. "El Literati Boricua" (weblog), November 25, 2009.
http://literatiboricua.blogspot.com/2009/11/leaping-barricades-reaction-and-call-to.html

"El Museo Changes Word That Got in the Way of the Meaning," by David Gonzalez. New York Times, December 4, 2009.
http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/12/04/at-el-museo-a-word-got-in-the-way-of-the-meaning/

"Museo Del Barrio Changes Spic Up/Speak Out Poetry Series," Village Voice New York News Blog. December 5, 2009.
http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2009/12/museo_del_barri.php

Follow-Up: Context is Everything.

2009-12-04T13:16:00.004-05:00

Go take a look at this link if you haven't done so already.

http://www.elmuseo.org/en/event/spic-upspeak-out-emanuel-xavier-spics

I expect El Museo will rip this page down as soon as they hear that someone has helpfully pointed it out. Not to worry, though. I have a MacBook, and I can take screenshots with it. If anyone is having trouble reading context into the Museum's programming and promotional materials, all you have to do is read that flyer.

Or, if you'd rather, what you could do is read the note they posted changing the name of the Spic Up series: http://www.elmuseo.org/en/explore-online. You'll need a PDF reader for that. Get it, because context is everything.

On December 4th, 2009, after a summer internal email exchange, a Times article, an essay, and some pointed criticism from the community, El Museo has provided what they call "context" for the use of the word "spic" to name its show.

Now, maybe it's me, but I don't see any element of this context on the above promo poster. Nor do I recall reading about it in any of the materials I read from 2008. But most of all, I didn't read about it in the section marked "About The Series," which states:

Recognizing the power and influence of the spoken word in New York City, El Museo del Barrio provides established and emerging Latino/a poets with a platform for expressions; and El Museo's audiences with some of the hottest word wizardry in town. Spic Up!/Speak Out! features an exciting line-up of urban poets who have voiced their minds in speakeasies and clubs around the city. Each evening is organized and hosted by a guest poet. After the performance, the audience is encouraged to grab the mic and speak up!

Could it be that I didn't read about this context because it was never there? Could it be that the only reason they used the word "spic" was as a cheap promotional gimmick? Or could it be that I didn't read the context in the flyer because I'm too dumb to catch it? Well. Lucky for me, lucky for us, the Museo is there to explain it to us. On December 4th.

I wonder what El Museo's executive director Julian Zugazagoitia thinks about this? I wouldn't know, because he never answered my email.

Maybe he'll answer yours. director@elmuseo.org

More to come.

Footnote, Leaping the Barricades: The Kids, Too?

2009-12-01T12:26:00.004-05:00

Lots of interesting and useful feedback and reaction both online and offline concerning the naming of the "Spic Up" spoken word show at El Museo Del Barrio. Most of which is of the outraged, "wow," and "how could they do this" variety.

I'm particularly grateful to Edwin Torres for responding in this space about some of the curatorial conversation going back and forth in the summertime. I think it's also important to note for the record here that none of my commentary was meant to demonize particular artists or shame them from using a particular word. As is usually the case, my beef is with management: How can an institution impose that word on an artistic endeavor? My belief is still that the artists here were forced to respond to this thing in a particularly improvised and unexpected way and PLACE a context on the title. That context was not the Museo's choice. Their choices, as I've said before, revolved around marketing this show as little more than "hot word wizardry" and "Latino spoken word."

I've yet to receive the official response from Museo's management, but they are aware of the community's concern (many letters have been written) and are in the midst of trying to get back to me.

Meanwhile, let me add this little nugget to the discussion, one which I missed completely at the time.

Another program of El Museo's entitled "Oh Snap: Young Powerful Voices At Work" allows teens to participate in a spoken word workshop and then perform their work at the aforementioned Spic Up show. The text on the advertising for this program is as follows:

The Peace Poets, a community based arts collective from New York City, facilitate a two-hour spoken word workshop for teens. Right after the workshops! Participating youth will share their work with the public as part of El Museo's spoken word series SPIC UP/SPEAK OUT!

So it is that Museo has sponsored a community writers' workshop, the stated goal of which is to get teens to perform at the Spic Up show. This again with no intellectual context or linguistic niche offered as explanation. This is particularly insidious, in my book, because now we are offering our teens a chance to spread the word: "spic" is not only acceptable to name a show with and use in regular conversation, but now it just might get you a chance to shine in front of an audience.

The more I think about this, the less I like it. And the less I like it, the less patient I become.

Leaping the Barricades: Reaction and a Call To Action Concerning El Museo Del Barrio's SPIC UP SPEAK OUT

2009-11-25T23:59:00.002-05:00

1

We have never been called spics by people who actually enjoy our company.

Never in high school, never in college, never at work.

White people who used the word used it with intention. Or they were trying to be cool with their Latino friends by tossing out truth: Ah, but you aren't one of those. You're the good Puerto Rican. Ah, you silly spic, we like you anyway man. And we quickly passed them the memo: We don't know what a spic is. And by the way, screw you.

We didn't hear it from other Latinos. We didn't inoculate ourselves against its weight by hollering it from our cars, or our hallways, or our windows. In our homes, our parents never used it. Because our parents were chased by it, had it bounced off their skulls, found a fist at the end of it. Because we knew better. Because we were taught better.

We don't use the word because it's a throwback with no resale value. It is bankrupt. It is wack. It's the kind of word that conjures the cops from West Side Story. We will admit to the acronym: Spanish People in Charge. Yes, we still claim John Leguizamo. But we didn't use it for identifier, salve, naming, or renaming. We didn't invent it like we invented Nuyorican, Xicano, Latino. It was invented for us, like slavery and colonialism was invented for us. And we reject it.

Thanks, but we have our own names. We have our own stories, and we have survived every attempt to make us disappear. And because we won't disappear, our kids often prefer to call themselves Dominican, or Puerto Rican, or Cuban or Mexican or Ecuadorian. Guatemalan. Honduran. Latino. Latino-Americano. Americano. American.

But not spic. Not now. Not ever.

Why do I have to remind you of this?

2

The end of days is not coming because Manny Xavier decided to host a series for Museo Del Barrio called "Spic Up, Speak Out." The poets who have taken part in the series over the last couple of years will not have their cool cards revoked, or cease to be good artists. But the reactions to the naming of this poetry series, coupled with the last day or two of responses to a New York Times article by David Gonzalez, has revealed a series of interesting divides, generational and otherwise, in attitudes about the word "spic" itself. And it reveals a troublesome tendency toward double standards, double talk, insensitivity, and cultural amnesia surrounding both the power of language, art, and the purposes for which we create both.

In the first of two Facebook notes in response to the Times article, a note entitled "Reflections of a Queer Spic," Manny Xavier writes the following.

However you feel about the word, "spic" is taking on great momentum. The reality is that people use it. Not just 'back in the day' but today as well.

Interesting word, "reality," que no? I'm not sure what reality Manny's talking about, but it is not mine, and it is not the reality of anyone my age.

Now, having said that, if there's a book detailing the instances of the word's usage among young people, or a scholarly study of some sort, a survey, a Quinnipiac University poll, I'd surely like to hear it. I didn't come across any in the two days or so I gave myself to write this essay. So instead, I've attempted to define reality with an admitted logical fallacy: I went and asked my homies about it. Teachers, since they interact with kids the most. People my age who grew up with the word. A few writers and bloggers. All Latino or Latina. I figure it couldn't be worse than a blanket statement about reality.

Teacher and blogger Jose Vilson was the first to respond to my query. "Not at all," he said, when I asked him if the word "spic" was in common usage with his kids. "It's mostly the n-word," he reminded me.

Alexa Muñoz, who teaches in Washington Heights, when asked if fellow Latinas had ever called her a spic growing up: "Not to my face."

Lorraine Maldonado, my former classmate who is now a registered nurse in New Jersey, answered the question this way. "Nope, only the white kids called me a spic. Little bastards."

"It was typically only ever used by ignorant people or racist folks," said Raymond Daniel Medina, a poet and musician who spent his formative years in South Carolina. "It has never seemed an acceptable or respectful term. And almost never used by anyone remotely Hispanic."

Nikki Roman, a wife and mother to two daughters, seemed to prove Mr. Xavier correct. At first. "I hear some people calling themselves spics. Same way some people call themselves or people they know a nigga." But when I told her there was a poetry show called Spic Up, and that the organizers claim the word is in vogue, she responded, "Just because everyone is doing it doesn't make it okay. How often do you hear white people calling each other cracker?"

My partner at the Acentos Foundation, Sam "Fish" Vargas, minced no words: "As we continuously fight to be accepted as legitimate writers, words like 'spic' keep us back, down and out. There is no time to backpedal to fix what has kept us down. What we are concerned with is moving forward."

And finally, blogger and freelance writer Monika Fabian put this fine point on it: "To me, the event name was an uninspired wordplay; and an unfortunate & unnecessary attempt at reclaiming a comatose epithet."

(It should be noted that no one in this highly unscientific sampling was older than 36 years of age. The youngest was 26. This should, hopefully, come as some comfort to the poet Julio Marzán. Some of us young bucks have some institutional memory and consciousness after all.)

People are using the word, and increasingly, says Xavier. What people? White people? Young people? Latino people? I don't use it. Do you use it? Did I miss the memo? Were we supposed to apply that name to our friends and our neighbors and to elders, and to artists? Were we supposed to say yes to naming our poetry after it? Why? To bring people to a museum? To attract a crowd? To get our names in The New York Times? To battle publicly about this? I thought we just put a Boricua on the Supreme Court. I thought we just put a Boricua WOMAN on the Supreme Court. Who parked the time machine in front of El veinte y tres? (Who understood that reference?) When did I land in Fort Apache the Bronx?

Words don't retain power simply because they have definitions and redefinitions. Words, like tools, only have power when they are used in context. I'm for letting dead words, useless words, words that work violence, stay dead.

Xavier, in the Times article, also says the following:

“Look at everything we have done and accomplished. And it is a play on the word. We are speaking out our truths and identities in very perfect English.”

Except that the show's play on words, and this unfortunate quote, plays precisely into the word's original etymology. To "spic" English improperly is to speak with a Spanish accent. And the epithet "spic," in its original context, was a word used to separate, discriminate, and commit violence against people whose English was less than perfect (at least in the UnitedStatesian paradigm). Xavier falls precisely into this faulty thinking, however unintentionally, by suggesting that only those Latinos who now speak in very perfect English have the right to speak out, and reclaim this dead epithet as their own.

"The allusion to 'perfect English' appears to be a subscription to the teleological belief that unaccented English is somehow necessary or superior or legitimizing," added Mr. Medina in an email. "There are communities of poets (and people in general) who write and perform in English and Spanish, with varying degrees of accent and dialect. Poetry, language, activism are all human tools – human traits. So long as they are understood, they are perfect to their cause."

Bottom line: It was a thoughtless word choice on the part of Mr. Xavier, and it was a thoughtless word choice by the organizers of this show. And this seeming thoughtlessness, this ex post facto explanation for the title of a public program that has been running at El Museo since 2008, is the reason why people like me have now chosen to speak out.

And so has Ray Medina. "Despite any rights to those descriptors I might claim," he writes, "I will not use them save in referential or historical context. I do not use them casually because I know what they mean, and more importantly, I know what they might mean to someone else hearing or reading them."

3

From Xavier's Facebook note:

"As one of my fellow Latino writers said, '...for many it’s an act of constructing an identity outside of those people who have a different relationship with the word. It’s an act of independence from others’ fears and anxieties. And, no, many of us won’t like it, but we can’t stop it. I see that event at El Museo last night as an effort to give that word context and substance, not just voice and visibility.'"

[Xavier later attributed the quote to poet Rigoberto Gonzalez.]

If we are to accept these statements at face value, then we'd have to accept several premises. Chiefly, though: a) that the show was meant to spark debate about the word "spic," and b) there actually should be further context and substance around the word itself.

Was the show's original aim a linguistic one? A reclaiming? A challenge? A quick search of El Museo's website for the November 21st event turns up a splashy flyer for the show, Xavier's picture, a list of performers, and the following statement about the show:

About this Series:

Recognizing the power and influence of the spoken word in New York City, El Museo del Barrio provides established and emerging Latino/a poets with a platform for expressions; and El Museo's audiences with some of the hottest word wizardry in town. Spic Up!/Speak Out! features an exciting line-up of urban poets who have voiced their minds in speakeasies and clubs around the city. Each evening is organized and hosted by a guest poet. After the performance, the audience is encouraged to grab the mic and speak up!

Another internet search reveals a 2008 entry from El Museo's staff blog featuring a video of Xavier and a similar promo for Spic Up's April 2008 installment:

SPIC UP! Speak out! Latino Spoken Word Open Mic
Saturday April 19, 7:00 pm – 9:00 pm

In celebration of National Poetry Month, Def Poetry's Emanuel Xavier curates and hosts an evening celebrating the many contributions of Latino/a spoken word artists to the poetry scene. Stepping up to the mic, together for one night: Def Poetry on Broadway's Lemon; Def Poetry's Rachel McKibbens; El David; True; and special musical guest, DGuevaras. Featured performances will be immediately followed by a Latino/a open mic hosted by Emanuel Xavier.

In neither page is there any mention of the word "spic" aside from the title. No attempt to deal with the word's history. No intellectual engagement with the community actually affected by the word. No panels. No Q&A's. No specific reckoning with the epithet, or the promise of any reckoning. The only promise made was for "the hottest word wizardry" for El Museo's audience, and "an exciting line-up of urban poets."

So how did this event morph from piping hot wizardry to an intellectual exercise in context and substance?

Here's what we do know. When poet Edwin Torres approached fellow poet Aracelis Girmay about appearing in the show, Girmay did not hesitate (despite her relatively tender age) to refuse a spot in the show, owing to the title of said show. An email exchange between the participants and organizers followed, and Torres agreed, with a degree of reluctance, to remain on board. A chapbook of work from the show's participants was distributed at the event, and it included the email exchange in question. Meanwhile, Girmay's story appeared in the Times, and Torres publicly pondered his participation in the event in a blog for the Poetry Foundation. And here we are now, resurrecting terminologies.

Curiously enough, once The New York Times picked up the story, once a poet decided she would not be involved with the show, once people began expressing their indignation at the show title, various displays of pride ensued, and various victories were claimed. El Museo Del Barrio was, according to its director, Julian Zugazagoitia, "proud and excited to act as a platform for all of these issues to be discussed." Manny Xavier proudly proclaimed on his Facebook page that he was featured on Page A15, for some controversy surrounding the show. And the crowd, as they say in showbiz, went wild. The place was packed on Saturday night. And I found myself in a hotel room in Philadelphia, answering various emails about how this show happened in the first place, and answering two friends about the utility of public debate.

Another way to say it is, those of us who were home sulking missed out on the opportunity to engage ourselves in an internal struggle about using the word spic to sell poetry.

While we're in the linguistics business here, there's another word I'd like to define. Serendipity (n.): the effect by which one accidentally stumbles upon something fortunate, especially while looking for something entirely unrelated.

That must be it. Serendipity. Adjective: Serendipitous. As in: How serendipitous for El Museo Del Barrio to simultaneously create controversy AND provide the platform to solve it. See also: Dumb luck. Irony. Related word: Complicity.

4

We're here to talk language. We're here to deconstruct, debate, discuss. We're poets. That's what we do. So let's do it.

In the second of two notes reacting to the Times article, entitled "A Few More Reflections of a Queer Spic," Manny Xavier says the following:

It was El Museo del Barrio which came up with the title for the event, "SPIC UP! SPEAK OUT!" I had no issues with the title as I understood the context it was being used in for a spoken word poetry series. I use the word myself within the context of my poetry as a Latino artist for the same reason it was being considered by an "institution which prides itself as being the leading voice in Latino art.

I can only suspect that Martín Espada used it for the same reason he titled one of his poems, "Beloved Spic." I can only speculate that Willie Perdomo titled one of his poems, "Nigger Rican Blues," to challenge a word often used to demean him as an individual...

Here's the complete text of Martín Espada's "Beloved Spic."

BELOVED SPIC
--Valley Stream, Long Island 1973

Here in the new white neighborhood,
the neighbors kept it pressed
inside dictionaries and Bibles
like a leaf, chewed it for digestion
after a heavy dinner,
laughed when it hopped
from their mouths like a secret,
whispered it as carefully as the answer
to a test question in school,
bellowed it in barrooms
when the alcohol
made them want to sing.
So I saw it
spraypainted on my locker and told no one,
found it scripted in the icing on a cake,
touched it stinging like the tooth slammed
into a faucet, so I kept my mouth closed,
pushed it away crusted on the coach's lip
with a spot of dried egg,
watched it spiral into the ear
of a disappointed girl who never sat beside me again,
heard it in my head when I punched a lamp,
mesmerized by the slash oozing
between my knuckles,
and it was beloved
until the day we staked our lawn
with a sign that read: For Sale.

What's missing from the poem is present in El Museo's marketing campaign to Latino spoken word artists. Like a missing tooth and the threat of a missing tooth, the word "spic" is absent from the text yet present in our heads. We are hit with the word in the title and forced to deal with its echo in the poem: the pronoun "it." This is not unlike how people of color deal with blunt racism and its softshoe postracial resonance. But Martín is not reclaiming the word, or using it in the title lightly. He's not selling books with it. He's not interested in using it in everyday speech. He's rejecting it out of hand. And had anyone bothered to ask Martín, he would have rejected the title Spic Up, too.

Here's an excerpt from Perdomo's "Nigger Rican Blues."

I'm a Spic!
I'm a Nigger!
Spic! Spic! No different than a Nigger!
Neglected, rejected, oppressed and disposessed
From banana boats to tenements
Street gangs to regiments
Spic! Spic! I ain't nooooo different than a Nigger.

I've quoted the end of the poem here. The piece stakes some heavy ground in the
weight and history of both the words "spic" and "nigger." But this is a statement of condition, not a reclamation; a lament or a resignation, not a celebration. Perdomo's dual-identified speaker (Black and Latino) does challenge the terminology but is not particularly glad to be to naming his condition of double oppression, nor does he implicitly accept the epithets. He is neglected, rejected, dispossessed. Does Perdomo use the word? Yes. Does he use it because he thinks it should used on a regular basis? Or to name a poetry show after it? I doubt it.

The only context these poems provide for the epithets named is righteous indignation at their continued use. The context provided for the spic epithet by the event at Museo Del Barrio is hot wizardry and urban poetry. They are not the same contexts. The Museo is a publicly funded, community founded, arts institution. The use of the epithet by the organizers of Spic Up, Speak Out should be challenged. Not just challenged. Eliminated. Would the community stand idly by if the Studio Museum of Harlem resurrected the N-word to promote the appearance of poets at their establishment, even if its use is prevalent? What if it was the Whitney Museum? Or the Metropolitan? Do we want Latino art in any way associated with a word that could be used to do violence to Latino artists, or Latinos in general?

5

Xavier, again quoting Gonzalez:

"'We will continue to intellectualize the use of the word. The fact of the matter is it exists and thrives outside of our conversations and email exchanges. Art is a reflection of our communities and not the other way around. May we continue to write and sing and dance, but never silence.'"

In the 1970's, the poet and translator Jack Agüeros put a vision into the world and brought it to fruition. A museum, Jack reckoned, should not be an inaccessible place to regular people, to the non-elite. El Barrio, la gente, needed a safe space for its artists and its residents to enjoy art without the permission of the establishment.

Martín Espada, a longtime friend of Jack's, describes Agüeros' tenure at the institution in his essay "Blessed Be The Truth Tellers."

From 1977 to 1986, Agüeros was Executive Director of the Museo del Barrio in East Harlem. He invigorated the institution, assembling an impressive collection of carved wooden saints from Puerto Rico, providing space to local Puerto Rican artists and writers, and organizing an annual Three Kings' Day Parade in the barrio, complete with sheep and camels. This position also ended in controversy, as Agüeros was forced out of the Museo by arts administrators at the New York State Council for the Arts and the Mayor's Office, who saw him as a political threat.

The parade exists to this day, despite the persistent threat of budget cuts.

Martín's father, the photographer Frank Espada, has spent a lifetime documenting the lives of Puerto Ricans throughout the diaspora. He spent many years in the Puerto Rican community as an organizer and a leader of the civil rights movement. He was also on El Museo's board during Agüeros' tenure. Frank's recollections are a vital part of the poet's task: to serve as memory for the citizens, culture, and institutions that they find themselves a part of. Frank might not call himself a poet, but he has accomplished the poet's job.

Of the Spic Up Event, Frank Espada had this to say:

Not being a recent resident (we left in '73, best move I've ever made), I fail to understand how this shameful event was allowed to happen.

Risking sounding like an old fart, we would have stopped it cold, by hook or crook. And Jack would have been the first over the barricades.

So, as I asked another friend, 'Where is the Puerto Rican leadership?' His answer: 'What leadership?'

Even typing this shameful epithet in the same sentences as these two towers of our community fills me with an unspeakable rage. But it must be spoken. Have we gone mad? Has El Museo, have poets and cultural workers, strayed so far from their purposes as to disregard the physical scars of the generation that put these institutions in place, in the first place? Manny Xavier tells us, "We must write for the future, not the past." No. We will write for a future where words mean things. No art, Latino-centered, or otherwise, will succeed unless it is conscious of the universal, the infinite, the best of human understanding and knowledge. The work of our elders, the cultural work and struggle accomplished in the faces of those babbling words like "spic," is the best we have to offer as human beings. This we must honor, and it is right to point out wrongs, no matter who is doing the wrong.

Art is a reflection of our communities. Yes. Absolutely. But I submit that this showboating exhibition passing for art reflects neither Latinos, nor spoken word, nor Latino poetry and literature, nor any of the communities that a poet named Jack Agüeros built El Museo to service. The title "Spic Up" was not an intellectual exercise in 2008, and it did not become one until the summer of 2009, when another poet rejected the term outright.

All Latinos, all people, regardless of ethnicity, need to be cognizant of the power of language, in a way that the organizers of this event failed to be. No public program of El Museo Del Barrio...the neighborhood's museum...should ever possess the word "spic." At the end of the day, the argument here is not about words on a flyer, or exciting the patrons of an arts organization trying to stay in touch with what it perceives as its community. And to be perfectly honest, it's not really servicing the public's need for art by Latinos that moves or inspires. This is about common human decency. The word spic is not a rallying point. It wasn't so "back in the day," and it is not so now. Where it continues to gasp for breath, let us not throw it a lifeline by rendering our elders mute and hiding behind false intellectualism, privilege, or artistic license.

CODA

Here's the mission statement for the Acentos reading series in the Bronx, which was founded in March of 2003 by Oscar Bermeo and Sam "Fish" Vargas: "The Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase is a twice-monthly reading series showcasing nationally recognized Latino/a writers alongside emerging voices in a setting that stimulates open dialogue and an increased sense of community."

The reading series has since evolved into a writers' workshop at Hostos Community College. I came on board shortly after the reading series came into existence, and I've been working with Fish, Oscar, and a host of dedicated volunteers, patrons, and Latino/a poets from around the nation ever since.

We've organized these kinds of readings before. We brought in 33 Latino and Latina poets to read before a full auditorium at Hunter College in February 2008. Our anniversary shows routinely challenged the fire codes at the various clubs we found ourselves in. We've hosted panels, read, and lectured to students and audiences alike. We are organizing a Latino poets' festival at Hostos Community College in April of 2010. Never once did we have to insult our audiences or our patrons, or risk anyone's wrath, by stapling the word "spic" to our flyers.

I'm not saying this because I need you to know we exist. The communities we need to sustain us know about us and support us. We write for them. It is in that vein that I am calling on El Museo Del Barrio to end the disgraceful practice of naming a poetry series with a hateful epithet. The museum's management and the reading's organizers do not understand why this furor is coming down on them now. They have no further excuses. The problem confronting us now is not just about a word. It is about honoring what came before us and mentoring a new generation of writers to move beyond the language of violence and into the language of creativity without permission.

I urge everyone reading this piece to do what communities do: spread the word. Demand that El Museo cease using the word "spic" in its marketing, its programming, and its attempts to reach communities of Latino writers. Write to their director. Write to their board members and corporate sponsors. Write. They must listen. And if they will not, then we will do what our forbears did: We will leap the barricades.

Pa'lante.

The Arc, The Hue, and YOU!

2009-09-19T21:17:00.001-04:00

My first attempt to assemble a piece of writing into something resembling a manuscript was not my own book. There was a collection of poems, and there was an author, and there was my mom's kitchen table. After the dishes were cleared, I took a stab at ordering these pieces, some written in graduate school, some not, into a coherent narrative. It was fun. It also took me a frighteningly short period of time.

Needless to say, thankfully, that book has undergone some serious revision, reordering, adding, subtracting, and renaming. The author was/is a lady whose first book was/is a long time coming. Tara Betts is part of a slightly later generation of Chicago poets (2001ish?) who came roaring out of the slam scene and into teaching, into scholarly writing and study, and into the waiting arms of the canon. She's been published in a whole bunch of places and is the epitome of the working poet, always on her grind and always in conversation with the world in verse, very much unafraid to say the unsayable, or the uncomfortable, which is one the primary reasons poets do what they do, no?

