Morena's Bohío

El Barrio's Culture Walk

2011-09-04T08:24:00.000-07:00

What's free and still pleasant enough to do before autumns' gelid winds set in?

El Museo del Barrio's neighborhood walking tour takes place this Saturday, September 10, 2011. Admission is free and the tour is scheduled to depart at 11:30 a.m. from their lovely renovated lobby.

Just don't forget to RSVP!

The Afro-Latin@ Reader

2011-09-03T19:16:00.000-07:00

Just open the book and turn to any page. Any page will do. Here you'll find something for just about everyone. Here all are welcomed and all are included. Within these 566 pages there is something for the jazz lover, the sports fan, the politician and the educator. There is something here for the identity seeker, the culture lover, the music buff, the Mestizo woman, the dancer and the poet. Looking for validation? It is here. Looking for knowledge? It is here. Looking for photographic documentation? It is here. Looking for interviews, essays, personal stories and related experiences? It is all here in The Afro-Latin@ Reader.

"Latinegras represent the mirrors that most Latinos would like to shatter because they reflect the Blackness that Latinos don't want to see in themselves. I am a Latinegra, born to a world that denies my humanity as a Black person, a woman, and a Latina; born to a world where other Latinos reject me and deny my existence even though I share their heritage." Excerpt from Maria I. Cruz-Janzen's, Latinegras: Desired Women - Undesirable Mothers, Daughters, Sisters and Wives Page 282

"As an African American Mexican Woman, over the course of my life I have felt the country's embrace and its sting. Looking at old pictures of myself as a small child among my Mexican cousins I am happy - laughing like the rest of them - but I look somewhat different.....I was called chata, chinita, trompudita and morena - all racial terms, though said with affection I think." Excerpt from Maria Rosario Jackson's, Profile of an Afro-Latina: Black, Mexican, Both. Page 434

"Yet wood & goatskin
continued their speeches
discreetly in Caribbean jungles
The language of hands hide & cedar
could not be silenced
the ancestor's mother tongue
thundering who they were
where they come from....."
Excerpt from Adrian Castro's, Pulling the Muse from the Drum. Page 62

"When we talk about our role in terms of creating the American Revolution, we are not saying we are going to take Puerto Rican people and ship them back to Puerto Rico. We are saying that we have been here in this country for two generations - in some cases, maybe three generations - we've been here for so long, right, that it would be too convenient for us to move back now and just create a revolution there. We're saying that we want payback for the years that we have suffered, the years that we have put up with cockroaches and rats. We had to put up with snow, we had to put up with English, we had to put up with racism....." Excerpt from Pablo "Yoruba" Guzman's, Before People Call Me a Spic, They Call Me a Nigger. Page 237

....So grab yourself one!

The Afro-Latin@ Reader: History And Culture In The United States
Edited by Miriam Jimenez & Juan Flores
ISBN: 978-0-8223-4572-5
Duke University Press

Huracán (Poem)

2011-07-12T02:24:00.000-07:00

Now in hurricane season.....

With hurricanes it's not the wind or the noise or the water. - Victor Hernández Cruz

We, abuela and I, watch the back porch and we know.
We know when the empty hammock dances.
We know when the tempo of cyclonic beats
join the crescendo of percussion - pla-pla-pla.
We know when the whispers come haunting
and the moisture on our skin hints of Yemaya.
We know when the scurry of tiny feet run,
snapping branches under the breeding of thunder and lighting.
We know when the high pitch of barrels interprets the pounding of raindrops.
We know.

But do you know us?
Do you know the grandchildren play here now?
All five of them
a blessing of skinned knees,
river drenched hair,
mango stained fingers and laughter.
Shhh, can you hear them?

Their music is a rolling pin
ironing out the growing yeast that is a tired old man.
They play among the still life of papayas and piñas,
imagining them to be their grandfather's congas.
They sing folklore's and pluck melodic strings
in tune to the island's natural rhythm.
Shhh, do you hear them?
Do you hear them as the hammock dances?

Abuela's chair now faces east
where my machete,
long retired,
lays stored and exchanged for leisure naps under the sun.
Her arthritic hands
though they too have long been retired
continue to mold the dough of a family.
Still out of her rocking chair she hacks the coconuts
and like the beauty of our surroundings,
she nourishes us with fruits of the land -
coco milk, white flesh, bomba and son.
Shhh, do you hear her?
Do you hear her as the hammock dances?

Father of wind, warmth and water,
the great Huracán.
Caribbean native
resident of the tropics
God of the ancestors
we know you, we respect you, we give way to you.

We know it is your time,
but it is also ours.
You make the hammock dance
but the grandchildren play here now,
and abuela's fingers
and my machete
and we beg you,
be merciful.

Abuela - Grandmother's
Yemaya - Goddess of the Ocean
Piñas - Pineapples
Son - a style of music that originated in Cuba (guitar, song & percussion)
Bomba - percussion driven musical tradition (Puerto Rico)

RLL Copyright © 2011

Your Silence Will Not Protect You

2011-06-05T08:14:00.000-07:00

At some point one has to declare a cease-fire, be it by choice or not. Some people will declare it after deep reflection, others through surrender and others, having waited too long, via death. Today I declare a cease-fire on my active state of being partially purposeful and partially responsible. No one is such a thing. No one can be partially anything when dealing in a revolution, especially this revolution, our bottomless well of a revolution. This revolution being the very same one our ancestors participated in and fought for but which now bears new faces, newer dimensions and many more missed opportunities. It is the revolution of naming an action, capturing the image and documenting the present.

In my absence, I became a random star floating in a vast galaxy. I become a mere pixel assisting in the whole. I am among the many who forgot their role, who ignored their own value and lost sight of what was important. I am one among the many who believed that existing could be enough; that my action of nothingness caused no harm until I realized that the revolution continued despite me, affecting my offspring in ways I hadn't fathomed possible; that the revolution was losing ground by my silence and inaction.

Neutrality is a farce. We all have an opinion. We all have a reaction. We use the term 'being neutral' as a defense. We are scared. We are hiding from the fear of not harboring the popular thought. We are hiding from publicly being wrong or perhaps, we're not hiding at all. Perhaps we're just plain lazy. Whatever the reason, we are failing. We are failing the cause. We have consciously put down our arms and allowed our enemies broader range into our spaces, into our minds and into our lives. We have allowed them easier access into mass persuasion. Essentially we have been, I have been handing over my power.

Is it not true that a picture does not stop being a picture if one pixel becomes obsolete? And is it not true that the galaxy will carry forth despite the absence of another stars beam? Therefore, it is true that the issues will continue to manifest from the palms of trouble makers (intentional or not) despite the absence of a fallen comrade. THIS comrade has decided to get up. THIS comrade rises, grabs her weaponry and while she may be incapable of stopping the bullets from being fired, she can certainly join the front line alongside her fellow bloggers. Sir William Shakespeare once wrote "many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills." Well I say, be very afraid! I have risen and have decided to right my wrong by rejoining the revolution. I have a voice, therefore I am obligated to respond, to teach and to document.

I am making a "come-back" because it is needed, because there is a circus of situations feverishly showing their heads like some surreal Jack-In-The-Box that just won't quit. I spent my days observing from the sidelines as sideshow after sideshow developed. I witnessed the arrival of SB1070 and HB87 and did very little about it. I witnessed earthquake after earthquake torment our brothers and sisters in Haiti, Chile and Japan and all I did was change a Facebook status. I did the same with the news concerning the growing epidemic of homelessness and cholera outbreak in Haiti. I followed quietly as police rattled the lives of innocent civilians here in the states and caused havoc on teachers and students in Puerto Rico. I followed the news of questionable budget cuts and continued injustice against both women and children and of politicians gone drunk with power and on and on and on and nothing. I watched and read as children continued to fall through the cracks of the public school system and just simply felt sad. I watched families struggle with the idea of assimilation when they didn't need to go through it at all. Why have I stopped teaching? Why haven't I taught survival was possible bi-culturally? Why wasn't there talk of acculturation instead? I can no longer stay quiet. My silence does more harm than good. It protects no one. It helps no one. It betrays.

To witness and follow is not enough. Indeed it is a wise move to be informed, but with knowledge comes responsibility and I need to get my act together concerning the latter. This post is not only a confession and promise, it is also a call for all my fallen comrades! Pick up your quills!

In the words of Audre Lorde, "Your silence will not protect you." You WILL be held accountable, if not by me then by your own child, your neighbor, an elder, your sister, your mother, your best friends father, your neighborhood baker, your community members, the whole. Let us be the Whitney Young's, the Alberto Korda's, the Pedro Albizu Campos and the Juan Antonio Corretjer's of our generation. Perhaps those are tall glasses to fill but fill it we must, be it through photographs, media, essays, protests and/or literature.

Mamá Planted Philosophy - Poem

2010-04-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes ya'll....to the beat ya'll....to the rhythm and bass ya'll....of prose and verse ya'll....(Somewhere in the the world, Kool Moe Dee is frowning about what I've just done....Chuckle....). Well here we are, still in the midst of National Poetry Month. I imagine we're each observing and honoring the craft by reading, writing, educating and performing as am I. Well truth be told, the performing not so much. The writing however, yes that I do. Below you'll find a piece I've revised and am officially announcing as my poetic contribution. Enjoy!

Mamá planted philosophy
when she knelt in her garden.
Seasoned strands and beads of sweat
garnished soft Indio features.
Laugh lines surrounded warm eyes
and tinted lips played doorways to proverbs.
She bathed brown hands rich with earth
as she spoke of the lilies, the perennials, the rose bushes and tulips.
Each one blooms during the day, she would say.
Each one under the suns’ spotlight,
swaying and dancing as if in a Broadway play.

Mamá planted philosophy
while a budding face of fawn gazed at her.
Looking down at this resemblance of the Antilles,
she smiled a wrinkled tenderness
as empty flower pots were held.
Indigenous and dark,
thick in lips and thighs,
implanted and rooted,
the innocence waited for the seasoned skill
for both pot and mind.
Beautiful petals fall from your head, she would say.
Be proud to wear such a crown,
but do not be like my garden mi'ja;
do not boast for all to see your nectar,
for robbery and greed
adorn the most humble of bees.

Mamá planted philosophy
when she knelt in her garden,
often talking about the treasures of the night.
Be a night bloomer
whose petals and fragrance stay clear of the day,
but glow softly under the moonlight.
When night tide approaches
and no one is watching
and the suns’ rays wilt like leaves in the cold
and the moon is calling out for the symphony of the night,
only then should you celebrate the fire in your hair,
the rainbow of your skin,
the chékere in your movement.

Only then mi'ja,
only then.

RLL Copyright © 2010.

A Mark For Improvement

2010-03-22T13:19:00.000-07:00

The biggest room in the world is the room for improvement.

This phrase was told to me many, many moons ago by a very close and dear friend. I believe it was on this day that my outlook on life changed forever more, considering my once-upon-a-time handicap of being unable to see any glass half full and watching doors close, marking an undeniable end.

Today I look back at my life and I am amazed just how true that one phrase is. How not only is there room for improvement in all walks of life, but that improvement is infinite. It bares no end. I not only see it in my life, but I watch its aesthetic beauty in history's timeline. One hundred and thirty seven years ago, on March 22, 1873 slavery was abolished in Puerto Rico. Branding, cruel labor, beatings and the selling and buying of another human being became illegal.

Improvement? Certainly. But it doesn't stop there. What then? Where to? What of these former slaves? How does one even begin to attempt to repay such a debt? How does one make it all better? How does the island of Puerto Rico regroup? My answer: With improvement. Give them equal rights, instead of having people like Isabel González fight to be given United States citizenship. Give them a proper education in order to navigate their new surroundings, instead of having them fight to keep up. Grant them the right to vote. Grant them respect.

Eventually all these things were given, but does it stop there? Puerto Rico has a long way to go. Many improvements need to take place. So today, on this March 22nd of 2010, remember it is through struggle and determination that we get there. It isn't always easy nor immidiate, but it is certainly worth it. My suggestion: Start from within and grow. It starts with just one person. It starts small as did the road to abolish slavery in Puerto Rico, when it was but a few leaders paving the path. It took one person, be it Dr. Ramón Emeterio Betances or Segundo Ruiz Belvis to believe that conditons needed to improve.

Today, whatever your belief is, be it small or big, take action! Improve as you see fit!

Pa'lante!

Nobody Beats The Wiz Except El Rincon

2010-02-09T20:12:00.000-08:00

Farewell Rincon Musical
398 Knickerbocker Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11237

It appeared to be an ordinary lunch hour as I walked down Knickerbocker Avenue. The lady with the empanada cart stood on the corner of Harman Street, busy mother's with two to three precious children scurried off to early afternoon appointments while the aroma of Burger King and La Isla's cuchifritos synthesized with the gelid February winds. It looked like a duck, it smelled like a duck, yet something still wasn't right. The melody was missing. That son of Bushwick lacked in the air. The silence of Fernando Villalona and Shakira suddenly yelled volumes. There, smack-dab in the middle of the block, I realized the horror of it all. Staring right back at me in the middle of the block was Rincon Musical, with its' gates closed to the world and a sign which read, "Store for Rent".

I could feel another piece of my heart withering away. What once was a steady gait occupied with destination and purpose, quickly turned into what one could interpret as the equivalent of the Energizer bunny's last drop of life. I slowed in pace at the sight of it all. Store after store rocked with business. Cheap knock-offs poured out of tiny hole-in-the-wall shops and store clerks stood in front of mediocre window displays handing out homemade coupons that bragged of one-day sales. All were no-frills businesses that would be here today and gone tomorrow with as much significance as the blink of an eye. But Rincon Musical had history and depth, especially with me.

One day many moons ago, after cashing a retail earned paycheck, I walked to The Wiz armed with what I thought was loads of cash. My intention was to find an old boogaloo song sung by El Gran Combo de Puerto Rico. Up until that day, The Wiz had been the place to go to feed my muscial appetite. The Wiz never failed me - that is until I started developing a taste for Latino music. Yes, it is true. The Wiz did indeed have a "Latin" section, but oh soooo limited it was. After a long, defeated search, I decided drastic measures would have to be taken. Obviously, "El Jala Jala Llego" would not be found at The Wiz. I searched high and low. I searched Sam Goode, Tower Records and independent music stores. Finally, after much search, a quirky young man who sounded like he could of been the lead singer to the pop group the Bee Gee's suggested I go to Rincon Musical. 'Tis what I did and hopped on the train to some foreign part of Brooklyn. I found myself on a busy Avenue that resembled a street fair. It smelled welcoming just like mommy's cooking before opening the apartment door. Yup, "My people" definitely resided here.

During my first visit I nearly forgot the reason I had come. I walked in and there on the wall was my hero Celia Cruz sharing the spotlight with master timbalero Tito Puente. I saw everything Puerto Rico. I saw everything Cuba. I saw everything Mexico. I saw congas with the Puerto Rican flag, I saw Puerto Rican shaped dominoes. I plucked strings from instruments that were designed entirely of the Dominican Republic's flag. Old-school bachata and the golden shine of horns seduced me down the aisles. I saw t-shirts, posters, sheet music and cassettes galore! Even better than that were the sales clerk who at hearing my request, supplied with me with that and more. Well, I gather you know, I was sold. The Wiz who??! On my way home that day, I rememeber thinking of that ridiculous jingle I knew and sported so well. "Nobody beats the Wiz - Nobody beats the Wiz"......

But oh, someone did and by a landslide!

SideNote: Rincon Musical's other store locations: www.rinconmusical.com

The Requerimiento (Revised) - Poem

2010-02-01T06:56:00.000-08:00

Shouting in alien tongues
abstract words
and perplexities of sorts,
they arrived on shore
like summertime ants
assaulting the calm of kitchen floors.

Oh recognize us –
citizens of ignorant acts,
as the saviors
and prophets
who shall bring peace upon your heads.

Oh recognize us –
and fear not words that befuddle
nor hands of jagged wreaths,
that graze upon the ample bosom
belonging to your wives and offspring.

In our postcards,
we shall brag of your beauty
as obvious as our heavenly given rights.
We shall sip of your coffee
sweeten our tongues
and flush you of your foreign words.
Fear not the fine print floating in the distance
citing clauses that slither
like poisonous rattlesnakes in the dark.

That was then.

We’ve come to strip you,
correction –
we’ve come to revitalize you
like the coming of Spring.
Giving birth to form
breathing life into order
planting seeds of institutions
so as to sprout buds of a different breed.

Oh watch the blossom!
Backs bent in sweat
tears pooled in grief
torrents of yelps, moans and screams
but fear not,
for that is what the suckle is to the infant,
what the oasis is to the traveler.

Oh hear us!
Hear our hearts beat wildly
with the promise of fulfillment.

That was then.

Another portrait circulates.
Familiar angles disguised in the abstract.
Cleverly framed landscapes
and mosaics of a new world politics address
citizens
voters
advocates
petitioners
and more.

We here specialize in the freedom of stroke,
in the power of quenching thirsts,
in the rivers of choice.

Fear not
that your feet wade in cement
or that your thirsty soul
reaches through the mirror of water.
It looks like confusion.
It looks like struggle.
It looks like deceit.

A mother cashes in pockets of oaths
that dissolves like pink mist
each time she attempts
spooning the promises to the nestled youth in her arms.
It looks like betrayal.

That was then
Or is that now?

