La Bloga

The right to a great public education

2009-11-23T00:01:00.006-07:00

Guest essay by Álvaro Huerta

We've got to stop cutting public education. To ease the budget crisis, one state after another is taking an ax to higher education. This is cruel and shortsighted.

Cruel because it denies students the right to a decent education. Shortsighted because how will this generation of students get prepared to compete globally or even to clean up the financial mess brought about by Wall Street?

I'm a product of the worst and best public education California has to offer. I grew up in an East Los Angeles housing project in the 1970s and 1980s. I attended overcrowded public schools in the inner city. Like many racial minorities from America's barrios and ghettos, I received an inadequate education.

While I excelled in mathematics, I was never taught to read or write at a competent level throughout my K-12 schooling. To complicate matters, the longest paper assigned to me in high school was two pages long.

I taught myself how to properly read and write while going through college to compensate for my poorly funded K-12 education. But what will happen to those without this same self-drive that I learned from my Mexican immigrant mother? Fortunately, I also benefited from affirmative action and from numerous educational outreach programs and policies like Occident College's Upward Bound - a preparatory program for students from disadvantaged communities.

If not for such programs, I wouldn't have made it to UCLA as an undergraduate. I wouldn't have earned a master's degree in urban planning there. And I wouldn't be pursuing my doctorate at Berkeley.

So I worry about those who grow up in poor neighborhoods without the same educational safety nets that allowed for me to attend some of the best universities in this country. I can't help but be concerned about the plight of my wife's elementary school students in East Los Angeles today.

Those who fight affirmative action and against government-sponsored early educational outreach programs conveniently wash their hands of any responsibility toward those who lack the financial resources and access to human capital to go to college.

And fewer and fewer have those resources, with one state after another raising tuition and other fees. These fee hikes couldn't come at a worse time.

If we care about equality of opportunity, if we are concerned about our ability to compete in the global economy, it's time to give everyone, including those from America's barrios and ghettos, a shot at a great public education.

[Álvaro Huerta is a doctoral student at the University of California at Berkeley and a visiting scholar at UCLA's Chicano Studies Research Center. His fiction is featured in Latinos in Lotusland: An Anthology of Contemporary Southern California Literature (Bilingual Press, 2008). Huerta wrote this essay for Progressive Media Project, a source of liberal commentary on domestic and international issues; it is affiliated with The Progressive magazine. This essay first appeared in the Sacramento Bee.]

◙ What a wonderful event we had yesterday for my new short story collection, Anywhere But L.A. at ChimMaya, 5283 E. Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles. Many thanks to Steven and Daniel for inviting me to their gallery which features some of the most beautiful Chicano/a art around. You should definitely pay a visit to their gallery during the holidays. Also, ChimMaya carries autographed copies of my book in case you missed the reading. For my upcoming book appearances, visit here.

◙ Unbridled Books is thrilled to announce that C.M. Mayo's debut novel, The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire, has been named A Library Journal Best Book of the Year! For more information, click here.

◙ That’s all for now. Please have a fun and safe Thanksgiving. In the meantime, enjoy the intervening posts from mis compadres y comadres here on La Bloga. And remember: ¡Lea un libro!

Re-educate [some of] the idiots, while there's still time

2009-11-22T06:19:00.006-07:00

[Today's regular columnist Tatiana de la tierra will return after dealing with personal matters. We wish her well.]

If events depicted in the movie 2012 ever really happen, and aliens land here a thousand years from now, consider how they might analyze the constructs and actions of us norteamericanos.

What will they think of remnants of the Border Wall built to keep out southern, dark-skinned immigrants, while no such wall exists to the north where live, largely, lighter skinned neighbors? Will they wonder why Mexican illegal immigration was just called the spade that it is--an informal system of slave labor?

We seem to be more turning into a nation of idiots (with some exceptions).

the Taos village idiot

Last summer the new owner of a Taos hotel decided to forbid his Hispanic employees from speaking Spanish in his presence, and even went so far as to tell them to Anglicize their names, for the sake of customers who couldn't understand the accent. If this entrepreneur knows no German or Japanese, people from those countries can only hope he never takes over businesses there, either.

Understand: the owner is in the tourism business, planning to make money off an area that's been occupied for at least 12,000 years by indigenous Americans, for nearly 500 years by Spanish speakers, and draws tourists from throughout the world looking for New Mexican food, art, history, culture, archaeology (and, yes, beautiful sunsets).

You can go here to read about the trouble he came up against, but, hopefully, those future aliens won't find a trace of him when they arrive. After all, they might think we ceased to exist because of some genetic brain disorder that made some try to erase cultural history.

Denver cowtown idiots

Those of you in the Nebraska, Montana, Wyoming, Kansas and Denver area might want to hope the aliens don't find remnants of this billboard out front of Wolf Automotive Group in Wheat Ridge, Colo., a Denver suburb.

Perpetuating the racist propaganda of the freakish Limbaugh-types, Wolf Automotive repeats the Big Lie about President Obama's birthplace, while at the same time comparing him to Osama Bin Laden.

If the aliens find evidence of 9/11, they might well assume that the U.S. disappeared after we turned our 9/11-paranoia-hate inwards, even against our own President.

Palin, the national idiot phenomenon

And when the aliens do land, hopefully all the 1.5 million copies of the Sarah Palin book will have long since crumbled into dust. Her idiocy is not to be found only within the pages of that book. The greater idiocy is that despite seemingly having no chance of being considered a viable national candidate, even by the Republicans, her appeal to the "evangelical subculture" might influence this country's headlong rush into a 2012 of its own making.

As President Obama plods in policy directions that make his second term doubtful, consider Max Blumenthal's words:
"If [Palin] doesn't prove to be the Party's future queen, she may have positioned herself to be its future king-maker. . ."

And what kind of idiot might she pick? In a thousand years, there might only be aliens around to rue the outcome.

But in the meantime, you still have the chance to boycott some of these idiots, and others who seem to abound and multiply in concert with the unemployment and home foreclosure rates. Or, if you want to try a re-educating route, you can send E-mails to the establishments mentioned to make your views and worries known.

For the Taos idiot, go here. Indications from this article are that he'd begun to see the error of his ways, so read it before you E-mail him an opinion.

For the Denver idiots, go here.

The address for the Palin idiocy is www.saveyourbreath,don'tbother, since what holds for teaching pigs to sing, holds for this group as well.

RudyChG

Michael Jackson’s This Is It

2009-11-21T07:16:00.003-07:00

reviewed by Deborah Garcia

You’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by a smooth criminal … and so, I was. My initial curiosity to see the last footage of Michael Jackson’s final concert rehearsals became utter fascination and inspiration within seconds after the film began.

Throughout my life, I hadn’t ever gotten overwhelmed with fandom for Michael’s music, even if it played in the backdrop to many of my formative years. This Is It has changed that and offers the same potential to others like me who never thought they’d fall under Michael’s spell.

Never-ending streams and pulses of dance energy shoot, pop and break out from Michael Jackson’s lithe frame with every breakbeat and syncopated rhythm. For a neophyte like me, it would have been easy to think he couldn’t contain his energy or, rather, what was so integral to his artistic depth: his chi and vital source of creativity. The truth is he contained and channeled his artistic creativity in measured and tempered song filled with long-drawn breaths, shouts, polished musicality and the art of motion.

This Is It provides such a complex view of Michael and all his talents: the film has a multidimensional focus, much like a faceted cube. There's a 3-D effect this documentary achieves and captures as MJ works, performs, directs and perfects what was so uniquely his—his own art form represented in the marriage of dance, song and feeling.

The viewer should pay a keen eye to his dance ticks and highly-tuned ear. Michael Bearden, credited as Michael’s music director, states, “Michael knows all the tempos, key signatures, key changes of each of his songs.” Michael could hear when the pitch and rhythm were off, too fast, and notes were thudded or being ham-fisted.

Directed by Kenny Ortega, Michael was given regal control while rehearsals went on. It didn’t end there. Michael’s own music seemed to never fail in inspiring him or translating into the infectious calls and responses his dancers carried through in moves and shouts while offstage. In every measured beat and note landed, one can hear a delicacy achieved and seamlessly delivered.

Ortega nurtured tremendous verve among the tour cast, resulting in sets where Michael powered through rehearsals with unstoppable skip and free-form dancing. Astoundingly, Michael mostly held his singing back during each rehearsal—a feat attributable to years spent mastering his music and from raw, unending depth of feeling. Michael said, “It’s all for love.” I finally believed him.

A studious understanding of his anthology of hits and his eras of cumulative success is lacking in my review. However, This Is It takes on a reprise to the indicting and unforgettable Martin Beshear interviews. With each hit performed in the film, it’s palpable how personal Michael intended to be with his fans. Each song is sung for you. So, when he opens with the softly-landed lyrics, “You and I must make a pact,” that artistic pact is most definitely alive with fans in every dance burst, extended vocals, and political message.

Michael certainly was on a different plane of creativity. The heightened sense he had for every performance detail amazes. He had an ear for the sounds, pitch, subtleties and nuances his music could take on--jazz rhythms, pop and rock beats. He heard notes others couldn’t and easily projected his vision for choreographed moves and precise musicality. In fact, Michael demanded the film’s musicians let the music breathe and come to a full rise without rushing—he wanted his fans to be “nourished” by it.

This Is It, the tour, would have delivered a highly designed narrative with pyrotechnics, growling and sizzling sound effects, and such a personalized message of Michael’s aesthetic that one can’t help thinking they were on the forefront of witnessing a new multigenre of concert, musical, acrobatics and video-making come to life. God bless Kenny Ortega and his talent for knowing how to capture and portray Michael’s musical legacy. This Is It kicked off and caught me up on long overdue respect for the King of Pop.

Deborah Garcia is a publishing and writing professional born and raised in San Antonio, Texas. Continuing to straddle cultural fronteras, she moved back to her hometown in 2008 after having spent half of her life on the East Coast.

Mexico City Noir and the Six Word Story

2009-11-20T00:01:00.003-07:00

Mexico City Noir
edited by Paco Ignacio Taibo II
Akashic Books - February, 2010

I recently learned about this upcoming book - here's the publisher's announcement:

Launched by the summer '04 award-winning, best-seller Brooklyn Noir, Akashic Books continues its groundbreaking series of original noir anthologies. Each book is comprised of all-new stories, each one set in a distinct neighborhood or location within the respective city.

Mexico City enters the Noir Series arena, edited by one of Mexico's most revered novelists.

Brand-new stories by: Paco Ignacio Taibo II, Eugenio Aguirre, Eduardo Antonia Parra, Bernardo Fernandez Bef, Oscar de la Borbolla, Rolo Diez, Victor Luiz Gonzalez, F.G. Haghenbeck, Juan Hernandez Luna, Myriam Laurini, Eduardo Monteverde, and Julia Rodriguez.

It's hard to get much more noir than Mexico City, and after several years' effort, Akashic was finally able to rope Paco I. Taibo into curating this dramatic, chilling, and frequently hilarious volume.

Paco I. Taibo II was born in Gijon, Spain and has lived in Mexico since 1958. He is the author of numerous works of fiction and nonfiction, which have been published in many languages around the world, including a mystery series starring Mexican Private Investigator Hector Belascoaran Shayne. He is a professor of history at the Metropolitan University of Mexico City.

This is the first book on my TBR file for 2010.

Six Word Story

Legend has it that Ernest Hemingway thought his best story had only six words:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

That's a very good story but Hemingway probably didn't write it, and I can't find a reliable source that says he took credit for the six words. At this point in time, it doesn't really matter, does it? The six words have a beginning, middle and end; a set-up, tension, a twist, and climactic finish; all wrapped in admirable brevity and poignancy. We want to believe the legend because the story fits with what we want to believe about Hemingway. In any event, the idea that short is good (those of us under 6 feet already know this to be true) has caught on and there are numerous six word story contests online. Just search six word story and read any of the 65,900,000 results.

You know what's next. Let's see your six word stories. Post them in a comment to La Bloga. So far there are only two rules: six words, no more, no less; and the six words have to be a story, not a wise saying, not a dicho, not a line of poetry. Other than that, the field is wide open.

The deadline for posting your story as a comment to this post is November 23, by midnight (MST). I'll pick the winner but I will take into consideration any comments that praise particular entries, so, in a sense, you get to be a judge, too. The winner will get a copy of my new book, King of the Chicanos, when it is published in the spring of 2010.

This is harder than it sounds and since I know you can do better than I, here are a few six word stories to set up the challenge:

Late night affair, early morning heartbreak.

He died; they discovered the medal.

She stood her ground, he fired.

Letters torn, photos burned, locks changed.

Later.

Just finished reading...