Yes, I'm biased. Tara is also my fiancee. I asked her to marry me in April of this year, and we plan on doing the do, as the kids say, in June of 2010. But before we get married, there has to be a birth (snicker): ARC AND HUE, Betts' first collection of poetry, went on sale September 1st, and tomorrow evening at 5pm there will be a massive and star-poet-studded book party at the Bowery Poetry Club. I can't wait, and I know she's nervous, but I'm confident this will be a fantastic coming-out party for a collection she worked very hard on...not to mention a well-deserved spotlight on the fiercest poet in at least ten states. Maybe more. Anyway.

The details are below. I'm genuinely lucky and honored to be able to share in this moment with her. One of many to come, if I keep being lucky.

Sunday, September 20, 2009
Book Release Party for ARC AND HUE, by Tara Betts

Featured guest poets and performers include Aracelis Girmay, Rachel McKibbens, Latasha Natasha Diggs, Samantha Thornhill, Nemiss, Giselle Buchanan & Cynthia Ceez Keteku from the Urban Word NYC ‘09 slam team. Hosted by Mahogany Browne.

The book will be for sale, and admission to the party is free.

The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Avenue, 6 train to Bleecker
More details: http://www.tarabetts.net

2009-09-11T07:27:00.000-04:00

I never thought I'd be the type that woke up at 5:30am on a fairly regular basis and not complain about it, but relish it. I forgot my genetics. I'm slowly becoming my father. Right down to sitting by the window in the morning. This makes me smile. And yawn.

These windows are blue with first light, a light blue muted from the heavy rain outside. It is also September 11th, which means there will be the usual litanies read out loud in the usual places in remembrance of the victims of terrorism. This is never the day to question the wisdom of publicly picking at one's scabs and reliving these moments of sadness and loss. It just is what it is. I don't imagine the rain will lift people's moods, either.

For me, if there's reflecting to be done, it's on the concept of change itself, and what I need to change. It's appropriate, I think. I have decided to take my jacket out of the closet today. My fiancee notices the chill more. If there had to be a day like the one we suffered in 2001, I'm glad (is that the word?) it happened at the start of the seasonal shift. There is so much left undone, there is so much yet to be uncovered. I need to see my family in Cuba again. I need to be a little more scholarly.

And I need to write more. All the time. Writers write. I think I've been in such a haze over this job that I forgot what my soul needs. I write this with the full knowledge that there are folks at my company who probably read this blog. That's okay. I know some of you are closet artists. Or maybe not so closeted. Either way, don't forget those parts of yourselves that enjoy being alive for things other than accounting. Oh, and don't forget to fax me that thing. You know, that...thing. Yes, that.

Anyways, yes, I resolve on this most reflective of days to start keeping lists for myself too. Checking stuff off, adding more stuff. Oh, stuff. There's a lot of you out there. My season shifts today.

Po-Biz and Po-Comm: Picking Up From Craig Perez on the Poetic Industrial Complex

2009-08-18T23:56:00.004-04:00

Pardons off the bat if this post tends to loop around a bit. My thoughts are doing the same.

Seth Abramson follows me on Twitter, so I feel the need to add something necessary and relevant to the ongoing conversations happening at Barbara Jane's and Craig's blogs, among others, about the Poetic Industrial Complex and This Thing Of Ours (snort) called Abramson Leslie Consulting, an organization of Seth's that gives manuscript feedback to prospective MFA students.

Can I just say, first of all, what a brilliant quixotic term "Poetic Industrial Complex" is? First heard it at Barbara's blog, and it's a way better term than the uninspired, reductive "po-biz." The business of Poetry truly is a Complex Industry, and it is an Industrious Complex of schools (academics and aesthetics), publishing houses, and institutions. It is very real, sadly so, in all its hyper-endowed, degree-granting, wine-sipping, award-winning-yet-poorly-selling glory. All it lacks is a flatheaded Hamburglar as its very own Warren Buffett.

Okay. Necessary and relevant.

Full disclosure: My own experience with an MFA program was not entirely pleasant. I met some wonderful people within it, got some good reading lists, started to think differently about some poetry. And I made a handful of good friends. But I left it in a bad way, and I got into it for the wrong reason, at least for me. In the poetry world, I was already who I wanted to be—an organizer, a curator for a reading series, member of a community (communities, really) of writers. But there was also this idea that in order to take myself and my community to another level, in order to attain...key word, folks...legitimacy in my dealings, I had to have the credential. "This is our director, Rich Villar. He got his MFA from..." And so forth.

Where did I get this idea? I had friends whose tenures in MFA programs ended badly, stopped them from writing, led them to dump entire manuscripts in the trash, that sort of thing. Others were struggling for jobs against academic institutions that suddenly wanted them to go get a Ph.D. So why did I need academia's stamp of approval on what I do? Why did I need three letters on my CV to trail after me on lunches with potential funders, or in emails to industry professionals? Or at dinner with my friends? Why did I have to invest my legitimacy in an MFA?

The more I began to move about in this busy and toothless monster called the Poetic Industrial Complex, the more I realized I didn't have to. I'm a fairly gregarious person, and I have friends who are poets, fiction writers, novelists, editors. I know who and what I like, and I know who and what I don't like. I didn't need a program director or connected classmates to show me around and tell me how to maneuver within that world. And to be mission-specific: I knew who and what I needed to call upon to help us with the mission of building and maintaining communities and audience around Latino/a poetry.

And then I discovered something else: I really don't care what a group of random strangers have to say about my work. This is not meant to be flip, because I did make some good friends in my program, but I also think I could have saved them a great deal of investment by realizing this sooner. I already have close writing comrades. I already have community. If there is work I really need to publish, if there is a book I really need feedback on, I can send it out to one of several friends I'm thinking of right now.

I have everything I need as a writer and an organizer, and I don't need an MFA to get it. Never did. Some might call that elitist. Or privileged. Some days, I'm inclined to agree with the elitist part. And yes, I definitely feel privilege—but it sure ain't white privilege.

Why we're here: Well, Craig Santos Perez asks, "Why is the ALC (Abramson Leslie Consulting) for-profit and the Acentos Foundation for-free?" Ah, this is the question for the ages, at least for me.

First, a glossary for the uninitiated:

--Abramson Leslie Consulting: A consultancy firm started by Iowa Writers' Workshop graduates Seth Abramson and Chris Leslie-Hynan for people interested in the pursuit of MFA's and Ph.D.'s in the field of creative writing, fiction and poetry. Their purpose is to take your manuscript and mold it into work that is admissible on the graduate level. Think of it as home improvement for your poetry...or, depending how shitty of a writer you are, EXTREME MAKEOVER MANUSCRIPT EDITION.

--Iowa Writers' Workshop: The Holy Grail of writing programs. Super-competitive to enter and super-competitive to stay in, it is known by some graduates as The Shire, The Promised Land, Shangri-La; by others as Mordor, The Ninth Circle of Hell, Valhalla. Depends which fellowships your degree gets you into (and it will get you into plenty).

--Acentos Foundation: A small group of people with a big sounding name. The hopeful non-profit arm of a reading series in the South Bronx that now boasts four programs as part of its activities: the reading series itself; a Latino poetry festival being planned for April 2010; an online journal that publishes Latino/a writers four times a year; and a free, open-to-the-public series of writing workshops going from September to May every Sunday afternoon—and by extension, a community of engaged poets, many Latino and Latina, who get together each week to generate and comment on new work.

If we limit the comparison to workshops, the question is still a little unfair. ALC offers very specific services to a very specific group of people: manuscript consultation to potential grad school enrollees. The Acentos Foundation offers free writing space and some critique to anyone who wants it, provided they're willing to travel to the Bronx to get it. Which is kinda specific too, now that I think about it, but what can you get in the Bronx that you can't get at your local two-bit writers' circle? (Well, actually...there is the list of top tier workshop facilitators we manage to pull every week: Martin Espada, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Thomas Sayers Ellis, Aracelis Girmay, Ada Limon. Et Cetera.)

Still, here are two different products, so to speak. You can't pay for manuscript advice with us in the Bronx. Likewise, you can't go to ALC and expect them to help you unlock the difficulties of translating Xavier Villarrutia's decimas. There's differences. Where are the similarities?

It is, as Craig points out, in our stocks in trade: access. We offer access, ALC offers access. To what? Writers. Writing. Poetry. Insight from older writers, more experienced ones. But while consultancies and MFA programs would like you to pay for that access, organizations such as the Acentos Foundation, and increasing numbers of others like Macondo, Cave Canem, VONA, PAWA, etc., do not...or they ask for substantially less. The old argument used to be, well, you can stay in your little knitting circle and pay nothing for people to pat you on the back, or you can pay your mentors to tell you what you need on all levels of the game, plus pick up a degree that will get you a job.

Well. What happens when quality writers become accessible, or when they choose to de-commodify knowledge into a service for a group of people (Heavens to Betsy, Lord forbid), or when they choose to make poetry's healing and transformative power into a community act? We become a threat. Or, our work becomes political and ranty. And all the old arguments that are slowly dying away, especially since the MFA doesn't guarantee a job anymore.

It's not like we don't have models for this (June Jordan). It's nothing new. It's just that now we can debate it and talk about it. I'll admit, I'm biased, but well, what else is new.

I'm spent. Maybe you guys will pick it up now. Comment below, por favor!

The Acentos Review FIRST ANNIVERSARY reading!

2009-07-28T17:36:00.004-04:00

What's wonderful about the communities I help sustain, frequent, and support is that they generate their own amazing ideas. Co-editors Eliel Lucero and Raina Leon have managed to create and maintain a space for Latino/a poets, fictionistas, interviewers, and reviewers to put our foot into the literary world, on our own terms.

For the past year, THE ACENTOS REVIEW has been publishing some of the most outstanding new and established writers of Latino/a descent. This Sunday, we celebrate the community with an anniversary reading hosted by The Acentos Foundation and the co-editors of the Review. I hope to see you there!

SUNDAY, AUGUST 2ND @ 6pm
Acentos Review's First Anniversary Reading and Celebration

The Acentos Review Celebrates it first year with a reading with some of our favorite contributors. Please join us for this wonderful and FREE celebration.

Featured Readers include: Bonafide Rojas, Rodrigo Toscano, Edwin Wilson Rivera, Sheila Maldonado, Jose Gonzalez, Li Yun Alvarado, Pedro Marrero Jr., Shokry Eldaly II, Marie Elizabeth Mali, Liza Ann, David Ayllon, Mundo Rivera, Christina Olivares

THE ACENTOS REVIEW publishes poetry, fiction, memoir, interviews, translations, and artwork by emerging and established Latino/a writers and artists four times a year. For submissions guidelines and more information about the Review, visit the journal at acentosreview.com, or email the editors Eliel Lucero and Raina Leon at acentosreview@gmail.com.

The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (Between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Ave, 6 train to Bleecker
FREE!

Quick Hit: Patricia Smith's BLOOD DAZZLER and other business

2009-07-21T18:48:00.003-04:00

I'm sitting at the bar of the Bowery Poetry Club waiting for the third of three New York City regional poetry slams to begin. Every year before the National Poetry Slam, the three (or four, sometimes five) NYC slam teams get together to practice, fundraise, and compete for bragging rights in three of the slam thingies I've grown so ambivalent towards. Well. It's still a lot of fun, and tonight, perhaps against my better judgment, I'm "livetweeting" the event. If you feel like checking it out without logging into Twitter, you can check out the nifty tracking tool to the right of this page. Or, if you feel like diving into the maelstrom (even Barbara Jane dived into the wreck!) then get your own account and follow me: www.twitter.com/elprofe316

Quickie shout: Big ups to Patricia Smith, Paloma MacGregor (choreographer), Patricia MacGregor (director), and a crew of crazyamazing dancers and actors for bringing Smith's BLOOD DAZZLER to life in front of a hella impressive turnout on the Lower East Side's Classic Stage Company last night. There is a lot to say about it, much of it leading naturally from my previous post. If there is a performance poetry, methinks it's poets like Patricia, Sekou Sundiata, Ntozake Shange, and poets of this ilk that have truly shown us what physical enactment does for both the eye, ear, and heart of the audience listening in. Much much more to say about this work-in-progress, but for now, it's time for jackassery of the highest degree. ;-)

Ah, technology, ye devil!

A Defining Line: Plato, Performance, Poems, and Points (Ten of 'em)

2009-07-18T09:18:00.010-04:00

This is the first in a series of articles that was slated to be written for the louderARTS Project on the various intersections and divergences in the world of poetry. If they exist, that is. (that's what the comment section is for! HINT HINT)

Because Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz (author of Words in Your Face: A Guided Tour Through Twenty Years of the New York City Poetry Slam) loves it when I get all loud and "debate-y" on my blog, I decided to post this here while louder works out the various HTML kinks and launches their online journal. You may see this reposted over there before too long.

Enjoy, and please comment!

(I'll warn you now: If you notice any similarities between these articles and Barbara Jane Reyes' amazing blog, please know that she's the gold standard as far as these kinds of blogs go. She may have rubbed off a tad.)

*************************************************************************************
A Defining Line:
Plato, Performance, Poems, and Points (Ten of 'em)
Rich Villar

I believe, above all else, in context. So, I return to the beginning of things.

If you're a poet, and you have raked someone, most likely another poet, over the coals for his or her stance on stagecraft or poetics, please know that your quarrel predates much of western civilization.

And you should be so lucky. Plato and Aristotle did not engage on the merits of line break so much as they debated the very utility of poetry itself: what's the use of it? Aristotle loved the drama so much that he gave us poets the terms and rules we debate by. Plato, much the wise old teacher, wanted us poets dead, if not incapacitated.

Put another way. When I told my father I was going to be a poet instead of a lawyer, I expected some very reasonable inquiries about my income potential. Followed (the comedy gods and I hoped), by an overbearing fatherly lecture, punctuated by the raised fists and truncated d's of his guttural Cuban Spanglish. Instead, he turned my head inside out by simply pointing out the obvious: "You know; poets die young."

Given the alternative for poets (O death, where is thy sting?), it seems frivolous to argue about things like slam and academia, page and stage, those dichotomies that give much ammunition to the students of poetry, both in MFA programs and random bar stools. But I'm also a student of politics. And even Plato, that viejo manganzon, did devote some ink to the idea that poets had some responsibility to truth and history. So the intrigue for me, and thus the context of this column, lies in seeing where politics and poetics intersect. And Sweet Jesus, how they intersect.

**********************************

I find myself learning new things about poetry every day. Consequently, I have new opinions on the topic almost every year. If someone had cornered me a year ago and asked me if I was a page poet or a stage poet, I would have angrily denied any of their damned artificial divisions and sulked for half an hour. I still sulk whenever I can, since that's what poets do, but I'm not so sure that division is such a bad thing or if division's even the right word. What I can say for sure, after reading William Carlos Williams' varied variable feet in grad school, is that there is definitely an art to the poetry on the page. It is possible to do a disservice to the emotional truth of a poem if you read it in a way the poet did not intend. So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow glistened with rainwater beside the white chickens. Right?

There are differences between poems and poets. And yes, some of those differences extend to the worlds of performance and poetry. Some poems read better than others do. Some poems sound better aloud than they look on the page. I'm no longer convinced that these divisions are artificial.

Still, I have a problem when differences between poets and poems are used to separate, define, redefine and categorize without the input of the poet. I further have a problem when these random categories pass unexamined for what they are: convenient, sometimes ignorant, mostly having little to do with intellectual thought and more to do with capitalism. Yet I refuse to lay all the blame at the feet of the institutions. Poets—all artists, really—need to do more to defend their own work, to define it as they see fit. History won't define poetry by itself. History is rewritten daily. More poets, particularly poets of color, need to get into the history-writing business. That's also why I'm writing this column. While the focus here will primarily be on differences and dichotomies, intersections and illusions, my ultimate hope is that we poets, at the very least, will come to see our work as part of a timeline, a history, one with many branches and even more interpretations. The unexamined life, Plato said through his muse Socrates, is not worth living.

*************************

I want to devote the rest of my space here to some things I believe about poetry. I reserve the right to be convinced, and I reserve the right to be perfectly stubborn in my dogma. I just think it's important to define things. Otherwise, why debate?

What follows is a list of beliefs, definitions for my purposes, and idioms to chew on, which I'll be using to guide my columns in the future. Feel free to agree, disagree or what have you. I'll be expanding on these concepts in the weeks to come.

1) Spoken Word is a category of recorded sound, traditionally defined by the Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, refined and changed over the years to reflect the realities of certain artistic shifts and their resultant record sales. It does not constitute a genre of poetry. There are no such things as "spoken word poetry," or "spoken word poets." There is only poetry. There are only poets.

2) Slam is a movement that started in Chicago, spread to other cities, and helped to revitalize the art of reading poetry aloud. I say, "helped" because there were many movements around before slam that revitalized, or relied upon, the oral nature of poems. (Ask anyone who ever heard Pablo Neruda read aloud.) All kinds of poems have been read at slams. Other than the time limit, which often goes ignored, there is no restriction on the form of the poems read at
slams. Therefore, there are no such things as "slam poetry," or "slam poets." There is only poetry. There are only poets.

3) The term "spoken word artist" serves one of three purposes: a) to dismiss the poetry of a poet whose reading style is performative, b) to isolate one's poetry from critical discussion as a poem, or c) to differentiate it from something the artist considers to be "for the stage" rather than "for the page." There is no page poetry. There is no stage poetry. There is only poetry.

4) Academia, for our purposes here, is the system of professors, professionals, and institutions that gives (some) poets a voice at the university level.

5) The "Poetry Business," or "Po-Biz" for short, is a somewhat oxymoronic term for the system of publishing houses, journals, editors, industry professionals, endowed institutions, etc. that by
and large determine which poems get published in the United States.

6) The manner in which Academia and the Po-Biz conspire with each other, consciously or unconsciously, determines what kind of poetry is remembered and written about. This system has existed for quite a while, but like any monolith, it also inspires movements against it.
Slam started this way, but it has gradually been pacified through scholarly study.

7) You do not need an MFA to write good poetry, or to get your poetry published. However, if you don't read other poets because you think it's going to affect your craft, then you're a moron...and you probably don't write good poetry.

8) You do not need affectations, gestures, a large jazz collection, or a tight shirt to write good poetry, or to read your poetry aloud. But if you read your poems in front of an audience, you owe them, at the very least, the basics of speech craft. Anything less is disrespectful.

9) No poetry is an offshoot of hip-hop, no matter what Def Jam tells you. Please refer to number 1: there is no such thing as spoken word poetry. Hip-hop influences poems, profoundly so, but it does not birth them.

10) Performance poetry does not exist either...but if it did, I'd be willing to bet that Sekou Sundiata is its daddy.

Ya voy pa'lla...

2009-06-23T23:48:00.006-04:00

Our boy Sam "Fish" Vargas is getting married on Saturday. In between planning his wedding, teaching poetry to high schoolers, and adjusting to a new job, he found the time to host a writing workshop for Acentos every Sunday. Now, it's time for him to enjoy the fiesta and his new life with Ellie.

But first (for me): a cross-country flight from JFK with the Lady Betts, and a midnight drive across this ole' thing:

I have a thing for bridges.

West Coast! Holla at your boy.

Fearless Leaders and Such

2009-06-17T08:51:00.003-04:00

I think Twitter has affected my blogging habits. I don't feel the need to blow people out of the water with a long an expansive essay on the state of affairs. Maybe that's for the better.

Still, I think I should properly flesh out my feelings on this whole Sotomayor nomination. I feel slightly homicidal over that one. And strangely, independence-minded for Puerto Rico.

While I'm here.

Say. Can Iran get itself a new President? One that doesn't take orders from someone called a Supreme Leader? Supreme Leader sounds a bit cartoonish to me. I'm kinda hoping that it's a Western English mistranslation from the Farsi, because if it's not, then I propose renaming the post Fearless Leader.

Hey, if it worked for this guy....

Seriously though, I'm not for imposing governments on folks (Iraq, anyone?) but there's gotta be something better than the way Iran does it. I love how the media has set up Twitter and Facebook as the saviors of democracy, though. Man, I wish I could get that kind of PR for Acentos.

"The world needs Latino poetry NOW more than ever. Hit us back on Twitter."

Cricket? Cricket cricket?

Maybe I'll name my first collection MOOSE AND SQUIRREL.

Random Observation #2

2009-06-16T10:22:00.002-04:00

Well, maybe this isn't so random.

If Latino poets are outraged by the treatment of Latino poetry books by certain reviewers, then they need to step up and review these books. That includes yours truly, so. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin.

There are outlets for these kinds of work. Our (Acentos') project is called The Acentos Review, and we've been online for the last year. www.acentosreview.com.

The submissions period runs until August 15th. Check the site for guidelines.

Shout out to Craig Santos Perez, my all-time favorite shit-startin' NaBlogWriMo'er.

Random Observation

2009-06-15T22:37:00.002-04:00

Because I should probably act like I have some manner of intellectual life beyond my job in property management...

Is it always the same five morons that comment on the Poetry Foundation blog? Can't someone retire their numbers already? Or take them outside and shoot them? Either way.

Letras Latinas Blog: Recap from Friday's Acentos Workshops

2009-05-10T19:10:00.002-04:00

Folks.

Go here...

http://latinopoetryreview.blogspot.com/2009/05/acentos-writers-workshops-with-martin.html

...for the full recap on what was hands down the best workshop I've ever attended, let alone organized. Martin Espada is a hero to Latino poets everywhere, and certainly a dear friend and mentor to the crew at Acentos.

Thanks also to Francisco Aragon at Letras Latinas and to Acentos co-founder Oscar Bermeo for being able to reach the readership of the Letras Latinas blog with it.

Life is good. Only gets better.

Poem 4 April 4 (Shut up, I know I'm behind)

2009-04-07T00:22:00.002-04:00

[Se acabo la fiesta, papi.]

Poem 3 April 3

2009-04-03T23:32:00.002-04:00

[¿pa'donde se fue esa vaina, loco?]

Poem 2 April 2

2009-04-02T23:09:00.001-04:00

[ni aqui tampoco]

30/30 Challenge: Poem 1, April 1

2009-04-01T08:09:00.003-04:00

[chico, aqui no hay poema]

What I wrote at Acentos yesterday!

2009-03-30T09:44:00.001-04:00

The Acentos Writers' Workshops is an intergenerational, multicultural workshop series that happens every Sunday at Hostos Community College in the Bronx, with different facilitators each week.

For more information on how to participate, or to inquire about facilitating a workshop, please contact Fish Vargas at fish@louderarts.com.

This draft is about as rough as it gets, but it comes to you courtesy of a series of generative prompts from today's workshop leader, poet Erica Miriam Fabri, whose first book DIALECT OF A SKIRT is due out on Hanging Loose Press in November of 2009.

More to come quite soon from the good folks at Acentos, including news about our soon-to-be-returning reading series. Keep an eye out. Meantime, you can drop me a line at r.villar@gmail.com, note me here, join the Facebook group. Or, leave me a comment or a snide remark. Whatever floats your boat.

And definitely, check the poem....

Rich.

MUCHACHO SELECTS A LOVER

the bottom of the stairs speaks in Spanish
about the kind of woman you must bring
home to mother: softspoken, delicate,
grinding pasteles without question,
yuca prickling beneath fingernails, scraped
knuckles, blood thickening the masa.

jesus is bleeding
above the dinner table on noche buena.
your brother sneaks vodka
into a tumbler full of orange crush.

at the amusement park,
when you crash the blond man's head
off the metal steering wheel in the go cart
in front of you, his testicles shrink
before your apology, because two uncles
have driven him back into the fence. "I'm
sorry, I didn't know the boy was only 16.
I'm sorry, Christ, I'm sorry," he whimpers.

every woman is named maria,
is a salmon escaping the grizzly,
has breasts the size of empty rice pots,
needs a ride home.

you will love her, finally,
when you can picture the spines
of her enemies
in your teeth.

Where's the readership? Ask your agents.

2009-03-27T20:07:00.005-04:00

Let it be said right now: The next assneck that proclaims the death of poetry is getting kicked directly in the spleen.

If you'd like to drown your eyes in that particular battery acid, please feel free: http://www.newsweek.com/id/191012

Newsweek says that fiction readership is up, while poetry readership is down 16%. Without trying to sound too Harold Bloom-curmudgeonschmuck about the whole thing, I don't consider the meteoric rise of the Twilight series, Harry Potter, or The Da Vinci Code, as a spike in fiction readership. It IS a spike in a certain form of entertainment...one with possibilities for franchise rights, TV series, movies, and sequels.

When someone wants to talk "readership" in the literary world, what they really mean are BOOK SALES. And what drives book sales in the United States? The same shit that drives sales of Tickle Me Elmo. What's cooler than Harry Potter? (The shit was pretty enjoyable pablum, I must admit.) What's cooler than a book that turns your ideas on Jesus upside down, one that spawns all kinds of Discovery Channel documentaries?

Well. Of course it probably helps if the book can be turned into a movie, or make money elsewhere, or if it can be branded, or if it can be cross-promoted. Why is Miley Cyrus writing an autobiography at 16? Because she can sell it, that's why.

If we're going to get on our soap boxes and bemoan the loss of poetry to the dreaded Academy, then we need to save room in the grave for all literature in the age of The Notebook and A Night Without Armor. And I'm certainly not going to sound the victory bell just because Junot Diaz won the Pulitzer Prize. Not when you still have college kids shying away from reading Oscar Wao or Drown because the shit lacks a linear structure.