R. Lucret Copyright © 2009

What was El Requierimiento? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spanish_Requirement_of_1513

On Not Being Black Enough

2009-10-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

This here is another case of not being "Black" enough for the African-Americans and not being "Spanish" enough for the Latino's. I discovered this at one of the colleges I attended some years back (a brief stint), where the majority of the student body was mostly Latinos and African-Americas with sprinkles of everything else. I being a dark-skinned Latina am no stranger to people assuming that I am African-American, that is until the Spanish language started spilling out of my mouth. Once that had happened, I was no longer a valid specimen and my Latino counterparts did not find me to their liking due to the fact that I did not speak English with a Spanish accent. It's true, I don't say jes; I say yes. I'm not saying that to knock anyone, simply that's just me. Can I be an individual? Can I be me?

This here is a rant. I don't know why I let down my guard. It appears that letting down my guard is only good for letting something or someone bite me on the rear. So here it is again. Years later after having mentioned the upcoming release of the movie "Black Dynamite", all hell broke loose and that all too familiar spasm of "I'm Black and your not" has resurfaced.

Fuming, I would first like to say that anyone can go to the movie theater and watch whichever movie they so desire regardless of race, color, creed, national origin, ancestry, sex, marital status, disability, religious or political affiliations, age or sexual orientation (in case you didn't know). Second, I would like to remind you that some of the smartest people on the planet never sat a day in their lives in a college classroom, yet college graduates walk around absolutely clueless on a daily basis. You may be one of them. Therefore, my lack of sitting in a classroom that discussed Blaxploitation films does not mean I am beyond understanding the "real" meanings laced in movies like "Black Dynamite". I can understand your wanting to claim certain things under your ethnic group, trust me I do. I myself am guilty of said action and am always happy to say "and she's Latina" or "she's one of us" type remarks, to show pride and ownership of things I feel proud of. So yes, I get where your coming from. However, that does not give you the right or the pass to act the fool. This Latina is quite aware of the ghetto, drug dealers, ethnic slurs, and yes, even pimps. Believe it or not, I too watched Foxy Brown and I too know about the "five on the black hand side". But those truly are trivial things. I would like to think this wasn't as big a deal as you had made it. I was simply talking about the release of a movie come this Friday.

And yet that is still not enough.

You tell me that I don't know what it's like to be Black in America. Oh but how I do! When most people see me, they see a Black face in America. They do not think that this dark-skinned woman is Afro-Latina (and take note: the 'Afro' in Afro-Latina, but I won't go into that). They do not see a Mexican in America. They do not see a Panamanian in America. They do not see a Colombian in America nor a Puerto Rican in America. The see my skin and there have been times, many in fact that I am treated unfairly because of it. I never attribute this to being treated Black. I attribute this to being treated lesser than. I attribute it to being treated like the minority. While I am not telling you that you should see it my way, I am saying that I do know what you are talking about. I am saying that I do get treated like I'm "Black", but what the hell does that have to do with the type of movie I decide to watch? What planet do you hail from that you would believe that the Japanese are the only ones going to see anime or that the Russians are the only ones that go to the ballet? Do you really believe that belonging to a particular ethnic group means you automatically have a complete and thorough understanding of your own culture? Really, do you?

Finally, I do want you to understand that I am not boxing in your ancestors struggles or your struggle or the struggle of the Black person in America into the one huge box with that of the Latinos. I am aware that there are differences, but just keep in mind that the struggle, each struggle of each "minority" (minority being quite debatable in this day and age) group should not be working against one another, but working at least towards the same goals. I dare take you back some years and remind you how this idea isn't new nor unheard of. As a matter of fact, I dare say it's still worth it's weight as far as being an excellent strategy. Remember the Black Panther Party (Oh yes, I know about that too), it at one time was the only organization that Latino's knew about. It was and became the model for the Young Lords Party. While separate, they fought the same battles. Hence, I dare you to do the same and put aside the petty thinking of whether or not a Latino or Italian person can see a movie such as Black Dynamite and join in on the bigger issue at hand.

Side note: I never intended on seeing 'Black Dynamite'.

Andrés Jiménez: Yo No Protesté

2009-10-13T13:26:00.000-07:00

As many of you have heard, Puerto Rican Governor Luis Fortuño has decided to layoff and freeze the jobs and salaries of well over 17,000 government workers. The island's continued struggle is unforgivable! As a result, massive strikes and protesters are fighting against the impending layoffs due to take effect on November 6th, 2009.

Among the many raising their voices against Governor Luis Fortuño's claim is El Jibaro, also known as Andrés Jiménez. Andrés who is known for his patriotic songs and keeping jibaro music alive, has protested in his own manner by releasing a song titled, Yo No Protesté (I did not protest or I did not complain). Andrés would like for us to take this song as an urgent call for self reflection and an invitation to re-evaluate our attitudes and actions as a people. He is urging the Puerto Rican people to take note that we are living in difficult times and as a people we need to start thinking as one.

To listen to the song please follow the link below.
Andrés Jiménez protesta por los despidos con nueva canción.

The song is from his new CD which is due for release during the first week in November. The album is titled, Desde Mi Balcón (From My Balcony).

Enjoy!

Sidenote: Thursday, October 15 - Support the national strike! Union federations in Puerto Rico have called a one-day island-wide strike. To participate in New York or for further info, follow up at Efrain's Corner: PUERTO RICO IN CRISIS ... A message from Hiram Rivera Marcano.

I Was His Trigueñita - Poem

2009-10-12T09:14:00.000-07:00

....because you could....(A repost for N.L.)
Gracias!!

I Was His Trigueñita

Few were the times
when I felt special
in my fathers eyes.
Moments when ice cubes danced
in glasses of liquid fire.
That was when I was his "trigueñita".
That's how he'd introduce me
in the heat of
tambores being banged
and plena bouncing off walls.
That's when he felt "nice",
when I felt proud
uneven afro and all
to be claimed as such.

Me - this child of concoctions.
Exotic and dark,
creamy milk chocolate
with shards of white diamonds
to adorn my African features.
Me - this child of soul,
with hair like Gillespie and Hughes
with rhythms of percussion and blues.
This sonorous bush of a child,
claimed by the one man she adored most.

Rebeca L. Copyright © 2008

Tambores - drums
trigueñita - little brown girl - used as a term of endearment
Plena is a folkloric genre native of Puerto Rico. Its creation was influenced by African and Spanish music.

Passing Along the Good Stuff: Mirrors

2009-10-11T12:28:00.000-07:00

Many hours have been spent in the corners of bookstores, flipping through pages in cafes and at book readings and signings. So many hours spent on my travels with a book in hand, a magazine, a literary journal or my own spread of lined paper and pen. So sucked in I can get that a couple of times, I've even missed my train stop due to total engrossment of a well written piece.

Over the years I have learned to pull myself away from books I'm currently enjoying, so as not to miss my stop. Over the years I have also learned that I have a grand responsibility. That being, "passing along the good stuff". So often I've come across a book that is so phenomenal, on so many levels, that I just have to pass the info along. It just seems wrong if I didn't.

This week I've started reading, Mirrors: Stories of Almost Everyone by Eduardo Galeano. Such marvel in his writing. Such marvel in his style. Such marvel in writing history that is not to wordy or unappealing. The author of Open Veins of Latin America and Days and Nights of Love and War has indeed done it again! So if on your travels you find yourself with time to spare, I suggest you stop by the closest book store or library and grab yourself a copy.

An excerpt from the book to quench your thirst:

A Feast On Foot

Adam and Eve were black?
The human adventure in the world began in Africa. From there, our ancestors set out to conquer the planet. Many paths led them to many destinies, and the sun took care of handing out colors from the palette.
Now the rainbow of the earth is more colorful than the rainbow of the sky. But we are all emigrants from Africa. Even the whitest of whites comes from Africa.
Maybe we refuse to acknowledge our common origins because racism causes amnesia, or because we find it unbelievable that in those days long past the entire world was our kingdom, an immense map without borders, and our legs were the only passport required.

ABAKUÁ Returns to Tribeca

2009-10-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

I come bearing great news!

ABAKUÁ returns to the Tribeca Performing Arts Center November 6th and 7th!

For those of you who missed their performance this past summer at the Lincoln Center Out-of-Doors performance series, they are scheduled to dazzle you with an unforgettable show that will demonstrate the company's unique vision, talent and innovative spirit at the hands of renowned artistic, director and choreographer Frankie Martinez.

Get those tickets!

Location:
Tribeca Performing Arts Center at the Borough of Manhattan Community College
199 Chambers Street
New York, NY

For more information on the Dance group, please visit their website www.abakuadancers.com

And now for a little taste of what's in store....

Marvin y su Mangoneo

2009-10-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

Today marks the fifth year since Puerto Rican singer Marvin Santiago was last with us.

December 26, 1947 - October 6, 2004

Marvin Santiago, also know as El Sonero del Pueblo died October 6, 2004 from complications of diabetes.

Marvin is one of my all time favorite salsa singers. When I think of Marvin, it reminds me of the medium I used to get closer to my dad. When I was younger, my dad and I had a very difficult relationship. I found it very difficult to relate to him. It was through singers and musicians like Bobby Cruz, Pete "El Conde" Rodriguez, Marvin Santiago, Eddie Santiago, La Fania and Johnny Pacheco (among others), that I was able to establish a relationship with him. Through simple talks of music and salsa, I was able to get to know a major piece of who my dad was, but it was through Marvin Santiago and El Mangoneo that we finally agreed about something for the first time. "El tipo esta tremendo!"

So today, I just want to spend the day listening to Marvin's tunes....gracias Marvin!

Another one of my favorite Marvin Santiago songs excuted wonderfully by Luisito Carrion and the Puerto Rican Masters....

Does it get any better?

The Requerimiento - Poem

2009-10-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

Shouting in alien tongues
abstract words
and perplexities of sorts,
they arrived on shore
like summertime ants
assaulting the calm of kitchen floors.

Oh recognize us –
citizens of ignorant acts,
as the saviors
and prophets
who shall bring peace upon your heads.

Oh recognize us –
and fear not words that befuddle
nor hands of jagged wreaths,
that graze upon the ample bosom
belonging to your wives and offspring.

In our postcards,
we shall brag of your beauty
as obvious as our heavenly given rights.
We shall sip of your coffee
sweeten our tongues
and flush your foreign words.

Fear not the fine print floating in the distance
citing clauses that slither
like poisonous rattlesnakes in the dark.

We’ve come to strip you,
correction –
we’ve come to revitalize you
like the coming of Spring.
Giving birth to form
breathing life into order
planting seeds of institutions
so as to sprout buds of a different breed.

Oh watch the blossom!
Backs bent in sweat
tears pooled in grief
torrents of yelps, moans and screams
but fear not,
for that is what the suckle is to the infant,
what the oasis is to the traveler.

Oh hear us!
Hear our hearts beat wildly
with the promise of fulfillment.

That was then.

Another portrait circulates.
Familiar angles disguised in the abstract.
Cleverly framed landscapes
and mosaics of a new world politics address
citizens
voters
advocates
petitioners
and more.

We here specialize in the freedom of stroke,
in the power of quenching thirsts,
in the rivers of choice.

Fear not
that your feet wade in cement
or that your parched soul
reaches through the mirror of water.
It looks like confusion.
It looks like struggle.
It looks like deceit.

A mother cashes in pockets of oaths
that dissolves like pink mist
as she attempts
spooning the promises to the nestled youth
cradled in her arms.
It looks like betrayal.

That was then
Or is that now?

RLL

While doing some research, I discovered a document that the Spanish used to assert their sovereignty over the natives of the lands that they conquered. The Requerimiento was written by Juan López de Palacios Rubios and I found this document quite disturbing for it's obvious reason, but also because in some ways some things still haven't changed. Granted, a most wonderful accomplishment happens everyday as we continue to promote, establish and follow through on our own personal ideas, projects and activities. However, we must keep in mind that it's a continuous struggle that ceases to have an end.

....Y seguimos!

Oubao-Moin

2009-09-29T20:48:00.001-07:00

Just spending my afternoon with the words of Puerto Rican poet, journalist and activist Juan Antonio Corretjer. In the meantime, my search for a copy of Obra Poetica or Yerba Bruja that won't break my pockets continues.....

Oubao-Moin (Isla de Sangre - Island of Blood)

El río de Corozal, el de la leyenda dorada.
La corriente arrastra oro. La corriente está ensangrentada.
El Río Manatuabón tiene la leyenda dorada.
La corriente arrastra oro. La corriente está ensangrentada.
El rio Cibuco escribe su nombre con letra dorada.
La corriente arrastra oro. La corriente está ensangrentada.
Allí se inventó un criadero. Allí el quinto se pagaba.
La tierra era de oro. La tierra está ensangrentada.
En donde hundió la arboleda su raíz en tierra dorada,
allí las ramas chorrean sangre. La arboleda está ensangrentada.
Donde dobló la frente india, bien sea tierra, bien sea agua,
bajo el peso de la cadena, entre los hierros de la ergástula,
allí la tierra hiede a sangre y el agua está ensangrentada.
Donde el negro quebró sus hombros, bien sea tierra o sea agua,
y su cuerpo marcó el carimbo y abrió el látigo su espalda,
allí la tierra hiede a sangre y el agua está ensangrentada.
Donde el blanco pobre ha sufrido los horrores de la peonada,
bajo el machete del mayoral y la libreta de jornada
y el abuso del señorito, allí sea tierra o allí sea agua,
allí la tierra está maldita y corre el agua envenenada.

Gloria a esas manos aborígenes porque trabajaban.
Gloria a esas manos negras porque trabajaban.
Gloria a esas manos blancas porque trabajaban.
De entre esas manos indias, negras, blancas,
de entre esas manos nos salió la patria.
Gloria a las manos que la mina excavaran.
Gloria a las manos que el ganado cuidaran.
Gloria a las manos que el tabaco, que la caña y el café sembraran.
Gloria a las manos que los pastos talaran.
Gloria a las manos que los bosques clarearan.
Gloria a las manos que los ríos y los caños y los mares bogaran.
Gloria a las manos que los caminos trabajaran.
Gloria a las manos que las casas levantaran.
Gloria a las manos que las ruedas giraran.
Gloria a las manos que las carreteras y los coches llevaran.
Gloria a las manos que las mulas y caballos ensillaran y desensillaran.
Gloria a las manos que los hatos de cabras pastaran.
Gloria a las manos que cuidaron de las piaras.
Gloria a las manos que las gallinas, los pavos y los patos criaran.
Gloria a todas las manos de todos los hombres y mujeres que trabajaron.
Porque ellas la patria amasaran.
Y gloria a las manos, a todas las manos que hoy trabajan
porque ellas constuyen y saldrá de ellas la nueva patria liberada.
¡La patria de todas las manos que trabajan!
Para ellas y para su patria, ¡Alabanza!, ¡Alabanza!

Posted by ani2pro on Youtube

Oubao-moin = n : Island of Blood.
The Dictionary Of The Spoken Taino Language

Colombia Promoting Tourism in NYC

2009-09-28T18:39:00.000-07:00

So I'm still scheming on how to attend this trip to Colombia for El Carnaval De Barranquilla, but it's looking grim. I can't seem to work it out so that one area of my life doesn't realize I'm missing. Auggghh! However, today I did get a dose of Colombian culture right here in New York City and for free! Thank you 'Time Out New York'!

I was just in time for the Discover Colombia Through its Heart exhibit. The exhibition consisted of 7 giant hearts representing 7 relevant topics of the country. The event is part of a larger Colombia Tourism initiative involving 40 mobile hearts placed around New York City. After all, "it ain't all drugs", as one of the proud volunteers stated between giggles while handing me a bunch of thorn filled stems. The exhibit opened on September 22, 2009 and ended today September 28, 2009. It was developed to promote the country and encourage business and tourism.

It was fantastic! They did an amazing job in making the information they wanted put out into the public creatively. A lot of the hearts were interactive with screens, headphones, lights, scents and taste attracting people with it's native artists, it's beautiful landscapes, its Noble-Prize-winning writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez, among other note-worthy individuals and fun facts. And oh freebies! Free Colombian grown flowers, coffee (which smelled great), literature as well as clothing pins. The only thing missing was the grand voice of Etelvina Maldonado.

Below are some of the pictures I took at the exhibit.

Aahh....to be Latina....Big Smile!

Bomba and Plena Workshops

2009-09-23T11:07:00.001-07:00

I'm hoping the "short one" and I make it to some of these workshops this time around...a ver....lets see.....maneuvering schedule....

Africa in Mexico

2009-09-21T05:27:00.000-07:00

This here is another case of Each One Teach One.

(Video was posted by africanastudies on Youtube)

....and with a full dose of disgust, he sucked his teeth in response to my statement.
"Chinese-Cubans, Afro-Cubans, Afro-Mexicans, Afro-Peruvians....what's next?"

Every now and again one can't avoid running into a person from this particular population. The world is simply too small for one not to have a run in with a "one-timer", at least once in their life time. Unfortunately, they are not a rare breed. One-timers (as I like to call them), are people who do things or claim things or nationalities on a particular day for convenience, attention or entertainment. It's like a "devout" Catholic that only goes to church for Easter and/or Christmas. It's like the Puerto Ricans who acknowledge the importance of their flag only during the Puerto Rican day parade in June. It's like the individual who I was recently talking to, Mr. I'm Black-America, tell me there is no possible way that Mexico has black people, yet he'd be the first to cry the injustices of the trans-Atlantic slave trade. I really wished you could of been there. I felt as if I were in a comic book. There I am, completely animated with a confused look on my face, underneath a big bubble with the statement: 'Excuse me', followed by an exaggerated question mark.

What I am about to do is give the quickest ever crash course covering the Europeans and the "making of the Americas". This crash course is not part of the CliffsNotes study guides nor does it come from the family of SparkNotes. Oh no! This study guide has been around for many many years and is quite simple. As a matter of fact, it's so simple that tools like arrows guide you like they would a first grader. It's called the map!