2009-11-19T00:01:00.001-07:00

...Demasiados Héroes (Too Many Heroes) by Laura Restrepo. Inspired by her own experiences as an activist in Buenos Aires during the military dictatorship, Restrepo's latest novel revisits the legacy of the conflict, especially for the children of those who opposed it. It revolves around Lorenza, a Colombian native who, like Restrepo, lived in Argentina during the 70s and actively opposed Videla's regime of terror. There she meets Ramón, a comrade in the movement, and together they have a child, Mateo. Circumstances force the couple to emigrate to Colombia, where Lorenza soon falls back into her comfortable bourgeois existence, creating an irreparable breach in their relationship. The novel actually starts years later, when an almost-adult Mateo demands to know the real story of his father and what they call "el episodio oscuro..."

While the novel is good read, it lacks the resonance of some of Restrepo's earlier novels (such as Delirio and La isla de la pasión). This is perhaps owing to how close the story parallels Restrepo's biography, having experienced in her own family many of the challenges exposed in this novel. The challenge to extract universal value out of a personal experience that has been fictionalized is a monumental one, even for a writer of Restrepo's caliber. Perhaps a memoir would've been more effective... In any case, Demasiados Héroes has many moments of intense lyricism and enticing suspense, making a satisfying, if ultimately self-effacing, read.

____________________________________________________________________

ALSO... Check out this bilingual version of Cinderella (NYC this weekend!)

Cenicienta/Cinderella
Only 1 performance!
Saturday, November 21, 2009 @ 3:00pm

A bilingual musical of the classic fairytale about a humble girl who works very hard to realize her dreams. With a little bit of magic and, not to mention that she is the best “Tango” dancer in the kingdom, she discovers her self-esteem and Prince Charming.

La clásica historia de amor sobre una joven honesta y trabajadora, que sueña con un mañana mejor. Ven y conoce a Cenicienta, el Principe y a la malvada Madrastra, en un espectáculo lleno de magia, colorido y mucho Tango!

Written by Manuel A. Morán
Music by Iván Alexander Bautista & Manuel A. Morán
Set & Costumes by José López
Directed by Manuel A. Morán

Featuring: Jesús Martínez, Lina Sarrapochiello, Ana Campos,
Paola Poucel, Jorge Castilla, Yaremis Felix,
Tom Schubert & Blanca Vásquez as "Cenicienta"
_______________________________________________________________

TEATRO SEA @ LOS KABAYITOS PUPPET & CHILDREN"S THEATRE
"New York's LATINO Theatre for Children"

Clemente Soto Velez Cultural & Educational Center (CSV)
107 Suffolk Street, 2nd Floor, NYC
(Bet. Delancey and Rivington Street)

Tickets: $12.50 children/$15.00 adults
Call for reservations: (212) 529-1545
<>For more information on upcoming shows

www.teatrosea.org

Arte Público Press

2009-11-18T01:46:00.000-07:00

Letter from Nicolás Kanellos, Ph.D.
Arte Público Press Director

Here is wishing you well during these economically trying times. Because many sectors in the economy are fairing poorly, Arte Público Press has also been suffering. As usual, the first budgets to be cut by state and local authorities are those for schools and libraries, precisely the major consumers of our books and where our children most need them. What’s worse, our largest consumers are from California, the state that has seen its schools and public services cut back the most.

If you wish Piñata Books, Arte Público Press and its Recovering the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage to continue to present, represent and safeguard Latino culture in education, the media and general society, you must help us overcome this financial shock to our system. Since August, our sales have plummeted by more than 25%, which can only mean laying off professionals and student workers, as well as publishing fewer books and conducting less research.

We can get over the economic hump this year, but only with your help. This is not part of any yearly solicitation that we do. This is a one-time request to help us make it until next fall, when we expect the economy to improve, and schools and libraries to respond.

Please help us with your personal, maximum contribution. Also, please consider sending this letter and attachment to benefactors you know, along with your own personal cover letter, or send us a list of names and addresses, and we will be happy to reach them.

We have very little time left before we seriously cut back our operations, and we urge you to be generous in your contribution and in providing contacts that can help us reach our goal.
Your contribution is fully tax-deductible. You may send us a check directly or use your credit card to donate via our portal Latinoteca.com.

Thanks you so much for your past and current support and continued involvement in Arte Público and Recovering the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage Project. We appreciate your dedication to the importance of our mission and know that you are vital to its success.

With warmest regards and sincere appreciation for your generosity,

Nicolás Kanellos, Ph.D.
Director

Review: Homicide Survivors Picnic. Cano Reads At AMVETS Post.

2009-11-17T00:01:00.013-07:00

Lorraine M. López. Homicide Survivors Picnic and other stories. Kansas City MO, BkMk Press, 2009. ISBN 978-1-886157-72-9.

Michael Sedano

“That’s what I like about the South,” goes the refrain of an old toe-tapping song that I’m pretty sure readers of Lorraine M. López’ darkly intense stories will not be humming to oneself after completing the ten stories in Homicide Survivors Picnic. But then, given the irony of linking “homicide” with “picnic”, a reader does not pick up Homicide Survivors Picnic expecting sweetness and light to emanate from the pages. And it doesn’t.

Most of these are set in the South—Kentucky, Georgia, Alabama—and a couple of stories are set in sunny Southern California, whose ambience is anything but. A reader gets what the title proposes, a dank dark collection mirroring the debilitating heat and humidity of Southern weather. Unexpected will be the characters. Lopez’ central characters-many of them women-- are struggling everyday gente surrounded by, or engaged with losers.

“Survivors” aptly describes Lopez’ characters. In some stories, the survivors are characters radiating at the periphery of a central character’s behaviors, so readers need to be on their toes to catch on, or enjoy a reflective "ah hah" moment upon realizing who is the survivor.

These are not folks filled with zip-a-dee-doo-dah joie de vivre. There is Stewart, the failed male attorney developing a mediation practice. His live-in mate, Guadalupe, seems an irresponsible mother to her teenage girls. Thrice married and twice shacked up—he’s her latest “intermission”—Guadalupe takes what she can before moving on to the next jackass. When Guadalupe is arrested for writing bad checks, Stewart heeds the lovely woman’s pleading and calls on the judge who’s been keeping the mediation practice alive with referrals. The old judge trudges down to the jail, arranges for bail, and Guadalupe goes blithely on with her established pendejadas. Poor Stewart. The clerk of the court tells him to come see the Judge in the morning, and bring all his case files with him. Lopez gives Stewart a moment of triumph to close the story, but looking beyond the final paragraph the reader sees Stewart as the survivor of his own gullibility.

There’s Rita who, out of pity or misdirected charity—she works for a Roman Catholic organization-- allows her divorced husband to occupy the attached duplex apartment. Beto, her loutish loser of an ex, is one of those vapid football fanatics. Rita remembers Beto’s unperceived humiliation begging players for autographs as they file off the team bus before a game. They brush him off irritably. Beto’s prize possession is a Packers bobble-head doll. Back when they were still married, Rita had taken Beto’s doll from its shrine to amuse a child. She remembers how he’d bloodied her nose for the sacrilege. And here she is, living with her two children next door to this pig. As Rita’s story concludes she’s worked up the courage to evict Beto. In all likelihood, when Beto gets the news it literally will kill him. Rita’s seeming survivor’s moment of triumph comes from her resolve to move on whatever the consequences.

Many of Lopez’ stories don’t actually resolve the agony, the author preferring to lead the reader up to the crucial point then leaving it hanging. In “The Imam of Auburn,” Mona, a seriously mentally ill woman, attaches herself to a sympathetic acquaintance who goes the extra mile to support Mona’s debility. As the story ends, Mona dashes free of a hospital to hide in the back seat of Juana’s car. There's skulking Mona telling Juana’s husband to drive away, she’ll explain later. In the title story, a pregnant teenager ties her dead boyfriend’s do-rag across her eyes then dashes across a busy multi-lane highway (does Georgia have freeways?). Her brother, Ted—he’s the survivor, not his sister—looks toward his frantic mother, toward his sister, feeling trapped in the maze of their debilities and demands on him. But his sister needs to be saved and as the final sentence races to its period, Ted presses his eyes closed and seems about to dash blindly into the racing traffic, dreaming of California.

Kids, cats, spoiled food, thick-calves for some reason, and men with northern European names are some of the connective tissue Lopez relies upon to link the otherwise unrelated stories together. People Lopez doesn’t like—she probably dislikes most of her characters, interestingly enough—smell of dead meat or spoiled mayonnaise, or have those calves. The saps have names like Helmut or Anders. Whiny or poorly raised small children are a special torment; the four year old who likes to call people “motherf*cker”, or sad precocious Roxanne, who tells her caretaker survivor cousin she’s “doing it right”, raising the child while a speed-freak mother does time.

Characters whom the author dislikes more than others come in for Lopez’ most aggressive descriptions. When Rita explores Beto’s side of her duplex, for example, Lopez’ description of the horrid pigsty is arrestingly stomach-turning and makes a reader grateful that synaesthesia is not one of Lopez’ stronger techniques. Her visual images are strong enough, however, as in her description of a “prodigious turd” floating in Beto’s unflushed commode. And there’s thick-calved Helmut, who remarks to a visitor he’s meeting for the first time, how blonde the visitor is, for a Jew.

Short fiction must build quickly with an economy of description and suggestive plotting. When effectively concluded, such reading brings a short burst of pleasure, then the regret of that punto final. Given so compact a space, fact-checking becomes a major virtue for readers in the know. With the South generally a mystery to me--my street-level travel having been confined in multiple visits to metro Atlanta—I completely accept Lopez’ geography and local color. But not her Southern California. How surprising that Leo got his beef dipped sandwich from “Felipe’s.” If Lopez comes calling in SoCal one of these days, I’ll invite her to Philippe’s for the “original” beef dip sandwich, if she’s not gluten-adverse. One thing she gets right about El Lay traffic is the popularity of nonverbal communication—muck up a right of way, wey, and you’re sure to get a blaring horn and the finger.

I’m raising my index finger in Lorraine López’ direction--not the bird nor a Packer's foam rubber prop, but the “you’re number one” finger--in appreciation of a finely honed collection of short fiction any reader will find absorbing. And a bit of a heartbreak, in the end, when little Roxanne calls from her mother's crib, "I want to come home." I'll survive until López brings that little girl back in a fully-fleshed novel.

Daniel Cano Signing and Fundraiser

Saturdays in Los Angeles tend to come filled with excellent events and difficult forced choices. November 14, for example, featured a fabulous pair of art openings in Pomona at the far eastern reaches of LA County, and Daniel Cano's publication party about as far West as one can go in L.A. and not be in Santa Monica Bay.

I'm happy I elected the Cano event at the Pete Valdez Sr. AMVETS Post II near the Sony Studios, née Paramount Pictures, in Culver City. Cano's historical novel, Death and the American Dream, recounts an unknown period of Los Angeles history in his story of a Spanish-language journalist in the era of the Mexican Revolution of 1910. See this La Bloga review of Cano's novel. Mejor, buy the novel and read it.

The event was heavily attended, SRO, and only one fellow left his cellphone on. How silly some folks can be. He left the room to carry on the conversation behind a curtain. Hey, vato, we can still hear you! The only good thing is the caller was lost and needed directions. My Prius talks to me so navigating the bumper-to-bumper route from the Eastside to the AMVETS post was relatively painfree and no one gave me the finger.

The evening kicked off with an important message from Frank Juarez about political movidas chipping away at West L.A. land deeded in perpetuity for Veterans care. It's a deadly serious concern of itself, but appropriate to remark upon, since the "old soldiers' home" makes several appearances in Cano's novel. Please click the link and read about the shameful theft of land from wounded military Veterans.

Comic relief buffered Juarez' talk from Cano's reading, in the personage of The World's Most Radical Chicano, Che Castro. Castro launched a MEChA club in pre-school, talk about credentials. The actor, Elias Serna, a Ph. D. candidate in English at UC Riverside and CSU Northridge English profe, has a good sense of comedic timing that reinforces several hilarious bits, including his response to racial profiling. When ICE agents accost a Chicana or Chicano--we're citizens you know even if we don't have papers--show them que eres documentada, documentado:

And that's the antepenultimate Tuesday of November, a Tuesday like any other Tuesday, except You Are Here. Thank you for visiting La Bloga. Buy books, gente!

mvs

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INTERVIEW WITH MICHAEL LUIS MEDRANO

2009-11-16T00:01:00.011-07:00

Michael Luis Medrano is the author of Born in the Cavity of Sunsets (Bilingual Press 2009), his first book of poetry. He holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities, and has performed his work at Stanford University, The Loft Literary Arts Center in Minneapolis, and the University of Colorado, Boulder. He served as poetry editor for the literary journal Flies, Cockroaches, & Poets, is featured on the spoken word CD, The Central Chakrah Project (Metamorfosis Productions), and has taught writing workshops in Fresno and Minneapolis. Once again based in Fresno, Medrano is teaching, and is the host of Pakatelas, a literary radio show on KFCF 88.1 FM. Medrano's latest manuscript, When You Left to Burn at Sea: Prose Poems & Flash Fiction, is currently looking for a home.