Where are the conversations in the American intellectual life (outside NPR) for literature of any sort? Oprah cannot save the book industry. At some point, people need to start reading literature for more reasons than getting his/her jollies on the nights when American Idol is off the air. I don't have answers, but I do have a lot of questions, and more than a little anger every time my friends call me with horror stories about their undergrads' reading and writing habits.

I think poets have deeper problems than their work not getting read. They have to worry about where the hell they're going to work, and what kinds of students and readers they're going to find when they get there.

Apnea Wars: The Adventures of Darth Malo, Latin Lord of the Sith

2009-03-25T19:33:00.010-04:00

Last night was the much-dreaded sleep study, a procedure in which a patient with suspected sleep apnea (this case me) has his or her brain strapped to an angel hair rainbow of wires, and two punchy technicians on third shift watch you sleep and make sure you don't kick the bucket while you dream of fried pork chops. At least that's how they explained it to me.

As a bonus, however, Punchy Tech Tracy came into my room at 2am and put me on something called a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) machine, which basically keeps your throat from collapsing at night and maintains your breathing. Wires, and breathing masks, creepy technicians. What's a good name for the Latino Darth Vader? Why, Darth Malo, of course.

Anyway. For the uninitiated: Sleep apnea happens when the airway closes during sleep and keeps a person from entering a restorative sleep phase. You know you have it when your snoring wakes you from sleep; or you wake up with dry mouth, or heartburn; or when you feel like a walking zombie during the day from lack of sleep. Of these symptoms, I possessed...ah, yes, all of them. Ask my longsuffering fiancee and her pointy, pointy, sleep-deprived elbows. Ow.

They tell you it takes at least a few weeks on the CPAP machine before you notice a difference in your wakefulness during the day. But you can ask the tenants at my day job how sharp I was today. I multitasked. I wrote letters furiously. I even smiled happily when one of them told me where I could shove the price of a 2 bedroom with hardwood floors. Short story long: I need me one of those wonderous newfangled breathing contraptions. Sleep is such a great idea.

Sign me up to the Dark Side.

Some random bits:

--I am writing an online series of articles about the intersections in poetry. Different genres, different approaches. Will be up soon at louderarts.com.

--My poem submissions are down. Need to rectify this.

--Acentos? Ah, that's a longer post, but the workshops are ON, y'all. Every Sunday at Hostos Community College in the Bronx.

--I'm back. If you're wondering where I went...don't worry about it. Just check for me periodically at this blog.

AND FINALLY:

--Chickpea Broccoli Casserole? Awesome! My baby got the recipe from VEGAN WITH A VENGEANCE, by Isa Chandra Moskowitz.

Nah, son. You can't have any.

Eighteen Random Things About Me (And Two Bonus Thingies)

2009-01-04T20:14:00.000-05:00

It's going around the Facebook, and now I have caught the bug.

Enjoy, folksies. And consider yourselves "tagged."

1) I was born in Edison, NJ, spent my first five years there, and was raised afterward in Paterson. I will make plenty of homes elsewhere, I'm sure, but Northern New Jersey will always be home to me.

2) I never pictured myself being anything close to a professional writer, much less a poet. Every day is surreal. At my day job, or just driving or walking around, I feel very much like a spy.

3) I went to fundamentalist Christian schools from first through twelfth grade. My mother tells me this was done to instill good morals in me, and my father tells me it was to keep me out of the Paterson public school system.

4) My first exposure to contemporary poetry (post-Whitman) was with a professor in college who gave us two poems by Allen Ginsberg: "America" and "A Supermarket in California." It blew my mind that a) he was from Paterson, and b) one of our mayors attempted to have him arrested at a reading for admitting he smoked a joint backstage.

5) First job: Selling pre-paid vacation packages over the phone to people responding to mailers that look like prize certificates. This was also the beginning of my sleep problems.

6) I have a habit of returning to the scene of the crime. On vacation in Orlando, I went past the old telemarketing job to find the place had been converted to a different boiler room operation, this one selling calling cards. I've also driven past my old high school, though I've resisted the urge to stop in, and I took pro shots with my photographer friend at my old elementary school.

7) I once owned a pair of Z.Cavariccis, about a year past when they were in style, and I thought I was THE MAN.

8) Returning to the scene of the crime: I don't believe the religion I was taught in school. Much of what I was taught was simply a front for the most ridiculous Conservative politics, which I bought into initially; hook, line, and sinker. This is a way longer blog post waiting to happen, but suffice it to say, Fundamentalist/Conservativ

e Christianity could use a serious kick in the ass.

9) I've already lost a couple of Facebook friends because of #8.

10) The smell of chalk dust always, without fail, reminds me of my first grade crush.

11) I cannot stand the sound of a balloon popping. When it happens, I freak out, start sweating, and generally need to get outside.

12) Funniest moment I ever had on the job: While talking to a client over the phone, a co-worker nonchalantly hands me a post-it note that says simply "Ass nipple."

13) When I first started coming out to poetry events in New York City, I drove almost daily from Pearl River, NY to (generally) the East Village. The trip was an hour or better both ways, and I would often do so without so much as a dollar in my pocket. What amazes me is that my parents actually supported this foolishness when I couldn't afford to do it on my own. It taught me my longest-lasting lessons on writing, poetry, family, and friends. I'll be forever grateful for that—especially when I look at my fiancee—

14)...my fiancee, by the way, is a poet also. Her name is Tara Betts, and she's gangster. We met three times before we started dating, like Harry and Sally: first, at Lincoln Center's Casita Festival in '04; second, at Raina Leon's workshops at UNC Chapel Hill, '05; and third, in NYC when she moved to Brooklyn (I had set her up with her then-roommate, '05-'06). Our first date was at a jazz club called Smoke, and the trombone player wouldn't stop staring at her. I was hooked much earlier than that, of course.

15) During senior year of high school and my first two years of college, I was an unrepentant right-wing Conservative and faithful listener of Rush Limbaugh. When I learned about the development of Machiavellian politics, U.S. history, death penalty statistics and race relations, I began a perilous shift toward the Dark Side that culminated in my indoctrination into leftist politics. I now wear a giant black respirator mask: it is the only thing that keeps me alive after my fateful light saber battle with Dr. Laura. But Fidel Castro can still kiss my ass.

16) Shortly after I broke up with my girlfriend in '02, I wrote a short story called "Letters To Pablo" in some of the most embarrassingly non-gifted prose I could muster. I detailed our relationship in some rather non-flattering terms, much of which she heartily deserved. We communicated briefly before I discovered that she had found the story online. I didn't hear from her anymore after that. Sometimes, in my darkest hours, I think about that story, and the decision I made to post it online, and then, ever so secretly, I laugh my ass off.

17) TD Bank was much better when it was Commerce Bank. I hate them down to their mismatched green and red logo.

18) I have a classic, somewhat maddening, contrarian nature toward authority. If you tell me to go west, I will always go east. Requests go much further with me than commands do. Likewise, if someone tells me something "must be," I will fight it with every fiber in me. This results in people not liking me at first...people like, say, insurance agents and salespeople. I'm not sure where I got this.

BONUS!

19) The mole on my face grows hair faster than the rest of my beard. Some days I'll have clean lines where I trim the beard, and a wild tuft of hair growing from the mole. These are the days I hate my father, while simultaneously reaching for my razor.

20) SECRET FANTASY: Winning the National Book Award or an Academy prize, refusing to provide the judges with a picture, and showing up to collect my award dressed like El Pachuco from "Zoot Suit." Because I'm from the streets of Los, cabron! Or something.

For the uninitiated: The ceremony looks something like this in my imagination:

Lists!

2008-11-27T23:56:00.004-05:00

I can't even begin to say what an insane couple of weeks it has been at my new job. I never intended to come to work under gunfire and secret leases. Whoa boy. More to come later on that front.

For now, a little repartee from Oscar and I on our influences. I liked his list. Let's see how mine stacks up:

Books of Poetry that Have Influenced My Poetry (in no particular order)
1. Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets Café, Miguel Algarín and Bob Holman, eds.
2. School of the Arts, Mark Doty
3. Collected Poems, Elizabeth Bishop
4. Book of My Nights, Li-Young Lee
5. Imagine the Angels of Bread, Martin Espada
6. E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962, George J. Firmage, ed.
7. The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde, Audre Lorde
8. Smoking Lovely, Willie Perdomo
9. 51st Dream State (Theater Production), poetry by Sekou Sundiata
10. Pleasure Dome and Theives of Paradise, Yusef Komunyakaa
11. Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman

To Understand My Writing, Understand These Books (in no particular order)
1. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz
2. Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
3. Paris 1919: Six Months That Changed The World, Margaret MacMillan and Richard Holbrooke
4. Blowback: The Costs and Consequences of American Empire, Chalmers Johnson
5. Miles: An Autobiography, Miles Davis and Quincy Troupe
6. Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, Arnold Rampersad, ed.
7. Puerto Rican Obituary, Pedro Pietri
8. Animal Farm, George Orwell
9. Some of Us Did Not Die, June Jordan
10. Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos, Jack Agueros, ed.

To Further Understand My Writing, Get Your Hands On These Recordings
1. "Aguanile," "Que Bien Te Ves," "Periodico de Ayer,"and "El Cantante,"
Hector Lavoe (any example from Fania Records)
2. "Folk Forms No. 1," from Mingus on Mingus
3. "Blue in Green," from Kind of Blue, Miles Davis
4. "Corcovado," Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto
5. "Holla If Ya Hear Me," Tupac Shakur
6. "Acid," Ray Barretto

Is this what it was like when Kennedy was President?

2008-11-05T00:57:00.004-05:00

Close, but I have to think that we witnessed last night was one-of-a-kind, unique to THIS generation, and therefore the kind of transformative moment in American politics that even the most cynical among us have been waiting for.

Consider this:

A Black man running for President has won Virginia, and as of this writing is still competitive in North Carolina. The Deep South of our worst nightmares, folks, is on its way out.

A Democrat promising to ease the Cuban embargo won Florida. And there's a Democratic Congress now. I think I can safely say that before too long, I can finally get my ass back to Cuba and see my family without being labeled a criminal. I hope they end that silly embargo shit once and for all, but that's just me.

He quoted Sam Cooke. Yes, that gets points.

In his speech, he took us on journey of American history through the eyes of a Black woman.

He also told us that our strength does not lie in the size of our military or the power of our economy. Let's hope that the new President realizes that America is also the country that has launched illegal wars all over Latin America, Africa, and Asia for the last 60 years. While we're ending the war in Iraq, I think we could also use a dose of change at the CIA and the Defense Department.

AND! Yes, by good God, no more hokey, folksy, aw-shucksisms at the press conferences. Our President wrote a book BEFORE he became a candidate for President.

Eight years of George Bush have ruined what was left of the Conservative movement. Make no mistake about it, the status quo (which is, after all, what Conservatism by definition must defend) bit the dust heavily last night. The party of Lincoln now must deal with they truly weren't prepared for: liberated (and rather liberal) brown and black folk. Nice!

All this, and it's my birthday on Friday, and I'll be celebrating with a gaggle of amazing company. It's enough to make me want to call off work for Black President's Day. Alas, the recession is on, y'all. Off to the grind.

Oh, but before I go: Here's a picture of President Barack Hussein Obama (FUCK, that feels good to write) at the Robben Island Prison Museum (where they imprisoned Mandela).

Patricia Smith: Maybe she'll write her next book a half-hour before the Pulitzer nominations....

2008-10-18T05:04:00.004-04:00

My honey and I are in the midst of a slight writing glut: Ms. Betts, of the 30/30 challenge (she's about 17 poems in and has a hella intriguing series currently underway); and I, of my recently-revisited poem "Blues For Good Latinos." Inspiration seems to be following us both these days.

So what to our wondering eyes should appear this week but the National Book Award nominees.

First and foremost, Oscar Bermeo has a bunch of links and commentary up on his blog about Patricia Smith. You should go check them out.

Patricia's latest book, Blood Dazzler, was just nominated for a National Book Award. So was Fire to Fire, Mark Doty's new and collected. I am in love with both these poets for a number of reasons, and I can feel their presences in a lot of the new stuff I'm writing now. I also saw them read together at the Bowery Poetry Club, and it was a trip to hear Mark's voice sounding out Patricia's "Building Nicole's Mama." What a fantastic reading that was.

But I gotta send a special shout out to Patricia, though. For somewhat selfish reasons. It just thrills me to death that she's on this list, and if she won it, I think I'd have to rethink my whole jaded stance on the "po-biz."

When I was slamming and doing the open mic thing with more frequency, I had an urgency to write that was sometimes overwhelming. A poem a day, sometimes two. Always coming to the mic with some new shit. There's something about that kind of discipline and desire that always said, "This is what a poet is supposed to do."

Of course, the demands of the organizer/job holder/generalized hand wringer sometimes put a damper on the writing side of things. It shouldn't, but it does. It did. I'm going to school for poetry, and even now the poems don't come with that kind of urgency. I want them to, and it's beginning to happen again. And it's doing so because I see the writers around me making it happen: Willie Perdomo's press, my honey's 30 poems, and Patricia. Ah, yes, Patricia, who was at the Obama fundraiser this past Sunday, chillin' by the back table, writing the poem she was about to recite. And goddamn, what a poem it was. Will it stay in that form? Maybe, maybe not, but that's not what the poet is supposed to do: worry about form, that is. She had something to say, now not later, she crafted the best way to sing it, and she sang that sucker. Eso, like Clemente Soto Velez said, es ser poeta.

Smith is a kick in the ass for poets of all stripe to come down off their theoretical high horses and write some damn poetry. You have to scare yourself sometimes, as she put it to me. Word. I'm up at 5am these days, scaring and challenging myself, and I have Patricia Smith to thank for that. And that I can actually call her a colleague, a friend, makes this National Book Award nomination that much more special.

So yeah, congrats to Patricia and to Mark and to what is really a wonderful list of nominees in poetry:

Frank Bidart, Watching the Spring Festival (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
Mark Doty, Fire to Fire: New and Collected Poems (HarperCollins)
Reginald Gibbons, Creatures of a Day (Louisiana State University Press)
Richard Howard, Without Saying (Turtle Point Press)
Patricia Smith, Blood Dazzler (Coffee House Press)

Noble Prizes

2008-10-11T18:04:00.005-04:00

1
Javier Huerta's latest post on the Poetry Foundation blog offers a massive dose of sweet relief to those of us tired of hearing about fake poetry anthologies.

"Lamenting" the fact that he has yet to win a Nobel Prize, (I say "yet" because one cannot the deny the possibility for a writer of Javier's ilk), Huerta offers up the reasons why, in a nod to Juan Felipe Herrera's "187 Reasons Why Mexicanos Can't Cross the Border." At least two of the Becauses listed are not Javier's.

"Because there isn't much quality work coming from nonwhite poets today." These words were attributed to John Hollander, winner of the Poetry Society's Frost Medal, their lifetime acheivement award. Nothing about that level of ignorance says "medal," "lifetime" or "acheivement" to me. Though it does strike me as frosty. Nyuk nyuk.

Speaking of ignorance:

"Because the U.S. is too isolated, too insular. We don't translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of literature. Our ignorance is restraining." This was actually a quote from Horace Engdahl, a Swedish member of the Nobel committee.

This judge went on to say that while "there is powerful literature in all big cultures...you can't get away from the fact that Europe still is the center of the literary world...not the United States." First of all, I wouldn't want to participate in a big dialogue about literature if the conversation's focus is on Europe. The last time Europe was the focus of any historical conversation, they created the Treaty of Paris (and Adolf Hitler's subsequent career.) Secondly, what precisely is a "big culture?" Julia de Burgos was a big poet, certainly deserving of Nobel consideration. One wonders if her culture (Puerto Rico) was big enough for the Nobel committee of the time. And given Engdahl's statement, I wonder the same thing for non-big, non-European writers and cultures today.

2
Huerta points out that this year's winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, the French writer Jean-Marie Le Clézio, made his bones at least in part by detailing his spiritual and literal journeys though parts of Africa, Mexico, and Central America, searching out spiritual consciousness in the Indian cultures he encountered along the way. Orientalism, Javier says, is back in fashion. I don't want to knock a writer I haven't met or read, and perhaps his work is sincere, but it's interesting to note that the citation from the Nobel Foundation lauds Le Clézio as an "explorer of a humanity beyond and below the reigning civilization." I don't think I need to point out the problem of language here, but just so we're all clear, neither Mexico nor Central America is below anyone. Just sayin'.

3
I know my boy Oscar will appreciate the mathematics of my present dilemma. In my MFA workshop, we are negotiating the difference between art and artifice. Or well, at least I am. What good is it to have the technical proficiency if you don't have the ideas? Likewise, what good are ideas if you don't have the artifice to enact them into substance? Craft is one side of the equation; heart is the other. In order to present the equation to the student, balanced or not, one must possess both. Right now, I've been too invested in statistics and geometric theorems to pay attention to the algebra. Or maybe I just need to shut up and write, que no?

In either case, it's been good to sit and write and think for the last few days pretty nonstop. I've got this new job that is deliciously absent of intellectual engagement, yet chock full of shit to write about. And when my boss is not fretting about legal papers, I sneak in some writing too. They pay me for this. Not enough to buy land with, but enough to pay bills. I can't complain about my life, or my immediate surroundings, though I think my fiancé and I could use another bedroom for the books. (Seven bookcases, y'all. And it's not enough.)

The working class part of me wants to put my nose back to the grindstone and get to the task of writing, editing, planning, and not have to say anything to the Hollanders and Engdahls of the world because I'm too busy actually doing the work to worry about who's paying attention. I can see myself being very Ishmael Reed in that way. On the other hand, the budding revolutionary Baraka-Coleman-Davis-Assata-Mumia in me wants to take a blow torch to every ornate conference room in my immediate path. Then I think about something else Javier said: "Because to refuse awards is another way of accepting them with more noise than is normal." And well, damn, ain't that a kick in the ass? (I would also add, to REFUSE to GIVE awards is another way of awarding them with more noise than is normal. Take note, interested parties.) Is it really that noble to be so anti-establishment? Depends on the establishment, I think.

All this to say. Awards are cute, institutions are cuter, but writers, real writers, are a dying breed. Any means we need to create more of them, I'm all for. Meantime, I'm gonna be a part of a big pro-Obama reading on Sunday afternoon, 2pm, at St. Mark's Poetry Project. I hope to see all of my friends, Nobel Laureates and non-Laureates alike, present and listening. Then, another amazing institution, Ron Kavanaugh's Mosaic Magazine, celebrates its 10th anniversary this Tuesday evening at Acentos, with a reading by the always-captivating Patrick Rosal.

Lessons from Slick Willie

2008-08-30T18:15:00.004-04:00

When I was a young and sassy (read: embryonic) high school student in 1992, I was a staunch Conservative. Well. As staunch as one can be at age 15.

Back then, there was no way I could have appreciated the video I'm posting here. All I'm saying is, Barack Obama better pay attention.

Perhaps Bill Clinton turned into a Democratic party hack, but at this point in his career, he was an idealogue who knew how to relate closely to people one-on-one. (Sometimes a little TOO closely.) When the debates start up, this is what people will remember.

Damn.

DEMOCRATS

2008-08-27T09:51:00.002-04:00

Mitt Romney and Rudy Giuliani are standing outside your little Unity Party and barking up a storm about how you are divided.

Wait, let's rephrase.

The Republican primary losers--one of whom is a pro-life Conservative from the bluest state on the planet and one of whom is the guy whose cops assaulted Abner Louima--are pretending like the GOP actually likes John McCain. And they are calling YOU divided.

If you don't address these nitwits like TODAY, I am going to punch Howard Dean square in the face and vote for my neighbor's dog for President. At least he knows how to make noise.

Laughing on the outside: Why you won't be submitting to Cider Press Review

2008-08-24T22:44:00.006-04:00

Some turf wars are not worth fighting.

Read this, small press owners, and beware. Writers don't have to take your shit.

http://staceylynnbrown.blogspot.com/2008/07/less-than-auspicious-debut.html

Word up, Stacey. I don't even know you, but that shit is gangster.

EDIT: DIZZAM. The shite-storm is in full effect. Every poet blogger I know is up in arms. (Rightfully so.)

Might I suggest:

--To the editor(s) of Cider Press Review: Your press is about to die a very inglorious death unless you make this right...AND FAST.

--To the outraged: Channel some of that rage where it belongs: Write to the editor. editor@ciderpressreview.com.

Congratuletas to Paul Martínez Pompa...

2008-08-16T21:47:00.002-04:00

...for winning the 2008 Andres Montoya Prize for his forthcoming first collection, Men Watching Men.

I loved Paul's work in the chapbook Pepper Spray, which he read from at Acentos a while back. Hope some of those poems made it into the book. Plus, he showed up at Betts' and my reading last time we were in Chicago. Very knowledgable, very personable guy. And a good poet, by jove! Nice to see both people in one package.

Bueno, don't take my word for it. Tell em, Martín!

"This is one tough, smart poet. The poems of Paul Martínez Pompa are gritty and visceral, but never cross the line into sensationalism. They are poems that vividly evoke the urban world, especially Chicago, without ever lapsing into urban cliché. They are poems that seek justice for the Latino community without ever resorting to the overheated language that all too often consigns poetry of social conscience to oblivion.

Martínez Pompa is a poet of the image, a poet of strong diction, a poet of meticulous craft. He puts that craft at the service of los olvidados, the forgotten ones, from the usual suspects brutalized by police to factory workers poisoned by their environment, from the victim of a homophobic beating in the boys’ bathroom to the body of Juan Doe at the Cook County Coroner’s Office. Yet this poet’s keen eye, sense of humor and gift for irony help these poems to rise above the wreckage of their circumstances. Nowhere else will you find a poem celebrating a Mexican grandmother’s phone call to the local Pizza Hut.

Martínez Pompa’s observation of a garbage truck may remind us of Williams and his poem about a fire engine; his compassion for the damned may bring Whitman or Hughes to mind. Paul Martínez Pompa, however, is very much his own man and his own poet, independent and honest. His is a unique voice, speaking the truth with clarity. Welcome."

--Martín Espada

*****************************************
And now, YOUR MOMENT OF SNARK:

Hey! A first book prize! Novel concept.

Desde Kent: Saludos to Alfred Arteaga

2008-07-08T19:20:00.003-04:00

Here at the banks of the Housatonic River, in the midst of what has been thus far an amazing time at the Kent Summer Writers Camp, I heard the news that the Chicano poet Alfred Arteaga passed away.

I've been teaching my 8th graders the importance of creating stories to keep memories and people alive. This takes on a huge importance today of course, even more so since we learned the art of ode and elegy with the late Andres Montoya. Tomorrow we pick up with figurative language. Tonight, however, my heart is with my friends in California and elsewhere who are saddened by this great loss. My heart is with you each, and with you all. Amor. Amor.

Ruminations.

2008-07-01T21:18:00.005-04:00

A young lady by the name of Shannon Leigh passed away Monday. I didn't know her personally because she did slam poetry, and I haven't been as connected to the slam community as I have been in the past. Yet, her untimely passing at age 20 has me thinking today.

I have been reading all the fast and furious blog posts in tribute to her from slam poets across the country. Most of them are genuinely touching, beautiful. Some, not so much: the elegy is a form, I believe, best executed upon some reflection...at least 24 hours is not unreasonable. But that's just me.

By all accounts, she spent half her life experiencing the various poetry communities that nurtured her (she was a sort of poetic wunderkind and started out around age 13). She ended up doing well at the National Poetry Slam and had just started garnering a national reputation as a touring poet. She made stops over at louderARTS, and at the Cantab Lounge in Boston, places from where I heard some of my friends hanging on to each other for comfort and support today.

It's senseless to hear about a young woman passing away at age 20. I'm still trying to fully accept my sister being gone at age 49. So of course my heart goes out to my friends who are trying to make sense of this thing, and to her family as well.

In my world, poetry is not an abstract concept or a creature to be dissected beneath a microscope. It's not something to mourn because people don't buy or read enough of it. It's an art form around which I've seen people genuinely gravitate. It's a way to see the world, to reimagine it, to make sense of it.

You'll pardon me, therefore, if I give a hearty middle finger to critics and poetry bloggers who berate and bemoan the excess of poetry movements and communities that form around poetry. While I sign on most wholeheartedly with Symborska's image of the solitary poet facing the naked page, I would be nowhere if I didn't have the friends I made in the poetry communities I came through. Why, for instance, would I have assigned any meaning in my writing life to the Blue Ox Bar, an otherwise annoyingly noisy cop and fireman bar, unless I knew that my people from Acentos were going to show up and help me push out some new work every two weeks? It's much easier for a young poet to face that naked page when he/she knows that he/she has friends who are there doing it too. Might I have been a poet without them? Probably. Maybe. Would I have had license to write in Spanish and English? Might I not have felt the freedom to choose?

I don't view poetry as an end product to be labeled in the manner one might label a can of corn. I think poetry is the answer to a question that only the individual poet can rightfully know and ask. I'm not in the business (at least not anymore) of deciphering what the question was. I'm not a contestant on Jeopardy. And I'm not in the business of telling groups of people not to ask the questions they want answered, especially when no one else is asking them. If they want to answer their questions together, so be it. I maintain hope that not every answer will sound alike.

I fear that in the rush to demonize labels like "avant-garde," "language," "formalism," "slam," or "performance," or what-have-you, young poets will get lost in the shuffle and forget how to speak. Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten how to speak myself. I fear that individuals within these groups that come together to question their own status quos will be intimidated into American poetic mediocrity. I really don't need to read another focus-groupped, overworkshopped book of poems about one lame theme, so here's to groups (or...GASP...movements) that push and question and answer back.