Take note here: Notice how the long arrow from the Congo and Angola travel up to many places in South America, Central America, the Caribbean and North America. Now, pay particular attention to the long line going from that area of Africa straight over to Mexico. Now I don't know about you, but I'm guessing the Europeans weren't stopping in Mexico for a quick bathroom break. So yes, there is such a thing as Mexicans of African descent. Also, for those of you who are unaware as my friend here was, there is a website you can go to that will introduce you to the history and culture of Afro-Mexicans.
Black Mexico Homepage

Latino's on Display

2009-09-20T10:06:00.000-07:00

Some years back when I worked at Borders Books and Music, I made it my personal business to do my job as it was required but with my own agenda attached to it. At some point in my 6+ years working at Borders Books and Music, I was put to work the 'front of store' end of the bookstore. What this required of me was making sure all or as many as possible, newly released hardcovers, paperbacks and bestsellers were up front, well displayed and fully stocked among other random duties.

I did my job well. I made those front of store tables, shelves and displays look like mouth watering eye candy and all was well in my world and with my boss. Everyone was happy. I'd gather the necessary items that were on the list, a lot of times they were the typical sort of thing....Patterson dropped another title - it must go on the table.....Piccolt dropped another title - it must go on the table.....The Da Vinci Code is finally in quality paperback - it must go on the table.....each time receiving well over 50 copies of each book. One didn't need a list to know that if you received a large quantity of the same book, it's because it belongs in the front of the store. Period. Very well. So be it. After it was all said and done, it was then that I had the most "fun". What to do now with those empty spaces on those tables and shelves? Hmmmm....what's a girl to do?

Poetry and Latino Authors!! I went in search of those titles. Titles we only received four or five copies of. I made it my business to make sure those books were up front and center with the rest of the eye candy. It was just the right thing to do. I was like Bob Barker with the "Come On Down"! New Latino authors, new Latino related books, fantastic! The Shadow of the Wind (before it became a bestseller) - Come On Down! Edgardo Vega Yunque - Come On Down! My Sax Life - Come On Down! Jorge Ramos - Come On Down! Victor Villasenor - Come On Down! The Hummingbird's Daughter - Come On Down! Willie Perdomo - Come On Down! And so it kind of went like that with me filling in the holes of the 'front of store'. I was happy with my loves up front and the company was happy with their "desires" up front. Which brings me to the reason for this blog post.

It is often that I walk into a Barnes and Nobles and a Borders Books and Music and am disheartened to see the lack of Latino literature on display. While I remain a faithful Borders Books and Music customer, I have to also acknowledge it has it's flaw and after what I've seen lately, I'm a bit upset they haven't gotten on the 'display and promote the Latino author and poetry' boat. Some weeks ago I went to a Barnes and Nobles in search of a couple of Latino history books for my daughter and was disappointed to find only two books. One on Roberto Clemente and the other one of Frida Khalo. Stuff like that makes me want to plant a bomb in the nearest corner of the store, mosey out of the place with smile on face, walk the five or six blocks and turn around and watch her crumble! Obviously that did not happen and isn't going to happen, but it certainly makes me feel like that is the just thing to do when you consider just how many Latino's reside in the New York City area. However a couple of days ago, Barnes and Nobles redeemed itself (temporarily I suppose), because as I entered the store, I was pleased and surprised to see there on the front tables of the store, were not one, not two, not three, but more Latino authors on the new hardcover table!

Nicely displayed, eye popping and well lit were the titles Anna In-Between by Elizabeth Nunez, The Cavalier in the Yellow Doublet by Arturo Perez-Reverte, Daughters of the Stone by Dahlma Llanos-Figueroa and Roberto Bolano's, The Skating Rink. Unfortunately, there weren't any poetry titles on display, but this was more than I expected. Some weeks ago when I stopped over another Barnes and Nobles I was delighted to see that their new paperback table also had many Latino authors on display, including the book I am currently reading, AMERICA LIBRE by Raul Ramos y Sanchez.

People, things are looking up....Y seguimos pa'lante!

FYI - 09/23/09 Hue-Man Bookstore @ 2319 Frederick Douglass Blvd. (125th Street), the author Elizabeth Nunez reads from and discusses her new novel, Anna In-Between at 6pm.

Censorship or Not: Books Banned in Puerto Rico

2009-09-16T10:10:00.000-07:00

Here before you I have provided you with five book titles. Two of which I've already read. Now I ask you, what do these five books have in common?

- Antologia Personal by Jose Luis Gonzalez
- El Entierro de Cortijo by Edgardo Rodriguez Julia
- Mejor Te Lo Cuento: Antologia Personal by Juan Antonio Ramos
- Reunion de Espejos by Jose Luis Vega
- Aura by Carlos Fuentes

All five books were recently banned from the High School curriculum in Puerto Rico, specifically the 11th grade. Secretary of Education Carlos Chardón, banned the books on the grounds that they contained "coarse" language.

The president of the PEN Club of Puerto Rico Mairyrn Cruz-Bernal issued a statement insisting that the governor of Puerto Rico Luis Fortuño and Carlos Chardón retract their decision because it "threatens adequate and plural teaching of our youth, and hinders the access to the urgent realities that should be discussed in the classroom." Several university teachers in Puerto Rico are also quite alarmed about the ban. One professor at the University of Puerto Rico, Magali Garcia Ramis also issued a statement claiming that this sort of censorship and this sort of thinking is the "kind of mentality that rejects everything that is art and only associates sexuality with inappropriateness."

Honestly, as a parent I can understand the concerns one would harbor if inappropriate language, vulgar terms, slang and sexually related topics where being taught in classrooms. However, as a parent it is irresponsible if we don't address said issues in one way or another. Lets face it, we can't stop the inevitable. I firmly believe that shielding our "children", our 11th graders, who are really young ADULTS filling out college applications is a bit unreasonable. I dare even go further and say it's an ignorant move on behalf of those that made and support the ban. Do they not know exactly what the average 16 or 17 year old is being exposed to on a daily basis? I'm pretty sure that this list of books and their "inappropriateness" isn't the first time 11th graders are crossing paths with said materials. So in my mind, why not address such topics in classrooms when they arise? It isn't as if educators are looking to promote the "inappropriateness". It is my hope that in a responsible, caring environment, surrounded by concerned role models our young adults, our "babies" are guided in a mature manner. Thus, censorship at this age and grade is by far an insult to our growing children who will be entering the "real world". Imagine walking into the "real world" without the needed tools and understanding.

Newsflash: Literature does more than tell tales.

Additional articles on the book ban can be read at the following links:
The Associated Press
Repeating Islands PEN Club of Puerto Rico

Baking the Cake: Dr. Antonia Pantoja

2009-09-09T13:04:00.001-07:00

According to the doctor all it takes is determination, discipline and creativity.

Along with Ghandhi being freed from prison and Anne Frank's last diary entry, there on the other side of the world, Dr. Antonia Pantoja was arriving in New York City to guide, inspire and advocate for Latinos in the United States.

September 13, 1922 - May 24, 2002

In 1944, after receiving her teacher's certificate from the University of Puerto Rico, Dr. Antonia Pantoja came to the United States and continued her studies at Hunter College, the Columbia University of Social Work and the Union Graduate College as a defense and means to combat the racism, discrimination and hurdles that attacked Puerto Ricans in the United States.

Today, I take the time out to honor and remember Dr. Antonia Pantoja and as a result, I find my thinking in the area of, "and what have YOU done". Dr. Antonia Pantoja regarded education to be very important. During her first job as a factory worker, Dr. Pantoja educated workers about their rights and how to go about organizing a union. She went on to create the Hispanic Youth Adult Association, she joined the Puerto Rican Forum, Inc. and founded an organization called ASPIRA (just to name a few of her accomplishments). ASPIRA provided students with career and college counseling, helping the Latino youth stay in school and promoting a positive self-image. ASPIRA's main goal was/is to promote the empowerment of Puerto Ricans and Latino's in their community.

ASPIRA's actual mission states as follows:
To empower the Puerto Rican and Latino community through advocacy and the education and leadership development of its youth.
http://www.aspira.org/manuals/what-aspiras-mission

Dr. Pantoja was a force indeed. It seemed she knew that her "job" was never complete. She continued with joining organizations, filing law suits with the NYC Board of Ed and creating other programs. Another project that Dr. Pantoja established is one we know today as Boricua College. Even years later when she returned to her homeland, she continued helping by creating more organizations. One of them was an organization know as Porvivienda whose goal it was to provide housing for those in need. Dr. Pantoja who was awarded The Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civilian award in 1996 by President Clinton has done so many outstanding things for the Latino community that it makes you wonder, just what have "YOU" done to help your fellow hermanos?

As a social work major (slow but steady), I realize I've got much work to do. It was just moments ago that I read a blog remembering El Maestro Don Pedro Albizu Campos, where the writer made a statement that has now been etched into the walls of my head. It is a simple statement, yet it speaks volumes. The statement:
"You have been given the means and ingredients to bake a cake and when you are done, the cake gets taken away and you are left with only the crumbs". The phrase was coined by Efrain Ortiz Jr. at Pedro Albizu Campos Remembered.

This got me to thinking. Dr. Pantoja came here, took advantage of the perks, collected all the ingredients necessary and "baked" the cake. She "baked" it so good that they are still standing today. No one has taken them, demolished them nor taken a slice of them. Her organizations stand strong, a new set of people who hold her ideals just as important continue on with her passion and mission.

Dr. Pantoja is gone now and I sit here thinking, how can we continue to insure that we are not left with simply crumbs? How can we continue to add on to her line of accomplishments? What "flavor" haven't we tried yet with the combination of ingredients we have accumulated thus far?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i70BdC_nLpw
I found this great video on Youtube on Dr. Antonia Pantoja, thus I share. I don't know about you, but sometimes the visual just makes this that much better! Enjoy!

ASPIRA
NASW Dr. Antonia Pantoja

Paciencia Becky, ten paciencia.....

2009-08-13T08:12:00.000-07:00

I proved him right. He asked me if I was wearing socks. I told him no. He smiled, knodded his head in that "I knew it" sort of satisfaction. Another Latino not wearing socks.....
I was wearing open-toed sandals, but that didn't matter. He was right and he obviously knew it all.

Paciencia Becky, ten paciencia.....(Patience Becky, have patience.....)

According to the list of customer rights while in a Taxi-cab, I have the right to "no music or conversation" should I feel it to my liking. Normally I don't have an issue talking to my cab driver, but yesterday was the exception. Not only was the conversation truly appalling, but a dire need to rid the world of such a specimen would of been a favor to society. Allow me to apologize now.....

I'm sorry world, for I've allowed another simpleminded-annoying-know-it-all-cab driver to roam free among us.

Apparently, my cab driver is an expert on crap....oh, I mean an expert on Latinos (do read that sentence with sarcasm laced all through it).
Credibility?
He's dated 5 Latina's in his day. According to him, Puerto Rican's only eat rice and beans, Dominicans can only put together a dish consisting of plátanos con salami, Mexican's suffer from a lack of height; climaxing only if they're lucky at five feet, every Cuban must know how to roll a proper cigar and Ecuadorians, Colombians and Honduran people are all the same. We all apparently own or will own or have owned a chihuahua in our day, we have very little creative ability; thus Frida Khalo is as good as it's ever gonna get and we absolutely, never ever wear socks.

Paciencia Becky, ten paciencia.....(Patience Becky, have patience.....)

I wish I could of said he was ignorant. At least then it's just a matter of being unaware and uninformed and that could easily be fixed. Yet, even being ignorant is not a good enough excuse because we all belong to a "group". A group that most likely has certain "ideas" attached to it. So my cab driver, in just belonging to one of these "groups" should of known better; whether he knew a Latino or not. I mean, I didn't ask my cab-driver where his turban was or if he'd seen Osama as of late. Perhaps I'm a little guilty for having those thoughts come to mind at all, but I'm smart enough and respectful enough where I wouldn't dare speak out loud such garbage. Instead I addressed the stereotypes as they flagrantly left his mouth (each one teach one) and every time with an increased dose of fire in my reply.
I was very careful not to show that "Latin" temper we Latina women are so known for.....for fear I should prove him right again....(sarcasm).....GRRRRR!

Just when I think things are getting better.....I find myself chanting.....paciencia Becky, ten paciencia.....It's a constant battle we just have to keep fighting.....one day at a time, one person at a time....

Needless to say, I exercised my customer right and refused to give the tipping part of the fare.

Pa'Lante mi gente!

Sipping Tea with Sandra María Esteves

2009-08-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday morning, the air smells of warm tea bags and a treat of munchkins lay before me. The sky is absent of sun, appearing almost heavy with sorrow, yet it has an Emo sort appearance. Indeed a perfect day to stay in with the hum of the fan and a copy of Bluestown Mockingbird Mambo by Sandra María Esteves (who by the way will be at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe on Saturday, August 8th, 2009 at 7pm in New York City).
http://www.sandraesteves.com/

Cheers!

Point Of Information
for a Cuban comrade

Permiso, compañero,
but I have to disagree

about the importance of political economics
over that of a poem.

However you see the difference,
I do not.

Between the balance of nations
exists the economy of words.

From these seeds the future is formed,
bearing in mind

that only through progressive dialogue
is direction ever found.

By Sandra María Esteves

I See Great Things in Baseball

2009-08-02T05:15:00.000-07:00

In the words of Walt Whitman, "I see great things in baseball."

As I marveled at the uniqueness of pigeons amidst a crowded duck population while at the Harlem Meer, I heard a sound that did not go with the tranquil landscape of the buzzing bees, the ducks, and the hollowing of oak trees. I heard repeated PINGS and BANGS piercing the afternoon like a fire engines siren blaring down a one way street. My feet took me in the direction of the BANGing and there, across the very last morsel of Central Park at 110 street and Central Park North, were a group of young Latino boys playing street baseball. Sweet summertime!

At times I let my mind go off into a fantasy fit. I wondered if right there I was witnessing the next generation of Latino baseball stars. Perhaps the next Vladimir Guerrero or Sammy Sosa. The young men were playing, but they were very serious about the sport. Some even had baseball gear on (most likely from a game they had just come from), but the one that caught my attention at most was a very tall and lanky young man with a METS cap and a worn out Roberto Clemente T-shirt. He seemed to take up the role of guiding the younger fellows by showing them how to swing the bat and how to stand properly. He was so happy at doing this, so sure of himself, he smiled, he was energetic and he flung his Spanish to and fro demanding that his audience pay mind to his every word. I sure did! (Chuckle).

Indeed, I too see great things in baseball and not only on a New York City Street but on the television screen as well.

Two great movies were release some time ago that I think are among some of the greatest sports DVD's to grace the mainstream. Both are magnificent and inspiring.
First there is PBS Home Video titled, "American Experience: Roberto Clemente".

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/clemente/

Second is the documentary about baseball and its part in the Dominican Republic's culture titled, "Road to the Big Leagues".

Folks, Latino's, random passer-byers.... grab yourself a copy!!
Enjoy!

The Untaught Story - The Documentary

2009-07-30T07:16:00.000-07:00

Just passing along the discovery.....

Just another one of those things that makes lil' ole' me happy. Someone, somewhere, spreading the beauty, the knowledge and history.

Documentary trailer....Enjoy!!

http://www.afrolatinos.tv./index.php

Below is an excerpt of the documentary and website:

"Afro-Latinos “The Untaught Story” is a documentary television series independently produced by Creador Pictures, LLC. The program will illustrate history and celebrate the rich culture of people in Latin America of African descent. From the story of how and when slaves came to Central and South America to identity issues that still exist in the Hispanic community today. There are an estimated 200 million Afro-descendants in Latin America but the majority of them do not have political or economic power. This documentary takes you on a journey to meet Afro-Latinos throughout Spanish and Portuguese speaking nations and an exploration and appreciation of their culture. It will also teach the uninformed and hopefully initiate social change throughout Latin America.

The documentary series will begin with the slave trade in the early 1500’s and touch on the Cimarron (Palenque) communities, as well as cover the controversial theory of the African presence in ancient America. The programs quest is to better understand the religious connections and distinctions between the Catholic Church and religious practices such as Yoruba and Voodoo. We learn about these religious and sacred ceremonies through dance and music....."

To continue reading follow the link below, you won't regret it :-) and afterwords, tell a friend....
http://www.afrolatinos.tv/

My Lord, I loved Frijoles and Celia - Poem

2009-07-23T10:40:00.001-07:00

Every now and again one must stop to give thanks. Even with all the "ugly" laced in life, one has to admit that the charms far exceed the repulsions. I think we all agree that the "bad" is necessary in order for us to see just how great the "good" truly is. With that being said, allow me to bring your attention to one of the "good" things in life.

I recently came across a picture book that had me absolutely tickled! I was so taken with the book, that I called two girlfriends of mine and read them the book in its entirety. The book was titled "Celia Cruz: Queen of Salsa", by Veronica Chambers. Veronica Chambers did an excellent job in talking about Celia Cruz's upbringing in Cuba and in the United States. She spoke of the challenges Celia faced, her singing and her love for Pedro Knight. (I smile as I think of Pedro Knight and su cabecita de algodón).

The illustrator of this gem is Julie Maren. Julie did a magnificent job capturing Celia in all her colors! Celia Cruz was well known for her vibrant colors and breathtaking wigs. She was known for her flamboyant sense of style which was depicted beautifully in the artwork of this book.