Medrano kindly agreed to answer a few questions for La Bloga:

DANIEL OLIVAS: How old were you when you felt comfortable calling yourself a poet?

MICHAEL LUIS MEDRANO: I was twenty-one years old, a student in the late Andres Montoya's Chicano Literature class at Fresno City College. He asked if there were any poets in the class. I raised my hand, cautiously, but I knew I was writing poems at that time.

OLIVAS: How long was Born in the Cavity of Sunsets in the making? Can you describe its road to publication?

MEDRANO: The poems in this collection were written between the years 2002-2006. The MFA program (University of Minnesota) was a great place to learn how to shape these poems to reflect a particular voice, to learn how to write a book. My thesis advisor, Ray Gonzalez, was very instrumental in showing me how to put together the book. Upon completion of the program, I started sending the manuscript to various presses: the big, NY presses and some of my favorite small presses like Curbstone, Tupelo, and of course, Bilingual Press. I avoided book contests because I could not afford to pay the entry fee. I figured to just hit the publishing market the old-fashioned way, send copies of the manuscript and hope for the best. Bilingual Press accepted the book at the end of 2007 after a year and a half of sending the beast out. A year later, and the manuscript entered the editorial process began. I credit Bilingual Press for suggesting to eliminate the Spanish glossary from the back of the original manuscript. This made for a more cohesive vision. And, the overall book design, masterfully conceived by their talented staff.

OLIVAS: Many of your poems concern those who have fallen, either from a difficult life or from disease such as cancer. I view these pieces as both a chronicling of personal histories as well as a form of honoring people who have been taken too soon. How do you view these poems?

MEDRANO: When I wrote those poems you are referring to I felt it was my way of walking with them; going on the journey, their journey, sharing something simple, like a conversation. The trip wasn't always pretty, but it's their journey nonetheless.

OLIVAS: Which poem in your collection are you most proud of? Why?

MEDRANO: I'd say "Villanelle: for father & son" because it is a poem that literally helped to shift the role of Medrano patriarch, from my grandfather, Jesus Medrano, to my father, Luis Medrano. My grandfather, before his passing, literally told my father to "take his place". It's poem that chronicles, indefinitely, the passing of a generation.

OLIVAS: How do you see the role of the poet in society? What is your role?

MEDRANO: This question reminds me of how poets/writers (myself included) get when they meet their literary heroes. We get giddy in front of them and often feel short-changed when an expected outcome isn't met. For example, in graduate school I was introduced to a very prominent poet (I will save this person the embarrassment and not mention his name) who shook my hand and stated bluntly upon our introductions, "I guess they'll let anybody in MFA programs these days." Obviously this is an extreme and very rare example, but the point is to not fully expect that the writer you may meet in person isn't exactly the writer he or she is in person. Think of our past poets, our favorites, as teachers and not as gods.

OLIVAS: How would you describe the state of Chican@ literature? How is it different from where we were twenty years ago?

MEDRANO: Well, I would say the major difference between the previous generation of Chican@ poets/writers, and I'm speaking of primarily the generation that came out of the initial Floricanto movement of the late 60's and early 70's (Juan Felipe Herrera, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Ricardo Sanchez, etc.) was that they did not have Chican@ literary mentors. We did/do. Now, you can open up a book of poems by Tim Hernandez and compare his work with Sandra Cisneros and the youngsters today can have their "Aha!" moment when they see the connection between Loose Women and Skin Tax or you can open up my book and note how I borrowed the music and even the structure of a Martin Espada poem and made it my own. We can do this in much of the same way a Jewish-American writer can open up Ginsburg and see his parallels with Whitman or Lorca, or any other of his well-noted influences--in other words, we can now say we are in the conversation, we are in the game.

OLIVAS: Do you have a writing routine? Do you show drafts of your poems to other writers or loved ones to get input before finalizing them?

MEDRANO: I generally write during the mid-morning hours and after teaching class. I usually work on multiple writing projects, such as now; a prose poem collection I'm fine-tuning, and a longer piece of writing that is aspiring to be a novel. I've stopped showing my writing to my family a long time ago. And this proved to be quite a hairy experience when the book came out. Here were poems, based largely on family truths and taboos, and I had no idea how they were going to handle the experience of seeing their name, in print, in such a critical light. So, when I presented my family their copies of BITCOS, I had to be straight forward with them. Ultimately, I was given their blessing, rather, the correct phrase was "it's your prerogative." Today, I give works in progress to fellow poets and long-time friends, Tim Hernandez, Marisol Baca, and my radio co-host, David Campos.

OLIVAS: If you were to recommend three books to a beginning poet, which ones would you choose and why?

MEDRANO: Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke (Stephen Mitchell translation). In its most basic form, the book is a blueprint on "how" to be a poet. But Letters is richly poetic, and by the end of the short book (127 pages!) you have decided whether poetry will be your full-time occupation or not.

Kaddish by Allen Ginsburg: This was one of the first books I read when I first experimented with the prose poem. The title poem, specifically, made me weep. Kaddish was my bible during the harsh, Minnesota winters. And I could see its influence in my funeral poems.

Sadness of Days: New & Selected Poems by Luis Omar Salinas. I remember when Andres Montoya brought a small stack of pages photocopied from this collection, and passed them out to the class. He was the one poet I clung to during that semester. The rest of the poets were great also, but it was Salinas's love for justice and his love of love, in other words, generosity, that made his verse a little more sacred than the rest.

OLIVAS: Mil gracias for spending time with La Bloga.

◙ The El Paso Times published my review of three new books: Crazy Chicana in Catholic City (Ghost Road Press, $13.95 paperback) by Juliana Aragón Fatula; Lyn Miller-Lachmann's new novel, Gringolandia (Curbstone Press, $16.95 hardcover); and Best of Contemporary Mexican Fiction (Dalkey Archive Press, $34.95 hardcover; $15.95 paperback), edited by Alvaro Uribe, with Spanish editing by Olivia Sears.

◙ Gregg Barrios’ poem, “Chale Guerra,” is featured in Home Fronts: A Wartime America Reader published this year by The New Press. Barrios is in the company of a long line of anti-war activists and artists whose work is included in this history. His poem can be accessed in a reading for Writers Against the War last year: AOL France has a video link to Barrios’ live reading of the poem. "Chale Guerra" has also been published in the San Antonio Current and in the anthology Vietnam & Atzlán.

◙ Thank you everyone for attending the book launch of my new collection, Anywhere B ut L.A. (Bilingual Press), last Friday as part of the New Short Fiction Series. What a remarkable evening it was with actors performing selections from my new book. Sally Shore’s fiction program has been running for thirteen years and will continue well into the future. If you have a short story collection coming out in 2011 and have west coast connections, let me know the details and I will connect you with Sally for a potential sponsoring of a book launch. Many thanks to the actors who performed (pictured to my left below): Sally Shore, Sofie Calderon, Matt Ferrucci, Marina Palmier, and Robert Standley. You are amazingly talented actors and it was an honor to work with you. (Photo credit: Benjamin Formaker-Olivas.)

◙ And if you missed the book launch, I will be doing a book reading and signing of Anywhere But L.A. this Sunday, November 22, 2:00 to 5:00 p.m. at ChimMaya, 5283 E. Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles. Though I will feel a bit naked without the wonderful actors reading my work, it promises to a fun time in a beautiful setting. For my upcoming book appearances, visit here.

◙ The fifth issue of PALABRA has just been released. This volume of the literary journal (which is subtitled: “A Magazine of Chicano & Latino Literary Art”) features work by the late Andrés Montoya, Rane Arroyo, Sandra M. Castillo, Harrison Fletcher, Fred Arroyo, Gloria Enedina Alvarez, Stephen D. Gutiérrez and Alicita Rodríguez, among others. To subscribe, visit here.

◙ That’s all for now. In the meantime, enjoy the intervening posts from mis compadres y comadres here on La Bloga. And remember: ¡Lea un libro!

Gold in East LA: A Photographic Journey

2009-11-15T00:06:00.019-07:00

Olga Garcίa Echeverrίa

Ya llego! Nearly five years and $898 million dollars later, the Metro Gold Line Eastside Extension is finally here. There are eight new Gold Line stops that connect the Eastside to Union Station: Atlantic, East LA Civic Center, Maravilla, Indiana, Soto, Mariachi Plaza, Pico/Aliso, and Little Tokyo.

You can ride the Eastside Gold Line for free today, with Grand Opening celebrations at various stops.

This past Friday, my roommate Sandra and I followed the Gold Line and visited each of the new stations. Of course, we wanted to ride the actual metro, but since its opening wasn't untill today, we got into her hybrid bat-mobile and pursued the tracks from East to West. We weren't exactly chasing tornados, but there was a sense of adventure as I snapped endless photos and Sandra zigzagged through the East LA streets, scoping out strategic places to stop.

Here are some of the photos from our journey. They don't attempt to capture all of the great East LA and downtown spots located along the new Gold Line route, rather they highlight a few and hope of inspire you to check out and ride the Metro. And please forgive any awkward spacing/placing of these photos on this blogspot...manipulating pictures in this program is a pain.

Atlantic Station

Depending on which direction you're traveling, aqui empieza o termina the Eastside Gold Line.

Less than a couple of miles away, there's stop number two...

The lovely East LA Civic Center. This is definitely my favorite stop.

California Poppies, the State's official flower, brighten up the East LA sky.

Poppy Haiku...

Bright yellow petals

against the blue sky, capture

the wandering eye.

On one of the sky panels there's this quote from Jaime Escalante. It's a stencil with sunlight shinning through the words.

Sandra and I got a kick out of this quote because Escalante is our former math teacher. This doesn't sound anything like the Escalante we knew. The Escalante we knew was kinda crazy, hella funny, and in love with math and teaching. An immigrant from Bolivia, Escalante learned English as a second language and it showed in his accent and sometimes his syntax as well.

(detour down memory lane)

Take, for example, the giant quotes he plastered on the walls of our classroom to inspire us. Here's a picture from our yearbook. Can you read the signs in the back walls? One of them says, "Student who says it cannot be done should not interrupt student who is doing it."

And another, "Calculus need not be made easy. It is easy already." Wouldn't it have been so much more intersting to have one of these quotes on that stencil sky panel?

And right here at the Civic Center stop, the beautiful East Los Angeles Library.

And by the library, the colorful duck park.

The famous (well at least in East LA) Roybal Clinic or as people in the neighborhood call it El Edificio de Colores.

Garfield Drill team practices for today's grand opening. They will be at the Civic Center stop welcoming you all.

Only yards away I spot a rooster. Ay, how I love my hometown.

Practice train leaving East LA Civic Center.

Down further on 3rd Street along the Gold Line route, Victor sells elotes con mayonesa, chile, limon, y queso. He thinks the Metro's going to be good for business.

Lupe's famous 12 Kinds of Burritos on 3rd. We missed the shot when we first passed it, but being the devoted barrio photojournalists that we are, we went back for it at the end of the day. Thus, the night shot.

The Maravilla Station. Another night shot taken on our way back.

As Sandra said, "Maravilla Station? Why didn't they just call it the King Taco station?" That's what we're calling it.

The Gold Line runs along some of East LA's numerous cemeteries. This is the Serbian Cemetery on 3rd. Close by there's a Chinese cemetery and a Jewish one as well, all evidence of different ethnic groups who've been historically part of this changing community.

Up on the hill, the quaint little church of my childhood, Santuario de Guadalupe.

The Gold line runs down 3rd Street, right along Calvary Cemetery. The cemeteries in East LA make up a good portion of our green spots. Thanks to them, we breath a little better.

An extended view of the Gold line running down 3rd Street.

Indiana in the house!!

Home of the big bucket raspado.

Also at Indiana, spectacular art pieces by Paul Botello. I caught up with Paul and asked him to share a little about his Metro artwork.

"I am usually known for my painted murals, the colors, and brush strokes. This site was completely different, I created 'metal murals' in stainless steel. No colors, except for the endless hues of natural and man made lights reflecting off the surface. No brush strokes, only the positive and negative shapes of forms. The title of the work is 'Syncretic Manifestations.' The works are site specific. It is hard to briefly summarize them since there are 14 different pieces. The content of each work varies from Latino imagery to scientific and philosophical iconographic themes."

Like many Angelenos, Paul will be riding the Gold Line to all the stations today. He will be at the Indiana station from 1-2 pm. Check out his great work.

A que la fregada, la panza was rumbling, so we stopped at Aque Tacos, which is kitty-corner to the Indiana Station.

I went vegetarian a week ago, so for the record I'd like to state that I didn't eat meat.