Today, I'm heartened to read about one young lady who was not yet tongue-tied and still managed to enjoy poetry, even as she was in school and working. And she was brought along by a national community that, while certainly not perfect, still manages to attract a few smart young people into its ranks and nurture the attitude that poetry doesn't have to be just a hobby. And yeah, while we're at it, by the way, it is damned nice to be able to claim family (dare I say, an identity?) through one's poems.

Raise a glass for Shannon Leigh today, and be glad you can.

Post-post-political identity, John Hollander, and an article to read and simmer on.

2008-06-20T17:46:00.003-04:00

From April of 2008, a response by Pablo Miguel Martinez on John Hollander and three anthologies familiar to readers of this blog, perhaps. Read this and see the comment below, originally posted on Emmy Perez's blog.

http://www.sacurrent.com/arts/story.asp?id=68530

Hollander is, in many ways, a perfect ass, truly. Sadly, his attitude is not altogether different from some poets of a certain class distinction, who will always bestow honor after honor upon their own ranks. These are the people who refuse to see.

I guess the question for Latino/a poets has been, how do we counter the monolith? A more delving question, to my mind, would be, how do editors/curators, etc. do so without becoming the very same monoliths that anthologies like these seek, ostensibly, to lean against, perhaps knock over?

Bone of slight contention. There are many good reasons why Martinez finds the Ringing Ear anthology so satisfying, but for me it is not in editor Nikky Finney's willingness to move into, as Martinez calls it, "flattened identity." This implies deflation, a release of pressure...which to my ear implies a post-racialized, post-identity, non-political approach to writings by people of color. Nikky Finney's willingness to link Black national experience to Black writing suggests that this sort of flattening is not the aesthetic she was going for. The book is truly a meditation on "the locus of much Black history and culture, the South" (again quoting Martinez) by writers who are yes, dammit, Black, the unapologetic inheritors of an American legacy that is too often hidden. In that way, it is unapologetially political, one that sees political identity not as a touchstone or starting point for conversation, but something that has been internalized (not suppressed, mind you) and now is being exploded in creative ways, under a creative theme. The willingness on the editor's part to engage political identity in this (non-flattened) way makes for a satisfying anthology. This is a lesson, I think, for other curators and editors of color as we move forward.

For Latinos, the future of our writing is going to lean heavily on our willingness to engage creatively with our political identities. No, this does not mean we may only write about borders, mangos, families, and palm trees. But we are not poets detached from the world: we are also citizens, though we live in a country where the default image of the word "immigrant" is brown and invisible. And writers of color have been invisible. This is not coincidence. Where are our themes? Where are our hidden stories? Who are the poets making the invisible visible? THAT is the true avant-garde to me, the ones who will disturb the foundations of the monolith. Fortunately, I think the examples among Latino/a writers are plentiful. Now we simply have to make them visible too.

Comments? I know you got em! Post away, and hurry, before the chihuahuas attack!

Two steps forward...and a leap off the cliff

2008-06-20T07:01:00.003-04:00

(Hell, it can't all be about poetry.)

I saw this just this morning. Without coffee.

Fuck me. I'm off to make a pot and bang my head against the kitchen table.

The Acentos Review

2008-06-16T08:42:00.003-04:00

Greetings all.

Acentos is pleased to announce the inaugural issue of the ACENTOS REVIEW, a new journal of writing by Latino and Latina authors.

It is online right now at http://www.acentosreview.com.

Seven poets and one visual artist grace the June 2008 issue:

Ray Gonzalez
Rachel McKibbens
Sheila Maldonado
Christina Olivares
Jose Olivarez
Mundo Rivera
Griselda Suarez

Visual: Alexandra Cespedes

The poets represented here comprise a remarkable mosaic of emerging and established Latino and Latina writers from different areas of the country. The work sprawls, breathes, bites, and turns. It demands. It is not easy. These are the poems we love, and these poets make beautiful conversation. They honor us with their presence and set a high bar for subsequent projects. Acentos sends its sincerest gratitude to each of them. Deepest thanks also to our co-editors Raina Leon and Eliel Lucero, who insisted that this project was doable and then willed it into reality.

Now then, a word about subsequent projects.

We are right now accepting submissions of poetry, fiction, nonfiction, reviews, interviews, and translation for the Latino Heritage Month issue (September 2008). See the submission guidelines for further details. We look forward to reading your work!

Log onto www.acentosreview.com and check out the fuss. We are extremely excited about this project, and we welcome your comments and queries: acentosreview, at Gmail dot com.

That email, by the way, reaches co-editors Raina Leon and Eliel Lucero. If you really love what you read, you should tell them so.

See you soon!

Vaya,
Rich Villar
for the Acentos crew.

On the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe's 35th Anniversary at Town Hall.

2008-05-08T07:27:00.014-04:00

I arrived early for once, with Tara and Fish and Ellie right behind, going straight to the will-call window, where I figure they've left tickets for our guests. The man behind the window looks at me like I have ten heads, nine of them named Larry. Yes, this is the Town Hall, and this is the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe and its 35th anniversary show, so I should have known that the normal rules of theater courtesy don't apply.

I'm told to go backstage and seek out Carmen Pietri-Diaz, the show organizer and former executive director of the Nuyorican, because she may have a list of performers, along with their comp tickets. So I leave the crew behind and do just that. Folks, the next time you attend a Broadway production, try going backstage like I did, and marvel at the Napoleonic fervor with which you will be stopped and interrogated by tiny theater people. That is some fun shit.

Tiny Theater Guy: "Excuse me. Who are you and what are you doing back here?"

Me (in what should've been my hulking Boricua brute voice but which probably sounded more like a plain perplexed Latin): "Um. I'm performing, dude."

TTG: "Well you have no pass. You are not allowed to be back here.

Me: "What's a pass? Sorry, I'm not a theater person. They just told me to come at 7."

TTG: (slightly hyperventilating) "Well...I mean...ugh. We're just gonna have to see about that..."

In the meantime, other passless performers who were apparently there since the soundcheck come and greet me with some enthusiasm, congratulating Acentos on our award, which of course I haven't seen yet. But it's supposed to be a high honor, the reason we're here, and TTG soon realizes that I am, in fact, supposed to be there. So he bristles and walks off in a hurried harumph. I shrug and proceed to spend the next fifteen minutes searching for Carmen, because more people like me will soon be experiencing the same trouble getting in the door.

I find Carmen finally, on the stage chatting up the stagehands, and I see Acentos' award. It's not an award, exactly...it is a sculpted bust depicting the poet Pedro Pietri, sitting atop a suitcase full of his Telephone Booth poems. The first thing I thought was, "Well, now...that's gonna be a pain in the ass to get home." Then: "That might look good in the Acentos Foundation's home office." And then: A fairly major arts institution representing Boricuas in New York is about to give us the nod in a very public and surreal way. Coupled with the fact that Carmen looks genuinely proud to see me speechless, especially since its her brother's likeness on the pedestal, and I can't be cynical about the night anymore. I thought we'd get some kind of piece of paper. A plaque at best. Instead they give us Pedro Pietri himself. I couldn't exactly process this thought, so I headed off to find the crew and we make our way to our seats.

I say "seats," even though I thought we'd be backstage until the presentation. But Carmen instead tells us to head up to the theater because we'll be in the second half of the show. Okay, I think, but I know the email I got says that we'd be on in the first half. Maybe they've changed it? Against my better judgment, I head up with the folks and we start watching the show. And it's beautiful, of course. There are Acentos regulars all thoughout the crowd, and a surprising number of people who have actually heard of us, making noise and general fuss. Flaco Navaja and Rosie Perez do a decent job of emceeing, and Flaco is great in performance as always.

I don't know if I can call it premonition, or zafa, or something equally espiritualista, but right after Tato Laviera gets off the stage, I turn to Fish and say, "Dude, get ready, I'll bet you money we're next." Sure enough, Flaco announces that Carmen and Pedro Pietri's son Speedo (yep, like the swimwear) are on their way out to present an award. Shite. Fish and I bolt for the side door and immediately search for the stage.

Remember what I said about Tiny Theater People? They're not so tiny if you try to actually bum rush the stage during the show.

Large Brown Usher is soon dispatched backstage to keep the two hulking brutes (Fish and I) from doing anything ignorant.

Large Brown Usher: "Guys, what are you doing back here?"

Hulking Brutes: "We're about to receive an award."

LBU: "What award?"

HB: "Um. Well. An award...for being...the New Nuyoricans?"

LBU: "What the fuck is a Nuyorican?"

HB: "Dude, you have to trust us. We're supposed to be back here. We're SO next..."

LBU: (suddenly becoming confused and somewhat sweet) "Guys...like, I can get in a lot of trouble."

HB: "Just trust us, man."

LBU: "Okay. So...what is this award for again?"

Okay, by now it's clear that the guard is trying to trap us into saying something to give away our ignorance, but before Fish can execute Order 66 on his ass, they call us to the stage and we emerge like two scared kittens on the single biggest friggin' stage I think I've ever seen. The lights are in my face, Speedo is reading a speech, Carmen orders the sculpture revealed (it had been under black cloth). Fish is rendered mute. The crowd, however, is not: I hear Jaime and Maria Nieves and a few others calling loudly for Acentos, I hear whoops and hollers from audience members newly acclamated to what we do, I see some familiar faces in the front row. Fish says some thanks and then I step onto the mic. I actually had prepared something to say, because apparently I'm the only one who believes in doing shit with a script.

These were my nervous remarks—abbreviated, because by now the fucking show is an hour late.

Thanks to Miguel, Lois, Speedo, and the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe for this tremendous honor and this tremendous mandate.

The Acentos reading series and the Acentos Foundation is a group effort, and I need to recognize the following poets, some of whom are here with us: Maria Nieves, Urayoan Noel, Ray Medina, Aracelis Girmay, Raina Leon, John Murillo, John Rodriguez, Eliel Lucero, and our co-founders Sam "Fish" Vargas and Oscar Bermeo.

The spirit that founded the Nuyorican Cafe, this Nuyorican movement, is the spirit we work to embody at Acentos as we continue to define our existence as Boricuas, Nuyoricans, Latinos and Latinas, not in the easy, expected narratives of immigrants and American dreams, but in the unexpected language of adaptation, resilience, and innovation. We work in the spirit of a Nuyorican poet by the name of Sandra Maria Esteves, who reminds us always that we are the ones who must place value on this work we do, and we must never wait for the dominant culture to cosign it...because they won't. And we work in the spirit of the patron saint of the movement, el Reverendo Pedro Pietri, with whose poem I close these remarks.

do not let artificial lamps
make strange shadows out of you
do not dream
if you want your dreams
to come true
you knew how to sing
before you was issued a birth certificate

turn off the stereo
this country gave you
it is out of order
your breath is your promised land
if you want to feel very rich
look at your hands
that is where
the definition of magic
is located at.

I can't say this was the pinnacle for us, because I'm of the belief that high points in the series are made at the reading itself. But this was easily top three of the most memorable nights I've ever had being involved with Acentos. It was strange, it was surreal. Given how little support we'd gotten from the Cafe at the very beginning (with the notable exception of Karen Jaime, and in my personal case, Jeff Feller), it was doubly surreal to go backstage, after a kiss from Rosie Perez and her thumbs up on the speech, to receive congratulations from Dylcia Pagan, Papoleto Melendez, Lois Griffith, Sandra Maria Esteves, and Ntozake Shange.

The rest of the night went pretty well. The highlight for me was watching Willie Perdomo read from a new series of poems complicating the issues between Puerto Ricans here in the States and those back on the island; in terms of colonialism, capitalism, cultural pride, and the politicians and activists on all sides who co-opt these conversations for their own purposes. The writing and delivery were frank and needed, and I think I wanna be him when I grow up.

The show went too damn long, and I heard a little too much old material for my tastes. But the music was damn good, Ishmael Reed and Ntozake Shange were fantastic (Ntozake has new shit, y'all...and it is some good good shit), and Carlos Gomez brought the house down with a poetry/dance duet with surprise guest Savion Glover. That was unreal. I felt that Acentos got some due, a little nod from the viejito on the Lower East Side (a viejito that also has a new Executive Director who wants to inject some new life and vitality into the cafe....we'll see what happens). But what was important to me, what made the night feel special, is that it did not feel like a "passing of the torch," but rather a nod toward a new torch uptown, one that is illuminating some pathways in new ways with new people.

I've had this love/hate relationship with the Nuyorican since I started writing, more so since I started getting involved with curating readings. Some of the older players (fiction writers, poets, and critics) who identify as "Nuyorican" are some of the most self-serving assholes I've ever dealt with in my life. No, I won't name names, but it's old story: folks make their bones on something, and they have to protect it at all costs. It's sad, but not unexpected.

For me, though, the Nuyorican movement was never really about them, per se, but rather about this idea that you can build safe spaces for expression that don't need conform to the easy narratives. And you can build that space without being an asshole, actually supporting younger writers, helping them find their voice...helping YOURSELF find YOUR voice among friends that speak your language(s). I think of Acentos as Steve Cannon's stoop, the Sixth Street cafe before slam and spoken word, the writers that made the space safe for first drafts. We needed that, still need that. It's the spirit that is embodied most, I think, by the Monday night series at Bar 13, the louderARTS Project, the reading series where Oscar, Fish, and I found our footing as writers. But the need, if you will, also drove Oscar and Fish to head uptown, home to the Bronx, to start something new and special for the writers of Latino descent who needed to work and think unapologetically in our languages. I think poets like Pedro Pietri understood that need too, and I think folks like Carmen and Sam Diaz understand that need, although I suspect that running the Cafe leaves them with very little time to show it.

Having gotten the chance to break bread with some of the family running the business, I have some genuine hope for the future of the Cafe, a future that Miguel Algarin and Carmen and Sam and the Nuyorican Board seem to be looking toward. I especially feel very grateful to Carmen and Sam for looking us out in this way, and in a very Reverend Pedro big kind of way. The bust stayed with them, for now. Betts and I can't exactly put it on our bookshelf, and neither can Fish and Ellie. Still, I think we'll take possession of it before too long, hopefully putting it in a place of honor befitting the things we've accomplished and the things we've left to do.

Pues, for all its good things and all its challenges, un toast to the Nuyorican Cafe on 35 years of existence. We should all last that long.

Some shout outs, for those in attendance, those who said what's up, and those there in spirit: Sandra Maria Esteves (who has become, in a very short time, one of Acentos' biggest boosters and an amazing friend/mentor to all of us), Martín Espada, Magdalena Gomez, Carlos Gomez, Jaime El Maestro, Frank Perez, Papoleto, Willie, Mariposa, Nancy Mercado, Danny Shot, Urayoan, LiYun, John Rodriguez, John Murillo, Raina, Eliel, Ray, Nina, Jessica, Debra, Gloria, Fradane, Sonia Lopez, Bonafide Rojas, Anthony Morales, Americo Casiano Jr., Carolina Gonzalez, Elena Marrero, Sery Colon, Luis Cordero, Daniel Gallant, Sandra's lovely daughters (whose names now slip me...bad me!), Maria and Jeremy, Ellie Argilla, and (duh!) Ms. Tara Betts.

Big ups also to Oscar and Fish, for starting this thing called Acentos. Pa'lante with it, always. Big ups to the 13 crew (who celebrated TEN years of the series this past Monday...the blog on THAT show is forthcoming!) and those writers who helped us cut our teeth along all these crazy paths.

If you were there, or if you clicked here, holler at me. I'm feeling pretty good right now, y'all.

NOTE: The photos with the "Mamarazzi" logo across the front were taken by Elena "Mamarazzi" Marrero. You can view all her photos from the event at her Flickr page

Acentos Live!

2008-04-25T10:42:00.004-04:00

http://www.gcast.com/u/AcentosPoetry/main

Acentos is on the air, live and in living color, over on Gcast.com. And because Francisco asked, and because you should probably know who you're listening to, here's a rundown of who is on our inaugural podcast.

The interviewers for the roundtable discussion (which happened live in our space last Tuesday) were Harvard undergrads Emiliano Bourgois-Chacon and Jose Olivarez, who were also the co-featured poets for the reading itself. Both Emiliano (an old friend of Acentos since he visited the Bronx as a 14-year-old youth slam champion from San Fran) and Jose (a standout youth slammer from the Louder Than a Bomb series in Chicago) are students of Dr. Arnaldo Cruz-Malave, visiting from Fordham this semester and lecturing on the topic of Latino poetic narratives about New York. They were filming us for their class project, and it became the lively (sometimes TOO lively) confab you hear on the podcast.

In order of their introduction on the recording:

Bonafide Rojas is the author of PELO BUENO (Dark Souls Press, 2004) and is the co-founder and lead singer of a band called The Mona Passage. He is loud...and apparently, that's why Tony Medina likes him.

Urayoan Noel is the author of KOOL LOGIC (Bilingual Press, 2006) and BORINGKEN (Ediciones Callejon, 2008). And yes, on this bio, he is indeed standing with Mickey Mouse next to a sign that says "Liquidacion total en Amerika." We fault dadaism and capitalism, simultaneously, for this hot mess.

LiYun Alvarado is a graduate student at Fordham University and emerging poeta in her own right. Ura and I and Blas Falconer are going with her to the Puerto Rican studies conference in Puerto Rico. The island is ill-prepared.

John Rodriguez is a poet and teacher originally from the Gun Hill Road section of the Bronx. He is also the current host of Acentos while the curator is off getting edumacated on Tuesday nights.

Be on the lookout for further goodness from this podcast, and from Acentos, as we move forward in 2008. Also, go to our MySpace page for information about the forthcoming Acentos Literary Review, including submission guidelines and such.

Folks, all this stuff is wonderful and of course we're happy about what we're up to, but today our enthusiasm is tempered a bit by the news of yet another acquittal in the death of another unarmed young Black man at the hands of the NYPD. I don't know what it's going to take to convince the dominant culture that there are indeed deep divisions in our cities, and in our nation, between those who enforce the law and those who live under the gun. And it's truly sad because we live now in a time where the likely Democratic nominee for President is no longer the likely Democratic nominee for President, because he actually had the nerve to challenge the niceties that grease oppression, niceties of the sort that drive a judge to seek out justification for murder, at all costs, and hide his sniveling cowardice behind the law. I can't put it any other way, and this is coming from someone who wanted law school once.

If the pattern holds up, the City will now step forward and hand Sean Bell's family a sizable sum of money to make up for their dead son.

These are the moments that make us as a nation. I wonder what the response to this will be...because there must be one, you know. Even if the response is silence, there is definitely a conversation happening in this country, one that will make our economic woes seem petty in comparison.

Fuck Hillary Clinton

2008-04-16T20:44:00.005-04:00

Yeah, I said it.

What I'm watching right now is among the most despicable displays I've ever seen in American politics. Ever.

On the debate currently airing on ABC, George Stephanopoulos, who by the way is BILL CLINTON'S FORMER COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR, asked a question about Bill Ayers' relationship with Barack Obama. Ayers was a member of the Weather Underground, a violent politcal group that formed during the 1960's, at the height of the Vietnam War, and the deaths of Martin Luther King Jr. and Fred Hampton.

Ayers has since changed his methods, but not his politics: he was quoted on 9/11 as not regretting his past activities. And the question by Stephanopoulos was framed in such a way that Obama, by simply knowing Ayers, is now guilty of the same brand of radical, (read: Black Power, oooooo) politics.

Ayers, by the way, is an academic, a college professor, someone who did some extreme shit in his life, to be sure. But this is also a man who has dedicated his post-Weathermen life (after the Feds dropped the charges due to prosecutorial misconduct)to education theory, and to teaching at the University of Illinois-Chicago. He is a good man, and he deserves better than to be demonized in this fashion.

But who made this an issue? Answer: George Stephanopoulos. Why is this man asking questions at a debate? This is no journalist...he is a former employee of Bill Clinton, and by extension, Hillary. This is, plain and simple, a hit job being perpetrated on Barack Obama. A hit job, plain and simple. Now we've set up a scenario where Obama will be painted as an extreme, violent, super-Black left-wing radical, a Black Panther, a scary Big Black Man that drives White voters into voting for their nearest safe white woman/Republican. Is Obama going to have to answer for every pissed off minority activist in the United States? Or hell, every ACTIVIST in the United States? (Ayers is white.)

I will never vote for Hillary Clinton. Never. I would rather vote for Nader. I would rather vote for the Libertarian. I would rather vote for my girlfriend's dog.

Dominicanos, Stand Up!

2008-04-07T21:07:00.005-04:00

"It's perfectly fine if you don't believe in these 'superstitions.' In fact, it's better than fine--it's perfect. Because no matter what you believe, fukú believes in you."

--From Junot Diaz' The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, winner of the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.

Get with it, y'all: The fukú claims a Pulitzer.

I soaked up every single word, nuance, and image of Paterson and Northern New Jersey (my home), and now the rest of you will too, if you know what's good for you. This is a well-deserved award for an amazing author.

The fact that he's a Dominican pana doing amazing shit with English and Spanish? Even sweeter.

For your viewing pleasure:

Authors @ Google Presents Junot Diaz, 9/26/2007--

Word.

NaPoWriMo #3

2008-04-03T23:01:00.001-04:00

(Oh yes, and a poem was here, too)

NaPoWriMo #2

2008-04-03T01:06:00.002-04:00

(poem was here, too)

NaPoWriMo #1

2008-04-01T11:38:00.001-04:00

(poem was here)

The New Hotness

2008-03-27T22:40:00.002-04:00

Latino Poetry Review (LPR) publishes book reviews, essays, and interviews with an eye towards spurring inquiry and dialogue. LPR recognizes that Latino and Latina poets in the 21st century embrace, and work out of, a multitude of aesthetics. With this in mind, its critical focus is the poem and its poetics.

A wonderful template and high bar for us to follow. Folks, go to the site and talk back to the editor, Francisco Aragon...or just give some feedback, or something. This is an important new presence in Latino letters, and it deserves our support.

Latino Poetry Review.

MiPOesias American Cuban Issue

2008-03-21T21:42:00.006-04:00

This list of poets kicks ass. And so does this edition of MiPOesias Magazine. To be included in this group is crazy inspiring, and I am highly grateful to guest editor Emma Trelles and to Didi Menendez.

**********************************************

MiPOesias: The American Cuban Issue

MiPOesias Magazine's newly released issue showcases the work of poets of Cuban descent who live in the U.S. The results are stories spun from highways and oceans, lyric meditations on love's rough edges and potent homages to deities and to the departed. No matter the subject, these poems blend the romance and sorrows of the past with a crisp view of daily life.

Edited by Emma Trelles and featuring Richard Blanco, Rita Maria Martinez, Grisel Y. Acosta, Kemel Zaldivar, Rich Villar, Sandra Castillo, Achy Obejas, Hugo Rodriguez, Mia Leonin, Adrian Castro, Diego Quiros, Kristina Martinez, Caridad Mccormick, Virgil Suarez, Suzanne Frischkorn, Didi Menendez and Elisa Albo. Cover art by Diego Quiros.

Now then, show your love: Pick up your copy RIGHT HERE!

Fundraiser Recap, PLUSWe Got Five On It: Celebrando Acentos

2008-03-21T20:48:00.003-04:00

Good news.

Tuesday's benefit for Jack Agüeros was one of the most moving and important events that Acentos has had the good fortune to take part in. By my count, over 200 friends and family, the famous and the infamous, old friends and new, from all over New York and beyond turned out to pay tribute to an important American poet. The love in the room was palpable and real, and it was an honor for us to host it. Our thanks to all the poets who read, to the Acentos crew that lent a hand, and especially to the Agüeros family. And, you can read all about it at the New York Times' website. I will also post pictures from the various photographers who were in the house that night.

More good news:

Acentos' Fifth Anniversary show is happening this coming Tuesday, March 25th. If past history is any indicator, the craziness will ensue very early, and you should get there early too.

(Not-so-good news: Gustavo Perez-Firmat cannot make it. We hope to get him for a future Acentos date very very soon.)

But! Even more good news:

Our featured poet for the evening is none other than the director of NYU's Spanish-language writing program, Lila Zemborain...and she has a fantastic, brandspankingnew book that will be available for sale that night.

Familia, if you've been a part of this series in the last five years, you know what shenanigans we have in store for Year Six. We are moving ever forward in our mission to shine the spotlight on Latinos and Latinas in American poetry, and as always, there are big plans simmering on all four burners. Come help us celebrate, reminisce, plan, and throw down the fiesta as only the Acentos crew can! The open mic signup is promptly at 7pm, and the show starts at 7:30 SHARP, y'all....

And by the way...DON'T SLEEP. Bring your new stuff. Punto!

Peace,
Rich Villar
for the Acentos crew.

Tuesday, March 25th @ 7pm SHARP!
ACENTOS FIFTH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION
The Uptown's Best Open Mic
and featured poet LILA ZEMBORAIN

Lila Zemborain is an Argentine poet who has lived in New York since 1985.
English versions of her work are included in the anthologies The Light of
City and Sea (2006) and Corresponding Voices (2002), in the art catalogs,
Heidi McFall (2005), and Alessandro Twombly (2007) and in multiple
poetry magazines and journals including Ecopoetics, Rattapallax, The
Brooklyn Rail, A Gathering of the Tribes, The Poetry Project Newsletter,
Bombay Gin, and Mandorla. Selections of her poems have also been
translated into French, Italian and Catalan. In 2007 she was selected as a
John Simon Guggenheim fellow. Mauve Sea-Orchids (Belladonna Books,
2007; translated by Rosa Alcala and Monica de la Torre) is her first
full-length English edition.