There is a poet by the name Czeslaw Milosz who wrote a poem titled, "A Confession". The first line of the poem always makes me smile because, it's funny and odd to think that if one should be placed in front of a higher power or the Lord, that the first thing he'd say was how he loved strawberry jam as part of his confession. Below is an excerpt of that poem:

My Lord, I loved strawberry jam
And the dark sweetness of a woman’s body.
Also well-chilled vodka, herring in olive oil,
Scents, of cinnamon, of cloves.
So what kind of prophet am I?

Well if I were placed in front of the Lord to confess of the things I was most thankful for and loved, I'd certainly think of this book as part of my list. I'd begin like this:

For Celia

My Lord, I loved the frijoles negros,
the guaracha of her walk
the azuquita of her voice.
I fancied the colors of the rainbow,
the banging on congas,
the hunger of Salsa.

My Lord, I loved pan Cubano
con strawberry jam.
What does this all mean?

Frijoles negros (literally "black beans" in Spanish) is a nutritious dish made with black beans, prepared in Cuba, Puerto Rico, Mexico, and several other nations in Latin America.
Pan Cubano - Cuban bread
Guaracha - The guaracha is a genre of Cuban popular music, of rapid tempo and with lyrics
Azuquita - sugar
Su cabecita de algodón - his head of cotton

Compa Galletano

2009-07-17T12:40:00.000-07:00

....Cause it just doesn't get any better than this.....

While the documentary is spectacular as a whole, I must admit I enjoy this performance the most....The African roots in Latin Jazz.....

"Nueva Generación"
Orlando "Puntilla" Ríos (Congas, Cajón y Voz)
Pedro Martínez (Voz, Congas y Cajón)
Román Díaz (Congas, Batás, Cajón y Voz)
Pedro Valdés (Chékere)
Félix Sanabria (Clave)
Rosalía Gamboa (Baile)
Félix Insúa (Baile)

Músicos Invitados:
Carlos "Patato" Valdés (Congas)
Andy González (Bajo)

This clip is from Fernando Trueba's documentary, Calle 54. It's been acclaimed as one of the best motion pictures ever made about Latin Jazz. I highly recommend it. If it's not part of your "library" already, then I suggest you fix that problem ASAP.....just saying......

http://www.calle54film.com/eng/e_fs00.htm

Is You Is Or Is You Ain't My Baby?

2009-07-16T15:43:00.001-07:00

This here is specifically for the prophets of doom who have already placed Jazz on it's deathbed. So silly a folk that the answer lied all along in a Tom & Jerry episode. Shame on you!

A day or two ago I read an article that expressed concern over the issue of our young adult audience missing the "Latin Jazz boat". It all boiled down to what we (artists, musicians, fans, parents, teachers,...etc) can and should do to expose our youngsters to this genre of music before it becomes a thing of the past. The author of this article gave some really great examples of how we can help draw their attention to the sounds of Tito Puento, Gato Barbieri, Dizzy Gillespie and Paquito D'rivera to name a few. However let me tell you, this is not the first time I have heard this concern and not only about Jazz. Many people ask this very question: How can we keep Jazz alive? Latin Jazz? Even today, in the year 2009, I remain in shock that people ask this question and really haven't a single clue as to how to proceed. Well, since no one thought to asked me, I've taken it upon myself to enlighten the prophets of doom. The answer is STAIR or better known as Sporadically & Totally Age-Appropriate Immersions Repeated (I coined that bad boy all by myself, just in case copyright questions lurked about....chuckle) or it can also be called the, "Is You Is Or Is You Ain't My Baby" method.

Allow me to demonstrate:

You see, it's pretty self explanatory. You give them something they can relate to over and over again. Make it fun, sprinkle in a dose or two of passion, toss in a teaspoon of what's "in", and allow for complete and unedited participation and WALA! The video above does a wonderful job at catching a young person's attention with a very old song.

You have the very funny characters Tom & Jerry acting silly to a very upbeat song that is guaranteed to make the youngest head bop or even dance in glee. The kids are enjoying good old swing music, exposed to the original vocals of Louis Jordan and are introduced to the largest and lowest pitched string instrument. Somewhere there is going to be a child or two who this will impact to the point that they will take this into adulthood. Perhaps they will become a bass player. A Jazz teacher specializing in swing.....etc.... This is how it's done.

You wouldn't show them or have them listen to Diana Krall's version of this very song. While she has a magnificent and unique voice, the children may not take to it as easily as seeing cartoon characters sing to it. It's as simple as 2+2. So folks, you do what the makers of Tom & Jerry have done and what's so great about this is that it's a recipe that makes well under most areas of teaching, not just Jazz.

Another great example of the "Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Baby" method, would be the computer and video game series Grand Theft Auto. In Grand Theft Auto IV: The Lost and Damned, a player while driving any of the vehicles in the game has the option of listening to a number of different genres of music ranging from classic rock to jazz and funk. Again, it's "in", it's fun, what better passion for a gamer than a video game?!

Last, there is my favorite thing to do. Take the young people with you to a Jazz concert, a Jazz festival. Even if all they want to do is eat hot dogs all day, they will be immersed in the many sounds of Jazz while there. You will find that on your way home at the very least, your young one is humming a Jazz tune that found it's way into his/her memory bank. Honestly I'm hoping something like Tito Puente's Ran Kan Kan or Mongo Santamaria's Mazacote find their way in there. Just a little bias of my own, but fitting with the topic at hand...no doubt. Sneaky....sure, genius.....definitely!

Also recommended are a couple of my favorite DVD's:

Fernando Trueba's CALLE 54: A behind-the-scenes glimpse of many Latin Jazz artits. Featured in this DVD are the legendary Tito Puente, Chucho Valdes, Chano Dominguez, Carlos "Patato Valdes and more.

Mambo Kings: A movie based on Oscar Hijuelos’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love. The movies soundtrack is laced in Latin Jazz rythms. Names such as Benny Moré, Johnny Pacheco, Arturo Sandoval and Tito Puente frequent this soundtrack.

En la calle San Sebastian

2009-07-15T07:29:00.001-07:00

Just spending my morning with one of my favorite poets, fellow Brooklynite, essayist, translator.....Martín Espada.

Produced by the Poetry Foundation http://www.poetryfoundation.org/journal/videoitem.html?id=121

This poem is from the book titled, Alabanza: New & Selected Poems

Some of his other works are: Imagine the Angels of Bread (1996)which won an American Book Award and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, City of Coughing and Dead Radiators (1993) and Rebellion is the Circle of a Lover’s Hands (1990).

He has also published a collection of essays, Zapata’s Disciple (South End, 1998); edited two anthologies, Poetry Like Bread: Poets of the Political Imagination from Curbstone Press (Curbstone, 1994) and El Coro: A Chorus of Latino and Latina Poetry (1997); and released a CD of poetry called Now the Dead will Dance the Mambo (Leapfrog, 2004). - http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/246

Martín Espada's official website: http://www.martinespada.net/

Afro Puerto Rico

2009-07-10T13:58:00.000-07:00

I found this great video while on my cyber "travels" that easily fed into my love of the African influence in our Puerto Rico culture and the history of slavery on our island. Orlando Abreo, a guide at El Museo de Nuestra Raiz Africana (the Museum of our African Roots), did a fabulous job at explaining the many ways African culture has contributed to our rich Puerto Rican culture.

So enjoy, digest and share as you see fit..... :-D

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dh-2E1KReBY

June In July

2009-07-09T07:13:00.000-07:00

There have been many people that have influenced the decisions I have made during my travels through life, but there are only two people, two writers, two authors, two lovers of life who have truly played a huge part in directing me in the direction of being a lover of literature and writing.

These two specimens are Pablo Neruda and June Jordan. I could talk you to death about the wonders that is Pablo Neruda. I could tell you of his unique way of melting you with only words. I could tell you of his life, his loves, his passions but instead; I'm going to focus on June because on this very day in July, in the year 1936, in the heart of Harlem an unflinching voice like no other was born.

June Jordan, the poet, the feminist, the essayist, the activist, the wife.....etc...July 9, 1936 - June 14, 2002

One of the things I love most about June's poetry is that it's political in a way that is non-threatening. It is truth told in a way that even the "villains" have to tip their hats in recognition and respect. Her essays also followed the same formula. It's truly just genius on paper!

Here is a piece of genius from the book titled, Some Of Us Did Not Die (which I highly recommend):

"....But life itself compels optimism. It does not seem reasonable that the majority of the peoples of the world should, finally, lose joy, and rational justice, as a global experiment to be pursued and fiercely protected. It seems unreasonable that more than 400 million people, right now, struggle against hunger and starvation, even while there is arable earth aplenty to feed and nourish every one of us. It does not seem reasonable that the color of your skin should curse and condemn all of your days and the days of your children. It seems preposterous that gender, that being a woman, anywhere in the world, should elicit contempt, or fear, or ridicule, and serious deprivation of rights to be, to become, to embrace whatever you choose."

....and if that is not enough, allow me to guide you over to an excerpt of poetry. This is from her poem titled, Poem To Take Back The Night:

What about moonlight
What about watching for the moon above
the tops of trees and standing
still enough to hear the raucous crickets
chittering invisible beneath the soon lit stores

What about moonlight
What about moonlight

What about watching for the moon
through windows low enough to let screams
and curses of the street the gunshots
and the drunken driver screeching tires
and the boombox big beat and the tinkle
bell ice cream truck inside

What about moonlight
What about moonlight....

So today, I give you a little June in July....Cause that just makes sense.....Happy Birthday June!

Also recommended:

More info on June Jordan can be found on her official website: http://www.junejordan.com/

Relearning La Borinqueña

2009-07-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

You know how you know a song but don't really know it? Thanks to my eight-year old daughter who is now in the "inquiring minds want to know" phase, I realized through a series of questions that I hadn't known 'La Borinqueña' (Puerto Rico's national anthem) as I thought I did. Time to do homework! Time to relearn La Borinqueña.

I'm proud to say I knew a good portion of the lyrics, the authors of the song among many other details that I was happy to be have in arm when "the short one" demanded answers from me. It always feels good when I have the answers buried in my skull for immediate retrieval (it makes me look smart..lol..), however I make sure that she understands that looking things up and researching are also marks of a smart and great thinker. In attempting to teach and explain the anthem to my daughter (who is also learning Spanish as we go), I discovered I had some of the words wrong. So we worked on it together and she is slowly committing it to memory as am I. In the meantime, I gave her some background information as to the creation of our national anthem and this is what we learned (cause I learned a few interesting facts myself):

- It is unclear as to who originally wrote La Borinqueña. Names like Francisco Ramírez Ortíz was said to have written and constructed the song for his lover. It was then said that the Catalan Félix Astol Artés made changes to the song and it's title. Félix Astol Artés changed the name of the song to La Bella Trigueña . Some time later Puerto Rican poet Lola Rodríguez de Tió was inspired to make a patriotic rendition of the song that supported the Puerto Rican revolution. And finally we have Manuel Fernández Juncos who also played a huge part in changing the lyrics of the song as well as Ramón Collado who also changed the melody to the one we know today.

- It was in 1952 that the government of Puerto Rico approved the music of 'La Borinqueña' and the words in 1977.

- I was disheartened when I came across this piece of information, but I should of known to expect it...FACT: Puerto Rico is a Commonwealth of the United States therefore its "official" anthem is "The Star Spangled Banner", but of course that is rarely if ever sung by the people on the island. WHEW!

- This I found really interesting. Lola Rodríguez de Tió has been credited for her suggestion that Puerto Ricans use the Cuban flag with its colors reversed. (Seeing how she lived in Cuba for so many years. Lola and her husband were deported from Puerto Rico for their separatists efforts).

- The title La Borinqueña refers to the aboriginal Taíno name for the island of Puerto Rico, `Boriken` or `Borinquen.`

- Regardless of which rendition of La Borinqueña was declared as Puerto Rico's national anthem, all of them are well known and still sung on the island.

La Borinqueña
Lyrics: Manuel Fernández Juncos (1846-1928)

La Borinqueña (march)
Lyrics: Lola Rodríguez de Tió

La Bella Trigueña (danza)
Lyrics: Félix Astol Artés (1813-1901)
The actual lyrics to the above renditions can be found at: http://welcome.topuertorico.org/bori.shtml

Helpful articles:

http://www.elboricua.com/LolaRodriguezTio.html

http://www.caribbeanbusinesscommunity.com/Puerto%20Rico.asp

Kal-El From the Planet Krypton Just Didn't Make the Cut

2009-06-30T09:37:00.000-07:00

I was once scolded for not showing the "proper" response to the death of Superman, a.k.a Christopher Reeves. Yes, I did watch the movies and I liked them very much. And yes, it was very unfortunate that he suffered that accident which in turn left him with such a debilitating disability. However as much as I enjoyed this great American icon, I did not classify him worthy enough to place him on my list of heroes. First off, fictional characters just do not get on the list. So for those of you who didn't know, I'm sorry to break the news but Superman was not real. I know of no actual living man who has the common story of being born Kal-El from the planet Krypton with x-ray and heat emitting vision, super hearing, super speed, super breath and the ability for independent flight. My heroes did not have to defend themselves from androids or use glow in the dark florescent lightsabers to conquer and defeat. Oh no, my criteria was not so complicated nor so fake.

My list of heroes does not call for such qualities as mentioned above. One didn't have to save drowning children who miraculously ended up in the "eye of the storm" or wear masks that hid GQ chiseled faces and posses impossible powers. For as long as I can remember, my heroes met a different criteria. My heroes all posses powers that are concrete and admirable. What I required is simpler and far more profound. My heroes need to meet only two characteristics. First they should posses the art of being able to teach through unconventional mediums (not like in a classrooms) and second they need to show great pride in history and all that it encompasses. See my list of heroes begins with names such as Celia Cruz, Nicolás Guillén, Victor Hernandez Cruz, Ismael Rivera, Johnny Ventura, Joe Arroyo, Felipe Luciano and Luis Palés Matos among others not so well known but just as significant. Aside from the fact that all these aforementioned names have in common the art of expression (music and writing), they also have another wonderful thing in common. They all express this love and acceptance of Afro-Latino-ism. In their writings and music at one time or another, they were able to teach me acceptance, understanding, love for myself and bits and pieces of imperative history that was purposely not given to me during my travels through the public school system.

As a child growing up in Brighton Beach, it was difficult accepting my differences among my immediate surroundings. I lived in an area that was predominately Russian and Polish with sprinkles of Latinos, African-Americans, Pakistanis and Asians and even then the Latinos I encountered didn't look like me. As far as I can remember, my father was the closest person of color to me and he was untouchable. He worked nearly six days a week and when he returned to the house, he was off limits. He needed to eat, rest and recuperate for the following day. I didn't realize it then that when he referred to me as his "negrita", it was a way of showing me his love for who I was and what I represented. It was a one word lesson that I've finally learned and oh what a lovely lesson it is! (Gracias papi y si, tu tambien estas en mi lista de héroes).

Celia Cruz vs Superman.....not such a difficult choice....

The first person that ever made it on the list was Celia Cruz. First because she was female like me. Second because she was so confident in her skin, something I knew I lacked. When she released that song titled "La Negra Tiene Tumbao" I knew she was talking about us and I really mean just me and her. It was only later in life that I "allowed" it to include all the beautiful dark skinned women that walk the planet earth. And so when you put Celia Cruz and the rest of my list of heroes along side "the Supermans", it almost seems like a joke. So excuse me for not showing the "proper" response as it relates to Kal-El who was given everything he needed through the gift of imagination, paper and pen. Simply said, "Kal-El from the planet Krypton just didn't make the cut".

FYI: As of today Nicomedes Santa Cruz has just made my list of heroes!! He was an Afro-Peruvian musician, poet, journalist & folklorist who helped raise public awareness of Afro-Peruvian culture. Follow the link to discover more about Nicomedes Santa Cruz http://www.nicomedessantacruz.com/ingles/home.htm

Father You Are Like the Great Yukiyú - Poem

2009-06-21T08:17:00.000-07:00

My grand protector/
my safeguard against the storms/
I am blessed today/
for your benign arms guard like/
Yukiyú from El Yunque.

Written by R.L.L.

According to a Taino legend, Yukiyú was known as a protector and guardian (very much like we see our fathers today). Yukiyú was said to reigned high in the midst of the tallest mountain in El Yunque surrounded by clouds on a mighty throne. He was said to have been there to protect the island of Puerto Rico by diverting hurricanes from hitting the island. The legend also states that Yukiyú (also known as Yucayu, Yuquiyú, Yucahú and Yocahú) fought with Huracán (the god of hurricanes) to protect the people.

El Yunque is a rain forest in Puerto Rico with numerous mountains. It is known as El Yunque National Forest (formerly known as the Caribbean National Forest) and it covers the municipalities of Canóvanas, Las Piedras, Luquillo, Fajardo, Ceiba, Naguabo, and Rio Grande.

Finally, this poem I wrote in Tanka form (Japanese form of poetry consisting of 31 syllables in five lines 5/7/5/7/7) is dedicated to the many wonderful fathers that go beyond the call of duty. Are our fathers not like the great Yukiyú? Have they not done their best to protect us, love us, shield us and guide us?

Happy Father's Day!!

http://www.articlesbase.com/exotic-locations-articles/discovering-el-yunque-rain-forest-313860.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yukiyu

http://welcome.topuertorico.org/reference/yunque.shtml

Got Me A Treasure: Tato Laviera

2009-06-17T17:25:00.000-07:00

Shhhhh....you needn't spoil the fun. I hold an oldie but goodie! I've place Don Quixote down for a minute and I promise to return to it as soon as I'm done sifting through my newly bought copy of Tato Laviera's, "La Carreta Made a U-Turn". And yes, I dare claim him.....he's Boricua!