At Aque Tacos, we chatted with Arnulfo Delgado, a graduate student in Urban Planning at UCLA and a member of the East Los Angeles Planning Advisory Committe. Arnulfo focuses on issues affecting Area 3 in East Los Angeles, which covers the area from Indiana to Eastern.

Arnulfo had plenty to say about the Gold Line and the recommendations he and the ELAPAC are making to assure safety in the community. Among his concerns are the need for safety arms in Eastside stations, more signage in Spanish, and security gates to prevent jay walking. Some of these things are not required by law because the trains do not exceed 35 mph. However, proximity to a high number of schools and concern for the safety of community members has led Arnulfo and others to advocate for these security measures. He also noted that there are only 40 parking spaces at the Indiana Metro stop, an insufficient number for such a busy area.

It was a pleasure to unexpectedly meet Arnulfo at Aque Tacos, as he was so passionate about making the Metro safer. He made Sandra and me laugh, though, when in the middle of his vehment discourse he said, "Wait a minute, let me go get my tacos." I love my peeps and my peeps loves their tacos!

Sandra made a quick illegal stop so that I could get this picture. And then we're off again...

Right after the Lorena intersection, the Gold Line goes underground. UUUUU, this is exciting.

Evergreen, another great cemetery in East Los Angeles. This one even has a rubber track!

Soto stop. Beam me up, Scotty.

This station was gated, which made it difficult to get any pictures of the inside, but there's a poetic bird motif in the underground. I can't wait to see it.

Next stop...(insert mariachi music here)...Mariachi Plaza in Boyle Heights.

There's a block party and mariachi festival going on at this stop today from 8:30 AM to 5:00 PM.

Tierra, Quinto Sol, Domingo Siete, Umo Verde, Dirty Hands Johny Wallz, and various mariachi groups will perform.

Free kid's corner with giant bouncers, arts, and crafts, as well as a photo exhibit on migrant workers who were part of the Bracero Program.

A bronze statue of ranchera singer Lucha Reyes.

Wanna hear her sing? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7SD-NxV0rc&feature=fvsr

This is the entrance to the underground Metro rail on Indiana. It was technically closed, but...

I managed to sneak in and get a shot of the downstairs. Isn't it wonderful? We're so cosmopolitan!

And, of course, the Mariachi Plaza wouldn't be the Mariachi Plaza without the mariachis.

This is Refugio Peῆa from the Mariachi Internacional Varas Nayarit. He gave Sandra a free strawberry gelatina and was trying to pick up on her while I snuck into the underground metro station. He gave me his card and offered to pay me if I put his info on "El Internet." That gelatina was goooood, so let's just call it even Refugio. If you need a mariachi call (213) 453-8906.

Mujeres comadreando en la plaza y compadres looking on in the backdrop.

Boyle Heights youth hanging out at the ice-cream shop at the Mariachi Plaza. The metro means easier and faster mobility for them.

Towards the sunset we go.

1st street bridge. Taken on our way back, but placed here because it's the next part of the Gold Line journey. You get the picture.

Pico Aliso Station

Ain't it pretty?

Aside from the view of downtown, cabeza art is one of the highlights of this stop. These are not to be mistaken for cabezones.

Does this one look like Mao or am I imagining things?

Little Tokyo/Art District

The Japanese American Museum is right around the corner from the Gold Line station.

Japanese Plaza. Please do not try to climb if you visit.

Union Station

From Union Station you can travel Northbound to Pasadena. North Hollywood, Long Beach, and Koreatown are also possible destinations.

Carlos Vasquez and Alex Bandayan, two of the Gold Line conductors who will be driving trains to and from East LA today. They say, "Welcome and have fun!"

Inside one of the Gold Line trains. I'm getting Mexico City and New York flashbacks. We're far behind those cities when it comes to public transportation, but the extension of the Gold Line is definitely a step forward.

Track 1: This is where you exit or enter the Gold Line at Union Station.

Trains leading to many places. I recommend you get crazy and go everywhere!

The architecture in Union Station is breathtaking. High cielings, huge arcs, and magnificent light fixtures--only a few of the highlights here.

Everyone should travel to Union Station at least once to sit on these old chairs and stare up at the light fixtures.

One of my favorite buildings in Los Angeles.

When you exit Union Station, you are greeted with palm trees. There's plenty around to do and see--Olvera Street, Chinese American Museum, Chinatown, Cielito Lindo taquitos, Yang Chows, Philippe's famous dipped Sandwiches...the list goes on and on.

On our way back, as we make our way through the 3rd Street-Downey tunnel, both Sandra and I are moaning, "Mama's tired, mija."

So now, it's up to you. Where to...?

_______________________________________________________________

Upcoming Events:

Working Across Generations: Defining the Future of Nonprofit Leadership!

Save the Date, November 18th, for a book signing and discussion in Los Angeles with the authors of Working Across Generations: Defining the Future of Nonprofit Leadership! Connect with colleagues and friends and hear from the authors Frances Kunreuther, Helen Kim and Robby Rodriguez.Working Across Generations offers a comprehensive look at the leadership and generational shifts in the nonprofit sector. The book presents ideas and gives practical advice on how to approach generational changes in leadership so that the contributions of long-time leaders are valued, new and younger leaders' talent is recognized, and groups are better prepared to work across generational divides. This book examines the meaning of leadership transfer for individuals, their organizations, and the field; reports on how older and younger social change leaders are preparing (or not preparing) for these changes; and recommends how these transitions can take place in ways that move social sector work forward.

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fworkingacrossgenerations.org%2F&h=c2bfae1af0d5fb01aa59f2fa6d092121 http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=320846100636&ref=mf

Words with a Purpose Writing Colective Fundraiser for Koreatown Immigrant Workers Alliance

Words with a Purpose Writers' Collective is holding its 2nd fundraiser. Please join us for some fun, poetry, fiction, Korean drumming, and an art raffle. Light refreshments will be served.

Saturday Dec 5, 2009

7:30 PM

KIWA Cultural Education Center

3471 8th Street, LA 90005

Featuring Guest Poets: Sung Yi & Daniel Choi

KIWA’s Awesome Korean Drummers

WWP Colective: Olga García Echeverría, liz gonzález, reina alejandra prado & Frankie Salinas

Suggested minimum donation: $7 (free raffle ticket included). No one will be turned away for lack of funds.

All proceeds will be donated to Koreatown Immigrant Worker’s Alliance (KIWA) to help support the ESL and Computer classes that service Korean and Latino immigrants. Words with a Purpose Writer’s Collective is an LA County based group of writers dedicated to making a difference in communities. For more info: wordswithapurpose@yahoo.com

wordswithapurposewriterscollective.blogspot.com

ABOUT KIWA: Founded in 1992, Koreatown Immigrant Workers Alliance (KIWA) is one of the oldest and most well-established worker centers in the nation. KIWA is based in Koreatown, Los Angeles, one of the country’s densest neighborhoods, with over 200,000 residents living in an area of two square miles. Approximately 25% of Koreatown residents are from Korea and 60% are from Latin America. A majority of these residents have limited English proficiency, work in low-wage service sector jobs, and have difficulty accessing public services and local decision making processes. Almost all of Koreatown’s population is part of the working poor, and more than 40% fall below the federal poverty line despite the fact that most people work full-time jobs. KIWA’s mission is to empower Koreatown’s low-wage immigrant workers and to develop a progressive constituency and leadership in the Koreatown community that can struggle in solidarity with other under-representative communities.

Frontera NorteSur, Denver's Festival de Cine Mexicano, y un chiste

2009-11-14T07:59:00.003-07:00

La Bloga readers have various reasons for coming here, not the least of which is news we share from the Spanish-speaking world--from Spain's Semana Negra to cultural news from all over the Southwest. Despite being primarily an arts/literary blog, real-world events necessarily affect our art and how we live in each of our niches.

The Internet, the WWW have provided us with floods of information--as countless as the over a billion Tweets or two hundred million blogs in existence (incl. Chinese). But the reliability of news and searches for "the truth" threaten to be buried by the staggering number of pieces out there. At the same time, mainstream sources of reliable journalism are declining. We the public, Chicano and otherwise, don't necessarily know as much as we once did.

For instance, how many know there have been at least ten suicides at Ft. Hood this year, an increase in domestic violence on-base and a rise in local crime? And who in the world of journalism is analyzing that for us and tying it to Obama's adding another 40,000 troops to "our" wars?

Information on Mexico and the shared border is important to us, not only because of our proximity or cultural ties, but the nature of that border is changing. Narco violence has crossed the river and no one can say how far north it will travel or how it might change our lives in Phoenix, San Antonio and even Denver.

None of this relates to you? Heading south of the border for an affordable vacation soon? Do you know which beaches are hygienically dangerous, unfit for swimming?

Are you an academic whose dissertation or published piece suffers because your pocho Spanish won't let you navigate la idioma journalistic waters?

Or are you in education and public service where you daily work with Mexican immigrants, but lack info about what it is that made them leave their mother country?

I speak only for myself when I say that my world revolves around the Southwest. I tend not to realize I need to encompass more to understand how and why things are transforming around me.

Luckily, years ago I found Frontera NorteSur. Their purpose: "FNS provides on-line news coverage of the US-Mexico border." They do this by analyzing and summarizing U.S., Mexican and other news agencies each week, providing sources at the end of each post.

Spend a few minutes on their website and you might come to realize how little the mainstream press tells us, how volatile conditions have become in Mexico, and how abruptly we might learn how intertwined our lives are with those who live on the border and southward.

You don't need to read many of their articles to understand this. Here's a sampling of headlines:

The Summer of Sewage?
Pollution Flows into the Rio Grande
Tomato Pickers Demand Bilingual Education
The Lost Daughters of the Rio Grande
Will Mexico Recuperate from the Tourism Crash?
From Narco War to War of Extermination

I include the letter below because it would be detrimental to an informed public to no longer have access to Frontera NorteSur's service. I leave it to La Bloga readers to decide for themselves how valuable a site this is.

Dear Esteemed Reader,

Although some declare the recession over now, tight budgets continue to be a reality for the foreseeable future. We know you appreciate receiving Frontera NorteSur, and we know you value journalism that provides an informed lens on critical stories, issues and personalities. In the case of the US-Mexico border, the issues are more important than ever. Immigration, the narco war in Ciudad Juarez and other places, economic challenges, and environmental crises are among the burning issues that will define the border region in the year to come and beyond.

Unfortunately, getting the information you need to know is not getting easier. In the El Paso-New Mexico region alone, a major Internet news service has recently suspended its service, while a Spanish-language newspaper has disappeared from the streets in recent months. Major international media like the New York Times continue to hemorrhage journalists, and news reporting in Mexico and many other places in the world remains a risky endeavor.

With our very limited resources, Frontera NorteSur does its modest part in helping fill the information gap. In previous years, reader donations assisted us in overcoming budgetary challenges and actually helping to expand this news service to some degree. In 2009, now more than ever, we are counting on you, the reader, to step up to the plate and help us into the new year. We know times are tough for everyone and really appreciate any donations that you can afford. After all, every little bit helps. Donations of $25, $50, $100 or more are especially appreciated.

Any contributions to Frontera NorteSur are tax-deductible.

We are also exploring a possibility of matching larger donations with a sizeable grant, which would lead to a much bigger expansion of Frontera NorteSur as a news service. If you know of any foundations or individuals willing to assist in this project, please contact Dr. Neil Harvey at nharvey@nmsu.edu

Again, thank you so much for your generous support and interest. We know you cannot afford not to be informed about US-Mexico border and related issues. If you would like to support us, please follow the instructions below for making a contribution.

Sincerely,
Dr. Neil Harvey, Director
Kent Paterson, Editor, Frontera NorteSur
Center for Latin American and Border Studies,
New Mexico State University

If you prefer to donate online, please go to the Foundation’s website.
Click on "Tell us how you want your gift applied" and the amount. Please insert “Frontera Norte Sur” in the box that opens below.

You can donate by sending a check or money order to:
NMSU Advancement
Attn: Nick Franklin, VP for University Advancement, Box 3590, Las Cruces, NM 88003

Checks and money orders should be made payable to: New Mexico State University Foundation Inc.
On the memo line of the check, in the bottom left hand corner, put: Frontera NorteSur
Include a brief cover letter with the check that states you are donating to Frontera Norte Sur, NMSU and includes your name, address, daytime phone and email address. Also please state if you graduated from NMSU (with year of graduation and degree if applicable).

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Festival de Cine Mexicano

The 32nd Starz Denver Film Festival will showcase many of Mexico's most recent and influential films. The festival began Thursday Nov. 12 and runs through Nov. 22, 2009.

From contemporary films such as Rudo y Cursi, Sin Nombre, Y Tu Mamá También, and numerous others, the Mexican film industry is making its cinematic presence known.