LOCATION AND DIRECTIONS:
The Bruckner Bar and Grill
One Bruckner Blvd. (corner of Third Ave. and Bruckner Blvd.)
6 Train to 138th Street Station
Hosted by John Rodriguez
FREE! ($5 suggested donation)

From MANHATTAN: Take the 6 train to 138th Street Station. Exit by the
last car on the 6. Take the exit to your left, go up the stairs to your right to
exit at Lincoln Avenue. Walk down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd, turn right on
Bruckner past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar & Grill is on the corner.

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.

Tribute and Benefit for Jack Agüeros, March 18th

2008-03-07T23:08:00.001-05:00

Lord,
on 8th Street
between 6th Avenue and Broadway
there are enough shoe stores
with enough shoes
to make me wonder
why there are shoeless people
on the earth.

Lord,
You have to fire the Angel
in charge of distribution.

--"Psalm For Distribution"
by Jack Agüeros
(from LORD, IS THIS A PSALM?, Hanging Loose Press 2002)

Dear friends and colleagues:

I'm writing to you about a friend of ours: Jack Agüeros.

I say "friend," not because I have known Jack for decades (I haven't), but because of what Jack's work has meant to the writers, artists, and activists here in New York City's Puerto Rican communities. In these decades, through his work as a poet, translator, fiction writer, and community organizer, Jack Agüeros has spoken to us with clarity, humility, intensity, and dignity about our shared experiences as Puerto Ricans.

As a community activist, he worked with the Henry Street Settlement, the Puerto Rican Community Development Project, and various city agencies. As a journalist and essayist, he has written about the alliances between Chicano and Puerto Rican activists, and about his own life as a Puerto Rican in New York. As an invaluable historian, he has translated and researched the work of Jose Martí and Julia de Burgos. Through his ingenious use of the sonnet and psalm forms, he has perfected the very human art of advocacy, conveying our struggles with unflinching imagery and a smart comedic sensibility. As a cultural worker, Agüeros brought art, music and a Three Kings’ Day parade (with real camels) to East Harlem through his stewardship of El Museo del Barrio.

Jack Agüeros has committed his life to the educational and social wellbeing of his people. Now is our chance to contribute to his wellbeing.

For quite a while now, Jack and his family have been dealing with the onset of his Alzheimer's Disease. It's been a difficult time, but the family has always been able to count on the support of friends and loved ones. That support will be made palpable on Tuesday, March 18th, when Jack's friends and family will come together for a benefit reading at Taller Boricua, in the Julia de Burgos Center, in the heart of Jack's birthplace, East Harlem. The location—1680 Lexington Avenue at the corner of 106th Street--is particularly appropriate, since the Center is named for the famous Puerto Rican poet whose work Jack translated, and is also the former home of P.S. 107, where Jack attended grammar school.

Scheduled to appear that night will be fellow poets, fiction writers, and kindred spirits who know and love Jack, many of whom are longtime friends of his: Martín Espada, Sandra Maria Esteves, Naomi Ayala, Aracelis Girmay, Lidia Torres, Robert Hershon, Donna Brook, Hettie Jones, Lynne Procope, Rich Villar, Tara Betts, Rachel Eliza Griffiths, Julio Marzán, and Edgardo Vega Yunqué. His children, Kadi, Natalia, and Marcel Agüeros, will also be on hand.

The event starts at 7pm with a special performance by the young students of Taller Boricua's Tuesday dance class, who were gracious enough to move their gathering in order to accomodate this event.

The authors will have books for sale, the proceeds for which will go toward Jack's care. Signed copies of Jack's books, including DOMINOES, SONNETS FOR THE PUERTO RICAN, and LORD, IS THIS A PSALM? will also be available, courtesy of Hanging Loose Press and Curbstone Press. In addition, Sandra Maria Esteves has graciously donated one of her prints, which will be bid upon in a silent auction that night.

A $10 suggested donation will be collected at the door. No one will be turned away.

If you cannot make it to the fundraiser, but would still like to make a contribution toward Jack's care, you can send along a check payable to Marcel Agüeros at the following address:

Marcel Agüeros
Columbia Astrophysics Laboratory
Mail Code 5247
550 W. 120th Street
New York, NY 10027

This is our chance to pay tribute to a true giant of Puerto Rican, Latino, and U.S. literature. Please distribute this letter far and wide, to as many as possible. We hope to see you all in East Harlem on March 18th, 7pm sharp.

Pa'lante,
Rich Villar.

*****************************************************
Tuesday, March 18th @ 7pm
A Reading and Benefit for Jack Agüeros
Please join us as we honor the work of a dear friend and raise funds for the treatment of his Alzheimer's Disease. Scheduled readers include Martín Espada, Sandra Maria Esteves, Naomi Ayala, Aracelis Girmay, Lidia Torres, Robert Hershon, Donna Brook, Hettie Jones, Lynne Procope, Rich Villar, Tara Betts, Rachel Eliza Griffiths, Julio Marzán, and Edgardo Vega Yunqué.

Taller Boricua @ The Julia de Burgos Cultural Center
1680 Lexington Avenue (corner of 106th St.)
6 Train to 103rd Street, two blocks north on Lex.
Hosted by Rich Villar of Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase
Suggested Donation: $10 (no one will be turned away)
For further inquiries or questions, please call 845-598-8654 or email rich@louderarts.com.

Uh Huh. But How Do It Free Us?

2008-02-19T12:02:00.006-05:00

For Salome, who I KNOW will read this blog.

Some observations on this whole "Post-Castro Era" thing that the press is bleating like sheep today in the wake of Castro's resignation as President of Cuba:

1) Precisely what is the press smoking...

...that they feel the need to report to the public from Miami and Union City: "No disturbances reported yet." Or, "Things have been calm thus far." What breakdown of law and order from the Cubans is the press waiting for? What lapse in logic is the nation expecting from those crazy Cubanos?

CUBAN #1: "Castro's gone!"

CUBAN #2: "Kewl! Let's burn this store down!"

CUBANS ON STREET: "YEAH!"

Come on, America! Last I checked, we were the safe Latinos. Did I miss something? Check out my wet foot/dry foot! Check out my entrepreneurial spirit! Really, y'all, go home. Nothing to see here.

2) Who actually believes that Castro is gone from power?

Show of hands, please.

(bunch of hands up)

Right. Now, let's hear from the Cubans.

(cricket. cricket, cricket.)

That's what I figured.

Let's review, o astute students of Communist history. Does anyone remember what title Mikhail Gorbachev held as the leader of the Soviet Union? From 1920 on, true executive power was vested in the General Secretary of the Communist Party. It's pretty simple, really, and it doesn't even have much to do with a nation being Communist...in a one-party state, the guy in charge of said party is basically the boss. Works everywhere it's been tried.

What's the one title that Fidel Castro has graciously agreed to hold on to? You guessed it: head of the Cuban Communist Party. Can you say, "musical chairs?" I knew you could. It's REAL easy to write and battle the evil empire as a comrade when you're the comrade in charge.

Sincerely,
Rich Villar
Bridges For Sale, Inc.
Opportunities Available in Brooklyn!

3) A change gon' come...

Well, maybe. But not from this group of assholes. When Castro says that power is passing to a group of younger folks, he means Carlos Lage and Ricardo Alarcon, who are about as young as you can be and still be old as hell.

Here's the sad truth. The only language of change that Cuba and Cubans know, historically, has been violent overthrow. Oh, we had elections once or twice, most prominently under the 1940 Constitution, but they were followed by that old standby of Latin American politics: military dictatorship. For those of you unschooled in this style of politics, it means there are soldiers stationed at every street corner, positioned in valuable places in government, heavily armed and not at all interested in your civil liberties. See: Cuba under Machado, Batista, Castro. Machado was cut down by a coup. Batista the same. Precisely what makes us think the same fate does not await the remnants of this regime, especially if people start making noise like the folks in the Varela Project, or the student who recently questioned Ricardo Alarcon in public, or...God forbid...the U.S. Marines?

Sorry folks. There's no justice in Cuba, and there will probably be no peace either. I do think this is the start of something, but I'm not optimistic in the least about what that something will be.

4) Funny this is all happening...

...the day after I discover a record collection full of the poetry of Chanito Isidron from Las Villas, the master of punto cubano?

All this to say: Yes, Rich, you're still Cuban!

2008-02-14T22:36:00.003-05:00

Tonight I'm thinking about a man I never met, Raul Salinas, the Chicano poet, activist, and scholar who passed away yesterday. So much of his story parallels and intersects with the stories of Puerto Rican activists, writers, and political figures.

And at the moment I'm also thinking about invisibility: how our work and history is so often ignored, forgotten, erased. And what of our literature?

There's so much to say, much of it caught on the roof of my mouth. To those who read this...help me out. What is visibility? What do we really seek out when we ask to be noticed by people, venues, awards, universities? And who are we pushing against? How, why, and where do we/should we influence the dominant culture?

I feel there's so much to say here...yet I don't know where to start.

Gatherings.

2008-02-11T00:24:00.000-05:00

What? Were we at a conference last week?

Fish and I gettin' professional.

Well, yes, but I think it was more profound than simply saying I went to AWP! and got to hobnob with people. Truthfully, I didn't get to see a lot of it, certainly not as much as I did last year in Atlanta. But here I am, a full week after the fact, and I am still reeling from the experience.

A rundown.

Tuesday

Not an official conference day. Who cares? Javier Huerta read with Marina Garcia-Vasquez up at Acentos. I am able to catch the tail end of the show, break bread with new friends from Achiote Press (Craig Perez and Jennifer Reimer), and enjoy some friends and nachos. Fish, my partner in crime, is holding court as usual. John is doing his usual bang-up hosting job. Maria is keeping the score and the meter. Afterwards, John tells me it was fun. I'm feeling good so far. Fish and I are nervous but excited about the rest of the week.

Thursday

Saw almost none of the conference itself, but got to see Francisco Aragon, Rigoberto Gonzalez, and Elena Minor holding it down at the bookfair. Ran into a million people, many of whom I was glad to see. And that was pretty much it, except that I was struck by the size and placement of the Poetry Foundation booth. The experience was: You walk into a resplendent Hilton off 6th Avenue, get directed to the escalator by uniformed security, go up the escalator, read a million signs that say "AWP," and "sold out," pick up your badge from your designated desk, and then march straight into the arms of Ruth Lilly. Que cosa.

That night, we honored Tato Laviera and Sandra Maria Esteves at Con Tinta's annual AWP dinner and get-together. I'd heard tell of these parties before, heard and seen some of their honorees, but actually getting to see one up close, I understood in a very personal way just what kind of potential Acentos has. We are, at our heart, a group of friends that runs a reading series. Anyone can do that. But the buzz in the room on Thursday was that of a true community, a familia of poets of different ethnicities and cultural niches, but all of whom share a common language—many languages, actually. And we share them within barrios and histories that carry over into rich and highly varied poetic experiences. We hear poems, we write poems, we sing them out and break them on the page. This is a familia that stretches across the country, one that should be nurtured, praised, and added to. I have to thank Con Tinta for helping us see what is possible.

Humbling moment #1: Listening to Sandra Maria Esteves describe Acentos in detail to a roomful of our compatriotas, telling us of our responsibilities in recognizing our literature as valid, and not waiting for the dominant culture to do it. That we were well on our way, that our future was bright. The next day, she gave us a copy of the speech on a piece of parchment paper. Frameable. Indeed. The first of many bouts of weeping ensues.

What a party. What a prelude...

Friday

At ten a.m., I am struck with a case of the nervous nellies the likes of which I don't think I'll feel again for a long time. It is a panel presentation on Acentos: our impact, our history, and our plans for the future. I mean, it's one thing to think it, to conceptualize. Another thing entirely to stand up and speak it. Which we do.

When I say "we" in reference to Acentos, I'm referring to an amazing group of poets who have contributed mightily to the series during the last five years, whether as curators, organizers, friends, or co-conspirators behind the scenes in the last year or so as we've contemplated some new projects. The reading series has blossomed into an entity called the Acentos Foundation...small, to be sure, but plucky as hell.

The people pictured above with Fish and I are three of the people we've entrusted to help us out: John Rodriguez, a poet and teacher from the Bronx; Aracelis Girmay, Cali poet and teacher and the author of this year's Teeth; and Raina Leon, poet and teacher orginally from Philly. Not pictured, but part of the team: Maria Nieves, John Murillo, Urayoan Noel, Eliel Lucero, and Ray Medina.

Humbling Moment #2: John says during our panel, "...if your land is stolen, if your language is lost, if your history is denied, if your name is swallowed, if your family is ejected, if your god is banned, if your father leaves, you learn that nothing is as important as what is gone...Acentos honors this sense/absence of literary family and evolves the urge to write and speak ourselves into existence/continuance."

Word.

Here are the initiatives we talked about. Some of you should take note.

--Acentos will be starting an online literary review for Latino/a writers and artists. We are accepting poetry, fiction, book reviews, interviews, and photography. Guidelines can be found right here. The review period starts up on February 15th. Inquiries: acentosreview@gmail.com.

--We will be accepting submissions for a new anthology of teaching Latino poetry. Details and guidelines forthcoming.

--We will start up a series of workshops at the grassroots level to support young writers of Latino/a descent in our home borough of the Bronx. Aiming to start in the Fall.

--Lastly, we are working toward the creation of a yearly workshop and retreat for poets of Latino/a descent, in the mold of Cave Canem and Kundiman. Target date: Summer of 2009.

We do well at the panel. We answer questions, we make friends, we weep a little more. Martin Espada shows up to support us, which is huge and humbling and a little unreal. And the day wasn't done yet.

We'd been planning for this reading up at Hunter College for quite a while. But there's always the dread of disaster, of no one showing up, of a big idea gone bust. We had no idea this awaited us:

Better than 200 people, maybe more, came by to celebrate with each other, laugh, cry, and generally enjoy the most amazing group of Latino and Latina poets to come together in a long time. For the curious: yes, it was recorded; yes, there are many many pictures; yes, it will be archived at the blog and in other places. Keep your eyes peeled.

Personal highlights:

-- Raina Leon's moving poem about her brother, who was beaten on a football field at age 10 for being Black and Latino.

-- Jose Gonzales' "brown" poem.

-- Rodrigo Toscano, who baffled some and thrilled others. Avant-garde? Si se puede!

-- Eliel Lucero, dropping something brand new and rather good, after a long drought in his writing.

--Brenda Cardenas and Suzanne Frischkorn, and images that can turn a line like nobody's business.

-- Trying to follow Sandra Garcia Rivera's "That Kiss."

-- Willie Perdomo's line: "What the fuck is a vosotros?"

-- Humbling Moment #3: Hearing the warm and sincere applause at the end, in recognition of an amazing shared moment, a time that will stand out in my mind forever. To that end, I must offer my sincerest thanks to the following people, some of whom I met for the first time:

From L-R: Louis Reyes Rivera, Raquel Rivera, Emily Perez, Urayoan Noel, Elena Minor, Sheryl Luna, Roberto Tejada, Xochiquetzal Candelaria, Blas Falconer, Diana Marie Delgado, Rodrigo Toscano, Sandra Garcia Rivera, Suzanne Frischkorn, Rosa Alcala, Francisco Aragon, Javier Huerta, Eduardo Corral, Fishie, Peter Ramos, Sandra Maria Esteves, Mundo Rivera, Raina Leon, Maria Nieves, Eliel Lucero, Rafael Campo, Martin Espada, Jose Gonzales, Brenda Cardenas, Willie Perdomo, and Aracelis Girmay. (not pictured: Edwin Torres)

I surely hope I didn't forget anyone, but let me know if I did.

Bueno. This was my AWP. I wasn't lucky(?) enough to sit in on any panels on post-avant-garde poetics, nor did I get to fight people from the audience about alternative careers within the MFA world. But I did get to sit for most of the day on Friday at Con Tinta's table, break bread with Latin@ brethren and sistren from across the country, and put a cap on something amazing that got its start five years ago, that is breathing brand new things five years later. I'm looking forward to what's next.

If you were with us last week: thank you, thank you, thank you.

**********************************************

Oh, by the way. Here's what's next:

Tuesday, February 12th @ 7pm
Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase
Uptown's Best Open Mic and Featured Poet
Marie Elizabeth Mali

Marie-Elizabeth Mali was born in New York City of Venezuelan-American and Swedish parents and grew up tri-lingual. A licensed acupuncturist formerly in private practice in New York, she is an MFA candidate in poetry at Sarah Lawrence College. She is currently translating poetry by the Venezuelan writer Yolanda Pantin. Her work has appeared in the online journals 2River View and Spindle and is forthcoming in Calyx.

The Bruckner Bar and Grill
One Bruckner Blvd. (corner of Third Ave. and Bruckner Blvd.)
6 Train to 138th Street Station
Hosted by John Rodriguez
FREE! ($5 suggested donation)

AWP: All the World's Poets...and some of them speak Spanish...

2008-01-28T19:00:00.000-05:00

This is a week I've been anticipating for quite a long time.

Take the Dodge Festival, the National Book Awards, the National Poetry Slam, every University Press, literary nonprofit, and writers' retreat you can think of, and cram it all into a Hilton Hotel on 6th Avenue. THAT, my fine friends, is AWP in New York. 7000 writers in one hotel. How many libraries could those stories fill?

Acentos plans to be in the thick of things with a panel discussion on the reading series scheduled for Friday morning, 10:30am. Panelists Raina Leon, Aracelis Girmay, John Rodriguez, Fishie, and myself will lay out the history of the series and our plans for its future. That night, we are throwing the biggest reading imaginable to celebrate the fact that so many poets of Latino/a descent will be in the same city. And well, you know. Just because I like to put on readings. It's fun.

Details for all Acentos-related events are listed below. I hope to see some of you, all of you, at the pachanga this week.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 29TH @ 7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase
A reading in collaboration with Achiote Press
featuring JAVIER O. HUERTA and MARINA GARCIA-VASQUEZ
plus the Uptown's Best Open Mic

Javier Huerta is the author of Some Clarifications y otros poemas (Arte
Publico 2007), which received the 31st (2005) Chicano/Latino Literary
Prize from UC Irvine. He received his MFA from the Bilingual Creative
Writing Program at the University of Texas at El Paso in 2005 and is
currently a PhD English Literature student at UC Berkeley. He lives in
Oakland.

Marina Garcia-Vasquez is a California native from the Bay Area. She is
an MFA graduate from the University of San Francisco. Her poetry often
speaks of urban landscapes, a contemporary Mexican identity, and the use
of data and news. She currently lives in downtown New York, where she
works in publishing and journalism.

The Bruckner Bar and Grill
One Bruckner Blvd. (corner of Third Ave. and Bruckner Blvd.)
6 Train to 138th Street Station
Hosted by John Rodriguez
FREE! ($5 suggested donation)

THURSDAY, JANUARY 31ST @ 6pm
Con Tinta Annual Awards Presentation at AWP
The Chicano/Latino writers' collective honors the work of Nuyorican poets
TATO LAVIERA and SANDRA MARIA ESTEVES
Mojitos' Bar and Grill
227 E. 116th Street (between 2nd and 3rd Ave.)
6 Train to 116th Street Station
FREE AND OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 1ST @ 6:30pm
ACENTOS: A Gathering and Celebration of Latino and Latina Poets

A reading of more than twenty-five Latino/a poets from New York City and
around the country, to coincide with AWP. Scheduled readers include Martín
Espada, Sandra Maria Esteves, Rafael Campo, Aracelis Girmay, Willie Perdomo,
Brenda Cárdenas, and many more!

Presented by El Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños
and Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase

The School of Social Work @ Hunter College
129 E. 79th Street (corner of 79th and Lexington)

6 Train to 77th Street. Walk two blocks north to 79th and Lexington.

FOR FULL BIOS ON ALL THE POETS, GO TO LOUDERARTS.COM/ACENTOS.

ACENTOS: A Gathering and Celebration of Latino and Latina Poets

2008-01-13T16:31:00.000-05:00

The week of AWP is shaping up to be a busy one for yours truly and for Acentos.

This particular reading was a real challenge to put together (more so than I thought it would be), so I'm particularly happy it's going to happen...and I'm particularly nervous about hosting it. But it's a great chance to put faces to voices I've had on my radar screen for a while, and to celebrate Latinos and Latinas doing their thing in American letters.

If you're in New York on February 1st, come down and check it out.

Much more to come in the next week...stay glued!

***************************************
Tuesday, February 1st, 2008 @ 6:30pm
ACENTOS: A Gathering and Celebration of Latino and Latina Poets
Presented by El Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños at Hunter College
and Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase

To coincide with the AWP conference, Acentos and El Centro present a celebration and reading of more than twenty emerging and established poets of Latino/a descent. Scheduled readers include: Martín Espada, Rafael Campo, Sandra Maria Esteves, Aracelis Girmay, Diana Marie Delgado, John Murillo, and many more!

The School of Social Work @ Hunter College
129 E. 79th Street
Corner of 79th St. and Lexington Ave.
Admission: Free and Open to the Public

Directions: #6 Train to 77th Street. Walk two blocks north to 79th Street and Lexington Avenue. The School of Social Work is located on the northwest corner of 79th and Lexington.

Ack! Knowledgement!

2008-01-07T14:17:00.000-05:00

Guest edited by Francisco Aragon.

Featuring work by Lisa Alvarado, Oscar Bermeo, Xochiquetzal Candelaria, Diana Marie Delgado, Jose B. Gonzalez, Octavio R. Gonzalez, Raina J. León, elena minor, John Murillo, Kristin Naca, Emily Pérez, Ruben Quesada, Peter Ramos, Carmen Gimenez Smith, Rich Villar.

Cover design by April Carter-Grant.
Artwork by Didi Menendez.

BUY THE BOOK!

IN OTHER NEWS: I also have work forthcoming in the Cuban-American writers' issue of MiPoesias magazine, guest-edited by Emma Trelles. IN PRINT NO LESS!

Good to be me, y'all. And for it all to happen on my honey's birthday: even sweeter.

(Side note: If you recognize the artwork on Betts' page and the artwork by Didi Menendez in OCHO...well, there's probably a reason for that. That Menendez is pretty talented, yes?)

:-)

In the Immortal Words of James Brown:

2008-01-03T21:34:00.001-05:00

Get up.

Get on up.

Work, Contentment, Freestyle, and Something for the Fam

2007-12-22T14:55:00.000-05:00

Here's a partial list of shit to do between now and January 22nd (the first day of the next semester):

1) Read/write/edit my ass off. Think about new genres.

2) Put together my syllabus for Comp II. Not hard, but still time-consuming.

3) Plan out a series of interviews for my Spring Historiography thesis.

4) Put together materials for AWP/Acentos panel. Write stirring yet relevant speech for said panel.

5) Planning with Con Tinta for the joint Acentos/Con Tinta table at the AWP bookfair.

6) Book Acentos for at least the first half of 2008 (not nearly as crazy as it sounds).

Added to this, I'm waiting on news about a job for next year that would be monumental if it were to happen. Keeping my fingers crossed for that one.

No, we don't always get time off between semesters, and, it's shaping up to be a full and meaningful month for yours truly. For the next couple of days, however, I plan to enjoy crossing the finish line with my family, my new apartment, my lovely girlfriend, and our lovely new furniture. (Yes, the living room is actually liveable!)

And because for the moment I'm tired of discussing poetry and all its related nonsense, I also plan to check Youtube with some regularity for music like the video posted below. The other day I was talking to Pat Rosal, a fellow Jersey boy who shares my abiding love for 80's freestyle and club music...get with it, y'all! Turns out, Youtube has a virtual treasure trove of stuff along the lines of Stevie B, TKA, George Lamond, Lil Suzy, The Cover Girls, Safire, and Lisa Lisa. Seeing all these hairsprayed, suited-up, polished, brightly clothed, doorknocker-wearing young Latinos parading around in the videos got me all kinds of nostalgic for the days when my siblings were still Northern New Jersey club-goers, and I was still a baby pissant nerdboy too young to join them.

I know my brothers and sister will probably see this post, so I'm putting up the ORIGINAL freestyle classic from 1983, in honor of Club Elegante, Seaside Heights, Eddie and Martita, Highland Park, and that fly-ass New Year's basement jam (which of course I didn't realize was fly at the time). And of course, for Miriam, who loved this stuff too.

Merry merries and happy happies to everybody celebrating the next couple of weeks.

"Let the Music Play," Shannon:

A, E. A, E, I, O, U. U. And sometimes, why--

Rich.

Location, Location...

2007-11-23T23:18:00.000-05:00

His beady black eyes stare out from his hiding place, and two slits that serve as nostrils seem to sniff the air for food, perhaps company. His ears poke up, and his legs (stout as they are), hold him staunchly in place. He is a sentinel, a watchman, a fully-aware presence clothed in shimmering silver, unmoved. He is not a knight, he is not a tower guard, and he did not exist during the Crusades. No friends, he is none of these things, but I still must reckon with him, and all those who pass through my home must reckon with him as well. His name is Slick, and he's a round, silver-plated pig into which we drop our loose change. He sits on our desk, his home, the place from which I'm writing right now.