I've read Tato's work in a number of places. I've enjoyed his words and rhythms from the mouths of others, on the internet, scribbled in books and echos in hallways. But I think it's time to have my own Tato on the bookshelf. As a matter of fact, it's really shamefully overdue.

As I turn the pages, I'm like a kid who has just finished purchasing a large bag of M&M's. I turn each page with the addiction of simply turning, simply popping in the next morsel. There sprinkled within its pages are poems flowing heavily in sweet pleasantries. Titles that ring of familiarity, greet us like an old friends embrace. As we thumb through this 87 page treasure, we enjoy the familiarity of poems titled in phrases we know so well as bilingual speakers. Popular Puerto Rican slang, African roots, events and experiences among the working class, with a large amount of musical genres interjected to bring comfort to our bi-cultural adventures here in United States.

So I leave you now with the creative works of the great poet, playwright and composer Tato Laviera. May you enjoy him as much as I do!

An excerpt of one of my favorite poems from La Carreta Made a U-Turn....

The Africa in Pedro Morejón

slowly descending, as if from the clouds above,
thinking of Africa, I find myself enthralled!
rhythmic Africanism swell and dwell inside
the fingers of my Cuban mambo eyes.

the African rhythms I hear are native, native
from my Cuban land, it is as if my guaguanco
was shipped to Africa, when it was the other
way around, but nevertheless all my colors are the same.

I hear the merengue in French Haiti
and in Dominican blood,
and the guarach in yoruba,
and the mambo sounds in the plena
so close to what I really understand,
sometimes I think
that Cuba is Africa
or that I am in Cuba and AFrica at the
same time, sometimes I think Africa
is all of us in music,
musically rooted way way back
before any other language.

Fiesta de Goya, Vejigantes and More at the 2009 Puerto Rican Day Parade

2009-06-15T07:51:00.001-07:00

At first the morning threatened with dark grey clouds and mist, but as the hours gave way, we were blessed with a beautifully pleasant day!!

The short one and I enjoyed the colors, the music, the costumes and more. Below are some of the photos taken at this years Puerto Rican Parade:

I'll Remember Tito, She'll Remember the Vejigantes

2009-06-10T08:19:00.000-07:00

Remember Tito on the Goya Float? I was there that year. I couldn't believe I was looking at the legend himself! He looked so happy. His smile infectious. His energy spilled out of his pores into the crowd. As his float came closer, the crowd grew louder, I grew louder while the police grew cautious. Silly cops! I remember yanking on my godmother's skin-tight shirt yelling, "mira, mira es Tito" (look look it's Tito)! I'd then begin my rendition of Oye Como Va. From that moment on, the Goya float was my favorite part of the parade with the marching bands as my second delight. So whenever I have the opportunity to join my fellow brothers and sisters on our very special day, I always look for the float. I'm always there with Tito in my thoughts.

(Photo was borrowed from American History Archives Center at the following link: http://americanhistory.si.edu/archives/d7694.htm

Obviously my child will not be attending the parade with my same agenda. When she was asked what it is that she is looking forward to seeing at this years parade she replied, "The clowns with the pointy horns on their masks". I was very surprised at her response. I thought she being a very "girly" kind of girl, she would say something like the pretty dresses or the dancing on the floats done by gown wearing reinas . I don't know, I just figured something sounding and looking like pink with sparkles made more sense. I wasn't prepared to here that she wanted to see the vejigantes. I wasn't prepared to hear of her fascination with horns sticking out of peoples heads. Hmmm....can anyone say Stereotype? LOL....perhaps that's a topic for psychotherapy....perhaps not.

http://www.puertoricomasks.com/

The Vejigantes
A vejigante is clown-like character in Puerto Rican festival celebrations (mainly seen in carnival time). Traditional colors of the Vejigantes were black, red, white, and yellow. Today, vejigantes wear brightly colored, ornate masks of all colors and a costume with bat-like wings. The term vejigante derives from the word vejiga (bladder) and gigante (giant), due to custom of blowing up and painting cow bladders. Bystanders are often tapped with the bladders during the processional. The masks are often linked to many festivals that continue today, especially in Loíza and Ponce. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vejigante )

The Vejigante masks are traditionally made for the Fiestas de Santiago Apóstol (Saint James Festivals). The Vejigante symbolizes the Moslems (Muslims) that Saint James fought with in Spain. The Vejigantes costume consists of a large overall with wide sleeves that once you open your arms, simulates wings. The fabric used is of bright colors.

The most important part of the costume is the mask, which is made of coconut shell. Two cuts are made to the cococut fruit, the hard nut at its center is taken out with some of the interior cortex. This will leave a big enough space for the human face to fit it. According to the individual shape of each coconut a grotesque face will be carved with prominent nose and lips. The mouth has teeth made out of bamboo and a tongue made out of coconut shell. The Vejigante's mask is the most prominent craft piece of art in Loíza, which has a long history of traditional Afro-Puerto Rican art.
( http://www.bombaboricua.com/Vejigantes/Loiza/Loiza%20eng.htm )

Raúl Ayala is a master Vejigante mask making artisan. Raúl Ayala's artwork can be seen at:
Artesanías Castor Ayala
Barrio Medianía Alta, Carr. 187 Km.6 Hm.6
rayala@caribe.net

Majestad Negra/ Black Majesty

2009-06-09T17:34:00.000-07:00

After having spent much of day with my face in the books, I've decided I'm closing the evening with the wonderful cultural words of Puerto Rican Poet Luis Palés Matos. Luis Palés Matos is a poet whose main genre was creating poetry that was/is considered Afro-Antillano. For those of you who know me, I'm sure you find it no surprise that I think so highly of him. A poet basking in his complete heritage and culture. A poet, fearless with his words, spreading forth the bold, beautiful African features we use in our language, dance and so forth....Ah poetry.....how I do love thee.....

I found this wonderful YouTube video that I thought was worth sharing....Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWj2MkOCJOM

Majestad Negra

Por la encendida calle antillana

va Tembandumba de la Quimbamba

-rumba, macumba, candombe, bámbula-

entre dos filas de negras caras.

Ante ella un congo -gongo y maraca-

ritma una conga bomba que bamba.

Culipandeando la Reina avanza,

y de su inmensa grupa resbalan

meneos cachondos que el gongo cuaja

en ríos de azúcar y de melaza.

Prieto trapiche de sensual zafra,

el caderamen, masa con masa,

exprime ritmos, suda que sangra,

y la molienda culmina en danza.

Por la encendida calle antillana

va Tembandumba de la Quimbamba.

Flor de Tortola, rosa de Uganda,

por ti crepitan bombas y bámbulas,

por ti en calendas desenfrenadas

quema la Antilla su sangre ñáñiga.

Haití te ofrece sus calabazas;

fogosos rones te da Jamaica;

Cuba te dice: ¡dale, mulata!

Y Puerto Rico: ¡melao, melamba!

¡Sús, mis cocolos de negras caras!

Tronad, tambores; vibrad, maracas.

Por la encendida calle antillana

-rumba, macumba, candombe, bámbula-

va Tembandumba de la Quimbamba.

Luis Pales Matos 1898 - 1959

For a more thorough biography of Luis Pales Matos click here:
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/639

In the Beginning There Was a People - Poem

2009-06-03T14:24:00.001-07:00

Late in the evening
when the fireflies began to paint the night
and the kaleidoscope of butterfly wings
came to an end,
two lovers took fill of the night
synthesizing moans, breathlessness and utterances
with the sounds of the dark.
No worries
no uncertainties
no problem solving,
just the basics.

A synonym of sighs and groans
bounced off walls of leaves.
Aromas from within
penetrated the air
and she to him -
a flower to the pollinator.
Shadows of movements
and a seed is planted
as are the stalks of corn.
SHE smiles,
she who is a flowing energy
approving of such simplicity.
So basic
this love of a people.

So basic
these nurturers of earth
where beauty is displayed
without fear of thievery,
where freedom of mind
roams free of strife,
where identity is untainted
from the hands of betrayal,
so right
so crucial
so simple
so basic.

So basic this living of life.
They doubt nothing -
for their food flourishes from the ground,
their language from their drums
and their love from the guidance of her voice.
Mother Nature,
cleanser of souls
ingredient of life,
a child is born
who is deep-rooted in the native way
the basic way
the human way.

Written by Rebeca L.L.

The Bomba Bug Got My Baby!

2009-05-27T05:31:00.000-07:00

There are moments in our lives when our children do things that will blow our minds. They will do things that will have one feeling like a balloon on the verge of bursting. The amount of pride, happiness, love, complete giddiness and awe had me feeling like my heart had expanded double its original size. I was drunk with motherly pride. Yesterday, my child showed symptoms of having been bitten by the bug. The Bomba Bug!

The minute I saw her I knew she was up to something. I'm used to her expressing her creative fashion, but something was different about this getup. My eight year old walked into our tiny living room in "dress-up" gear. The hot pink, fleece blanket she's been sleeping under for the past two weeks, was meticulously wrapped around her tiny waist. It flowed effortlessly straight down onto the carpeted floor. Holding her "skirt" in place was a flaming, florescent aqua scarf she had picked out during one of our shopping adventures. She wrapped the scarf around herself and tied it into a big knot in front and on top of the blanket where her belly button is located. She wore a thin brown spaghetti strap shirt, which she purposely put on for this occasion. Her nightgown was nowhere to be found. My child looked absolutely ridiculous (but who am I to knock her sense of creative flow?) and while my first reaction was anger that she had went through all of this just five minutes before she was suppose to go to bed, I smiled and gave her my attention anyway.

After finding herself a descent spot on the "dance floor" she then turns to me and says, mommy let me dance some Bomba for you. The kid knew what she was doing. She knew this would make me smile. She looked at the computer I was sitting in front of and waited for me to find the appropriate music so she could commence. Now that I think about it, I find it funny that she stood there requesting her desires as if the possibility of me saying "no" was something that couldn't happen. Thus, I went and found one of my favorite YouTube videos. I slightly raised the volume and had Alma Moyo's 'Socio' in the background. I'm still chuckling with glee at yesterdays "show".

My daughter started dancing. She had apparently been paying attention to the dancing and music I had been watching on a daily basis. She began by putting her balled up fists at the sides of her waist and swayed back and forth as the drums filled the corners of the room. Cute yes, but here is where she took the cake! Homegirl got busy with that "skirt"! You know she was bitten by the bug because the markings were all over the flair of her "skirt"! What was even more impressive was that it seemed like she was really in tune with the subidor (the drum with the high pitched sound that responds to the dancers movements). Every time she made a crisp move with her "skirt" it was in unison with the pounding of that drum. I regret not having taped it but aaahh, such sweet satisfaction to a days end.

....And now to further investigate Bomba dance classes.....

Bookstores, Quixote, My Muse and Me

2009-05-25T18:49:00.000-07:00

Well things on my part of the world have certainly taken on an interesting turn of events. I suddenly find myself with massive amounts of time at my disposal. So what do I do?

I find myself in random books stores throughout the state. I find myself braving the chaotic mayhem that is the New York City Subway system just to get there. It's an addiction. It's eye candy for the soul. I can't explain why bookstores make me feel the way they do. Sure, I love books. Sure, I love to read. But there is something more. There is something about walking into one, spending the time there, sifting through it's treats that go beyond mere words. Bookstores - they are my second love. That is, right after Antonio Banderas of course....hee hee hee.

So like I was saying, I've been frequenting the bookstores lately. I haven't been looking for anything in particular, yet hoping to find something that pulls at the strings. This is what I've come across thus far......

This photograph among others was displayed throughout the PowerHouse Arena Bookstore in Brooklyn, NY. It was meant to introduce you to the photography of Kristen Ashburn and the accompanying documentary film exploring the lives of children who have suffered at the center of the AIDS crisis. Upon walking into the bookstore, it was overwhelming. The human-sized photos just took your breath away. Sadness and awe all wrapped up into one; if that is possible at all.

And then we come across.....

One of my favorite sections of the bookstore. Cultural Studies/Sociology and yes I did end up buying a book that day. I know I swore I wouldn't purchase another book until I finished reading Julio Cortazar's 'Rayuela', but what can I say? I am weak. So be it....tis life....

Which brings me to my last image.

I have made a decision. Enough of the procrastination! This brick of a book is what I'll be reading for the next couple of weeks. While I am sure Cervantes is pure genius I have to say, sometimes you just want an easy read. A quick read and well, honestly the size of Don Quixote does absolutely nothing for me. That goodness I do not rely on such things for arousal. Nevertheless, I shall embark on the adventure.

In the meantime, I continue to write. I have found my muse begging for change down on 42nd street. I dragged her ass home and strapped her to a fine metal chair. I have cemented that chair onto the ground and have read her her rights. Damnit, I got writing that needs to be done!! Let's see her get away this time!

An Ode to Common Things

2009-05-19T14:38:00.001-07:00

After my last blog I suddenly felt like an Ode was in order. I went on and on about my affection and appreciation for the dot that at first one might think it quite silly and juvenile of me to have placed such importance on the tiny black speck. But then again, an ode to a dot is not entirely crazy. I mean after all, didn't the wonderful poet Pablo Neruda write odes to many odd and common things? He wrote odes to those many things, many things we often overlook and take for granted like a simple bar of soap, an onion, a pair of socks.....etc. All wonderful and non-ordinary! So I shall commence creating my ode to the dot, in the meantime I leave you with these two gifts:

Today we celebrate the Ode....says me!

:-)

Oh the Dots!

2009-05-18T07:12:00.000-07:00

I love dots! I realized I could use them as I wished when I read the works of Nikki Giovanni. I had read Nikki's work for many years, but it wasn't until I purchased my copy of "Quilting the Black-Eyed Pea: Poems and Not Quite Poems" that it suddenly dawned on me the freedom felt upon those pages. She's just dot happy! I figured this was the answer to my grammar-challenged self. I shall do away with grammar and do like so. I can't speak for Nikki. I don't know why she places those dots throughout her prose. All I know is that for the time being, I'm going to make use of the tiny black speck and abandon all the pressures that come along with rules and regulations. Here's to writing without form! A demonstration:

Sir Silence

There is silence lurking about......it slithers into existence before the sun greets me....it festers throughout the day like pus filled wounds left to ripen.....and when you'd think enough was enough.....and the blackness of the moons' rise makes its grand appearance.....there it is.....that scorching, screaming silence......uncomfortably close like skin flirting with flames.

I used to pretend it wasn't there.....I'd go about my business like a butterfly in flight......I attempted a couple of times of asking Sir Silence to tell me of its purpose.....to speak of that which gives it reason and life.....but Sir Silence refuses to give the audience what it seeks.....so be it.....tis life.....I move on with Sir Silence lingering on my shoulders......attached to my ankles like heavy iron chains......bruising skin stretched thin around precious joints......I refuse to go back to ignoring it.......instead, I acknowledge its daily attendance......I even humor it with idle talk....."Do you know what the weather is going to be like today?"......."Hey, did you hear about the little boy who lost his shoe in the alligators den at the Bronx zoo, crazy shit huh?"......that's what it's like......so be it.....tis life.....I move on.......but moving on is getting laborsome......and my ankles are swollen with the torture of such living......the fluid accumulates between the sockets and soon.....there will be little room allowing for flow to continue......an explosion is eminent.......for hard working ligaments can hold but so much.....and all else.....which falls under such an umbrella....will erupt.....like Sir Jack and his beloved box......POP.....it simply cannot be contained.......so be it......tis life.....I move on.......

Ah such sweet freedom!

May That "Itch" Spread Forth Like Wildfire!

2009-05-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

I don't know if anyone's been watching the miraculous change that has occurred over the past eight to ten years and I am not talking about the ever popular, never ending topic of "Obama", his athletic wife and dog "Bo". What I'm talking about is the new face of assimilation or lack there of. Assimilation has been lowering it's head in shame. It has been hiding behind the bill of it's cap, peeking ever so often to see if there are any takers left. This miraculous change that I'm referring to is a history of immigrants coming to the states and feeling like they had to give up a lot in order to live a "better" life, but that are now evolving and exploring ways to preserve who they are, their roots and traditions. It is a most beautiful thing!

I am a living testament to said change. I remember when I got my first "itch". I think I was about thirteen or fourteen, I was still rocking my fro and I was hating school. I was a bright young lady, yet excelling only in the fine art of exiting the school building without getting caught. I remember there was this one time I couldn't get anyone to ditch school with me. I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I knew I was getting on that train and letting it take me to wherever my feet desired. I don't remember what train station I got off at, but I remember walking a lot and I remember where I ended up. Would you believe that I cut class to end up playing hooky at the Library? I mean, who does that? Anyhow (chuckle), I remember the smell as I turned the corner of 110th street and Lexington Ave. It smelled and sounded like a party being thrown at my Madrina's house. It was a savory smell of Latino food mixed with the sounds of my father's late 8-track collection. Johnny Pacheco's flute and the tropical sounds of La Fania walked me down 110th street like a bride being escorted down the aisle and then, I stopped in front of her. The Aguilar Branch of the New York Public Library. Her Doric style columns welcoming me like a motherly embrace and when I opened her doors, an orchestra's symphony bellowed for my entrance. Okay, perhaps that's a bit much, but you get the gist of it right?