Norteado is a beautiful film and the director of La Ultima y Nos Vamos will be in attendance for her entertaining film following the lives of three friends in Mexico City. Below are films and times that will be presented as a part of the program:

Cruzando (Crossing) - When hapless Manuel, a janitor at a Mexican strip club, hears that his father is about to be executed in Texas, he embarks on a picaresque trek for the border with his pal Diego in a quirky road movie that is by turns comedy and tragedy.
Wed. Nov 18 6:45 pm
Thurs. Nov 19 9:15pm

Corazón del Tiempo (Heart of Time) In this political narrative styled as a documentary, a young woman in the volatile Mexican state of Chiapas brings the threat of chaos to her community when she breaks her engagement with a local boy in order to pursue her love for a Zapatista rebel.
Sun. Nov 15 6:45pm

Norteado (Northless) In Oaxacan-born director Rigoberto Perezcano's first feature, Andrés, a young farmer from the south of Mexico, has made several attempts to cross the border into the United States - all dashed by the danger of the desert. On the verge of giving up, he decides to try one last brilliant if surrealistic plan.
Sun. Nov 15 7:15pm
Mon. Nov 16 9:15pm

La Ultima y Nos Vamos (One for the Road) Three well-heeled young men looking for action in Mexico City and find it when they cross the boundaries that divide them from the city's working classes to discover an entirely new world. Director Eva López-Sánchez based her drama on the real-life experiences of her coauthor, Alfredo Mier y Terán.
Sun. Nov 15 9:30pm
Mon. Nov 16 6:45 pm

Rabioso Sol, Rabioso Cielo (Raging Sun, Raging Sky) In the experimental filmmaker Julián Hernández's mystical celebration of sexual desire, two young lovers are torn apart by circumstance and seek divine guidance to help bring them back together. On the brink of reunion, tragedy strikes again, but their passion is so pure that the gods immortalize them in myth.
Sun. Nov 15 12:30pm
Mon. Nov 16 6pm

El Arból (The Tree) Santiago, a Madrileño bartender, is trying to come to terms with the deteriorating circumstances of his life. Thrown out by his wife, barred from seeing his children, and fired from his job, he walks the streets searching for salvation - which he might just find on a high bridge in the middle of the city.
Tues Nov. 17 8:45pm
Wed. Nov. 18 5pm
Wed. Nov. 18 7pm

The Festival de Cine Mexicano program will also include a special presentation of the feature film, Up, in Spanish subtitles, as a part of the Saturday-at-the-Movies program Saturday, Nov. 21 at the Ellie Caulkins Opera House.

Sponsors of this program: Cinema Latino, Consulate General of Mexico in Denver, Festival Internacional de Cine en Guadalajara, Idea Marketing, Mexican Cultural Center, Mezcal, Museo de las Americas, Que Bueno 1280AM, Tambien, Telefutura, University of Guadalajara and Univision Colorado.

To purchase tickets or for more information visit www.denverfilm.org

Nos vemos en los movies!

-------------------

Lover's advice, translated from the Spanish:

If your lover trembles when you embrace him,
If his body flames with desire at your touch,
And if he chokes up when you tell him you love him,
Get rid of the sucker--he's got H1N1.

RudyChG

New Limón - Julian Samora - Westside Oratorio - New Fresquez - Travel Bits

2009-11-13T00:01:00.009-07:00

NEW MARTIN LIMÓN

G.I. Bones
Martin Limón
Soho (November, 2009)

It's always good news that a new Martin Limón novel is out. Limón's latest is G.I. Bones and the reviews are lavish. Booklist calls this book the best in the Sueño and Bascom series, which is high praise since Limón's previous books have been top-notch, especially The Wandering Ghost, reviewed here and here on La Bloga. But you don't have to take my word for it -- check out the quotes below, then get your copy and see what the fuss is all about.

"This is Limón’s sixth Sueño and Bascom adventure, and fans will be rewarded with what is arguably the best novel in the series. It’s an action-packed, convoluted tale of altruism, tragedy, revenge, and miscalculation, enriched by insights into Korean politics, culture, and society, as well as into the equally foreign culture of the U.S. Army. The relentless action and the vivid portrait of a little-known country drive the appeal of this outstanding crime novel."—Booklist

"In this sixth series entry (after The Wandering Ghost), the author demonstrates his knowledge of military politics and South Korea in the 1970s. The only question is why Limón has not received more recognition. Mystery fans, especially male readers and those who enjoy gritty police procedurals in exotic locations, will want this solid crime novel. "—Library Journal

"Sueño’s sixth mystery combines a brash, righteous hero with gritty local color for a crackling good read."—Kirkus Reviews

"Throughout the twists and turns of this story, Limón paints incredible word pictures of the sights, sounds, and smells of Seoul and the culture that inhabits it…G.I. Bones is a truly gripping story that will keep you entertained and guessing until the very end."—Publishers Weekly

"The plot is crisp, the characters are fully portrayed, and the dialogue is convincing…in Limón’s gritty, always entertaining novel."—School Library Journal

Sounds like it might be gritty.

BOOK SIGNING

Moving Beyond Borders - Julian Samora and the Establishment of Latino Studies
Edited by Alberto López Pulido, Barbara Driscoll de Alvarado, and Carmen Samora
(University of Illinois Press, 2009)

Saturday, November 14, 2009
2 pm Salón Ortega, National Hispanic Cultural Center, Albuquerque, New Mexico
Free Admission
An exploration of the life and career of Julian Samora, the first Mexican-American sociologist in the United States. His establishment of the Mexican American Graduate Studies program at Notre Dame and his teaching career paved the way for the evolution of such disciplines as Latino Studies and Border Studies. For more information call 505/246-2261 ext. 148.

WESTSIDE ORATORIO

Each and every holiday season, Su Teatro returns to Denver's old Westside neighborhood to commemorate the residents who were removed from their homes (through eminent domain) for the building of the Auraria campus.

This December, Su Teatro presents a classic piece that honors those residents and the generations that came before and after.
The Westside Oratorio is a beautiful musical tribute created by Su Teatro Executive Artistic Director Anthony J. Garcia and world-renowned composer Daniel Valdez (to the left) in 2004. Valdez will once again act as musical director, and will begin a Su Teatro residency next week.

Su Teatro's production of The Westside Oratorio signals the company's move to the Denver's Westside this spring. It is a celebration of past roots, present commitments, and future promises. This is one production you don't want to miss.

Su Teatro presents
The Westside Oratorio
written by Anthony J. Garcia and Daniel Valdez
directed by Anthony J. Garcia
musical direction by Daniel Valdez

December 12 - 20, 2009
Saturday 12/12 at 7:30pm
Sunday 12/13 at 3pm
Friday 12/18 at 7:30pm
Saturday 12/19 at 3pm and 7:30pm
Sunday 12/20 at 3pm

at the King Center Concert Hall
855 Lawrence Way (on the Auraria campus)

Tickets are $18, $15 students/seniors, with great group discounts available.

For King Center info and directions, click here.
For more info about Su Teatro and The Westside Oratorio, visit our website.

UN CORRIDO PARA LA GENTE

I hope some of you made it to the dedication of the new public art piece by Carlos Fresquez, today (November 13) at 3:00 p.m. Carlos is a Denver treasure and we are all very proud of the great work he has produced for decades. Note - Carlos' art graces the Westside Oratorio poster above - the guy is everywhere.

Here's the official city announcement, just in case --I plan to visit the installation as soon as I get back to Denver.

The Denver Office of Cultural Affairs’ Public Art Program is pleased to announce the dedication of Un Corrido Para La Gente (A Ballad For The People) by Denver artist Carlos Fresquez (to the left) at Morrison Rd. and Sheridan Blvd. The event will take place on Friday, November 13, 2009 from 3:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. This dedication is free and open to the public. Light refreshments will be served.

WHAT: Dedication of sculptures Un Corrido Para La Gente
WHO: Artist Carlos Fresquez, City Councilman Paul Lopez, Denver Office of Cultural Affairs Staff & Commissioners Community Members
WHEN: Friday, November 13, 2009, 3:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.
WHERE: Morrison Rd. & Sheridan Blvd. (new gateway)

Carlos Fresquez’s Un Corrido Para La Gente is an assemblage of sculptural forms inspired by items you might find in the surrounding neighborhood shops, or Mercado district. An oversized guitar, hand-painted with a representation of an eagle, is topped by a wheel and a crown. These sculptural forms connect to a sculpture of a shovel through a colorful, kinetic papel picado swinging in the breeze. The artwork creates a new playful and vibrant gateway to the Morrison Rd. and Sheridan Blvd. streetscape. An interview with the artist on his inspiration for the piece will be available soon by calling 1-800-DEN-ARTS.

Carlos Fresquez was born June 19, 1956 in Denver, Colorado where he still resides. He received a B.A. from Metropolitan State College of Denver in 1980 and an M.F.A. from the University of Colorado, Boulder in 1995. Fresquez has exhibited his drawings, prints, paintings and installations in at least 25 U.S. states and in eight countries. He has lectured about Chicano art history and his own artwork at many colleges, universities, galleries and art centers, including Las Bellas Artes in Mexico City, The Albuquerque Museum and The National Museum of American Art. Fresquez is currently an Assistant Professor at Metropolitan State College of Denver. For more information on the Denver Office of Cultural Affairs’ Public Art Program, please call 720-865-4313 or visit www.DenverGov.org/PublicA rt.

TRAVEL BITS

My month-long California sojourn is about over, it's been quite a trip. Flo and I have had memorable experiences and we can't say we are looking forward to the much cooler temps in Denver. But home is where the P.O. box key fits, and that isn't Long Beach.

I spent a bit of time with Daniel Olivas and Michael Sedano, two of La Bloga's regulars; always nice to see the guys and talk about the cultural scene (group photo on my post last week, here.) Flo and I plan to make Daniel's book launch for Anywhere But L.A. at the Beverly Hills public library our last California event (tonight, November 13) - look at Daniel's post this week for details.

I also visited with Mario Acevedo, Lucha Corpi, and Alfredo Véa, Jr.

Here's a photo of Mario (and fellow writer Bonnie Biafore) taken at the Farmer's Market in Hollywood. Mario was out here for the Jesús Treviño tribute, and he says it was a blast. More about the star-studded tribute on Mario's blog, at this link (scroll down to November 8 for photos and details.)

Lucha, Flo and I had a nice brunch in an Oakland eatery where we talked at length about writing, writers, and the writing business. And a bit about psychics and fortune telling. Lucha is mysteriously connected to this other world and she spins a good occult story. Flo snapped Lucha and me inside a bookstore (where else?) - that's Lucha's newest book, Death at Solstice, in her hands.

Alfredo Véa is quite the inspiration: highly regarded novelist, ace criminal defense attorney, expert gardener, tile handyman, jazz aficionado, community watchdog, new (and very proud) Daddy, and much more. Flo and I were treated to a party celebrating the 21st birthday of the son of one of Alfredo's good friends -- muy simpático -- the company, food, and wine were all excellent. Unfortunately, our photos of Alfredo are jammed up in our computer -- anyone know what the problem is if we can see the picture in our thumbnail list but when we try to use it we get only some of the image and the rest is just a blank gray area?

The really good news is that Alfredo has completed one book (more than a 1000 pages so it may be published only in Europe, he says) and he is hard at work on another one. The little I learned about the work in progress grabbed me already; can't wait.

That's it for now. Read and lead, gente.

Later.

Fingernail Shaped Moons

2009-11-12T00:01:00.001-07:00

Jesse Tijerina

(a short narrative of what led me to become an educator)

“If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.”

Hermann Hesse

Why do we look at things the way we do? Is it due to the mothers and the fathers of our mothers and fathers and their wisdom? They made fun of mi jefe’s tacos wrapped in tin foil when he was a child. Could this be why, I am forever ready to toe the line? “Tienes que trabajar lo doble, para ser lo doble” my dad would say. “You’re going to have to work twice as hard to be two times the man.” He knew what was hiding behind words, and he knew of euphemisms, without knowing such a word existed.

Is it possible that my 3rd grade teacher belittled me because of the brown color of my skin? She knew I had a tough time with numbers because we told her; mom, dad, the 2^nd grade teacher, and me. It didn’t matter as she insisted I go to the chalkboard, day in and day out, up until the day I yelled something to the effect of “I can’t do this, I try, but I just can’t,” and concluded my tantrum by shattering a piece of chalk at the problem on the board. She also found ways to make Jaime, Santos, and Jorge cry. Did influences such as these somehow lend a hand in Jaime’s death just a couple of years after fathering his first child, just a couple of years shy of twenty? How about Santos, who hung himself on the monkey-bars at Pearson Park, discovered by a jogger, there hovering like a masterpiece above his daughter’s name etched in sand, the detective mentioned it had been written with a branch, just before letting go of the ghost? I remember how Jorge would clench his fists until his overgrown nails indented fingernail shaped moons across the palms of his hands. It would be twenty-five years before they faded to black, to an overdose, in front of his mom, wife, and daughter. Eventually, we all find freedom. I have found my freedom with words.