I usually don't write from here. In our current state of random apartmenthood, I have secured lodgings for my laptop and printer at the kitchen table, though I think I will shortly migrate the setup into the bedroom. Yes, I've just described a pig to you, a lifeless and hollow fake at that, but having the pig near me reminds me that I'm home, as this desk reminds me, as the lady in the bed reminds me, as the closet and the new jade plant and the jar of quarters and the dresser. Already my girlfriend is reminding me that we adopted (yes, she said adopted, like something you do to an infant or a puppy) this silver piggy because my silver change followed my pants and socks across the floor, and because we needed something to be ours, I think.

And now I feel the urge to write in a way that's been...missing? Is that the right word? I think I've had urgency, but urgency about what? Who do I do this for? I know it's not for my advisors. Maybe I've had it wrong. Maybe what I'm writing for isn't ME, exactly, but rather, for where I am. Figuratively and literally. Could it be this simple? Could I simply have lacked the space, the zone in which writing was not so foreign an activity? I'm surrounded by things that remind me I'm a writer, and they have nothing to do with the implements of writing. I would kiss this pig if I could do so without my girl looking at me sideways.

I've heard it said countless times that a writer needs to be writing all the time, needs to carry a notebook and jot jot with frequency, with purpose, with UGH and verve and rightnowgoddammit. I listened to the immediate voices the night I found out Pedro Pietri died. Something told me, park the car, and something else told me, walk to Union Square park, pull out your pen, and write this down. And I did. Couldn't tell you what I wrote if you'd asked me. Don't even know where the journal is. But something spoke to me of place, and my writer-self responded, and I knew, and I obeyed.

Never really considered it, though, the idea of place. There's a place you must write for, write to, one that sometimes isn't fully explained, one that can only be discovered for one's self. For me, it's this desk, this piggy bank, these objects in this room. I want to see Neruda's writing room next.

How about y'all? Where's your place to write? Where is your place?

Words in Your Face! and other notes on slam/community.

2007-11-21T02:45:00.000-05:00

No, not the name of the latest slam venue in West Bumblefuck, Mississippi, but the name of a new book on the slam phenomenon in New York by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz.

An interesting mix of old heads and new heads on the New York City slam scene were out in force to celebrate the publication of the book, as well as the 10th anniversary of the Urbana poetry slam series. While it's great that someone has written a book about this crazy scene, my feelings are mixed. I miss it some days: the general air of give-a-fuckedness that marked my first days in it, the irreverrence that comes with being able to thumb a nose at "academia" and the stuffy airs of "page poetry." These days, however, I feel like I'm writing much of that page poetry that I once decried. Which means, of course, I had no clue what I was talking about.

Today I'm not as horrified about the stuff that passes for "slam poems," because I think my expectations are different. Is the average young slammer in it because they are looking to be published? Clearly this is not the Bob Holman era at the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe. This is the post-Def Poetry on Broadway, post-Reg E. Gaines, post-Saul Williams amalgamated slam scene looking for acting gigs, college gigs, any gig that keeps the lights on. I mean, that's cool, you do what you can to get by, but I'm not looking to the slam crowd to speak to my poetic sensibilities. How much can you move me as an artist when priority #1 for you seems to be to tour and couch-surf and hang out with your fellow slam deadbeats? I know one slammer in particular who is proud of the fact that he doesn't read other poets, because he doesn't want them influencing his art. I don't think he has to worry about that.

Spoken word artists (and I use that term derisively) are looking more and more like everyday paid entertainment. Shuck, jive, and cha-cha to the fullest. Today I find spoken word artists all over glossy flyers, clogging my inbox, attending $500 slams, and lobbying MySpace for a section between Music and Comedy. And of course, they do this thing...for the love. Where's my spoon? I say, let's at least have some honesty about this: where's the spoken word artist willing to do weddings and bar mitzvahs? Hell, I know one that takes credit cards.

But. Lest anyone get it twisted...this is the scene that nurtured my first artistic impulses. Granted, I slammed at the "elite" venue, Bar 13, but you bet your ass I was out at the Nuyo, Urbana, and anywhere else some fool dropped an open mic. Even Acentos, my baby, our baby, got its start because its founders were reacting to conditions within the NYC slam scene: that is, where the hell were the Latinos on these open mics and slams? Luckily we didn't get swept under the spoken word rug, and luckily, my tastes as a writer changed and deepened, as they should, as they still do with some. But yeah, I found my legs in the slam scene, and I still thirst for some sense of a community I called/call home. I hope to keep this thirst as I move into different venues for community...and I certainly hope Acentos retains this urge as well.

The MFA program is going well, by the way, thanks for asking. I have two great professors (Rigoberto Gonzalez and Lewis Porter) and two good ideas underway. Last night, the germination of a third took some hold. Keep your fingers, toes, eyes, and wires crossed, y'all.

Happy gobblegobble to the folks, much love, and stay safe.

Days Going By in Broken English.

2007-10-06T02:09:00.000-04:00

What's beautiful about living outside the City is that running errands requires no train transfers, no encounters with rats, no excessive transit delays, and no tourist assholes asking you which way to Houston Street...while standing on Houston Street. I love New York City, but I think the average City dweller forgets that life exists west of the Hudson. (I refuse to believe in the existence of Long Island.)

While living away from the hustle means peace of mind, I used to trade the hustle for a space in my parents' home, far away from my work and contacts, which really wasn't much peace of mind of all. Well, unless you count the free rent.

Most days, in my decidedly non-rent-free apartment, I've taken to performing the vast majority of my indoor activities completely bare assed. The coffee tastes the same, but perking it without clothing is the kind of adventure I'm up for these days: not deadly, yet not without some degree of risk.

I don't know why I told you that.

Yes I do. Because New Jersey is being very good to me so far, and because the Rutgers MFA program is an ass kicker, and because I'm beginning to appreciate the members of my workshop (grudgingly), and because life with my girlfriend is decidedly better than life without her. It was not easy to adjust, but I feel like I've hit a stride I'm comfortable with. This does not mean I'm not freaking out over the various papers that are due this semester, but it does mean that I no longer feel like I'm out of my league.

In case you'd like to visit, we live off Exit 151 on the Garden State Parkway. (This is how we navigate the state, by the way.)

***************************************

Is anyone else tired of people discussing slam as if they were Lawrence Ferlinghetti discussing the Beats? For fuck's sake people, go write a book if you find it that interesting.

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GO READ JUNOT DIAZ' THE BRIEF WONDROUS LIFE OF OSCAR WAO. NOW! DO IT!

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Still pondering Lavoe. Still pondering Sekou, but I may make him a thesis for next semester. Writing pantoums for class. Just wrote a piece based on A.R. Ammons. Like to hear it, hear it goes...

174th Street
after A.R. Ammons

Instinct, only,
to see and hear whatever is coming and going,
losing the self to the vigilence
of cold brick and telephone poles,
of live wire sparking at the puddle, undulating
asphault fired beneath rubber and sun:

Sam tells you it's not you
so much as what you can write down
between Con Edison and the scattering cucaracha,
who was here before you,
and who will be here after
the last bomb drops.

Under the 174th Street Bridge,
the Bronx River feeds green
to shattered concrete and poisoned soil.
What were once weeds, now trees,
bursting through unfriendly ground
to snake around the bridge's rusted neck.

Green glass bottles grow in the branches
(each one pregnant with new rain),
and the gods of project housing
build bigger brick cathedrals,
where their landlords seal winter inside.

"Muerte bottles," Sam reflects. "In memory
of the dead." I count them each.

No need to make any philosophies here.
God is the memory
of a small glass bottle, the music of a tree
turned windchime in August. I hear life
where death should be, the sunlight smiling
among glass and leaves. Surrendered self
among unwelcoming forms: stranger, leave
your burdens, leave the road.

Peace, y'all.
Rich.

The New Shit...

2007-09-16T20:35:00.000-04:00

Peace out, Pearl River, you've been mad lovely, but driving to work and school from Rockland County sucks tremendously.

I'll miss my folks, but well, when your lady is as bad-ass as mine is, you tend to get over it.

Hopefully folks, I won't be as incognito as I've been in the past few weeks. I have a thousand apologies to offer up to a thousand different people, but well, you heard it here first.

If y'all wanna send us a housewarming gift, we ain't gonna stop ya.

Why, Jesse?

2007-09-03T00:47:00.000-04:00

Can somebody tell me what the hell Jesse Jackson is doing protesting THIS video?

Some background: The voice in the animated rap video posted above is a dude named Bomani, and I had his song "Read a Book" up on my MySpace a few months ago. Betts performed with him, and he sang the song at the gig. It's interesting to me, because Bomani routinely calls himself a poet, and not a rapper. www.notarapper.com. Yeah, that's him.

Now in all fairness, I can understand where some people are hot at some of the images in the video. I am reminded of certain racist images like the sambo, and maybe seeing the "b-o-o-k" on the girl's ass was a bit much. But for real. Satire is one of the oldest devices in art. If an artist can't satirize something as ridiculous as Lil John and the whole Southern Crunk rap phenomenon, then what the hell are we sentencing Black people to? I've heard Jesse Jackson say that this video empowers the Michael Richardses and Imuses of the world. To which I say: Since when did Black people have to empower White people to be racist?

I'm at a loss to understand why Jesse is coming out against a nice young dude trying to say something NEW in the midst of all this ridiculous commercial hiphop. Maybe y'all get it better than I do. If so, tell me.

COMING SOON: The Spaceship Casita, Jersey Edition

2007-09-02T22:39:00.000-04:00

My father keeps a 16-inch machete by his bed. For security purposes. He's done so ever since I was a little boy.

Not being into sword-like implements, but definitely into home security, I kept the tradition alive by keeping a bat next to my own bed: a good sized Louisville Slugger that I have named (with some help) the tati quieto stick (roughly translated: the shut-the- fuck-up stick). For a long time, I didn't actually have a homestead of my very own to defend.

But dig this, Daddy-o: The Betts and I have acquired an apartment. It is a decent little abode, near the top of Branch Brook Park on the borders of Belleville, Newark, and Bloomfield in New Jersey. It's not quite like living in the center of the Transportation Heaven that is Jersey City, but it'll do quite nicely. It's about a 10- minute Newark subway ride to my new home at Rutgers-Newark, and a 15-minute ride to the PATH and NJ Transit at Penn Station. Plus, there's a big-ass A&P across the street from me, so I get to practice my burgeoning cooking talents on the stove. Betts has a cookbook called The Ethnic Vegetarian which I intend to put to good use. Yeah that's right, I said it. Grilled vegetables, bitches! Plus, we'll have access to a good-sized backyard, so I'll likely fire up some grillage next summer if the heartier folks are cool with that.

Yes, folks, Jersey beckons. NYC, I got mad love for ya, but really, y'all can keep the crowds and the exorbitant fucking rent.

Now then...anybody got some houseplants?

Fan-fucking-tastic.

2007-08-23T13:56:00.000-04:00

It was just a matter of time.

Welcome to the new immigration debate. And to the fuckface in Newark who shot those poor kids: Thanks a lot, asshole.

To think, this is where I'm going to school and work this semester.

My prediction for Latinos ('specially all you overtly brown ones) is this: Get ready. Your college professors, your classmates, your co-workers, people you meet randomly, will all wanna break the ice with you thusly: "So. What do you think of the whole immigration thing?"

Just make sure your papers are in order when you punch the shit out of them.

Fiesta. Be there.

2007-08-23T02:31:00.000-04:00

Ah, my poor Blogger babies, how I've neglected you.

Where have I been? Well, in the words of a certain West Coast hermano: PLOTTING.

Lookie what Uncle Rich is doing next Thursday. OH YEAH, you will be there. The laundry can wait til the weekend.

I will see you all HERE.....

Thursday, August 30th @ 7pm
MARTÍN ESPADA'S 50TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery (between Bleecker and Houston)
F Train to 2nd Ave., 6 Train to Bleecker Street
Hosted by Rich Villar of the Acentos Bronx Poetry Showcase
and presented by the louderARTS Project, Acentos, and Salon Lucero
Suggested Donation $5 (no one will be turned away)

An evening of poetry and Latin Jazz to celebrate a dear friend, mentor, and compañero poeta. Readings by Yusef Komunyakaa, Gerald Stern, Kimiko Hahn, Rigoberto Gonzalez, Sandra Maria Esteves, Patricia Smith, and many more!

With musical guests: Bobby Sanabria and Quarteto Aché

ABOUT BOBBY SANABRIA:
Drummer, percussionist, composer, arranger, recording artist, producer, educator and multiple Grammy nominee BOBBY SANABRIA has performed with a veritable Who's Who in the world of jazz and Latin music, as well as with his own critically acclaimed ensembles. His diverse recording and performing experience includes work with such legendary figures as Dizzy Gillespie, Tito Puente, Paquito D'Rivera, Charles McPherson, Mongo Santamaría, Ray Barretto, Marco Rizo, Arturo Sandoval, Chico O'Farrill, Candido, Francisco Aguabella, Larry Harlow, Henry Threadgill, and the Godfather of Afro-Cuban Jazz, Mario Bauzá.

QUARTETO ACHÉ:
Peter Brainin - tenor, soprano sax, flute, percussion, vocals
Enrique Haneine - piano, vocals, percussion
Alex Hernandez - acoustic bass, vocals, percussion
Bobby Sanabria - musical director, drums, vocals, percussion

"... from yoruban spirituality to blues to jazz fusion to Frank Zappa. Bobby Sanabria & Quarteto Aché is all that and more, further exploring the link between John Coltrane and African polyrhythms, spanish Moors and Puerto Rican jibaros."
-Ed Morales - Newsday

"Bobby Sanabria's group Quarteto Aché gives a good impression of where Latin jazz has come to, from a musical and historical point of view...it is rambunctious, well-schooled, propulsive, slangy, and above all histoically literate... this band rockets between bop, straight-up and charging, to the languorous bolero, to galloping Cuban timba, to rhythms from Puerto Rico, and Brasil and the Caribbean..."
-Ben Ratliff - The NY Times

The louderARTS Project is a not-for-profit arts corporation committed to developing constructive and challenging spaces for artists to create, critique, present, and teach poetry.

http://www.louderarts.com

p.s. NO I haven´t forgetten about Lavoe. I'm writing.

Reporting Live From the Campus of Montclair State University

2007-08-06T15:10:00.000-04:00

I'm here handling some business with my alma mater, but I just wanted to inform folks that El Cantante, the film about Hector Lavoe's life, sucked inordinate amounts of ass.

It's not that it was all bad. The music was fantastic, particularly a stripped-down version of the title song, sung by Victor Manuelle as Ruben Blades. But that was five minutes of the movie. The rest of it was a highly stylized, highly disjointed, inept version of Lavoe's life story, which unfortunately will be perceived as a vanity project for Jennifer Lopez. I think that critique is a tad unfair, but well, if THIS is the kind of movie one decides to make for their money, then this is the kind of critique that happens.

I will have more a coherent article on this in the next day or so. Meantime, go to YouTube and check out the torrent of old-school Hector Lavoe performance videos that have popped up in the last week or so. If you fans of salsa care to reminisce about Lavoe, this may be your best bet.

2007-07-30T16:02:00.000-04:00

Let's assume for a moment (and it's a mighty good assumption) that I'm a young, naive writer, and that for the most part, I don't know my ass from a hole in the ground.

Let's further assume that I'm not up on my poetic movements, whether they're post- or pre-, Black Mountain, Black Arts, Nuyorican, beat, imagist, post-imagist, radical avant-garde, or anything annoyingly separated by d=a=s=h=e=s.

I can't speak as an expert on matters of poetics, or as a historian or what-not. But don't you think that when someone talks about some work being the "future of poetry," and that what they do just HAPPENS to be dead center in the midst of said future, it pays to be a tad suspicious?

poem for right this second

2007-07-30T00:09:00.000-04:00

raising drinks
for new york

a toast to words that refuse sleep,
acrimony of brie and starlight balconies.

tonight, waist-deep in unruly mouths,
i tromp to shake sixty different hands.
i love them each, know their sweat and callus,
caress and sugar, not a one stranger.

yes, you are mine. each of your fingers
testimony to god in this boy's backslide—
and i am yours.

to you: may your books rise like bread
from the desks of your insecurities, locked,
drowning in imported spirits. may christ
crucify empires.
may the presidents bow to your
whims, may the children confound you with talent.
may your dervishes whirl the way you love it.

and let me watch you, kiss your cheeks,
return, be seated, still.

The Chicago Diaries

2007-07-26T15:25:00.000-04:00

JetBlue reminds me of that one ignorant family member everyone has: you know he messes things up, and royally, but he will redeem himself if you give him a chance. Last Wednesday, they kept us waiting at JFK for five ass-numbing hours in the wake of some really rough weather in the morning. Another flight to Chicago at 3pm got the axe, but we finally got moving at 6pm or so. Once on board, the smiling flight crew handed us each headphones, and we were off to the magical land of onboard Direct TV. But of course, New York, being our other dysfunctional relative, decided that an ancient steam pipe would blow shit to smithereens next to Grand Central Station, so we got to spend our first hour in the air contemplating the possibility of terrorism. A lovely start.

Upon landing, it is instantly clear that we will not make it to Palabra Pura. By the time we're on a Blue Line train to our hotel downtown, it is 8pm, and the sky is pouring water out like a sieve. We are tired, a little hungry, and slightly lost, but we right ourselves quickly and make it to the hotel, where we order our first piece of Chicago cuisine: a stuffed Chicago-style pizza with spinach and fresh basil.

Now it must be said here that I am not one of these New Yorkers that ignorantly believes that everything New York has to offer is instantly wonderfully "the shit." I don't rest my head in the City, and I also manage to make it out of Manhattan once in a while. But when it comes to pizza, I'm a firm New York guy. I like my pizza flat, tasty, cheesy, with a SLIGHT crunch to my crust. I must say though, this particular Chicago-style thing had my questioning my faith a bit. It was a little bit of cheesy sex on a plate. Still, as I sit here typing this, I'm tempted to flee next door to Sorrento's in Pearl River for some of that Only-in-New-York flavor.

We spend the next couple of days wandering blissfully in Chicago, darting into Ditka's for salmon and the best hamburger I've had in ages; into Earwax in Wicker Park for the requisite healthiness; into a diner on the Northside for conversation with two old friends of the Betts. And no, it wasn't all food...at Reckless Records, I found Willie Colon's "The Hustler" on vinyl, featuring a 20-year-old Hector Lavoe on lead vocals. You will not borrow it, ever.

After Earwax on Saturday, we take an hour's ride south to Kankakee, Illinois, for Betts' mom's wedding and about a pound and a half of sweetcorn apiece daily. (We stayed at her cousin's farm.) The town is very interesting, in that one can sense a palpable separation in the air between white and black people, a profoundly disturbing separation that manifested itself on a couple of occasions. I think it's far too easy to forget this kind of overt racism, especially when one is caught up in the cosmopolitan niceties of urban race relations here in New York. Of course, one need only venture to a borough OTHER than Manhattan to see that overt racism is still pretty alive and well, but that's another conversation.

Our two readings went fairly well. I got a chance to break bread with Paul Martinez Pompa, an astute young poet whose work has bite and humor...and of course, so does he. He'll be featuring at Acentos in the next couple of weeks. The reading at Trace in Wrigleyville was well-attended, albeit late. And well, that was it. Not an earth-shattering trip, nor a particularly eventful one, but it was full and tiring, and my senses got a much-needed fresh set of stimulation. And I have to admit, I really enjoyed Chicago, I felt at home there, comfortable. I'll be back soon, I'm sure.

Interview on La Bloga

2007-07-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

I was recently interviewed by Lisa Alvarado about my work, Acentos, the louderARTS Project, spoken word and Latino poetry, and other niceties. The interview is up on La Bloga, at this link:

http://labloga.blogspot.com/2007/07/louderarts-y-acentos-getting-to-heart.html

Drop me a comment, won't you, lovelies?

Sekou Sundiata

2007-07-19T00:02:00.000-04:00

"The Sound and the Memory," by Sekou Sundiata

During a reading and talk at Louis Reyes Rivera's workshop series at Sista's Place in Brooklyn, Sekou himself told me about a Lorca quote included in the above poem. It has remained with me as a personal mantra: Everything in the dream is the dreamer. He closed a FOUR HOUR set with that poem, and was kind enough to acknowledge me in the audience at that particular line. It meant the world to me. He was one of three poets that could hold me with every word in every poem he did. I will miss his voice, and I regret not writing to him earlier.

Sekou Sundiata passed away early this morning. His work will be, must be, immortalized.

Chicago-Bound.....On Beatnik Monkeys.....Et Ceterah, Et Ceterah.

2007-07-16T01:13:00.000-04:00

1. The Travelling Wilburys

I am off to Chicago this week. Here are the places you can catch me:

7/18: Palabra Pura. The reading series co-sponsored by Letras Latinas and the Guild Complex, hosted by Francisco Aragón. Featured poets are Suzanne Frischkorn and Coya Paz. The Lady and I will be reading on the open mic. Find out more at their website. California Clipper, 1002 N. California. 8pm.

7/20: Reading with my lovely partner Tara Betts at Mercury Cafe. 1505 W. Chicago Ave., 7pm.

7/24: Another reading with the Lady, this time at a reading called Safe Smiles, hosted (I think) by the inimitable Billy Tuggle. Trace Lounge (upstairs), 3714 N. Clark St. Not sure of the time, but I'd say get there at 7pm to be safe.

I haven't been to Chicago since the National Poetry Slam in 2003. It'll be interesting to see the place now that my tastes have shifted somewhat since. That, and I hear Wicker Park has completely changed, which is crazy considering how much it was clearly changing then. There's a party being thrown by the Poetry Foundation on the 20th, so I think we'll be hitting that too.

I have to say, I'm excited to meet a certain Tia from the Chi, who has given me a hankerin' for that comida buena which I understand is much cheaper than New York. Everything's cheaper than New York. I will also be meeting the Lady's family for the first time, which I'm sure will be a trip. Everyone I've spoken to so far seems very nice, so I think this will go well.

2. The Curator's Song

No, I haven't neglected my updates for Acentos. I had some very interesting and maddeningly last-minute changes to the schedule. I guess it could be worse. In that vein, here's a bit of information that the organizer-promoter types will simply nod their heads in agreement to, but that might come as a shock to others. Ready?

Organizing and hosting a regularly-scheduled event is a real pain in the ass sometimes. In the case of my reading series, it is rewarding, it is inspiring, it often makes your life better. But it is still a monumental pain in the ass.

It's thankless: People tend to think that any trained monkey can host an open mic. Actually, it's true. But not just any trained monkey can get their audiences to actually enjoy themselves at a poetry reading. Especially if the monkey is a Jaded Former Beatnik Monkey, the type that tends to flings poo at the audience for not knowing who John Cage is.

It requires the cumbersome juggling of schedules, times, other events. You'd be surprised (or not) how many other open mics and readings there are in New York. Plus, it's still hard to convince people that "New York" is not synonymous with "Manhattan." YES, WE'RE IN THE BRONX. I'm pleased to say that we've been able to get poets to trek up here, but the story would be drastically different if we did this thing at the end of the D train.

And then there's the massive egos and family feuds: like say, for instance, when you invite Persons A and B to the reading, because Person C is a mutual friend, and you find out that Person A can't attend because Person B pissed on his cat in 1975. And besides, Person C thinks that Person A's work could use some editing anyway.

Yes, curating is difficult, and I can't say that cancellations make it easier. The good part is, two poets I hadn't planned on featuring for a minute both came through in grand style, and I'll be talking about them in due course...maybe even later today.

For now, some sleep is in order. I need to rest my mind so I can challenge The Lady to Scrabble again. She's been whipping my ass like a government mule for the past week or so, and I've fallen in love with the game as a result. Figures.

A Note on the Blog Title

2007-07-06T02:35:00.000-04:00

I took the name "Compa'i, Compa'i" from Compay Segundo, the Cuban troubadour whose work as a musician spanned the better part of 80 years.

I'm thinking now of Celia Cruz, Compay Segundo, Frank Sinatra. I've always admired that kind of tenacious career longevity, and those kinds of irrepressible personalities, larger than life, but firmly rooted in what they love to do. And I want that story too.

Coda: Why Poetry is Not Sal's Famous

2007-07-03T17:38:00.000-04:00

First: If you haven't seen Do the Right Thing, see it, then reread this post. It might make more sense.

Now then. Don't get it twisted. When it comes to erasing the margins, I'm down to bust a couple of metaphorical windows, burn some shit down. Politeness never got us anywhere, as June Jordan eloquently reminds us.

I've heard tell of Black and Latino writers being reticent to submit their work to certain journals and anthologies, because they represent something of an insidious system...a bell hooks-ian white supremacist kind of system. Of course, who am I to disagree with bell hooks? Hell, anyone who's seen "Sicko" can attest to the fact that the good-ol-boy structure is definitely alive and well. But what's the proper response to a system that spits us out? Do we threaten to burn down the academy until they put some Black people on the wall? Do we boycott the Oscars until they give Pedro Infante a lifetime achievement award?

OR...am I Black enough/Latino enough/Chicano enough, to complain on your behalf? (Now THAT would be an interesting argument, wouldn't it?)

Here's the bottom line, as I see it. When you write well enough to be noticed, when you build the proper coalitions on your own, and when you create for yourself a voice...one that is undeniable and unassailable...YOU become the institution.