I remember walking in there thinking how small of a library it was, but how different it felt from the libraries I was used to. The size of the library was just a small thing compared to the quality of literature I found there. There on the shelves were books about me. There on the shelves were books written by Spanish people! There on the shelves were books about Puerto Rican people! I was shocked. I recall looking around, wondering why were all these people so calm. Why weren't they as excited as I was? Did they not know? Did they not see the treasure before them? I laugh now at my very juvenile thought. They had already discovered the treasure and were now sifting through it, trying to find what was of value to their personal agendas. I remember feeling like a failed pirate. I thought back to the libraries that I was familiar with in Sheepshed Bay and Brighton Beach and I remember thinking I was like a pirate digging up empty holes in the wrong part of the ocean. I couldn't recall ever seeing anything even remotely related to the variety of literature that was currently shining like bars of gold in my hands. I might be over exaggerating. There may have been a book or two titled something like, "The Complete Latino History", some forty or fifty pages long or something similiar to today's Complete Idiot's Guide titled something like, "The Complete Idiots Guide to Caribbean History" with a page or two on the Island of Puerto Rico. Maybe or maybe not. That's what it was like then. It was a challenge to get that information. It was a challenge to be who you were, to be a product of your ancestors and be "American".

Today more and more Latino's are more likely to preserve their Latin culture than ever before. Today you tend to see more Latino events spread nationwide. You will find more Latino literature available at your disposal. The libraries now carry more than one or two books on us! You will find more Latinos in movies and not only the big Hollywood movies, but independent films and documentaries dedicated to handing down our heritage. Today more and more Latino children are being taught the Spanish language and history. It's not just Anne Frank and Christopher Columbus anymore. While teaching our history in school is an area that continues to lack in improvement, you will find that one rare teacher, who is sending your child home with poems written by Julia de Burgos. You will find that one rare educator who is telling your child about the African's in Puerto Rico or who is handing out copies of Don Pedro's speeches about Puerto Rican Nationalism. In the meantime, we should continue to acknowledge and scratch that itch in order to preserve lo nuestro and when assimilation comes a-knockin', let it know there are no takers here anymore!

May that "itch" spread forth like wildfire!

...And to get a dose of our heritage, to join in the celebration and further scratch that itch, join me and mis hermanos at the Puerto Rican Day parade on June 14th at 11am.
Parade Route : Fifth Avenue from 44th to 86th Streets

A 1970's Ismael and Johnny

2009-05-17T04:50:00.001-07:00

Que viva la musica! Ay pero que orgullo!!

¿Y si Dios fuera mujer?

2009-05-14T05:10:00.000-07:00

Ay pero que bueno son los amigos!! Mi amigo Julian me llamo la atención al poet Mario Benedetti.....y suspiro....aaaahhh.....gracias Julian!

Si Dios fuera una mujer
Mario Benedetti

¿Y si Dios fuera mujer?
pregunta Juan sin inmutarse,
vaya, vaya si Dios fuera mujer
es posible que agnósticos y ateos
no dijéramos no con la cabeza
y dijéramos sí con las entrañas.

Tal vez nos acercáramos a su divina desnudez
para besar sus pies no de bronce,
su pubis no de piedra,
sus pechos no de mármol,
sus labios no de yeso.

Si Dios fuera mujer la abrazaríamos
para arrancarla de su lontananza
y no habría que jurar
hasta que la muerte nos separe
ya que sería inmortal por antonomasia
y en vez de transmitirnos SIDA o pánico
nos contagiaría su inmortalidad.

Si Dios fuera mujer no se instalaría
lejana en el reino de los cielos,
sino que nos aguardaría en el zaguán del infierno,
con sus brazos no cerrados,
su rosa no de plástico
y su amor no de ángeles.

Ay Dios mío, Dios mío
si hasta siempre y desde siempre
fueras una mujer
qué lindo escándalo sería,
qué venturosa, espléndida, imposible,
prodigiosa blasfemia.

Lest we forget - Un Pedacito de la Historia Negra

2009-05-07T19:15:00.000-07:00

Quiero contarle mi hermano un pedacito de la historia negra, de la
historia nuestra, caballero

Y dice asi:

En los anos mil seiscientos, cuando el tirano mando
las calles de Cartagena, aquella historia vivio.
Cuando alli llegaban esos negreros, africanos en cadenas
besaban mi tierra, esclavitud perpetua
Esclavitud perpetua
Esclavitud perpetua

Que lo diga salome y que te de llego, llego, llego

Un matrimonio africano, esclavos de
un espanol, el les daba muy mal trato
y a su negra le pego

Y fue alli, se revelo el negro guapo, tomo
venganza por su amor y aun se escucha
en la verja, no le pegue a mi negra
No le pegue a la negra
No le pegue a la negra

Oye man!!
No le pegue a la negra
no le pegue a la negra
no, no, no ,no, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no, no
(varias veces)

Oye esa negra se me respeta
Ehh, que aun se escucha, se escucha en la verja,
no, no, no, no, no
no, no, no, no, no
no, no, no, no, no le pegue a la negra

Negra que me dice..

No le pegue a la negra
no le pegue a la negra
no le pegue a la negra
no le pegue

Y con ustedes... chelito de casa

Vamos a ver que le pegue a jeva
porque el alma, que el alma, que el alma
que el alma, que el alma se me revienta

Ehh, no, no, no, no, no, no le pegue a mi negra
porque el alma se me agita mi prieta

El Chombo lo sabe
y tu tambien
no le pegue a la negra

Vida Criolla

2009-05-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

It's been a grey sort of week. The rain has been nonstop for at least three days straight. I suppose the common thing to feel is disappointed that the week has turned into such a blah sort of thing....but not I. This is a blessing in disguise. All this keep you indoors action has me sitting here with the beauty that is Luis Llorens Torres. Dare I brag?? Pues si!! He's one of ours! Latino and gifted!

"Luis Lloréns Torres was born in Collores in the municipality of Juana Díaz, Puerto Rico on May 14, 1876. A multi-talented gentleman, Luis studied in Spain and became a lawyer by profession but also dwelled into politics and drama as a writer. His work is nationalistic and is known as "criollismo," because it tells of customs and traditions of the island."
http://www.elboricua.com/LuisLlorensTorres.html

Vida Criolla
(Décima)
Luis Lloréns Torres

¡Ay, qué lindo es mi bohío!
Y qué alegre es mi palmar.

¡Y qué fresco el platanar
de la orillita del río!

¡Qué sabroso es tener frío
y un buen cigarro encender!

¡Qué dicha no conocer
de letras ni astronomía!

¡Y qué buena hembra la mía
cuando se deja querer!

It's Alive!!

2009-04-14T10:19:00.000-07:00

It's alive!

That was the name of a movie directed by Larry Cohen some years back in the 1970's. However it wasn't the movie I was thinking about when I thought that phrase. I had just finished washing my daughter's hair and toweled it dry, when out from under the towel she comes out.....her hair, big, bushy, wild and in command! I love the after shower head of hair my daughter has.....it's a tight curl that sticks straight up and out....we giggle....and we say....it's alive!

Alive as in the fact that she has wonderfully healthy hair....innocent hair....clean hair.....not the actual horror attached to the movies' title.....I came across this very short piece written by one of my favorite writers.....a wonderfully talented woman.....who hit it right on the nose.....Hair.....such warmth in it's very essence.

Hairs
By Sandra Cisneros

Everybody in our family has different hair. My papa's hair is like a broom, all up in the air. And me, my hair is lazy. It never obeys barrettes or bands. Carlos' hair is thick and straight. He doesn't need to comb it. Nenny's hair is slippery - slides out of your hand. And Kiki who is the youngest, has hair like fur.

But my mother's hair, my mother's hair, like little rosettes, like little candy circles all curly and pretty because she pinned it in pincurls all day, sweet to put your nose into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, is the smell when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the rain outside falling and Papa snoring. The snoring, the rain and mama's hair that smells like bread.

María Bibiana Benítez

2009-03-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

Word of Mouth is a beautiful thing.....the other day I was talking "poetics" with some friends of mine, when one of them read us a part of a poem she was currently engrossed in....and well as you can already imagine....she's one of ours, Maria Bibiana Benitez Constanza....Latina y Puertorriqueña.....and of course as is much of our history and culture.....it was difficult to investigate and research.....at least the actual poetry was....however I was able to find a fragment of the poem that was read to me.....it was titled, "La Ninfa de Puerto Rico".

A beautiful poem (in Spanish) which can be read at the following link.

http://www.preb.com/poetico/mbibianb.htm

Enjoy!!!

P.S. Should anyone have more info please do pass it along.

Thanks!

Jibaro, My Pretty Nigga

2009-03-11T20:24:00.000-07:00

No one has ever said it better.....snaps!

Mambo is black
Merengue is black
R&B is black
Joropo is black
Flamenco is black
Guanguanco is black
Bomba is black
Be careful, they will come to you and say.....

"Jibaro, My Pretty N****r" Felipe Luciano

Spending my morning with Victor

2009-02-21T08:26:00.000-08:00

Señor Victor Hernandez Cruz was born in the barrio El Guanabano in the town of Aguas Buenas, Puerto Rico in 1949. So yes, he's one of ours!! LOL He moved to Spanish Harlem in New York City in 1954 and come some years later in the year 2009, he finds himself spending the morning with yours truly; in the comfort of delicate fingers relaxed in the cotton of plush pillows and a queen size bed. This is how I spent my morning. Inspired by the words of one of my favorite poets.

Victor Hernandez Cruz reads from Maraca New and Selected Poems

Problems with Hurricanes
by Victor Hernández Cruz

A campesino looked at the air
And told me:
With hurricanes it’s not the wind
or the noise or the water.
I’ll tell you he said:
it’s the mangoes, avocados
Green plantains and bananas
flying into town like projectiles.

How would your family
feel if they had to tell
The generations that you
got killed by a flying
Banana.

Death by drowning has honor
If the wind picked you up
and slammed you
Against a mountain boulder
This would not carry shame
But
to suffer a mango smashing
Your skull
or a plantain hitting your
Temple at 70 miles per hour
is the ultimate disgrace.

The campesino takes off his hat—
As a sign of respect
toward the fury of the wind
And says:
Don’t worry about the noise
Don’t worry about the water
Don’t worry about the wind—
If you are going out
beware of mangoes
And all such beautiful
sweet things.

Paying Tribute to Señor Cuba: Joe Cuba dies at 78

2009-02-16T07:46:00.000-08:00

Who needs to whistle anyway?! My sister’s could do it, my father could do it, my cousin Eddie could do it, but somehow when cousin Eddie whistled, it didn’t seem so kosher (chuckle). I never bothered learning from him. I long gave up on learning how to whistle, but this morning I tried conquering that bad boy once again. I got my lips to form an O shape, placed my tongue behind the wall of my bottom teeth and blew air out of my mouth at multiple speeds searching for a flow of air that would create the sound. I got nothing!

This morning I opened my e-mail to discover another unsettling death had occurred among the greats. As if the recent passing of the Cuban bass legend Orlando 'Cachaito' Lopez wasn’t enough, Joe Cuba also known as “The Father of the Boogaloo" passed this weekend as well. Señor Cuba died at Mount Sinai Medical Center on February 15, 2009, after being removed from life support due to complications of a bacterial infection. So what do we do when one of our greats have fallen? We pay tribute with remembering the beauty they marked the world with. We play their music.

Señor Cuba born Gilberto Miguel Calderón, fellow Puerto Rican, Harlem resident, son of a candy store owner, conga player and member of the Joe Cuba Sextet (formerly known as the Jose Calderon Sextet), made a name for himself by taking the world by storm with his catchy tunes and lyrics. His music was a mixture of English and Spanish. He was great at the art of mixing the many sounds found in the New York dance clubs. His music incorporates the intermingling sounds of mambo, rock, R&B, soul, jazz and Afro-Cuban sounds, hence the Boogaloo. He had quite a few hits in his time. Classics we all know and love.

All morning I have been listening to such songs as “Bang Bang” and “El Pito - I'll Never Go Back To Georgia”. I have been a big fan of that tune “El Pito” for as long as I have had ears. As a little girl, it was always played during family visits and festivities. Every time that song was played people just sang or whistled ese pito that I envied so much. I would have given anything to join in with the whistling, but I had been cursed with the flaw of not being able to purse one’s lips like so. So be it. So this morning after exhausting the muscles of my cheeks, I finally gave up on the whole whistling adventure again. “Ese Pito” and I will never be, so I guess I’m just going to have to find another way to pay tribute to Señor Cuba. I suppose I could always find my way to a Sam Ash and bang on some drums to go along with the classic “Bang Bang”, couldn’t I?

The Way of the Corporate Fat Cat

2009-02-14T09:53:00.000-08:00

The girl behind me was chuckling about something she had just read from within the folds of a note she had just received. The note was secretly passed to her from a boy who always wore the same red and black t-shirt. I remember thinking whether he ever had that t-shirt washed. In the meantime, I doodled abstract figures on the no-frills brand of college-lined notebook paper. You know, the type of paper that ripped effortlessly when you tried to erase an error or mistake. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the first time I had ever heard of cheap labor overseas. It was the first time I had heard such disgust for a pair of Nike sneakers.

Well it ain't just Nike sneakers that are made overseas anymore, is it? It seems that an incredibly large portion of the candy and sugar that the United States has imported lately came from Mexico. That box of Hershey's candy that you received from your loved one for the special occasion of Valentine's Day probably came from a Nestle factory in Toluca, Mexico or from the Hershey factory in Monterrey, Mexico. This attraction of overseas cheap labor is only a dormant ingredient to an already existing bad recipe, concocted by corporate fat cats who have little value for the quality of life of others.

While this issue of jobs being sent off overseas and the dominance of corporate fat cats in power making unsightly laws and rules over the rest of us isn't new, it is still as freshly infuriating as it was the first time it occurred. It has been happening for years. This unjustly act of shutting down jobs, shipping them overseas, paying foreigners insulting wages while bringing the products to the states and then selling them at prices no one can afford, is not an abnormal idea. Don Pedro Albizu Campos, Puerto Rican Nationalist spoke of this same dilemma in his speech given before the Association Press in 1936. He too stated the unjust ways of the United States and how the United States unfairly controls the economy and commerce of the Puerto Rican people. He spoke about how the United States sells their merchandise to the people of Puerto Rico at prices that are comfortable for American manufacturers rather than that of the Puerto Rican consumer. It is a fact that history does in fact repeat itself and we are now in the upward ride of the roller coaster, where that dormant ingredient has shown its face yet again. The economy is suffering, banks are closing down, jobs are scarce and homeowners stand the grave possibilities of losing their homes. Everyone loses except for the fat cats.

When I was young, I did not care to hear about how Nike sneakers were made and the unjust ways of the United States. Now as an adult, it is more than boycotting Nike sneakers; it's fighting for a proper way to live, fighting for survival, and acting against the “fat cats” regardless of how much power they possess. And if that isn't enough, remember we now have a Black president....LOL.

This all sprung from a box of chocolate I received today that actually read, "Made in Mexico".

Note: The speech given by Don Pedro Albizu Campos before the Association Press in 1936 can be found in The book titled, Boricuas: Influential Puerto Rican Writings - An Anthology: Roberto Santiago. The title of the speech is 'Puerto Rican Nationalism'

"Cachaito" Lopez

2009-02-12T17:10:00.000-08:00

Buena Vista bassist Cachaito dies ... May he rest in piece...

Ibrahim Ferrer & Cachaito

For more on Cachaito.....http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/4583307/Orlando-Cachaito-Lopez.html

It's the Doña Luisa Story Again

2009-02-07T12:50:00.000-08:00

Clyde
By Willie Perdomo

No one in the building has heard Clyde say a word in the last ten years. I say hi to him every morning on my way to work. He just nods, smokes his cigarette butts, and says, “Uh-hm, huh.”

Ms. Mason Collects Clyde’s Social Security checks and uses them to buy school clothes for her grandchildren. She told my mother that Clyde used to be a nice, clean-cut, Christian boy. But one morning he found his mother naked with her head in the oven. He stopped talking ever since that morning.

Gee-Man who stands on the stoop all day long smoking reefer and drinking beer, talks to Clyde. Gee-Man thinks he’s always right. He said Clyde smoked so much angel dust that he just forgot how to talk. That’s it. Gee-Man also said that Clyde was no joke when it came to playing some ball. “Tell ‘em, Clyde. They couldn’t fuck with you on the basketball court, back in the day.” Clyde just nods, smokes his cigarette butts, and says, “Uh-hm, huh.”

During the winter, Clyde sleeps on the fifth floor after the Housing Police finish their rounds. All the tenets bring Clyde leftover food and summer clothes. The kids make fun of Clyde. They play tag throughout the building, yelling, screaming and slamming doors. They pour cold water on Clyde while he sleeps and offer him a comb for his afro. Sometimes they pull his pants down and yell “the crack!” I tell the kids to stop making all that noise because Clyde might have something to say one day. He got to have something to say: we all need someone to speak to, living so close to each other, fenced in by brick walls, gates, police, that sometimes we shout and curse at each other all night long. So I know Clyde got something to say.

(In response)
It's the Doña Luisa Story Again
By Rebeca L.L.

Waste matter screamed when I opened the door to the elevator, my only ticket to the fifth floor since the shooting between the third and fourth floor stairwell some nights ago. Police tape still adorns the doorway leading to the staircase forbidding the rest of us civilians to enter the crime scene. I’m not sure I would have taken the stairs anyway, five flights of stairs just wasn’t for me after the day I’d been having. I wondered though, what happens in the case of a fire when the elevator is forbidden? Would us regular civilians seeking safety be arrested for using the stairway? You got to wonder about things like this especially in this neighborhood. The pigs are sneaky mo-fos; they’d do anything to meet a quota.

I go ahead and push the button that indicates five for the fifth floor. I regret touching it. It’s sticky and wet. Darn what the hell did I just touch?! I step back and hold my breath because even if I don’t see it, I know something went down in this four by four moving box. Something went down that should have been confined to the privacy of a toilet bowl but whatever; I can’t do anything about it now. I’ve just passed the third floor. Damn this is taking long. I suddenly realize I couldn't hold my breath any longer. I had to let up and allow the stench to rape the hairs that are supposed to protect me from undesirable particles such as this. I did it. I’m breathing the god awful air.

