FEATURED POET Lisa Alvarado is an educator, poet, novelist, and journalist, the founder of La Onda Negra Press, author of Reclamo and The Housekeeper's Diary; originally a book of poetry and now a one-woman performance. Her first novel, Sister Chicas, Penguin/NAL, was released in April 2006. The novel is a coming of age story concerning the lives of three young Latinas living in Chicago. It won 2nd place, Best First Novel in English. (Latino Literacy Now/2007)
Her book of poetry, Raw Silk Suture, with a forward by Juan Felipe Hererra and released by Floricanto Press in 2008, was reviewed by Rigoberto Gonzalez. She has curated multimedia exhibits, mounted her own multimedia piece, Reclamo in the Pilsen art corridor in Chicago; and is currently a contributor to the nationally touring exhibit, Re-imagining the Distaff Toolkit, curated by Ricki Solinger/SUNY.
Check her out at lisa@lisaalvarado.net in order to book her for readings or connect on art shows.
Reclamo
En este sueño
estoy completa.
No tengo que guardar
las historias de otra gente.
No tengo que buscar y escudriñar
a través de los restos de sus palabras.
En este sueño
paso mis dedos
através de la cabellera de Frida
Con esa cabellera,
tejo flores obscuras
del color de la sangre.
Y me dice
que el jaguar viene a traerme
su poder.
La medicina que calma este dolor
es como comida para
calmar esta hambre.
En este sueño
hago magia
con el lodo del Rio Grande.
Arropado en corridas y música ranchera,
que son el hechizo y el encanto
que anula la edad
del olvido y el adoctrinamiento.
En este sueño
tengo un amante
cuya cara es de piedra,
como el antiguo marcador del templo.
Su boca es carnosa,
sus ojos están entrecerrados y
murmura:
“Ven conmigo mi India,
mi pequeña perdida.
Recuerda quien eres.
Recuerda quien eres.”
Reclamation
In this dream,
I am whole.
I am no longer
saving other people’s stories,
scavenging their words;
sifting thru their remains.
In this dream,
my fingers run
thru Frida’s hair.
In this hair, I plait
dark flowers
the color of blood.
She tells me
the jaguar comes
to bring me power.
The medicine
to end this pain,
the food for this hunger.
In this dream,
I have made magic
from the mud of the Rio Grande.
Wrapped in corridas and ranchero music;
are spells and incantations
to undo
the age of forgetfulness
and indoctrination.
In this dream,
I have a lover
whose face is stone;
ancient as a temple marker.
His mouth is full,
his eyes half closed.
He whispers:
“Come to me, mi India,
mi pequeña perdida.
Remember who you are
Remember who you are.”
WRITE YOUR POEM
药
结束这种痛苦
La medicina que calma este dolor
The medicine
to end this pain
When you write poems, how much of them survive translation? The West uses extreme forms and rhyme schemes that only function among Romance languages. How much rigor do you use when filtering the words? Do you have 14 character modifiers? Can the reader see your images?
Pain and medicine are global. Sometimes poetry is medicine. Sometimes it is the poison. Just like strychnine was used for heart conditions and arsenic for beauty.
Remember that as a poet you are a witness to healing. re-read Lisa's poem. Write your poem.