2010 Macondo Workshop Online Application

2009-11-11T21:38:00.003-07:00

ONLINE FIRST-YEAR APPLICATIONS ARE OPEN!

Submit an application to join the Macondo Writers' Workshop in 2010. Leslie Marmon Silko will be leading the Famosa Workshop. Sandra Cisneros will also be co-teaching a workshop with Lourdes Portillo in her yellow office Casa Xochitl. Application deadline is January 29, 2010. First-year online applications are available online. Visit www.macondofoundation.org to apply.

Mission Statement

An association of socially-engaged writers united to advance creativity, foster generosity, and honor community.

Organizational History

The Macondo Foundation, Inc., is committed to bringing together a diversity of writers crossing borders of all kinds. As an association of socially-engaged writers united to advance creativity, foster generosity, and honor community, the Macondo Foundation attracts generous and compassionate writers who view their work and talents as part of a larger task of community-building and non-violent social change.

Officially incorporated in 2006, the Macondo Foundation has its roots in the Macondo Writers’ Workshop, which began in 1998, in the kitchen of poet and writer Sandra Cisneros. The Workshop rapidly grew from 15 participants to more than 120 participants in less than 9 years.

The Macondo Workshop has been more successful every year, expanding community involvement through annual events with the Our Lady of the Lake University, UT-San Antonio, Trinity University, Esperanza Peace and Justice Center, Jump-Start Performance Theatre, Casa de Maria y Marta and the Bexar County Juvenile Detention Center. We would especially like to acknowledge the generosity of Our Lady of the Lake University.

Macondo currently makes its home at Our Lady of the Lake University. Recent Macondo Foundation undertakings include the Gloria Anzaldua Milagro Award, meant to care for our community’s writers in a time of needed healing; health insurance coverage to our member writers; the Elvira Cordero Cisneros Award, and the Casa Azul Residency Program.

Along with the commitment and vision of Macondo’s founder, Sandra Cisneros, Macondo enjoys the ongoing support and participation of other internationally recognized writers, including Denise Chavez, John Phillip Santos, Luis Rodriguez, Dorothy Allison, Joy Harjo, Carmen Tafolla, and a large body of emerging writers who are also publishing books, touring in the U.S. and abroad, and working in their communities.

Review: Literary El Paso; Notes 'n News

2009-11-10T00:01:00.019-07:00

Literary El Paso. Marcia Hatfield Daudistel, ed. Ft Worth TX: 2009.

ISBN 978-0-87565-387-7

Michael Sedano

In an era of ebooks and Kindles, iPhones, Blackberries and all manner of text-delivering digital device, Literary El Paso seems a throwback to an earlier era and a substantial reminder why one enjoys reading printed books in a cozy chair. Undeniably, portability is one advantage electronic devices have over the printed page. Whip out that iPhone while waiting for the bus and read to your heart’s content. Your heart. Me, I’m sure if I haul around this volume I either will forget my reading anteojos at home, or remember the lentes but set the book down somewhere and forget it. They say the memory’s the second thing to go and I do not remember the first.

Texas Christian University Press printed Literary El Paso’s 572 pages, plus xxiv front material, on a 7” x 10” page, giving the volume a comfortable heft and a shape that opens just right to fit a reader’s lap. The serifed font-- is it “Centaur” so highly praised in Carl Hertzog’s essay on page 9?-- is uncomfortably tiny for my eyes, but the typesetter’s justification spreads out individual letters so none touch neighbors (except in a couple of spots), and generous line spacing spreads the text across and down the page creating ample white space for maximal legibility. Once you’ve gotten hands on your own copy of Daudistel’s collection, you’ll likely agree Literary El Paso qualifies as a Morris Chair book.

Upon scanning Literary El Paso’s table of contents and paging serendipitously through the volume, readers will discover the editor’s liberal sense of “literary” as encompassing a wide variety of writing, from poetry to journalism to footnoted historical writing to fiction to essay. Indeed, Daudistel observes in her Introduction that “all writing coming out of a region is, in fact, the literature of that region” and that's what she's included, a rich potpourri of flavors.

Given such a cafeteria plan, readers may elect to browse the collection, not read it at a sitting. Daudistel’s made that easy by assembling her material into three themes. It’s a sensible organization that lends itself to part-by-part enjoyment. Part I, “The Emergent City / La Ciudad Surge”, opens with a cowboy fragment and features historians and journalists. Part II, calls itself “The People, La Gente”, and features a preponderance of Latina Latino writers, and fiction. Part III, “This Favored Place / Lugar Favorecido”, features poets and essays. The collection includes unpublished works from John Rechy, Ray Gonzalez and Robert Seltzer.

Given the pedo that erupted last Tuesday in Sergio Troncoso’s essay, Is the Texas Library Association excluding Latino writers?, Seltzer’s apologia for his father, Chester Seltzer AKA “Amado Muro” constitutes a mixed bag of biography and sympathetic character assassination, but not a defense for Seltzer père’s cultural appropriation--perhaps “reverse assimilation”-- of a Mexicano identity and his subsequent lionizing as a Chicano writer. Literary El Paso is silent about the controversy—see Manuel Ramos’ 2005 column for a useful assessment--electing a less-than-neutral biographical paragraph featuring Seltzer’s “Muro” pseudonym, and publishing two selections from Seltzer/Muro’s collected work.

Any work of such beauty as Literary El Paso comes with a blemish or two. Of these, the anthology’s coverage of Ricardo Sánchez is the least forgivable. Daudistel pairs Ramón Rentería’s “Another Struggle, interview with Ricardo Sánchez” with two Sánchez poems, “fragrance petals its presence…” and “Fridays Belong to Friends, Sometimes”. The interview piece alludes to Sánchez’ code-switching work, quoting Bobby Byrd saying “It’s a real pleasure to read his work not only for the meaning but also for the sound and the word play and the joy he has playing with both languages”. Oddly, neither of Sánchez’ two poems display such code-switching play. There’s an epigraph in “fragrance” placing the writing on “June 30, 1977 L. Chukosburgo, Te(de)jaslum cabulat/sufiteotls” but it’s an otherwise puro Inglés piece about sex. Ditto the second poem, about a “trío de locos” cruising Juárez cantinas.

Happily, Literary El Paso presents the writers’ language as originally writ, sans italics, absent forced appositional translation, diacritics in place, and misspellings. Allurista? Avelardo Delgado? (Rentería). All this makes for a pleasant reading experience that allows one’s eyes to follow across the page free of interruptions and distractions. Finally, Daudistel’s included a helpful Index alphabetized by both authors and titles, and for the latter, adding the author’s name just so you’re sure to find what you’re looking for. In fact, readers will find a lot of what they’re looking for in a book of this ilk, and ultimately Literary El Paso provides what anyone looks for in such an extensive and varied collection: a montón of fun.

Noted and Calendared: Cano Book Launch

Daniel Cano's beautiful historical novel, Death and the American Dream, is featured in a fundraiser for veteranos (no de las calles but the US military) on Saturday, November 14 at the Pete Valdez Sr. AMVETS Post II.

Sponsored by the AMVETS post & United States Veterans' Artist Alliance, together with the Westside Association of Mexican American Educators, the event features a special performance by Chicano Secret Service, in addition to Mr. Cano reading from his novel.

I'll be there to join the discussion of his timely novel of Mexican/Chicano journalism, starting at 7 p.m. 10858 Culver Blvd, Culver City. Click here for a printable PDF poster to share with your reading friends and friends of US Military Veterans.

Noted and Calendared: Obregon / Medal of Honor Monument

Saturday, December 5 culminates the beginning of the end of lengthy organizing efforts led by William Lansford (the only Chicano interviewed in the Ken Burns WWII PBS program) to erect a monument to those selfless men and one woman (to date) who have earned the nation's highest honor for military valor, the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Los Angeles mayor Villaraigosa and City Councilperson Huizar, along with numerous special guests, will unveil the first element of the planned Obregon monument, the Wall of Honor, naming each of the individuals honored for their valor, many posthumously. Eugene Obregon, a Los Angeles Chicano, died on the streets of Seoul, Korea, shielding from machine gun fire with his own body, a wounded comrade.

Click here for a printable PDF poster of the event. I hope you'll share this with all, but especially anyone you know who's ever worn the uniform. My great uncle's name is on the wall. Maybe you have a friend or relative's name on the wall, too. Ni modo. Join in to acknowledge what these soldiers, sailors, and marines have done in our name. I'll be there for sure, with an extra hope that we'll soon see an end to Obama's wars and bring the troops home alive. No more heroes, Obama. Please.

News Note: Call for Papers re: Octavio Paz

La Bloga friend Roberto Cantú from CSULA invites participation in the following.

The 2010 Conference on Octavio Paz will be devoted to his poetry, poetics, and essays that examine world civilizations and modernity. The conference organizers invite papers on the following topics:

1. Octavio Paz and his writings on Mesoamerica: art, history, and religion.
2. Essays by Octavio Paz on art, poetry and culture of Colonial Mexico.
3. Octavio Paz and art criticism.
4. Studies on Octavio Paz’s autobiographical writings: poetry and essays;
5. Octavio Paz’s translations in Versiones y diversiones, including his theoretical reflections on translation.
6. Poetry and essays by Octavio Paz on China, India, or Japan.
7. Octavio Paz and collective poetry: from Renga (1969) to Hijos del aire (1979).
8. Octavio Paz and the Hermetic Tradition.
9. Octavio Paz’s historical critique of sex, love and eroticism in Western civilization, from Plato and Petrarch to Sade and Bataille.
10. Octavio Paz, Mallarmé, and Breton: Poetry and Poetics.
11. Octavio Paz, the Avant-Garde and Structuralism: from Marcel Duchamp to Claude Lévi-Strauss.
12. Octavio Paz and the modern legacy of world religions and civilizations: Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Ancient Mexico, among others.
13. Octavio Paz and theatre: La hija de Rappaccinni.
14. Octavio Paz’s critical writings on colonialism, modernization, and totalitarianism in the 20th century.
15. Octavio Paz and the 1910 Mexican Revolution: Critical Essays.

The deadline for a one-page abstract of conference papers is March 31, 2010. Click here to review a PDF of the entire Call.

That's 2/5 of November's Tuesdays, a Tuesday like any other Tuesday, except You Are Here. Thank you for visiting La Bloga. Wednesday November 11 brings us Veterans Day. To all the soldiers, sailors, marines on duty today, I salute you. To my comrades past, damn, brothers, we were soldiers, weren't we?

mvs

¡MICHAEL NAVA FOR JUDGE!

2009-11-09T00:01:00.013-07:00

As readers of La Bloga know, Michael Nava has excelled as both a writer and lawyer. A Phi Beta Kappa from Colorado College, Nava went on to earn his law degree from Stanford University in 1981. From there, he worked with the Los Angeles City Attorney’s Office, a prestigious private appellate law firm, and then as a research attorney first with the California Court of Appeal and now with the California Supreme Court as a judicial staff attorney for Associate Justice Carlos Moreno. Nava also happens to be the author of nine books.

While studying for the California Bar right out of law school, Nava started writing his first book which began his seven-volume mystery series featuring his openly gay protagonist, Henry Rios. His novels were published to great critical acclaim and include The Little Death, Goldenboy, How Town, The Hidden Law, The Death of Friends, The Burning Plain and Rag and Bone. The novels are discussed in a number of critical and scholarly works including Contemporary Gay Novelists, Emmanuel Nelson, ed. (Greenwood Press, 1993), and Brown Gumshoes: Detective Fiction and the Search for Chicano/a Identity, Ralph Rodriguez, ed. (University of Texas Press, 2005). He is at work on a new novel.

Nava has announced a new endeavor: He will be running for San Francisco Superior Court in 2010. He has set up a website for those who wish to show support. While it is true that Superior Court judges are often appointed by the Governor, attorneys may also run for open seats on the bench, or even challenge sitting judges who must be submitted to the voters every six years.

Nava is involved in the community as an active parishioner at Most Holy Redeemer and was a member of the board of directors of the GLBT Historical Society. He was a founding member of the state bar’s Council on Access and Fairness, which advises the bar on diversity issue. Nava is mentor and a tutor in programs sponsored by the Bar Association of San Francisco, the San Francisco Law Raza Lawyers and For People of Color, a nonprofit that helps students of color enter and succeed in law school. He is a member of the state bar, the Bar Association of San Francisco, San Francisco La Raza Lawyers and the Hispanic National Bar Association. He is a remarkable candidate for an important job. Consider supporting Michael Nava for judge.