I looked around the elevator trying to get my mind off the aroma by reading the tasteless writings on the walls. Well let me tell you, they sure don’t hesitate in exercising their freedom of speech around these areas or at least in this elevator. How should I say, uh, these were quite the writings. In nice big bold black markers so that you wouldn’t miss the entertainment while on your ride, advertisements that read: “Martha will hit you off for $50”, “Big Pete got watcha need, call 212-555-54” and I really couldn't make out the last two digits. Finally a dull bell sounds indicating I’ve just reached the fifth floor. I step forward and raise my arm to push open the door, but before I could make contact, it suddenly started opening on its own and then a silent, explaining face peaked in. It was a face like mine, but unrefined and weathered. He smiled a toothless smile and quickly continued to open the door and usher me into the hallway, as if though he was some fancy doorman from the Upper West Side. I thanked him and he simply mumbled “Uh-hm, huh.”

I found apartment 5D. I rang the bell and was greeted by a hefty woman, in a thin house dress with a vomit like concoction of colorful flowers. After half an hour or so, I left the apartment and was back in the hallway. At the very end of the hallway there he was, nestled in the comfort of his worn blanket, backpack and an empty two liter bottle. He didn’t get up off the floor, he simply looked at me. This time he wasn’t smiling. This time his look was not inviting. He inhales a most worrisome breath, as if ready to deliver some horrid news and then he says, “Oye, have you come to help them? Doña Luisa needs help, she’ll stick her head in the oven if she don’t get no help.....sooner or later they all do.....they all stick their heads in the oven.....entiendes? Have you come to help Doña Luisa? You know she got like five children right? Five....entiendes?” I didn’t really understand, but I did. It was then that he got up, patted out the wrinkles of his shirt, adjusted his pants (although adjusting his pants was the least of his problems )and pulled the elevator door open for me.

It was then that it came to me, a conversation me and Willie were having about this guy that used to hang out in the building back in the day, Clyde I think his name was. I got to call Willie. I got to tell him I saw Clyde today and that he spoke. I got to call Willie ‘cause I know what happened to Clyde. I know why he doesn’t speak anymore.

Clyde’s mother is the story of a soul in search of The Great Dream, The American Dream. Clyde’s mother is the story of Juan, Miguel, Milagros, Olga, Manuel and now Doña Luisa. Clyde’s mother is a story we’ve heard many times, in many different version. It’s the story of an illusion being sought, but what is found is slow death seeping in through the screens of project windows and roach infested cracks in the walls. If you can’t breathe the air coming in through the window, then what’s the point in breathing at all? As a matter of fact, why even talk? Begging and pleading have gotten dream seekers no-where.

Again, Why even talk?

Note: Juan, Miguel, Milagros, Olga and Manuel are characters from Pedro Pietri's poem Puerto Rican Obituary.
Poem can be read at: http://www.virtualboricua.org/Docs/poems_pp02.htm

Reclaiming Language through Dr. Seuss and Munsch

2009-01-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

After gawking at the absolutely fine specimen that is plastered on the front cover of this months Latina magazine, I finally pulled myself away from the glossy image of Benicio del Toro and proceeded to open up the periodical, only to discover a story written by yours truly! Well okay, it wasn't really written by me, but it might as well have been.

It was as if someone was in my head. The article had an aire of déjà vu about it. A story, my story, many peoples’ story of growing up and reclaiming something that was left behind while traveling through the maze of events called life. This is the story of a rich language that swims in the gardens of cultural beauty. After so many years, you’d be surprised how much blossoming occurs and how many doors open when embracing language once again.

We are born and immediately bombarded with the task of learning basic skills, soaking in and exploring our new environment. An environment consisting of a language other than English. Following shortly afterwards, we are battling the moodiness, pubertal changes and social behaviors of the dreaded adolescent. YIKES! Here is where I lost sight or where I lost interest in the Spanish language.

Sometimes as Latinos in the States, our human development fluctuates with confusion, like a roller coaster ride gone mad. What with having to deal with academic achievements, school transitions, peer influences and what have you; it is so easy not to necessarily give up on what makes you different, but to pay mind to the burden of the chaos in play. So we opt out temporarily of our language use and cultural aspects to focus on our immediate surroundings. That is until one day, we suddenly feel weird about saying we are Puerto Rican or Colombian or Cuban or even worse, someone shocks you with a statement that questions your validity as a Latina. While I never truly lost my Spanish speaking ability, my reading and writing in the language were that of an elementary level and even saying that is giving me too much credit.

This was the story of Aliza Hausman, author of the article Not-So-Foreign Language. Aliza Hausman is a Dominican woman, born in the United States. She went to school as a bilingual student and eventually as she progressed in her academics she relished the idea of what she called a "shiny English-only version of me". She too eventually realized that something powerful was missing. While there was no doubt that she was Latina, she felt that a new sense of self was knocking. An identity that included the language that her abuela and bisabuela understood.

It was really strange and refreshing reading Ms. Hausman’s article. She did many things as I had done them. She sought out opportunities to speak with anyone who spoke the language, from cab drivers to shoe store clerks. It was like looking in a mirror as I read the article. As a matter of fact, the only things I can say was different about our stories are the books we chose to begin our journeys in reclaiming the Spanish language. While she chose El Gato En El Sombrero by Dr. Seuss for practice, I had chosen La Cola de Caballo de Estefania, by Robert N. Munsch.

Etelvina Maldonado en Barranquilla

2009-01-12T20:25:00.000-08:00

Every now and again we just got to pass along great music!

Etelvina Maldonado en Barranquilla (Parte 1 de 2)

Etelvina Maldonado en Barranquilla (Parte 2 de 2)

¡Oh, guayabera!

2009-01-09T18:07:00.001-08:00

This Most Incredulous Love Affair of Mine. Call it what you will, the Mexican Wedding Shirt, the Guayabera, the Yayabero......Me, four pockets and two rows of intricate vertically sewn pleats, running from back to front like shadows of lingering fingertips sliding up on naked skin. Buttons properly slipped through it's slot, closeting skin and flesh and muscle and sweat and.....I could go on forever....Yummmm

I thought I was going to write something profound today.....deep poetry or something.....but it seems that my love affair with the guayabera has taken over yet again......for I have sinfully decided that the flow of la tela is far more enticing a topic than poetic stanzas at this time. Perhaps it's the hint of Latino men hidden in the wonders of them....perhaps it's the promise of added accessories like Cuban cigars and a classic Panama hat.....

Cuba’s poet Juan Cristobal Napoles Fajardo also known as “El Cucalambe” (1829-1862) created a poem praising the guayabera which reads:

¡Oh, guayabera! camisa de alegre botonadura. Cuarto bolsillos, frescura, de caña brava y de brisa. Fuiste guerra mambisa con más de un botón sangriento cuando el heroico alzamiento, y por eso la Bandera tiene algo de guayabera que viste al galán del viento. Invasora espirituana, comenzaste tu invasión y entre Júcaro y Morón te llamaban «La Trochana". Te quiso, «Camagúeyana" el Camagúey noble y bravo, hasta que al fin, desde el Cabo de San Antonio a Maisí, Cuba no viste sin tí, Onda fresca del Yayabo.
http://mexicanweddingshirts.com/html/history.html

Hallelujahs

2009-01-03T05:20:00.000-08:00

Because every now and then a wake up call is in dire need.....

Hallelujahs
Translated by Roberto Santiago
Written by Jose De Diego

Gentlemen from the powerful, bountiful North,
Our island is part of the world.

Our Caribbean island is part of the Americas.

In the Beginning, God raised our island from the east,
when its waters were clear and undisturbed.

And, after centuries, coming from the East,
the Arawaks inhabited the island.

And centuries after, quaking the seas, the Spanish
ships arrived.

Mighty ships, cursed with being Latin.

That day your Puritan ships did battle, our Spanish
fleet were no match; tiny.

That day, when the Spanish people sank, ships and all,
in the seas of the Americas.

That day when you came in your splendor,
You, the all powerful Gentlemen to the North.

Forgive, Gentlemen, the heavens and earth,
for having made this island, long before the war....

Forgive, that so many of us were born,
before the United States.

Born in the Americas, with nothing,
but the kindness of God.

We are not the strongest, nor are we the masters,
but we are sons of the Conquistadors.

We know the mysteries of philosophy
and the Art of Holy Poetry

But we know nothing, in our land of the Sun,
of the government practiced in Tammy Hall.

Nor do we understand your creative doctrines.
that placed the Philippines within the boundries of
California.

Forgive, Gentlemen, if we seem perplexed,
of your concept of the Right of the Poeple.

We shun concepts that would reduce us to an island of
Thieves.

We shun, despite your historical reversals, the language and the
spirit of the Anglo people.

We speak another language, with other thoughts,
with the power of the spirits
and the power of the wind.

And we have been telling you for a long time,

over and over,

to go to the Devil
and leave us with God.

Mamita, what is a jibaro?

2008-12-25T09:32:00.000-08:00

Mamita, what is a jibaro? The little one asked me after having heard it in the background of daily activity. Lately I've noticed she has become more and more keen on Spanish terms, catching on like wildfire.

I explained to her that a jibaro or gibaro was a word used to describe the Puerto Rican slaves who ran up into the the hills, seeking refuge from the Spaniards who had invaded the island. While I thought that would of been enough, the little one had bigger plans for a more in depth conversation, which involved my having to use the computer to answer her many many related questions that followed. We both learned something on that day.

What did we learn?

- When Luis Muñoz Marín founded the Popular Democratic Party, the party adopted the jíbaro hat, the pava, as its symbol. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%ADbaro

- A jibarito knew how to work the soil, milk a cow, how to concoct home remedies for both his family and his animals using yerbas. http://www.elboricua.com/jibaro.html

- Jíbaros made their own entertainment and most of the time that meant music. With strong Spaniard roots, the jíbaros became poets, composers, and great story tellers. They wrote and sang coplas, décimas, seis chorreao, aguinaldos y villancicos, and cuentos de Juan Bobo. http://www.elboricua.com/jibaro.html

- Musica Jibara

Musica jibara Puerto Rico:Polo, Roque, Nereida 50's 2 de 3
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3gmKjFYlsE

gilberto santa rosa - lamento jibaro
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GXxAvXTECo

Mariposa Ardiente - Poema

2008-12-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

Mariposa ardiente
alas de fuego,
cuentame sobre tus viajes.
Cuentame de los árboles en el monte,
esos que alcanzan las nubes de Papa Dios.
Mariposa ardiente
que vuelas por encima la tierra,
dime que has visto.
Dime como se siente
estar cerca del gran castillo.
y si es verdad que los angeles
tienen el cuerpo igual quel mio.
Mariposa ardiente
que vuelas libre y alto,
dime como disfrutas las gardenias
que has conocido.
Dime de las abejas que ves
cuando estas por camino.
Mariposa ardiente
cuentame las diferencias
de las plantas y sus hojas.
Cuentame cuales son sus favoritas.
Cuentame de todos los tipos
de verde que existen en los parques.
Mariposa ardiente
tantas cosas para ver
tantas cosas para descubrir,
que no me puedo explicar
porque te antojas de esta junto a mi
acariciandome la rodilla.

R. L. Copyright © 2008

Gracias Omara!

2008-12-09T06:08:00.000-08:00

Over the years, I have become a very big fan of The Buena Vista Social Club. The Buena Vista Social Club is a magnificent group of musicians and singers that was named after the very famous and happening Havana institution way back in the day. Among the many talented and amazing musicians and singers is Omara Portuondo, who to my delight is releasing another album today!! The name of the album is titled Gracias. It's her celebration of over 60 years in music!

Gracias Omara por tu sonido tan lindo!!

Being An Undercover Dominican

2008-12-08T12:53:00.001-08:00

I'm the type of person that prefers to give people the benefit of the doubt, but sometimes that's just simply a task that can't be executed. Today would be one of those days. Today is the type of day when the passive side of me, is not willing to burn the energy it takes to contain and control the tongue-lashing side of me. Therefore I have conveniently decided to allow for the spillage of words. Every now and then it is imperative and even mandatory, that the science be broken down to certain people who are unaware of the workings of things. Today a most unnecessary comment was thrown my way. It was a comment that was intended on hooking me into a duel with a quite unfortunate soul. Woe is you that dare knock on the door of this spit-fire woman, while listening to the sounds of El Mayimbe Antony Santos.

The actual comment: "I'm gonna tell your people you’re an undercover Dominican. You ain't no Dominican. Ain't you got pride in your own music? That's our music!"

I don't know where to begin in order for me to express just how ignorant and sad this statement is, but I shall attempt it nevertheless. When we should be celebrating the beauty of our individual differences and how it comes together as a whole, many of us are still working against a most needed unity. I am a Boricua and I incorporate many things in my daily routine. Aside from being all about the Puerto Rico, all about the Bomba, all about the rice and beans, I'm also about much more. My language is sprinkled with phrases from all over. My likes and dislikes cannot be pinpointed due to me being Puerto Rican or not. I may be heard saying the Mexican phrase que onda or the Dominican expression dimelo. I love my men to wear guayaberas and I enjoy curry chicken over a bed of rice and peas. Does this love of Cuban attire and West Indian food translate into me feeling less pride in being a Puerto Rican? That thinking is absolutely insane!

So this is what I told him...

Pride my friend does not come from Antony Santos, nor does it come from Bachata or any other musical expression. Pride comes from acknowledging struggle, survival and perseverance. While it is true that music, food and dance among many other things may have originated within a certain group and while it is true that you may be proud to claim them, it is pride that allows you to hold them dear. Pride my friend comes from being able to wave your flag and knowing why. I do not say I have pride in being a Puerto Rican because we make the best pastelles. I say it because we have overcome so much that we are blessed to still be able to make them. I say I have great pride in being Puerto Rican because of a most magnificent survival. I say it because as a people in a nation that continues to strip us of what should be ours, we still multiply, we're still strong in body and spirit and we have remained resilient. I say I have great pride in being a Puerto Rican because when drugs "suddenly" came into our neighborhoods and poverty lingered on our doorsteps, we remained rich in culture and family. I say I have great pride in being a Puerto Rican because it is despite the repetitiveness of loss, during times of struggle for our homeland, that we still have an unshakable sense of autonomy as a whole. It is because of all these things that we are able to feel proud about our music, our food, our dances, our language, our artists, authors and singers. We all have a story and it is in knowing those details that we can begin to show our pride.

So when you’re listening to "your" Bachata, think not about how cool it is that it is a Dominican related thing, but think instead of its struggle to survive. Think of how this particular genre of music and dance was considered at one time to be too vulgar. Think about how it wasn't allowed into the musical scene because it was associated with prostitution and delinquency. Think of its progression and how fortunate that someone like Antony Santos is still able to partake in expressing himself through this means.

Oh and to answer your question....Yes, this "undercover Dominican" has pride. I have pride in all things Spanish. I have pride in all things Latino.

A Piece of the World

2008-12-01T13:11:00.000-08:00

Creating balance in a world of scales has no place for weight against weight when one is talking about this rampant beast running throughout the earth called AIDS. Today (December 1, 2008) marks the twentieth anniversary of World AIDS Day, a day when people and organizations all over the world come together to bring attention and awareness to the AIDS epidemic. Let us not be fooled by who has more and who has less. For whatever bowl you come from, this disease does not discriminate. And while it is true that the percentages of AIDS in certain groups is higher than in other groups, we must not be so quick to assume that we are invincible. We must not be so quick to look the other way due to our dish not tilting the scale. For it only takes one ounce to tip it going the other way and that could begin with you, if you are ill informed and careless. When we leave mother earth, we want to leave the next generation something beautiful. Something they can work with. So start here, get tested and get involved. Love yourself, your neighbor and especially your children. It's that simple. Leave them a piece of the earth to call home and make theirs.

A Piece of the World

Just cut me a slice
where the equator begins
and the longitude lines end.
Let not your knife
delve into the chill
of the Alaskan frost.
Venture off instead,
towards the warm regions
of sun colored icings
where the sounds of soca
and Afro-Cuban melodies
mix with the high pitched sounds
of tropical frogs.
Stay out of the Arctic
though beautiful indeed
I'd rather partake
in the tastes of mango and guava.
I'd rather sink my whites
in Jamaican rum cake
or my ancestor's flan.
Give me choices,
give me hope
give me a piece of the world
that still screams beauty,
that still shows promise,
that still invites the senses
to live a sweet life
upon the pure brown soil,
in the moist green grass,
along the carefully carved river
of the jungle's bed.

Spending the Morning with Julia

2008-11-22T05:38:00.000-08:00

Today I am spending my day with Julia....or at least my morning. She and I have nestled up with our quilts and warm cups of hot chocolate. Again she mesmerizes me with her work. She lays snugly in my lap, in seasoned pages of magical talent. How lovely must it have been to have known her.

Ay ay ay de la Grifa Negra
Julia De Burgos

Ay ay ay, que soy grifa y pura negra;
grifería en mi pelo, cafrería en mis labios;
y mi chata nariz mozambiquea.

Negra de intacto tinte, lloro y río
la vibración de ser estatua negra;
de ser trozo de noche,
en que mis blancos dientes relampaguean;
y ser negro bejuco
que a lo negro se enreda
y comba el negro nido
en que el cuervo se acuesta.
Negro trozo de negro en que me esculpo,
ay ay ay, que mi estatua es toda negra.