It all comes down to what institution you want to fight, and what particular mission that institution entails. A publication like Poetry has a pretty broad mission, I'd say. I mean it's right in the title: poetry. Big concept, but not without risks. The question for the poet is this: How much more legitimacy would the institution lose if it didn't publish/recognize YOU? In the long run, can Poetry afford to pass you up? Imagine if an entity like Poetry had left out Gwendolyn Brooks. You could safely use it for toilet paper. If the same can be said about your work twenty years from now, who then has the power to legitimize and de-legitimize? The answer, o seeker of power, is you.

Poets: Do the right thing. SUBMIT YOUR DAMN WORK. Don't let somebody tell you that your shit is no good for "a certain kind" of magazine. Cultivate that voice. Write your shit down. Show them who you are, by making them read your work...or making them trash it...at their own peril.

And well. If anything. There's always a garbage can nearby.

Summing Up the Chatter: Two Funerals and Latino Poetry in the Balance

2007-07-02T01:10:00.000-04:00

I don't remember speaking to any of the bereaved at the Pedro Pietri's wake in 2004. I very well may have, but I simply don't remember. I'm sure they were there, and I'm sure they were sad, but bereaved is not the proper word to describe the people at this particular wake.

We arrived at the People's Church on 110th and Lexington, greeted by drums and singing courtesy of the Welfare Poets. I was in awe of the sheer number of people there, and by what some might perceive as a lack of decorum. The crowd flowed in and out, the church itself was packed, kids were running around, and the conversation was a downright din. It was less funeral mass than rock concert, less wake than convention floor. I stood agape, interrupted by the occasional whisper: "I think I saw Pablo Guzman." "Dude, was that Geraldo?"

Of course, anyone who knew Pedro understood that he had a sense for the bizarre, and people genuinely loved him, so of course his wake wasn't going to be traditionally downbeat and morose. It was an event, a family reunion for Barrio residents, friends of the poet, and admiring fanboys like me.

And why? Pietri was not a celebrity, a singer, a politician. He wasn't a household name, and truthfully, he wasn't even that well-known amongst other poets. Why this funeral, why this turnout? Why the stumbling press coverage here in New York in the days that followed his death?

Because some people were late to the party, that's why.

Pedro Pietri told the truth about the American life in the days before the Puerto Rican Day Parade went national. He was involved with the Young Lords, during a tumultuous time in New York City's history, when Puerto Ricans and other minority groups had to fight for basic rights, and for every crumb of city services (including sanitation). He wrote and performed his work for 30 years as the poet laureate of the Nuyorican movement, never far away from his people and homes on the Lower East Side and El Barrio. He preached the gospel of the first draft—that is, the poet reads his/her first draft in public fearlessly, and edits from there.

Pedro was beloved. Not by U.S. literary critics, mind you—most of them haven't caught on to the existence of ANY Latino poets, much less a Puerto Rican poet from East Harlem. But his people—my people—adored him, both for the warrior he was within the community, and for the tireless supporter he was for younger writers. We didn't need anyone to tell us that he was our example. We knew it.

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I've been involved recently in a series of online discussions about the myths and realities surrounding what it means to be a "Latino poet." Some of the conversations were interesting. Some of them were heavily nuanced, parsing out the definitions of Latino, Latina, etc. Some of them have been displays of sheer ignorance on the part of people who should know better. But much of the debating and such have revolved around one concept: the systematic and undeniable exclusion of Latino and Latina poets from the U.S. poetic canon. In other words, pick up any random poetry mag or anthology, and the chances of finding a Latino in it are slim to none.

My partner, who is really adept at slicing through bullshit, took me to task about why I even bothered with these discussions in the first place. At first, they were fruitful, if only for the fact that writers were being introduced to other writers and other theories. But as these things tend to go, the talks fizzled into longer and longer posts and comments about nothing in particular, and that's unfortunate...and ultimately, a waste of unpaid time. (Of course, irony thy name is Rich: here I am posting about this to my own blog.)

She was right, of course, but she also got me thinking. All things considered, yes, Latino poets are often not part of the big "poetry conversation" in America. There are reasons for this: linguistics, culture clash, publishing prejudices, niche marketing. Plus, your good old-fashioned racism. Valid, sure. But what I've gleaned from these various conversation is this: When you die, the meaning of your life will not be found on the tongues of academes, but on those of the people you write for.

One funeral I was not able to attend was that of Gwendolyn Brooks. Though she died in 2000, she is mentioned in the same breath as Phyllis Wheatley, Sterling Brown, Langston Hughes. Rightfully so. But I'm not so sure her greatness lies in the fact that she is canonized in U.S. poetics. Ask the average young African-American who Gwendolyn Brooks is, and if he/she knows her, then that person can probably recite "We Real Cool" to you. Ask that person's PARENT, and the parent can probably recite more. Gwendolyn Brooks wrote no love poems for her critics, no odes for Poetry magazine, no sonnets to The Chicago Sun-Times. And while it's important to note her famous ties to Black institutions like Broadside and Third World Press, it was HER work, the poet's voice, that made the institutions legitimate, not the other way around. And why? Because Black people loved her, love her still, before anyone else caught on. It's the same with Pedro Pietri, even if no one catches on. It's the same with all the poets who came before us, whether they got their due or not.

Yes, it is our right and duty to point out the destructiveness of exclusion, whether you're talking literature or social justice. But I think that writers of Latino descent have a greater responsibility, an immediate need, to function as the storytellers and scribes of their communities, wherever they find themselves. They have lives to live outside the books and anthologies, and they have work to do which legitimizes them as human beings, first and foremost. To whatever extent that the universities, literary programs, presses, non-profits, etc., can lay claim to defining U.S. literature, they can only do so because the poets give them permission. When the ivory towers get the story wrong (as they often do), then the poets themselves should pick up the slack and write those stories themselves.

I'm confident that the stories will be told, and I'm confident that I'll be doing my share to build the institutions we need, in honor of Pietri, Brooks, and everyone else whose lives lifted the stones.

P.S. EVERY MAN, WOMAN, AND CHILD IN AMERICA TODAY NEEDS TO SEE SICKO, MICHAEL MOORE'S NEW DOCUMENTARY. This is no exaggeration. This is a monumental film, one that will open eyes, Republican or Democrat, black or white, Liberal or Conservative.

My Kind of Town....

2007-06-23T23:45:00.000-04:00

....Chicago is!!

Well, at least I hope it is. It was last time. I will be there along with my trusty companion and partner Tara Betts, from July 18-20, and again from July 24-30. I'm told the food is to die for. Wasn't bad in '03, but we'll find out for sure now. Basically, I'm in town for Tara's mom's wedding, and to meet La Familia Betts for the first time. Should be interesting! Very much looking forward to it.

If anyone could use a poet or two for their program, school, wedding or bar mitzvah, OR if you know anyone who does, please give a brother a holler, as Chi-town is rapidly becoming expensive to chill in. All right, not so much the weddings and bar mitzvahs. But you get the drift.

Plus, hey, if anyone's around just to hang, I'm down. Give me a shout.

Here's the tale of the tape, for those who may be interested:

About Rich Villar:
Rich Villar is a poet originally from Paterson, NJ. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and appears in the journals Rattapallax, Parse, and Achiote Seeds. His work was commissioned for the stage production "Eve Descending," produced in 2005 by Actors Stock NYC. He is an MFA candidate in the Rutgers-Newark
Creative Writing program and the host/curator of Acentos, a twice-monthly reading series for Latino/a poets, based in the South Bronx. Rich also represented New York as part of Team NYC-LouderARTS at the 2004 National Poetry Slam. His online exploits include writing about literature and Latino/a culture at
http://www.literatiboricua.blogspot.com .

About Tara Betts (slightly edited):
Tara Betts is a poet, activist, educator, and performer originally from Kankakee, Illinois. A graduate of Loyola University, she received her MFA in Poetry from New England College in 2007. She authored two chapbooks, Can I Hang? and Switch, and her work is collected in several influential anthologies, including Bum Rush The Page, The Spoken Word Revolution, and Gathering Ground: A Reader Celebrating Cave Canem's First Decade. Her work appears in the journals Callaloo , Women Studies Quarterly, Drum Voices Revue, and Essence, and she recently completed her first full-length collection of poems, tentatively titled Infinite Arithmetic. Her work was commissioned for the Steppenwolf Theatre Company production Words on Fire, and she appeared on stage at Chicago's DuSable Museum in the Southwest VDay production of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues. In addition, she represented Chicago twice at the National Poetry Slam, and appeared on the fourth season of HBO's Def Poetry.

During 13 years as a teaching artist in Chicago, Betts co-founded several initiatives for young women writers, including GirlSpeak (a program of Young Chicago Authors) and the open mic and performance space Women OutLoud. She has worked with young people in various settings, including Gallery 37, Cook County Juvenile Detention Center, and City Girls, a rehabilitation center for teen girls. Upon relocating to New York City in 2005, she continued her work with youth and women writers, facilitating workshops for the Sadie Nash Project, Urban Word NYC, and the Bronx Council on the Arts, among others. Betts serves as an adjunct lecturer in creative writing at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ, contributes regularly to Mosaic magazine, and continues to write, publish, perform, and lecture throughout the country.

Notes on the Margin

2007-06-20T00:48:00.000-04:00

I've been posting to Emily Warn's recent blog on the Poetry Foundation site, regarding the presence of "indicator species" out there in the poetry universe. While I totally "get" the metaphor—that is, indicator species are those which break patterns and norms and indicate the beginnings of change in the environment—I still found the term needlessly problematic, because it assumes that certain poetries exist on the margin, waiting for their chance to mess with the biosphere. I guess there's something to the idea that Latinos and African-Americans are starting to break through the assorted American glass ceilings. But these days, I guess I'm casting my lot not so much with breaking the glass ceiling, assimilating with the "poetry universe" as it exists in the various worlds of grants, book prizes, academic recognition, or what have you....rather, I would like to see a fundamental conversation happen between poets as to why this ceiling happened in the first place, and what we can do to redefine it beyond adding additional flora and fauna to the landscape.

Ugh, okay, enough metaphor. Here's precisely what I mean.

Acentos is right now formulating a plan for building an organization for Latino/a poets, something modeled after Cave Canem. One of the poets involved with the planning brought up an excellent point, which has had me thrown for a loop for quite a while, to the point where I've had to seriously rethink some things. What she addressed, more or less, was the need for vigilance. That in building an organization designed to remedy a historical slight (the overlooking of Latino poets), it is essential not to become the very same structure you criticize by virtue of your very existence. Couple that with a new book I'm reading, entitled The Revolution Will Not Be Funded, which argues that even the most well-meaning non-profits have become corporate caricatures of themselves, and you can see why my inner Keanu Reeves is currently muttering Whoa! to whoever will listen.

I am operating today in a world in which I'm reminded that Indiana Review did a Latino poets issue roughly a year or so ago, and that well-intentioned people and editors at the Poetry Foundation and elsewhere are now engaged with conversations with some of our best and brightest Latino and Latina literati. Poetry is currently considering poets who have never appeared in their pages. The Cave Canem retreat is next week, and African-American poets are currently winning book prizes hand over fist. And hell, Eduardo Corral is in residence over at Colgate this Fall, whilst yours truly gets to study with Rigoberto Gonzalez, Dennis Nurkse, Tayari Jones, and Jayne Anne Phillips over at Rutgers-Newark (which I'm truly getting excited for).

But I'm also operating in a world where a steaming pile of dogshit like Tony Hoagland's "The Change" is lauded by white liberals the world over as boldly stepping into the waters of race conversation. (Insert losing sound effects from "The Price is Right.") Por favor.

So then, here's the question I'm throwing out to the poetry world, or at least the world that reads this blog. Why do poets feel marginalized? Do we on the outside really want to be on the inside, or should we concern ourselves with fundamentally rethinking "inside" and "outside?" And if we burn down the clubhouse, what are we going to build in its place? All right, so those are more than one question. But I have faith in you all. Seriously, comments are totally welcome, links encouraged, talk talk talk is essential, yes?

Ah, yes yes y'all. It is wonderful to be a writer, at least that never changes. Funny, and I thought my political science training was going to waste...

The skin of our Teeth, smooth and beautiful...

2007-06-15T23:13:00.000-04:00

Three weeks ago, here is the reality of what I woke to on the Wednesday after Acentos:

1) My partner-in-crime, co-founder, and sometimes DJ Fish Vargas is going to be on vacation to California during Aracelis Girmay's book party, an event for which we should be packed.

2) Maria Nieves, my stalwart show starter and organizational maven, has to work that night.

3) While debating how many books to have in the house, Curbstone Press has not yet received any books from the printer, but expects to have some in time for the reading. Expects. I hate expecting, especially in the publishing world.

Added to the pot approximately one week later:

4) Ara calls with the news that Bill Moyers Journal might be in the house for the party, taping for a piece on Martín Espada. Oh right...did I mention Martín made plans to be in the house that night?

Now stir in appropriate amounts of angst, worries about attendance, and the need to do an above-average hosting job due to the importance of the night, and the fact that this might be televised.

Then add the scare of a lifetime, exactly one week before the festivities:

I find out from the PBS people that Alex, the managing partner at the Bruckner Bar and Grill, is suddenly under the impression that Acentos is biweekly, not every second and fourth Tuesday, and he announces that he may have booked a party for the space on June 12th. CRAP.

Right. Well it's now Friday, and I haven't slept since Tuesday night. Part of it is being run ragged by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, which I've been working since Wednesday morning. But the other part is sheer euphoria, frenzy, and of course much much love, after what I believe to be one of the best nights, if not THE best night, Acentos has ever had. Of course it went off without a hitch...that's just how we do. Of course it was magic, how could it not be? Yes, the books indeed arrived as ordered. And no, there was no competing party. And YES, Bill Moyers Journal was in the house for a piece on Martín, and I think Ara too. Stay tuned to this blog for details on airtimes. Oh yeah, and Maria actually made it to the show, and she managed to snap some lovely pictures, including this one of our star being just a tad heavenly.

Tuesday. What energy. What excitement, what love, what ENERGY. Wow, wow, and wow. And wow. Acentos threw its first official book launch party, and I'm ready to do a thousand nights like these. DJ Raymond Daniel Medina knew exactly how to keep the party moving and going. Eliel and John and Jaime were there to lend what hands they could. And my lady was holding it down, holding court over by the BOAT— Bruckner's Official Acentos Table. (That's right, the BOAT. A legend is born.)

Let me say that the poems in the book are ridiculously gorgeous. "Loisferibodi" has got to be one of my favorite poems—a poem about a Spanglish pronunciation so wonderfully right, a praise poem dedicated to 6-year-old Estefani Lora, who sent her the word in a thank-you card. There is "Love Poem for the Pilon," an Ode on a Grecian Urn for the twenty-first century, a vessel that breaks open possibilities and garlic. And there is her unflinching poetry of witness—poems for family, for the women of Darfur, and the startlingly powerful "Arroz Poetica." This book has teeth. And it IS Teeth. And it IS for sale. BUY IT NOW!

Ara's list of readers was impressive: Simone White, Samantha Thornhill, Patrick Rosal, John Murillo, Kamilah Aisha Moon, Abena Koomson and Ray Medina, Dante Michaeux, Marcus Jackson, Ellen Hagan, Rachel Eliza Griffiths (who also took pictures), and Ross Gay. I read one too. So did her amazing young students from Dreamyard Prep. Those kids got the best applause of the night and really enjoyed being in the room with the poets, and the poets loved being in the room with them. Energy.

Her introduction was equally impressive: Martín Espada, who made the trip all the way from Amherst, read the poem "Rain Without Rain" AND the foreword to the book. What he said resonated with us...he's never heard one person say an unkind word about Aracelis. Neither have we. By we, I mean everyone.

But it was that reading, that exquisite reading she gave, that really put a perfect cap on a perfect evening. She was not rushed, she chose work that cut to bone, work that healed, work that sang. Ara is a very special person, a spritely one who does everything she can to make the room glow.

The poetry of the 21st century was alive and well this night. Poets from Cave Canem, the Acentos poets, poets from Kundiman, poets of every stripe, every skill level, every style imaginable, came to celebrate this book. And celebrate we did, into 11pm, midnight, and later. No one seemed to care about the clock. And why should they?

It was the perfect mix of comrades, poets, serious thinkers, silly people, and one jolly host. In the end, Ara's choice of intro music for her guests served to propel the evening forward, and one hearty soul named Alma volunteered to sell the books, and my job was hopelessly easy because everyone was just so good to each other. I wish it was like that everywhere I went.

It should be noted that between Ara and me, we had 60 copies of the book on hand. They were gone by the end of the night. That's cause for celebration all by itself.

I cannot express enough what joy it was to have all these wonderful Latino poets, Latina poets, poets of color and conscience, updowncharmed and strange poets, in the same room in celebration of a book, a first book, an outstanding book. I was privileged to host it, and I am grateful to all that made it happen, especially Ms. Aracelis Girmay, who makes us all so very happy to be human.

Damn, y'all, what's next? Could an Acentos anthology be far behind? ;-)

I close out with some of our greatest hits for the night, courtesy of Rachel Griffiths. Paz, y'all.

Hey, Mr. DJ! You can get me started...Abena Koomson and Ray Medina

Read a book, read a book, read a #%$&@ book!

Martín Espada: El poeta pronounces.

Roger Bonair-Agard, Samantha Thornhill, Rachel Griffiths.

T.B and R.V. 4 ever! Me yuckin' it up with Tara Betts.

WWDD? Samantha Thornhill asks the Question to Dante Micheaux.

Love, truly for everybody: Acentos poeta Eliel Lucero and the lovely Ms. Alex.

Martín and Ara. Compañero/a Poetas.

The Obligatory Yearbook Shot: Pat Rosal, Ellen Hagan, John Murillo, Simone White, Ross Gay, Dante Michaeux, Aracelis Girmay, Martín Espada, Marcus "Oh Lawd Somebody Done Obscured Mah Head" Jackson, Samantha Thornhill, Ray Medina, Kamilah "At Least You See My Eyes" Moon, Abena Koomson, Rachel Griffiths, and Rich Villar. Most Likely To Succeed: Frickin' ALL OF THEM.

La Lady. Aracelis Girmay radiating warmth and goodness.

Take care, one and all. I love my life.
Rich.

Psyched beyond belief

2007-06-12T00:52:00.000-04:00

Well, it IS an Acentos Tuesday, after all, and the host SHOULD be excited about the show, but this show in particular has me all kinds of prepared for love and rockets and everything in between. If anyone out there reads this blog, please come out for what is promising to be an AMAZING reading and celebration of an AMAZING poet and first collection (I've seen the book and it rules).

There will be food, booze, Latinos, Cave Canem fellows, one highly acclaimed mentor, yours truly, the Acentos crew, a book for sale, and much much poetry. What more do you need?

Be there or be squareish.

Rich.

Tuesday, June 12th @ 7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase, in association with Curbstone Press
Book Release Party for TEETH, by Aracelis Girmay

With an introduction of the author by Martín Espada, along with readings
by Ms. Girmay and invited guests Patrick Rosal, Ross Gay, Samantha
Thornhill, Rachel Eliza Griffiths, Kamiliah Aisha Moon, John Murillo,
Dante Micheaux, Marcus Jackson, and a group of Ms. Girmay's young
students.

AND...throughout the night, copies of the book will be available for purchase,
courtesy of Curbstone Press!

Aracelis Girmay writes poetry, fiction, and essays. Her work has been
published in Ploughshares, Salt, Bellevue Literary Review, Indiana Review,
Callaloo, and MiPoesias, among others. Her first collection of poems, Teeth,
is available from Curbstone Press, and her picture book was published by
George Braziller in 2005. Girmay teaches community writing workshops in New
York and her native California.

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 and Grill will be on the corner.

For more information, please call 845-598-8654.

Ten Quotes on Writing, Courtesy of Barbara Jane Reyes

2007-06-06T13:49:00.000-04:00

Your mission, folksies, is to find and post ten quotes on writing. I'm supposed to tag someone, but in the interests of spreading love and knowledge, I tag everyone, just like Barb did.

I dedicate the last two quotes to "experimentalism," and "high editorial standards." May the privileged editors and writers who adhere to these false religions be stricken with severe and uncontrollable flatulence, followed by insatiable itching on both ears.

Don't ask a poet to explain himself. He cannot.
--Plato, The Republic

All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.
--Ernest Hemingway

Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.
--Sylvia Plath

You need not expect to get your book right the first time. Go to work and revamp or rewrite it. God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention. These are God's adjectives. You thunder and lightning too much; the reader ceases to get under the bed, by and by.
--Mark Twain, in a letter to Orion Clemens, March 1878.

A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection - unless you lie - in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.
--Harold Pinter, from his 2005 Nobel Prize lecture.

I too am a descendant of Walt Whitman. And I am not by myself struggling to tell the truth about this history of so much land and so much blood, of so much that should be sacred and so much that has been desecrated and annihilated boastfully.
--June Jordan, from the essay "For the Sake of People's Poetry: Walt Whitman and the Rest of Us," which appears in her books On Call and Some of Us Did Not Die: New and Selected Essays of June Jordan.

"Now, it is true that the nature of society is to create, among its citizens, an illusion of safety; but it is also absolutely true that the safety is always necessarily an illusion. Artists are here to disturb the peace."
--James Baldwin

"A poetry articulating the dreads and horrors of our time is necessary in order to make readers understand what is happening, really understand it, not just know about it but feel it: and should be accompanied by a willingness on the part of those who write it to take additional action towards stopping the great miseries which they record."
-Denise Levertov

"The systematic looting of language can be recognized by the tendency of its users to forgo its nuanced, complex, mid-wifery properties for menace and subjugation. Oppressive language does more than represent violence; it is violence; does more than represent the limits of knowledge; it limits knowledge. Whether it is obscuring state language or the faux-language of mindless media; whether it is the proud but calcified language of the academy or the commodity driven language of science; whether it is the malign language of law-without-ethics, or language designed for the estrangement of minorities, hiding its racist plunder in its literary cheek - it must be rejected, altered and exposed. It is the language that drinks blood, laps vulnerabilities, tucks its fascist boots under crinolines of respectability and patriotism as it moves relentlessly toward the bottom line and the bottomed-out mind. Sexist language, racist language, theistic language - all are typical of the policing languages of mastery, and cannot, do not permit new knowledge or encourage the mutual exchange of ideas."
--Toni Morrison, from her 1993 Nobel Prize lecture.

"I am glad that my contemporaries and the younger ones that came after who are all my friends, most everybody in letters, Chicano-Latino letters in this country somehow have touched my life or I have touched them, they are all my friends, they are my relatives. And I embrace them and I love them and I want success for all of them. I hurt and I pain for some of them because I somehow have a different understanding of the system and the brutality of it that I know they will get eventually sucked up and they'll be writing for an editor in New York who is dictating and demanding the changes without any sensitivity at all to the culture, to the trends, to anything. And so we are still caught up in their definition of good writing. But being the ideal dreamer that I am, I still have hopes that someday it'll be better."
-raúlrsalinas, from "Una Plática con Raúl Salinas: An Interview by Ben Olguín and Louis Mendoza," 1994. Collected in raulrsalinas and the Jail Machine: My Weapon Is My Pen, Louis Mendoza, ed.

Big and Tall REPOST!

2007-06-04T02:07:00.000-04:00

A repost for y'all:

This blog entry, believe it or not, was published in a small Tasmanian literary journal called Famous Reporter, #31, from November 2005. Google your little hearts out if you want a paper copy...

**********************************************************
March 9, 2005.

Hey Hey! I'm TALL, Not Big.

Shopping for a suit over the weekend, I discovered an area of Syms where the clothes are for those of us of the…ahem…larger persuasion. The section?

Portly.

You know, I think I'd rather shop in a section called "Fatasses" then anywhere called "Portly." I refuse to be portly. When I think of ports, I think of places where you dock ships. I'm a big dude, but you can't moor an oil tanker on me.

At least with a Fatass section, or as they are euphemistically called, "Big and Tall," you kinda know where you stand...everything is marked with multiples of XL instead of the superfluous S, M, or L. No need to separate the portlies from the non-portlies. In the big-and-tall section, everyone has a shot at superstardom.

This is my little snapshot of life shopping in big-and-talls.

First of all, I truly don't understand the idea calling something "Big and Tall." Come on now. The vast (and I do mean, VAST) majority of people who walk into a big-and-tall are there for being big, not tall.

And dig this. The most popular big and tall store is called Casual Male, a place I know quite well. I went into the one in Nanuet and was horrified (not surprised though) to find nothing but horizontal-striped polo shirts, and the navy blue Dockers to match. I assure you, there is nothing casual about a fat man standing uncomfortably in horizontal stripes.

Luckily, not every store is fashion-challenged. Indeed, when you walk into these places, you are immediately fooled into a sense of belonging. It is soon squashed of course. "Hey," you think, "these clothes look nice! Perhaps I'm not as portly as everyone seems to think I am. Why, just observe this mannequin"….and you foolishly make your way behind the damn thing and discover, of course, that the 2X button-down is too big for the normal-sized dummy, and they've pinned the garment back to it like a sail. You don't get this luxury once the shirt is on your torso. You get to wear every yard of the extra fabric like a badge of honor.