◙ BOOK LAUNCH FOR ANYWHERE BUT L.A.:

I am delighted to announce that my new collection, Anywhere But L.A.: Stories (Bilingual Press), has been released and may be ordered from Bilingual Press, your favorite bookstore, or online. The cover art is by José Ramírez, an award-winning Los Angeles artist who received a BFA (1990) and an MFA (1993) in art from UC Berkeley.

Anwhere But L.A. will be "launched" on November 13, 2009, 8:00 p.m., by The New Short Fiction Series (produced by Sally Shore with actors reading selections) at the Beverly Hills Public Library, 444 N. Rexford Drive, Beverly Hills. Performance begins at 8:00 p.m. Box Office opens at 7:30 p.m. Admission: $10.00. I will be signing books immediately after the performance. If you haven’t been to the Beverly Hills Library before, it is quite beautiful. Let’s fill the place with Raza! Other readings are being planned including at ChimMaya, Kepler’s Books, Metropolis Books, and other fine venues.

Some kind words about my new book:

"Like the cities they describe, the stories in Anywhere But L.A. shift and slide and refuse to be pinned down. Daniel Olivas is an exciting writer, whose prose rings with humor, insight, and power." -- Daniel Alarcón, author of Lost City Radio and War by Candlelight

"Funny yet touching, these skillfully rendered characters remind us of our own vulnerability. Individually, the stories are punchy and sharp; collectively, the stories create a colorful mural of a thriving Latino community." -- Kathleen de Azevedo, author of Samba Dreamers

"Olivas’s impressive talent gives readers a glimpse, often uncomfortable, inside the hearts and minds of characters who are trapped, hopeful, afraid, or falling in or out of love; that glimpse drives readers to the exasperating and, ultimately, very human core of Olivas’s excellent stories." -- Manuel Ramos, author of The Ballad of Rocky Ruiz

◙ The Latest on LatinoLA.com:

NFL Reaches Out to Latino Fans

Another Look at Veteran's Day From Another Perspective

Latino in America a Bust?

News from the Brown Side of Town Part 1 ~ November 2009

La Casa Azul Bookstore's Aurora Anaya-Cerda

The Girl in the Cafe

The Reader

◙ ON THE ROAD AGAIN: Don’t miss out on Reyna Grande’s book tour for her new novel, Dancing with Butterflies (Washington Square Press), which has garnered great praise including a Starred Review from Publishers weekly. Her events are listed here.

◙ SMALL PRESS MINI-SPOTLIGHT: Noemi Press is a 501(c)(3) literary arts organization based in Las Cruces, New Mexico, dedicated to publishing and promoting the work of emerging and established authors and artists. The editor is Evan Lavender-Smith and the publisher is Carmen Giménez Smith. Noemi Press publishes fiction, non-fiction, poetry, drama and theory. For the press’s submission schedule, go here.

◙ That’s all for now. In the meantime, enjoy the intervening posts from mis compadres y comadres here on La Bloga. And remember: ¡Lea un libro!

Silent Mennonites and Squealing Pigs

2009-11-08T03:55:00.005-07:00

Liz Vega

This has not been a good week. I am fighting the throbbing pressure of the sinus headache that is a sweet reminder of the flu that struck me down this week. I believe in immunizations and so for the past five years have gotten the flu shot every year. Just two weeks ago I waited in line for five hours with my daughters and my 81-year old dad to get the H1N1 flu shot. The stories I could tell you from waiting in line alone are enough to take up this column but I will spare you and save that for my Facebook posse. My consolation is knowing that it could have been worse if I had not gotten the shot. Anyway, don't feel too sorry for me because I did get around to watching a movie I had been jonesin to see. I was about to put it on my netflix queue when I realized that it was available to watch instantly and so I brought out my box of kleenex, my warm blanket and streamed it.

Luz Silenciosa by Mexican director Carlos Reygadas did not disappoint and I can see why it received the 2007 Jury Award in Cannes. The story is set in northern Mexico, in a Mennonite community. What little dialogue there is, isn't even in Spanish, it's in a low-german dialect spoken by Mennonites called Plautdietsch. The movie conveys a simple story about a man's struggle to reconcile his love for wife, family, religion and his adulterous relationship and love for another woman. While the story is simple, the director through cinematics feats manages to capture all the emotion, angst, and beauty that fills this love triangle.

Luz Silenciosa/Stellet Licht/Silent Light/Lumière Silencieuse or what ever you title it is an extremely slow movie. It is shot in 200 frames, the average movie has about 2000 frames. The first shot is completely dark, then slowly the stars begin emerging, then the colors start changing, a faint sound of a donkey, cows, animals awaking, but it's relatively silent, three or four minutes pass and the screen is filled with more color, I am watching a sunrise and am utterly possesed by its beauty. After about five more minutes, the sunrise gives way to a Mennonite family having breakfast to a clock's tic-toc, tic-toc. At this point, I start getting antsy, I feel bothered. I am afterall the same person that screamed at the top of her lungs while watching La Belle Noiseuse, a 1991 french arty film that had these long frames of an artist's hands bringing a painting to life. Don't get me wrong, I do love foreign art house films, and all those a la Bergman, Jean-Luc Godard directors but I was raised on MTV and so I don't have the attention-span of, say, a Mennonite.

Perhaps I was delirious from the fever but I decided to stick with it and persevered, two hours and sixteen minutes later I transcended. The movie physically changed me. I had initially felt my heart racing but as my breathing became deeper, my pulse relaxed, and my state of mind changed altogether. I was transfixed by the facial expressions, the sounds that footsteps made in the snow, the way a tractor navigated through corn stalks, a moth fluttering its wings. I pondered on the director's use of light, the sparse surroundings, the brilliant use of time in the movie. The cast was superb. Carlos Reygadas does not use actors, he uses regular people and so the cast is entirely of real Mennonites. I was disappointed to read that at times the subtitles didn't match what was being said but I guess the director has taken some poetic license.

I recommend this movie wholeheartedly. It's hard to put into words or to describe it properly. It is about so much more than meets the eye. It stays with you. It has been four days since I have seen it and I keep thinking about it and finding more meaning as I replay it in my head. If you see it I hope you will agree with me that Carlos Reygadas is one Mexican director who is here to stay as an all-time greatest but if you don't and you find yourself on the camp of those who think "this movie is crap," as some eloquently put it then at least be grateful that I didn't recommend La Belle Noiseuse which at 237 minutes is 101 minutes longer! At the very least you will be fascinated by the Mennonites, then later you can read Sam Quinones' Antonio's Gun and Delfino's Dream: True Tales of Mexican Migration and learn how Mennonites have been trafficking drugs for the Mexican cartels.

And now for something completely different, but still related to me in that I am still sick and very much thinking it's the Swine flu, I want to share with you a story about pigs. This story is by a very talented writer and also good friend of mine, Jose Enrique Medina. I have always admired and love his work and would like to encourage him to do more writing. I hope you enjoy his story.

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

The House of the Pigs

By Jose Enrique Medina

The chicken was running towards me. It looked super big. It was white with yellow legs, and it didn’t have a head. It was running really fast, and it knew how to run in a straight line. When my uncle tried to catch it, it flapped its wings, turned around and went running exactly in the opposite direction. It was taking huge spread-apart strides on the tips of its toes in a really straight line. I thought, “How the fuck does it know where we are, and how can it run so perfectly?”

In my home when we were children, they killed a lot of animals there. For example the chicken was going to be for a mole that my mom was going to make, which she made really rich with chocolate and a little bit of chile to give it a really delicious flavor.

I remember also a dark night. We were going to celebrate the baptism of my little sister. We didn’t have a lot of money, but for this fiesta my Tio Arturo was going to help us with money. My father looked real happy and proud. A shit load of people came to the house. We lived on a lot with two houses or rather three. The house in the front belonged to the landlady, she rented the back house to us, and on the side the garage had been converted into an apartment where lived the eldest son of the landlady. It had a big yard in the front, and all that property was super packed with people. Never had I seen it so full of people and so much happiness. It seemed strange to me. Because we were poor and not that many people came to visit us, it was like a really strange energy. Yes, I liked it, but I knew that things like that cost lots of money. There was lots of beer and food and birria.

And speaking of birria that’s how I got to meet a male goat that arrived. He was colored black and brown with his tippy-toes white. He had his ears real big and falling to the sides. And the eyes, I don’t know how to describe the eyes. They left you with an emotion, I don’t know how to describe the emotion, but you remembered his eyes.

The interesting thing is that there was a part of house, but I never remembered that this part of the house existed. It’s because the house of the landlady at the bottom had a basement or cellar, and there were stairs to descend down there. It was like a hole in the cement with four or five steps leading down there. On its sides was cement, and then a door. So it was like a hole of cement and with a door to enter the basement apartment. And there is where they killed the goat.

I was only a kid, like five years old, so it scared me to see that. I squatted down with my hands between my legs and watched while they were lowering the goat there into the hole of cement to kill it. I thought I was going to be able to see that, but then appeared a mallet, a huge hammer used to bust up cement, and I couldn’t watch. I didn’t have the heart to see, so I ran further away. The way the hole was, I could see the heads of the men, but I couldn’t see the goat down there in the hole of cement. I only saw that the hammer went up above the heads of the men, and then it went down. Something snapped into various pieces, like a piece of wood that broke into four pieces.

I didn’t have again the heart to see how that thing there looked dead, but yes the birria did taste delicious and strange and fresh. I confused myself, not knowing whether I should enjoy the taste or not.

Days later, after the party, I went back to the hole where they had killed the goat, and I only saw on the floor a cloud of half erased blood.

But I lived in East Los Angeles. Many people were recently arrived from Mexico, so they killed a lot of animals there. I remember some neighbors who lived six or five houses away from us on a little hill, and they there killed many pigs. And it seemed to me or I thought that they had a lot of money because every little while they were killing the big animals. Many pigs they killed there especially. The House of the Pigs, I called it. I never looked when they killed them, but I heard the pigs screaming and screaming. The noise sounded really ugly as if they were putting a knife of sound into your ear. And it lasted a long time the sound.

One time, I had grown more, already I was like seven years old, so I got the courage to see death, but I didn’t want to be too close. So I saw death, but from a distance of about four or five houses away. That was the size of my courage. I didn’t have the courage to see everything real close in detail. There were like three or four people trying to hold the pig down. A big-ass knife appeared. Even from my distance the knife looked humongous and reflected the light like a mirror. I thought, “I didn’t know that a knife like that could exist.”

The knife entered the armpit, and then started those sounds I already described which are so difficult to forget. I thought that already the terror had ended, but then they got a water hose and put it into the armpit of the pig. I didn’t know why they were doing that, but when they removed the water hose, then like a fountain the blood of the pig came out, making an arc in the air.

La Bloga Redux

2009-11-06T00:01:00.004-07:00

La Bloga approaches its fifth birthday this month -- we had our first baby post on November 28, 2004. For that reason, and because I've been on the road (that Pacific Coast Highway is all that it's cracked up to be), working on two books, and sometimes without Internet, this week I re-post a column from the past -- thanks for indulging me.

Here's some dark beatnik poetry that I hope is not too dated -- first posted around Thanksgiving. This poem was written during a pre-apocalyptic stage I was enduring that had been fueled by the nightmare of unending wars and Bush poliltics and other events that now, thankfully, have dissipated (not the wars, of course; sadly, we still reject history as our teacher.)

At the end is a photo of three caballeros/blogueros - Daniel, Michael and yours truly, enjoying a California lunch at Pete's Cafe in the heart of Los Angeles. That should lighten the mood. The bright California sun made me squint.

__________________________________________________

I'm as thankful as anyone. Really. I am grateful for a lot, especially family, friends, health. In terms of my writing I am indebted to several people who have been generous with their time, patient in their interactions with me, and eager to lend assistance when I needed it. To all of them, I say muchísimas gracias. I hope that I have expressed my gratitude in person and that those who should be, are aware of it. As Will iam Faulkner is reported to have said: "Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity. It must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all." (In fairness to Bill, he also had one of his most famous characters say: "Maybe the only thing worse than having to give gratitude constantly ... is having to accept it.")

Below are a few notes reflecting a state of mind in the grip of current events. These lines don't have anything to do with the holiday or the sentiments in the first paragraph of this post. An obvious question has to be: why are they here now? Can't say for sure. I do have this dark side. If you've read Moony's Road to Hell that won't surprise you.