Dícenme que mi abuelo fue el esclavo
por quien el amo dio treinta monedas.
Ay ay ay, que el esclavo fue mi abuelo
es mi pena, es mi pena.
Si hubiera sido el amo,
sería mi vergüenza;
que en los hombres, igual que en las naciones,
si el ser el siervo es no tener derechos,
el ser el amo es no tener conciencia.

Ay ay ay, los pecados del rey blanco
lávelos en perdón la reina negra.
Ay ay ay, que la raza se me fuga
y hacia la raza blanca zumba y vuela
hundirse en su agua clara;
tal vez si la blanca se ensombrará en la negra.

Ay ay ay, que mi negra raza huye
y con la blanca corre a ser trigueña;
¡a ser la del futuro,
fraternidad de América!

(Translation)

Ay, Ay, Ay de la Grifa Negra

by Julia de Burgos

Ay, ay, ay, that am kinky-haired and pure black
kinks in my hair, Kafir in my lips;
and my flat nose Mozambiques.

Black of pure tint, I cry and laugh
the vibration of being a black statue;
a chunk of night, in which my white
teeth are lightning;
and to be a black vine
which entwines in the black
and curves the black nest
in which the raven lies.
Black chunk of black in which I sculpt myself,
ay, ay, ay, my statue is all black.

They tell me that my grandfather was the slave
for whom the master paid thirty coins.
Ay, ay, ay, that the slave was my grandfather
is my sadness, is my sadness.
If he had been the master
it would be my shame:
that in men, as in nations,
if being the slave is having no rights
being the master is having no conscience.

Ay, ay, ay wash the sins of the white King
in forgiveness black Queen.

Ay, ay, ay, the race escapes me
and buzzes and flies toward the white race,
to sink in its clear water;
or perhaps the white will be shadowed in the black.

Ay, ay, ay my black race flees
and with the white runs to become bronzed;
to be one for the future,
fraternity of America!

Julia de Burgos, "Ay, Ay, Ay, of the Kinky-Haired Negress," tr. by Jack Agüeros from Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos. Copyright ©1996 by Jack Agüeros.

The Beauty of Artist Rafael Tufiño

2008-11-18T09:46:00.000-08:00

Another spectacular Puerto Rican adding dashes of color into the world.

"Goyita" (1953), one of Rafael Tufiño's best-known works

El santero Don Zolio Cajigas y Sotomayor

Article on Rafael Tufiño: http://www.nydailynews.com/latino/2008/03/14/2008-03-14_leading_puerto_rican_artist_rafael_tufio.html

Viviendo Sobre Las Putas De Gabriel

2008-11-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

Que pena que no me distraigo con facilidad,
pero si se como vivir entre las putas de Gabriel
y las "serenatas" de Neruda.

(Translation)
What a pity that I do not get distracted easily,
however I do know how to live among Gabriels' whores
and Neruda's "serenades".

The Gift of Thinking Outside the Box

2008-11-17T07:27:00.000-08:00

While I am devastated that the president of Uruguay vetoed a controversial law on sexual and reproductive health that legalized abortion and had been approved by the country’s House of Representatives by a vote of 49-48, I am not going to spend my time blasting the stupidity of said decision. Women have been taking matters into their own hands for decades, so we shall see just how far that'll go. We are quite skilled in resolution.

Instead a more pressing issue is at hand.....at least in my world. The holidays are upon us again. And while it is really fun to see the look of surprised children underneath the Evergreen planted in the corner of your very small living room, we must remember to tell our children the origins of such festivities. Thanksgiving and Christmas are two of the most controversial holidays as far as I'm concerned. And yes, I still celebrate them but with a whole new set of footnotes. That being, "the truth".

For too many years a majority of children have been following this tradition of tree shopping, candy cane hanging, stocking stuffing, present giving and blinking musical lights on wooden fences without any idea as to why they do it. They carry this into adulthood and with very limited, unverified knowledge as to the workings of it all. Proudly I can say that my seven year old can say with no ill feeling that Santa is fake and yet she can still enjoy the idea of Santa. And that is what I'm talking about. I'm talking about giving our kids the tools to make healthy and sound decisions on how they are going to look at the world and the things that have been handed down to them. These tools that promote thinking outside of the box are by far the greatest gift you can give a child and it is a gift that can be given during any time of the year. It is a gift that will allow them to be leaders rather than followers. It is a gift leading to an autonomous, confident, self-assured specimen.

Of course, this would have to be done is short sporadic intervals, especially if you are starting late in the game. I did this with my child. We had been celebrating Thanksgiving, Christmas, Columbus Day....etc.....and then I got a dose of knowledge.....it wasn't pleasant but I am so grateful for the occurrence. I gave my daughter bits and pieces, here and there. I gave her time to digest the info and let her formulate her thoughts on the matter and then we talk. Children are truly amazing. If an adult could simply put aside their ego and just listen to the workings of the mind of a child.....my goodness....you'd be in awe. Today, my daughter will question things....yes question things!! She isn't just taking things simply for their face value.....she's inquiring for answers....especially about the holidays. This way, I'm not taking anything away from her, I tell her the "footnotes" and she digests them and incorporates them in a safe and happy, seven year old way. She can have her Christmas and Thanksgiving, she can have her cake, turkey and she can even eat them too.....and she can make adjustments now as she goes and as an adult......as I have done.

This thinking outside the box does make a person look different. It is no mystery that being different is often times looked down upon....but we must fight against that and show them how to do this too....with courage and class.

Papi Y Su Bomba

2008-11-15T17:27:00.000-08:00

I come from a pretty big family. A family full of passionate chancleta throwing women, a family full of practically every skin color imaginable and a family full of believe it or not, culture. Culture I swore left and right that they failed to teach me. But among my favorite memory, one I can remember is of my father dancing. I was always so bitter about the way my father behaved at parties. He was a drunk as far as I knew. I was always so embarrassed by the things he did while under the influence. My family is the type to make a huge ordeal on the holidays. Everybody and their mother gathers under this small two bedroom apartment that titi Miriam decided to host. All the cousins, the grandkids, the uncles and aunts, even a couple of people who flew in from the homeland. It’s just madness really.

So the music is playing. Some people get up to dance. Some of the relatives brought in with them their own instruments to play along. Apparently some of them believe they can even hold a tune, so they sing and compose a son. Everything is just peachy…..when suddenly my father gets up, tipsy and heads over to the area designated for dancing. All the couples are dancing the typical dance. Everyone is dancing to the music coming through the speakers. Good old fashion Plena. Some danced it immaculately, while others were simply two stepping it. But there is no mistaking it….it’s normal….it can’t be mistaken for anything but Plena…..but my dad on the other hand…..he was a case on his own. He would get up and start doing these really weird, childish looking moves. He’d stomp, he’d swing a leg, and he’d move really quickly and then just stop stone still. He’d look at the drums that Tio German was playing and point to it on certain moves and chuckle as if they, the drum and he had an understanding of some sort.

It’s funny that I should think about it now. My daughter triggered that thought. I was watching some people dance to Bomba and Plena music on YouTube. My daughter wasn’t watching it with me, but she could hear the music from the videos that were being played. Upon hearing it she jumped out of her room and started to do the same sort of dance my father was doing some years ago. She was just being silly and enjoying the music. It suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks…..she was feeling the music…..as he was feeling the music. My father was doing the same steps those Bomba dancers were doing in the video. My daughter, who hadn’t been taught any of this, was doing some of the steps as well….the very basic kind…..and then it occurred to me…..it was there all along. All this culture I felt like my parents didn’t tell me about, didn’t instill in me was just that I wasn’t realizing exactly what it was, but had been there the whole time. So to improve on the moment, I explained to my daughter what it was that she was enjoying so much. That there, is the difference between then and now. I explained to her that Bomba was a musical expression that flourished in Puerto Rico, especially in areas where West African slaves and their descendants lived. I explained to her the things I knew about the dancing and I showed her how her “silly” dancing was quite similar to what the dancers were actually doing.

Awww shucks…..my baby got cultura…...I'm doing something right after all!! LOL.....Now I realize that papi wasn't completely off his rocker….LOL…..!!

I’m telling you my dad was doing stuff like the dancer in the below video….and I was like “Oh god, please not again…..YIKES”….LOL

Alma Moyó - BomPlenazo 06 - video by Dennis Flores

Alma Moyo - Socio video by Dennis Flores

Speak Up!!

2008-11-14T13:58:00.000-08:00

I can't explain just how happy I was to hear that Nujood Ali was named as one of Glamour Magazines Women of the Year just a couple of nights ago. Granted it's not the most prestigious award, but it is moving nonetheless. The ten year old Yemeni schoolgirl shook the order of things. At the tender age of 9, she was married off to a 30-year old man. Her husband promised not to touch her until she was older, but he did not keep his promise. At the hands of her husband she was beaten, raped and ridiculed. Nujood fed up with the situation hopped on a bus by herself and went to court to demand a divorce. How extraordinary is that?! Such bravery! There she is, this child with everything working against her, scared, sad and hurt spoke up anyway. Let her be an example to the world, to the many women, to the many places where child marriages are common (South Asia, sub- Saharan Africa and Middle-Eastern countries such as Yemen).

Speak Up!!

In the words of poet Audre Lorde:

“When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed. But when we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak.”

It's Not Like He's Jesus!!!

2008-11-13T10:02:00.000-08:00

Okay, while I am happy to see someone in the Presidential Office who mirrors my image, I must say I think a large majority of us have lost perspective.....and no, I am not oblivious to the many monumental, life altering, possible opportunities arising (or better said, common belief that there should be) that come along with a person of color being in office for the first time in history......Yeah I get it.....but do you?

I listen to the news, the media, conversations from both enthusiasts and the not so gun ho crowd of the recent turn of events.....and truly folks.....we got to get it together.....he hasn't done anything yet....ah hello.....We put him in office.....WE.....that's something WE did.....even Obama himself acknowledges that in his speech when he said, "I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you".....and that folks is only the beginning.....WE have four years to make this count....WE have to get to work.....after four years WE can reflect and analyze exactly what it is WE have done....Have WE made a move in the right direction? Have WE made a difference that will benefit society as a whole? Have WE backed our decision and our President in the tasks he had to undertake? Shoot, it's not like he's Jesus or something....he doesn't have magical powers.....he's a regular human being just like the rest of us.

Think for a minute how hard it is for a single mother bringing home a paycheck of $300 a week, paying rent with two kids both under the age of 5, while attending community college part-time on the weekends.....THINK.....she needs help.....she needs the help of a child care provider, the help of Financial Aid, the help of City housing, the help of food stamps, the help of family and friends.....now multiply that scenario by infinity and now you have Obamas' situation.....He can't do it by himself....You can't just have the mentality that you rocked the vote.....now you have to have the mentality that your vote will rock the world....."Change" will only come as a whole. So until WE (black, white, Japanese, Latino, what have you) realize that WE got to put in a helping hand, take action, get involved; only then can WE truly feel a sense of change and accomplishment.

How many more Latino's and African-Americans voted this election than in the past? A damn near landslide more is what I hear.....okay.....with that being said.....please please don't go and shut your doors and think that your job is done. Don't sit back and watch to see what HE does next.....it's what are WE going to do next.....Because you know whats going to happen come four years from now? When the time to make more life altering decisions comes around, those of you who had the audacity to sit back and simply watch throughout the whole time; are going to have the hold your damn tongue and redirect those fingers that are so readily prepared to show blame.......it isn't that you made him look bad....oh no....because this isn't about him....it's that you made us look bad.....you made me look bad.

Now where's the justice in that?

Artist Manny Vega

2008-11-13T07:17:00.001-08:00

How many times have I gotten off the 6 train at 110th and Lexington, admired the mosaic masterpiece, smiled because culture and art greeted me after the turmoil of rush hour madness and then went about my business? I once even stopped to take a picture of it with my cell phone, so thankful and impressed that I was. How about the numerous times I walked on 106th street heading over to the Duane Reade did I pass the magnificent concoction of tiles that make up the great Julia de Burgos?

Who's behind it all? Who is it that has added a little more sabor to New York life? Mejor dicho, who is it that has added that much more sabor into the life of this absolute loca? LOL.

I haven't been to El Barrio in some time. I resigned from my job in that area some months ago and today, just like that, my thoughts just wandered over to those tiles. So I finally sat down and did the research.

The name is Manny Vega. He is the artist behind the two masterpieces below as well as many more throughout the area. My salutes to you Manny!! My crazy little world has been enriched that much more because of you.

110th Street and Lexington - Librado Romero/The New York Times

106 Street in El Barrio

A Bit of Trivia

2008-11-12T13:39:00.000-08:00

At times the mind wanders in unexplained directions, in which one suddenly finds themselves in complete awe as to the thoughts they seem to be entertaining. While I have been focusing on my own personal project of feeding my brain the history and cultural aspects of my beloved Puerto Rico, I suddenly found myself in thoughts pertaining to the validity of certain foods and beverages. Hows that for wandering? Whereas I'm trying to focus on the details of Filiberto's murder and Bomba dancing, I'm suddenly thinking about random trivia. Things in the nature of whether the french fry is really french and as to the truth behind spaghetti being Italian.
*chuckle*
Honestly, my mind didn't really go that far off topic. My actual thought was the validity of the Puerto Rican Rum. Apparently we have claims on it. It says so right on the bottle.

“Puerto Rican Rum,” and their contents are produced by the world’s largest distillery, in San Juan. But the Bacardí family is not from Puerto Rico. As Mr. Gjelten notes, “This family company for nearly a century was Cuban, cubanísima in fact — Cuban to the Nth degree.” - Bacardi, the Puerto Rican Rum That Will Be Forever Cuban - New York Times -

So the next time someone challenges you with the validity of whether or not Puerto Rican rum originated in Puerto Rico.....you know what to say. Funny though, I can see clearly in my minds eye my father not going for that at all, regardless if I had the proof in hand. I can bet my life on it he'd respond with something like, "It's Puerto Rican and that is that."

There Among the Wild Flowers - Poem

2008-11-10T11:14:00.000-08:00

There among the wild flowers
out in the fields
in which no end nor beginning unfolds,
butterflies flutter
in dances of jibaro song.

There amidst the maze of the fine greenery
hills tilt downward,
meeting a plantation of grape-bearing vines,
whose long forgotten corners,
tranquil coated evenings,
and melodic whispers
echo in loops throughout the land.

There,
perfectly chiseled soles
find solace.

Solo Hay Una Sangre

2008-11-10T08:52:00.000-08:00

¿Quién podrá decir que yo no quiero mis hermanos? ¿No ves que oro por ellos tambien?
(SARCASTICO)

Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos,......perdona sus ofensas y sus maneras de ser tan come mierda......

¿Que es este negocio de que uno no sepa tratar la gente por razones de la piel? De que yo sepa, estamos viviendo en el año 2008. ¿No es asi? ¿Que importa si yo soy Africana o Latina? Aparentemente importa en el supermercado, en el salon, en la bodega en escuela......Estoy cansada de tanta estupidez

En las palabras de Don Pedro Albizu Campos:

"hay una gran nacion.....sangre indígena o sangre Europea o de sangre Americana o de sangre Europea o de sangre India o de sangre negra o de sangre blanca, porque hay solo una sangre.....la Sangre humana y divina del hombre...."

2008-11-10T08:24:00.000-08:00

Apparently it starts at the tender age of seven.....

………..so there we are....my daughter and I.....on a surprisingly clean looking train. Yet in the back of our heads we both know and think how looks can be deceiving, how tiny microscopic organisms are probably working their way into the tightly woven threads of our jeans, how hideous it is to do this Sunday routine over and over again......but it is what it is......and there we were.......sitting on sweet colored tangerine colored seats.....thinking.....quietly.....when suddenly, after deep thought......she looks up at me and asked me the question that she had been pondering over the ride of at least four train stops......"Mommy, am I a Puerto Rican?"

WTF?!?!.....ah that would be my internal response.......of course I responded with a more appropriate mother-like return and proceeded to investigate the reasons for such a question.......

The result:
Her classmates Jessica and Diamond (both Puerto Ricans).....told her something to the affect of her being "too dark" to be a Puerto Rican".......Auuugghhh......apparently it starts at the age of seven......this ignorance of skin color within our own people.....and of course, one can't be upset or mad with the little ones for stating such things.....they still have much to learn.....hence my point.....is this not the ideal time to teach? During situations like these, so that the steps to complete and utter ignorance is put to a halt? Before the self hate and foolishness taught and not taught in their schools is placed in front of them?

So I began to tell her about the many possible diverse shades that Puerto Ricans can be and the history behind that......in my best idea of what an intermediate level history crash course would entail .......when it was all said and done......and it appeared that our dialogue had come to an end......she asked me.....still surprisingly "upset".....or as I like to say.....still surprisingly "passionate"......"Can I tell them that?" As if my response to her question was the brutal weapon she was going to use to beat them over the head with…..gladly I said yes. I could see the hurt in her little seven year old face....makes a mom want to go out and spit fire on those spawns of Satan......(ah just kidding......that would be me being "passionate" again.....lol).....anyway......I told her she could repeat what I said (I swear it was civil) and that was that.

This whole thing struck a cord with me.....For both obvious reasons and not so obvious. Even if I do my part and this message of "teach them the history at a young age" reaches ten more parents and those parents reach ten more parents.....and so forth......it doesn't and won't change the fact that the ignorance will always be there....in some way......in some fashion.......I went through it, my sisters went through it......you can read and hear about it in books and through the media......This unfortunate experience of hate guided by ignorance......when will it cease completely?? I don't know.....I doubt it will.....but I do know that we can shield our children with knowledge. Knowledge is power....Don't forget it!