I was embarrassed about my shirt size for a long time. That is, until I saw pieces of a documentary about Big Punisher. Specifically, the part about his wife having to sit with his 6X t-shirts and stretch them out with her feet before she gave it to him. For those not familiar with big and tall store parlance, 6X is the biggest size they carry. Anything after that and the clerk sends you to Boeing to have steel plates fitted to your ass, because at that point, you have graduated from Fat Man to Aircraft.

And ultimately, this is what Big and Tall does for regular gorditos like me. It makes us feel not quite as freakish. It's hard enough walking around tired and having to walk sideways through turnstiles, so even sensitive men such as I need occasion to say, "Wow, brotherman is fucked" at the sight of a gargantuan dude plodding down the aisle of Casual Male toward the neck extenders and "one size fits all."

And they are there, trust me, those massive 6X Big Pun types, who tip the scales at 600 pounds plus, the ones who waddle more than walk. For the sake of simplicity, let's call them "Tanks."You'd think they'd be bashful about shopping for clothes at a Big and Tall, but one forgets that these kinds of stores were BUILT for them, a fact which never escapes a Tank.

If you've ever seen video of sumo in training, you know that the culture surrounding the sport is one that nurtures them in their stoutness, with men who wait on the sumo hand and foot, feeding them rice at a pace that would threaten the average village's yearly ration. Well, picture that kind of primadonna treatment, but in a retail clothing store that sells pants the size of drapery. Tanks are pampered…more so, I think, than the average Lancome customer. Three people work on their order at the same time. Alterations are recommended. Small talk ensues. The unassuming wife or shopping companion makes furtive suggestions, but the dressing room and the entire Big Daddy t-shirt section have been taken over by a force more powerful than the local tides.

Let us take you now into the average exchange of conversation at a Big and Tall store, just to get an idea of how their money is made.

"Well sir," coos the saleslady, "I think you should consider the cream-colored jacket. It's more slimming."

"Do you really?" responds the customer. "I mean, the 6X DID look a little big. Perhaps I should try the 5X?"

And here's the kicker. The catchphrase. The one thing every shopper at Big and Tall hears at least once in his life….

"Nah. Stay with the 6X. After all…YOU WANNA BE COMFORTABLE, RIGHT?"

$500 dollars and a chucklechuckle later, the fat man has found himself a comfort zone. He will return to drop hundreds of dollars into the coffers of his new fortress of retail solitude. And a nation is born.

Welcome to my life.

That's all folks.

By the way, the suit I bought? Bangin. I feel MAD comfortable in it!

peace out….

Spoken Word? How 'bout y'all shut the hell up for a while?

2007-05-30T02:22:00.001-04:00

On the latest episode of What Pisses Rich Off Today:

Can I get a shout-out for these quasi-neo-soul fakeass incense and headwrap-wearing wannabe poets who call themselves "spoken word artists" without having a clue about poetry, tradition, or poetic tradition?

Similar raspberries to the failed emcees who pass themselves off as "spittin' dat hot fyah" when all they really do is make me want to spit in their general direction.

Big fuck-alls as well to the screaming Charles Bukowski disciples who think they're living in the haze of bohemian rhapsody because they're drinking club soda at the same bar as Jack Kerouac.

And a hot poker up the ass to these whiney, shouting, brick-dumb young slam whores who think it's cool to tour the world on a shoestring budget and not write any poems.

Hey, "Spoken Word artists." Some of us poets actually have to fucking WORK for a living. Stop trying to be someone you're not, and pick up a fucking book.

BNN BREAKING NEWS

2007-05-25T19:13:00.000-04:00

Hot off the wires at Bochinche News Network (BNN)--

PATRICIA SMITH NAMED CO-WINNER OF THE 2007 PATERSON POETRY PRIZE FOR TEAHOUSE OF THE ALMIGHTY

Yeah that's right. I have a workshop with her, too. Nyeh!

For those who don't know, The Poetry Center is a fairly well-known little literary institution up here in the New York Metro area, in Paterson, NJ (my hometown). Passaic County Community College, which houses the center, is one of the schools whose doorways I darkened while searching for deeper meaning in a retail sales job.

The full list of winners and finalists is RIGHT HERE. Dang, she even beat out Kwame. Aight, now.

The other winner was Christopher Bursk, who I'm sure is all kinds of fly as well. The book is called The First Inhabitants of Arcadia.

P.S. For those inquiring minds wanting to know who won the Allen Ginsburg Awards...including certain vested interests on this blog...well, we just don't know yet. ;-) The site says: "To Be Announced."

Good Stories, Good Life, GOOD LORD What a Week.

2007-05-24T13:53:00.000-04:00

1. ¡Jazz-centos!

There's a story being told that I can't repeat here, involving a cruise up the Hudson, a gun, and every jazz musician you never met but probably should. The boys in the band tell jokes and rib each other all night. There is poetry and music, bass, guitar, and drums. And in the corners of the place: poets, all friends of mine, and a couple of legends chillin on stage and in the cut. To boot: the place is filled.

Deep in my jazz geek soul, I've dreamed about a night like this. On Tuesday night at Acentos, I got my dream on a silver platter. I have to hand it to Americo Casiano, the man puts on a good show. It helps that he has some serious backup: Andy Gonzalez (one of my all-time favorites) on bass, Phoenix Rivera on drums, and the great Edgardo Miranda on guitar. Wendy Rossi-Fernandez and Jacqueline Flowers were fantastic on vocals. The meat of the evening was the poetry, and Americo served up some gems. And of course, dropping Tato Laviera in the midst of a Latin jazz conjunto is like dropping the last quarter in the washing machine. You know the shit is gonna move.

It's always a wonderful thing to see musicians and poets move in time to each other. I loved that about synonymUS, still love it, wish I could wrap my hands around it. But I think the reason that Americo's NuyoRican School does so well is that these guys all know each other, some practically all their lives, and they breathe rhythm in and out like oxygen. I miss that sometimes. In my somewhat-imposed hermitdom, I've missed the energy of having friends and fellow artists to feed from and bounce off. I get that at Acentos still, and I'm grateful for it. But my inner bohemian misses waking up in a strange apartment, watching how the light plays off the building next door. The living of it.

Ah, living for it. That's the measure of the artist. How much do you live for it? Certainly, one does not have to live the bohemian lifestyle. (Truthfully, it does get old.) But it's really easy, and sometimes necessary, to concentrate on the outside factors surrounding one's art. Paying rent is a bitch, and you can't write poems without paying the light bill. The artist must always ask why. Why take the teaching job? Why go to school? Why do fifty gigs a month? Life, we hope, is about....something. We could choose to live in caves, but we don't. We create things. We fight. We argue about beauty, culture, politics, mathematics, line, structure. Why? Because someone has to. The world isn't simply about war and peace, and thank God for that. We live for art, and that's a beautiful thing. I don't want to forget that.

Nights like last Tuesday serve to remind me that I prefer my artist life to cave dwelling. Besides, even the ones who lived in caves spent most of their days painting in them.

2. Poesia...con DIENTES!

I spend a lot of time talking about Acentos, and that's okay, because I think we're doing good things with the series. It does not happen without effort. That is, the host and the organizers actively making a venue pop, building community, that sort of thing. But then, it happens that once in a while, all we have to do is be there, and let the something that comes in the door simply be something wonderful.

Such is the case with the next date on the calendar. On June 12th, Acentos will throw a book release party for Teeth, the new collection by Aracelis Girmay. I just had the pleasure of speaking with her about it, and she has planned herself such an amazing event that all I really have to do is tell people to show up.

Dig it:

Guest readers include Ellen Hagen, Ross Gay, Patrick Rosal, Samantha Thornhill, Kamilah Aisha Moon, Rachel Eliza Griffiths, John Murillo, Dante Micheaux, Marcus Jackson, a handful of her amazing students, and I'm reading one as well. And to top it off, she will be introduced by the poet who wrote her foreword, Martín Espada.

I can't imagine plotting a better night if I'd sat and agonized over the lineup for weeks. Ara did it just by asking some of her favorite people to read. Gee, what a novel concept. I am so psyched about this night, I could just burst.

Oh yeah. You should come, and you should come buy the book. Yes, you.

3. Mr. Murillo's Neighborhood

Shouts of joy, praise, hallelujah, hosanna, and hells yeah son for homeboy, poet, and all-around good human being John Murillo. Big news in the life: Aside from the fresh "Alabanza" tatt down his forearm, he recently graduated from NYU with his MFA in poetry. Not only that, but he beat out some stiff competition for the Provincetown Fine Arts Work Center Fellowship. So now, he's legit. (If you look closely, you can see the sarcasm dripping off the end of that line.)

Is Provincetown ready for THIS?

Methinks, not anymore than they were ready for the two Puerto Ricans in Western Massachusetts.

Which is to say, paraphrasing Cornelius Eady, mad love to the clubhouse, y'all.

4. Updates on the Rich

Projects. Let's see. I am working on a piece for Lisa Alvarado which may raise some temperatures, which is always good. I am FINALLY working on putting a manuscript of my own together. Still making preparations for the MFA (read: I'm reading the two books Mr. Nurkse suggested). Waiting patiently for the return of the lady. I've been writing my ass off in Patricia Smith's Cave Canem workshop. And...that's actually about it for now.

Well, okay, actually, I have a reading or two:

This Sunday, May 27th, I have a guest appearance with the incomparable guitarist Eliane at the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe. I'll be a reading a poem called "Reflections of Corcovado" along with the band. It starts at 8pm, $10 cover, and her band is all kinds of fly. 2 sets. Brazilian jazz flavor, you know you love it!

AND:

Thursday, June 7th. The aforementioned Cave Canem workshop, a persona poem workshop led by Patricia Smith, has a final reading at Poets House. 72 Spring Street. 7pm. Free shit is good shit.

I also have a reading in December, but I'll tell you about that one later.

That's it, kids. Paz, amor, cariño, and pernil...

Where's Profe?

2007-05-22T14:06:00.000-04:00

Tonight, I'm right here. Well, second and fourth Tuesdays...where else would I be?

I'm very excited about this particular show and one to come: Aracelis Girmay's book party is shaping up to be one for the ages, kids. I've seen her guest lineup, I've seen some other plans, but most importantly, I've seen the book. It's a monster, folks.

But first....Nuyorican poetry and jazz tonight at El Teatro Bruckner. I'm particularly psyched to check out Andy Gonzalez, one of my favorite jazz musicians, a monster on the bass. To think I'm introducing these folks. Sheesh.

Where is it, you say? Glad you asked.

Tuesday, May 22nd @ 7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase
The Uptown's Best Open Mic
and Featuring Americo Casiano, Tato Laviera, and the NuyoRican School Jazz Ensemble

NuyoRican School is a poetry jazz ensemble grounded in the idea of providing poetry in
performance. The ensemble consists of some today's most innovative poets and musicians fusing
Latin Jazz and Afro-Cuban drumming with a poetry that provides commentary on family reconciliation
and self-realization, with cultural affirmation serving as the thematic centerpiece of this fresh
new ensemble.

Featuring Andy Gonzalez on bass, Edgardo Miranda on guitar, and Phoenix Rivera on drums, along
with vocalists Wendy Rossi-Fernandez and Jacqueline Flowers.

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 and Grill will be on the corner.

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

See you there, kids.

Poem For A Friday

2007-05-18T00:21:00.000-04:00

In the voice of my father.

Thoughts?

Six Attempts to Get My Father To Speak About the Day After My Birth

mira. mira.
aqui tengo tu poema.

oiga:

Este mundo es un relajo.
En forma de un gallinero.
Los que subieron primero.
Cagaran en los de abajo.
Pero si viene un guanajo.
No ligerito de peso.
Pue'ser que se quiebre el gajo.
Y los de arriba y los de abajo.
Se vayan to' pa'l carajo.

ah, ¿no te gu'ta?
pue', oye e'to.

Yo se que tú eres poeta.
y que del aire lo compone'.
Pon'te un farol en culo.
Y alúmbrate los cojones.

II.

en verdad. no recuerdo.
pipo, necesito un favor.
bú'came las carreras seis a doce de santa anita.
notalo en un papelito y trai'lo pa'rriba.

III.

¿que? pue' na'. me fui a trabajar.

IV.

i go to werk at five. i come back at two.
i no remembeh who call me, i think i'was joo seester.
my fren' come wi' me.
he giveh cigar to e' ri' body. y bueno, i donno. i go home and wait for joo mother.

day afte'? i go home, i go to werk.
i ha' to makeh money. joo know.
i remembeh joo mother tell me joo okay, so i no worry too much.
i no believe i have anothe' baby. i no believe how moch joo look like joo brothe' gusti.
i no believe joo so leetle guy, and now joo so big guy.
i put joo in my pocket.

VI.

joo writeh poem how? ¿en mi voz?
pue'. oiga esto que te voy a decir ahora.
los poetas mueren joven, okay? bú'cate algo esteady, que nunca sabes que va pasar.
ay que buscar poetas cubanos, que son de los mejores.
¿sabes que martí fue poeta?
ay, mi'jo. ay un millón de poemas que tengo aqui, memoriza'o.
así se aprenda los poemas, ¿sabes?
ay mi'jo. un millón.

Acentos Recap, Anticipating(?) Lavoe, and Other Matters

2007-05-14T03:13:00.000-04:00

1. From South Bend to the South Bronx

Francisco Aragón, the Latino poet.for.all.seasons who writes this blog and directs Letras Latinas at Notre Dame, gave a stellar reading at Acentos last Tuesday.

It's easy to say that with his work on page, every word has weight, every line break is essential, and there is no wasted space. What's interesting to me is how all that careful writing translates into the reading of the poem. This is the part where I could easily slip into a defense of spoken word. But truthfully, most (not all) of the folks doing it today have no regard for the concept of lines, and they rush through the work like a bull in a three-minute china shop. Francisco does not come from this school, and we're all the better for it. He was not rushed, he allowed the words and breaks to guide his voice, he paused and pronounced the imagery with the same weight they carry on the page. This is clearly a poet most comfortable with crafting images I'd like to read, but he surprised me by showing those same images to me with his voice as well. In other words, the writing crafted the performance. Shouldn't it always be this way?

So here's a topic for discussion. Poets. How do you "see" a poem? Are you a listener first, or a reader first? How did/does your initial forays into the world of poetry color your tendencies?

Also last Tuesday, we were thrilled to have such an amazing cast of characters in attendance, most of whom did pieces on the open mic. Fish was there, of course. A returning favorite, Renato Rosaldo, was in the house, as was Jaime El Maestro, Ray Medina, Aracelis Girmay, Felix Rivera (who brought company), and John Murillo. Jessica Torres brought a student (also a former student of mine), as did John Rodriguez. Eliel Lucero brought his significant otra, always nice. And everyone got to hang together, a veritable sancocho of brilliant Latino poetic minds. This is how I want every Acentos to be: home. Home for anyone with a brilliant piece to share, regardless of the language, regardless of the outcome on the open mic. This is our community, and I can't wait to see it grow out. I'm very gratified to hear that Francisco enjoyed the open as much as he did, and I further hope that some of the Acentos heads can make it out to Chicago for a Palabra Pura reading. I think I might, very soon.

2. El Cantante--The Real Thing, or Piñero II?

So the movie about Hector Lavoe's life comes out on August 1st, with Marc Anthony in the lead role. I'm a massive salsa fan, so hearing and seeing Marc sing Hector Lavoe's repertoire is going to be a kick in the ass for me.

I must admit a little bit of apprehension about the movie though. It's written and directed by Leon Ichaso, who is now on his second movie biopic about tragic-ass Boricuas. Apparently, they're telling the story from Lavoe's wife's perspective—not surprising, considering that the wife is played by Jennifer Lopez (who also produced). This actually could be interesting, because you wouldn't expect the most macho of hombres having his story told from the wife's eyes. I'm still willing to give it a chance, but let's just say I have my doubts. The very idea of Jennifer Lopez starring in the Hector Lavoe story will get people's hackles up, especially after such gritty melodramas as "Maid in Manhattan" and "The Wedding Planner." She has about as much street cred as I do. (Which is to say, zero.)

Still, I and about three million of my fellow Boricuas will end up seeing this movie. I just can't shake the feeling this will be a big-screen hatchet job fiasco on par with Piñero. Oh yeah, and what in the name of Walter Mercado is the deal with all these Puerto Rican junkies in the movies? Don't get me wrong, I love Hector Lavoe as much as the next guy, but really, a few of us DID manage to get famous without shooting up. Anyone ever told Leon Ichaso about Pedro Albízu Campos? They are making a Che movie. I'm just sayin', Leon. I'm just sayin'.

3. O.B. Writin' Dat Hot Fiyah!

Coming soon to the blog: A full-on, foofoo review of Oscar Bermeo's Anywhere Avenue, a new chapbook from the founding curator of Acentos. I do not intend to write some fluff job, either...this will be my first foray into the arena of literary criticism, and I want to start honestly, albeit with some familiar territory. The first edit job I ever got from a fellow poet was Oscar's take on a poem I sent him over MiGente.com (yes, I remember my roots), and he proceeded to hack the shit to pieces. I still don't agree with him on the edits, but I can promise this will not be retribution. And hopefully, it won't bore people to death, either. I want to retain some semblance of silly-serious me and still be a good critic. Is that possible? I guess we'll all find out together.

What I can say unequivocally, before you guys see the full report: Oscar has grown leaps and bounds from the tentative Poeta (with a capital P!) that I met in 2003. His voice is expanding, expansive, and layered. He's got a better grasp on poetry now, but more importantly, he has a better grasp on HIS poetry.

Hungry? Why wait? Check out Mr. Bermeo right here. And his blog here. Drop him a line and maybe you too can explore Anywhere Avenue.

4. Richie is Pathetic and Wants Your Pity

The lady is in London until May 31st. Someone, please, throw me a conversation over here!

Seriously though. If you happen to be in London, or know anyone who will be, tell em Tara Betts is on that side of the Atlantic. They weren't ready for Stonehenge, and they ain't ready for La Betts. The rest of her U.K. itinerary is right here on her MySpace page.

That's it for now, kids.

Paz, pasteles, y mucho mucho pero mucho amor...

If you're a poet in New York...

2007-05-07T10:09:00.000-04:00

Go here this week!

Monday, May 7th @ 6pm
Quetzal Quill Reading Series

Curated by Rigoberto González, this reading series showcases the best new voices in American letters. Featured readers include poets Cynthia Cruz and Ada Limón, and short story writer Manuel Muñoz.

Cornelia Street Café
29 Cornelia Street
between Bleecker and Sixth Avenue
Hosted by Rigoberto Gonzalez
$6 cover includes free drink

A,F,V trains to W 4th St.
www.corneliastreetcafe.com
212-989-9319.

*********************************************

Monday May 7th @ 7:30pm
louderARTS: The Reading Series
louderEDGE featuring Marie Howe

13 Bar/Lounge
35 E. 13th Street
corner of 13th St. and University Place
N, Q, R, W, L, 4, 5, 6 trains to Union Square
Hosted by Lynne Procope
$6 cover/$5 students
2-for-1 drinks

***********************************************
AND OF COURSE...

Tuesday, May 8th @ 7pm
ACENTOS Bronx Poetry Showcase
The Uptown's Best Open Mic and Featured Poet Francisco Aragón

Francisco Aragón's poems and translations have appeared in various print and web publications, including Chain, Crab Orchard Review, Chelsea, The Journal, ZYZZYVA, and the online magazines Jacket, Electronic Poetry Review, and Tertulia. In addition to Puerta del Sol (Bilingual Press), he is the editor of The Wind Shifts: New Latino Poetry (University of Arizona Press). He directs Letras Latinas, the literary unit at the Institute for Latino Studies 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 by the last
car on the 6. Take the exit to your left, go up the stairs to your
right to exit at Lincoln Avenue. Walk down Lincoln to Bruckner Blvd,
turn right on Bruckner past the bike shop. The Bruckner Bar & Grill
is on the corner. For more directions, please call 917-209-4211.

See ya there, kids!

Foundations

2007-05-05T01:41:00.000-04:00

In June of 2003, I had only just become comfortable parking my car on the street in New York City. Until that point, the City was a monolith of crime and fear and grand theft auto, so it made sense to put the car in a garage, often at great cost, because parking garages are a complete rip-off. I was (still am) a suburban Jersey boy, raised to have caution, and my brand of Jersey caution told me that the City was a zoo not to be trifled with. Time had straightened out this assumption, but there was still one daunting task left for the cautious Jersey boy to conquer: driving to the Bronx for poetry.

The Bronx, as I discovered, is a huge place, stretching from Harlem to Westchester. Parts of it are among the richest suburban neighborhoods in the nation. Other parts of it have 24-hour mobile police precincts. In this regard, the Bronx is not unlike where I come from. In Northern New Jersey, you can drive fifteen minutes in any direction and end up somewhere your parents would love to visit. You can drive another ten and end up somewhere your parents think they fled by living in Jersey. So it was that despite my lingering fear of a shattered car window, I found myself at peace sitting on 139th Street and 3rd Avenue in the Bronx, what was then the Blue Ox Bar, a place that may as well have been 21st Avenue in Paterson, New Jersey.

This was the place, and Acentos was the reading, where I fell in love with poetry again. I was writing a new poem every week. Every day. I didn't even keep half the poems I wrote there. I didn't care about the archive. I just knew that I was in a safe space, where I could be an unabashedly Spanglish-speaking Puerto Rican/Cuban young man with genuine insecurity, and that I could work it all out on the page. It helped, of course, that the reading's two founding poets (Oscar and Fish) had befriended me and were willing to feed my jones(es) for poetry and bochinche. I had friends and fellow poets sharing in the experience (Maria, Jessica, Eliel, Raj). But yes, most of all, I had the space, the physical space to sit and read, to speak on the open mic, and to do so among people who spoke both the languages I was attempting to express myself in.

This was not a particularly new concept, even though what we were doing was new shit for us. The early days of the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe (both on 6th Street and 3rd Street) gave us the template: Fearless writing, with the themes we grew up in, and the opportunity to grow into our own styles, the way we choose. This has been the story of my development as a writer. The space nurtured my voice...MY voice, my authentic experience, and to date I haven't felt a particular need to translate concepts, or apologize to anyone for writing in two languages. I want...we want...this space, Acentos, to do the same for other writers what it's done for myself and other writers of Latino descent.

How we gonna do that? Glad you asked, muffin.

Of course, the reading itself still happens every second and fourth Tuesday, in a venue five blocks south of our old one. The Bruckner Bar and Grill, despite its admittedly earthy name, is a haven for performers and poets who want the intimacy of the club with the urgency of the black box theater. We've been there for two years, and we're only now coming into our own with it. Last month, we had a collaborative duo share poetry AND sonic art; this month, we'll be having both a scholarly poet and a jazz ensemble doing their respective damn things in the name of Latino poetry. This reading nurtures voices and incubates talent. It should not be missed. There are links to follow on the right...so follow them.

As all movements can and should do at some point, this movement will be expanding outward. Our intention is to be for Latino poets what Cave Canem is for African-American poets: a home for Latinos and Latinas in poetry. We've been doing it for four years in the Bronx. We hope to do it for as long as we can in workshop with other writers of Latino/a descent. We will meet yearly, in fellowship with other writers and distinguished Latino faculty, for a weeklong retreat. The details and timing of this retreat will be worked out in time, but this is our mission: to nurture and develop writers of Latino/a descent, honor those already here, and advance writing by Latinos and Latinas in the United States.

To put it plainly. Our place in American letters is clear to us, but not always clear to the scholars. We will make it clear. Our peoples' experiences are often invisible. We will make them visible. Our presence in the publishing world (and other places) is often predicated on others' sense of "the Latino market." We will determine this presence for ourselves.

This, in a nutshell, is what we're working on over at Acentos. In another entry I'll talk a bit about both the retreat and our planned youth component. For now, I wanted to share my enthusiasm about this new phase we're entering, and how proud I am that it's coming from my home. We hope.

So I'm digging this new blog, folks! I think I'll be here more often. NICE!

Paz, pasteles, and everything else....

Meet the New Boss...Same as the Old Boss...

2007-05-04T01:58:00.000-04:00

As much as I love MySpace, I feel some kind of strange affinity for Blogger. So I am starting something new here. It's still me, still very much irreverent and silly, but with a slightly different focus. I am still the star of the show. My inner egomaniac won't allow this to become a full-time literature blog, but I do intend to bring up big topics in literature and politics and culture quite freely. I guess I still want to blog, but not so much about shit I know I'll get bored with. Because mundane blogging is beginning to piss me off. Say, Bloggers: I really don't need to know about your man drama, and you really don't need to be telling people about it. Not sayin. Just sayin.

So I guess I'll start with the happenings in the life of me over the past few months.

-Was accepted into the MFA program at Rutgers-Newark

-Turned 29, a hair away from my Saturn return year.

-Got to know Cave Canem, many as individuals and as an amazing network of artists.

-Took workshops. Lots of them.

-Went to AWP for the first time, submitted a panel proposal for 2008. Met Latino poets from across the country.

-Announced a foundation for Latino poetry. Acentos Foundation. Neat-o, yes? Bet you'd like to hear more, wouldn't you?

-Lost my little boy haircut, put back the pushback. Because the lady likes it. Hee.

Okay, so we're going back to the mundane. Ah, shucks. But anyway, here it is, folks. I will not be updating the livejournal, so the slam poets are just gonna have to get with the program and sign up with Bloglines or something to keep up.

Welcome to the new joint. Same as the old joint. Kinda.

New Shit?

2007-05-02T16:09:00.000-04:00

Hmm. Possibly....