FOOL MOON MADNESS
Manuel Ramos
All rights reserved, copyright 2007

silver sheen slipped around twilight
bathing us in summer’s ache

joan baez sang it’s all over now
baby blue
she knew the story behind that song
but she was not talking
not revealing any secrets
except for what I could decipher
from her emphasized words
orphan
coincidence
blankets

we drank red wine
slapped at mosquitoes
convinced ourselves age and experience
make up for enthusiasm and ambition

the time of year required an emotional response
but we staggered in our search for meaning

we drank red wine
slapped at glowing insects
filtered our thoughts

an accusatory wind washed through the urban valley
breaking an uneasy truce
redefining the moment our malaise took root
orange-tinged electric paranoia conquered gray inertia

we lapsed into the collective dream of the folding sky

death machines rolled through the desert
again
children with bloody stumps stared with charcoal-ringed eyes
their halos glimmered against the smoky night
as they melted into reflecting pools of ten thousand mosques

the old glorious shroud whipped the sand
until only the glassy moon grimaced
from beyond the horizon

barbed wire dripped the lava of despair
guard dogs spoke spanish
but the hunted travelers were mute
and blind
and lost

they avoided eye contact
their embarrassment knocked me to my knees

somewhere an old man gasped his final breath
an infant breathed her first and only ration of life
while pastel heirs hunted painted eggs
in texas buffalo grass littered with foil wrappers and q-tips

i wanted out of the dream but i was surrounded
by celebrity hounds licking at my rusty sandals

young women puckered elderly lips plumped with gold
their bruised necks slumped under the weight of diamond chokers
as they waded through tar-drenched muck
until they drowned in their imaginations

the thump of incoherent rhythms
bounced from a tilted alabaster condo
that stood over the rubble of
little mexico
the bottoms
paddy town
and where inuna-ina once skinned antelopes

a siren cut the night but my deafness prevented a response

the policeman reported an ignored car alarm as a useless gesture
contradicting the schizophrenic cacophony
of neighborhood watch and worldwide amnesia

he lost his job when he used his badge
as an umbrella to hold back tears
from squandered hopes and violent choices

naked grandchildren paraded through a living room
stuffed with their parent’s memories
i whispered something about the usual suspects

stainless steel jail bars clutched their errant lovers
who watched the warden hang himself
elevator music flooded the cell blocks
i hummed along because i knew all the words

i jerked away from the dream and realized
i had not been asleep
there was no wine
and I was alone

_________________________________

Later.

PUERTO RICO FEST

2009-11-05T07:18:00.002-07:00

Puerto Rico Fest 2009s
NYC

EVENTS:
Arte Visual
Special K: Welcome to Zintar: Homage to Clemente Soto Vélez
Noviembre 5 • 7pm
Admisión: FREE
Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural and Educational Center, 107 Suffolk Street, NYC
Exhibición de arte original inspirada en la vida y obra de Clemente Soto Veléz y objetos personales del poeta y su esposa pertenecientes a la colección del Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños de Hunter College.

Taller
From the Script to the Screen
Noviembre 9 • 7pm
Admisión: $10
Teatro SEA, 107 Suffolk Street, 2nd Floor, NYC (646) 454-0664 para reservaciones.
Un taller en donde el cineasta Puertorriqueño Luis Caballero estará charlando sobre el proceso creativo del guión cinematográfico.

Teatro
El Encuentro de Juan Bobo y Pedro Animal
Noviembre 7 • 3pm
Admisión: children $12.50 | adults $15
Teatro SEA, 107 Suffolk Street, 2nd Floor, NYC
Dos personajes del folklore de Puerto Rico y de la República Dominicana, descubren el valor de la honestidad, el trabajo y la amistad a través de sus travesuras.

Cenicienta
Noviembre 14 & 21 • 3pm
Admisión: children $12.50 | adults $15
Teatro La Tea, 107 Suffolk Street, 2nd Floor, NYC
La clásica historia de amor sobre una joven honesta y trabajadora, que sueña con un mañana mejor. Ven y conoce a Cenicienta, el Príncipe y la malvada Madrastra, en un espectáculo lleno de magia, colorido y mucho Tango.

Panel de Discusión
The Life & Times of Clemente Soto Vélez
Noviembre 16 • 6:30 pm
Admisión: FREE
Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural and Educational Center, 107 Suffolk Street, NYC
Una charla con Gerald Meyer, autor del libro Vito Marcantonio: Radical Politician 1902-1954; Orlando José Hernández, Poeta y Profesor del Departamento de Humanidades, Hostos Community College, CUNY; y Alberto Hernández-Banuchi, Directo Asociado Biblioteca y Archivos del Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, Hunter College, CUNY.

Cine
Barrios
Noviembre 10 • 7pm
Admisión: $5
Teatro SEA, 107 Suffolk Street, 2nd Floor, NYC
Tres historias, La familia de Camello , El bailao de Julia y Berto, y El Rumbón de Fepe que narran la normalidad en la vida de tres tipos de viviendas de la post-industrialización, las “parcelas”, los “cacerios” y los “residenciales”.

Shut Up and Do it! & Little Courage
Noviembre 12 • 7pm
Admisión: $5
Teatro SEA, 107 Suffolk Street, 2nd Floor, NYC
Shut Up and Do it! Michael está cansado de cómo se refleja al latino en el cine y en la TV. Con su pasión por la actuación y el autorrespeto en la balanza, el decide tomar control de su destino haciendo una película. Little Courage. Una niña de seis años decide huir de su padre y hacerse cargo de su vida ahorrando cada centavo que encuentra en la calle.

Dios Los Cria
Noviembre 17 • 7pm
Admisión: $5
Puerto Rican Traveling Theatre, 304 West 47th Street, NYC
Un filme que consiste de cinco historias: “Dios los cría...” trata sobre dos hermanos que se disputan por una herencia; “Negocio redondo”, sobre un abogado vendiéndole una propiedad a la Iglesia Católica con sentimientos de culpa; “Entre 12 y 1”, donde una pareja y un amigo cercano enfrentan la infidelidad; “La gran noche”, un noche en la vida de una vieja prostituta; y “La otra”, donde un hombre alterna entre dos casa y dos esposas.

Música
IN OUR LINGO: Jamel Shabazz on DJ Disco Wiz
Noviembre 17 • 6:30pm – 8:30pm
Admisión: FREE
El Café at El Museo del Barrio, 1230 5th Avenue (at 104th St.), NYC
DJ Disco Wiz y Jamel Shabbaz tendrán un dialogo multimedia al estilo “cipher” utilizando giradiscos al ritmo de el estilo de los 80. Coescrita por Iván Sánchez, la más reciente biografía de Wiz titulada It’s Just Begun servirá como punto de partida en esta discusión sobre la vida del primer DJ latino de hip hop.

COLABORADORES E INSTITUCIONES PARTICIPANTES:

Society of the Educational Arts, Inc. (SEA) • Pregones • Puerto Rican Traveling Theatre • El Museo del Barrio • Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural and Educational Center • Caballero Films • Boricuation Cultural Foundation • International Coquito Federation/ Soul Frito Nuevo • Teatro La Tea • Center for Puerto Rican Studies • Hon. Rosie Mendez • Hon. Alan Gerson • Hon. Melissa Mark-Viverito • Hon. Joel Rivera • Assembly Member Naomi Rivera • O.P. Art

AUSPICIADO POR:

El Diario-La Prensa • Con Edison, Inc. • Rums of Puerto Rico • Department of Cultural Affairs (DCA) • US Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) • New York State Council on the Arts (NYSCA) • National Endowment for the Arts • Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (LMDC) • Doris Duke Charitable Foundation • TCG (Theater Communications Group) • Telemundo • NBC

(212) 529-1545

www.sea-online.info
www.puertoricofest.org
www.myspace.com/puertoricofest

Children's Book Press

2009-11-04T22:25:00.001-07:00

From Lorraine García-Nakata
Publisher & Executive Director

All children’s books are created equal…right?

An overwhelming number of studies point to the importance of the early reading experience, which can greatly increase a child’s future success in school and provides significant intellectual, economic, and social advantages. It fosters cultural literacy, passing on community values, history, and traditions, while encouraging fortitude and diversity, teamwork and independence.

The dilemma is this: how do you inspire a child to read when that child’s world simply does not exist in the books she or he reads? Of the 5,000 children’s books published in the United States in 2006, less than 10% featured children from communities of color. And this percentage is for all communities of color combined. Even worse, only 4% of these 5,000 books were written from a first voice perspective, one in which the author is from the community about which they are writing.

Happily, there is a nonprofit organization—Children’s Book Press—working to change things.

Children’s Book Press publishes award-winning, bilingual, first voice children’s books from the Latino, African American, Native American, Asian/Pacific Islander, and multiracial communities. These books are written and illustrated by writers and artists from the communities featured in our books. This ensures not only that these communities are authentically represented in children’s literature, but also that they are not misrepresented. These unique books provide a vehicle through which diverse communities can speak directly—and creatively—to young readers.

We cannot do this work without your support. It has been a difficult time for publishers, in particular for smaller nonprofit independent presses like Children’s Book Press. Your tax-deductible gift of $25, $50, $100, $250 or more will ensure that children will continue to see themselves reflected in their first reading experiences. We are counting on you. Click on this link and give to what matters!

G I V E N O W

Yours gratefully,

Lorraine García-Nakata
Publisher & Executive Director

Guest Columnist: Sergio Troncoso. Is the Texas Library Association excluding Latino writers?

2009-11-03T00:01:00.003-07:00

Blogmeister's Note: Michael Sedano's Tuesday column returns next week with a review of Literary El Paso. Today, La Bloga shares Sergio Troncoso's essay from his own blog Chico Lingo. Troncoso raises critical issues that require awareness and conversation.

NOTE: Revised to include link and small edits.

I had a wonderful time at the Texas Book Festival, which was well-organized and full of lively literary parties. On Saturday, I walked through the white tents next to the state capitol, gathering handouts from commercial publishers, lit organizations, and university presses. My panel was not until Sunday, so this was my day to play.

But as I stopped at the Texas Library Association’s (TLA) table and perused a yellow handout entitled “2009 Tayshas Annotated Reading List,” a book list compiled by public and school librarians from the Young Adult Round Table (YART), I noticed precious few Latino authors or subjects. In fact, as I counted and reread the book summaries (later confirmed by studying the books online at booksellers), only three were by or about Latinos. Three out of 69 young adult books recommended by TLA.

This fact was disturbing enough, but then I walked to the panel on the Tomás Rivera Children’s Book Awards, with Benjamin Saenz (He Forgot to Say Goodbye) and Carmen Tafolla (The Holy Tortilla and a Pot of Beans), and previous winner Francisco Jiménez.Saenz’s and Tafolla’s books are aimed at young adults. Both authors are from Texas. Both books are published in the time period covered by the TLA list, 2007-2008. And both books are excluded from the list. (Margarita Engle’s The Surrender Tree (a Newbury Honor book) and Oscar Hijuelos’s Dark Dude (Starred review from Booklist), also not on the TLA list.)

As I sat listening to the panelists talk about fighting to have Mexican-American literature included in the canon of American literature, as I heard them talk about their struggles to reach young Latinos with stories that reflect their lives, I admired the careful words of Saenz, Tafolla, and Jiménez at the same time that I seethed at the TLA. What was going on here? The juxtaposition between what the TLA was peddling at their table and the Tomás Rivera panel was jarring.

My anger burst out during conversations at the Texas Book Festival, and I asked for explanations. One well-known Texas writer said it was the “morality police” mentality of certain Texas librarians, who enforced their morality more strictly with anything Latino, a sophisticated kind of ethnic discrimination. A Texas librarian said it had to do with the YART panel itself, who was on it, who recommended books, but even she was surprised the TLA list contained only three books by or about Latinos. “That’s pathetic,” she said.

Indeed, it is. Latinos comprise about half the current students enrolled in Texas K-12 schools. When we or the media decry the high Hispanic high school drop-out rates, are we also training school administrators to be bilingual? Welcoming non-English-speaking parents to become involved in the schooling of their children is essential. I know my mother did not feel, nor was she ever treated, like an alien when she went to talk to my teachers or the principal at South Loop School. Why? They spoke Spanish, even the güeritos who were not Latinos. But that was El Paso.What about Houston, east Texas, the Panhandle?

When we complain about low Hispanic high school test scores, are we also providing reading lists that inspire kids throughout their schooling, books that say the stuff of their lives is real literature?The School Library Journal said of Carmen Tafolla’s book: “This collection will be sought after by both teens and teachers looking for strong characters and an eloquent voice in Chicana literature. While regional appeal will certainly drive purchase of this book, libraries looking to diversify and modernize their story collections will also want to consider adding this worthy title.” But apparently not in Texas, if the TLA has any say-so about it.

The issue is not creating an ‘affirmative action’ literary list. That’s a great way to put down Latino literature while pretending to help it. We do have high quality literature, by any standard, by national standards, in the Latino community. We have writers who are craftsman, who are highly educated, who are creating stories that win national awards and sell hundreds of thousands of copies.

So I am not asking to lower standards and make a new TLA list with 45.6 percent Latino writers. That’s ridiculous. But the effort has to be made to look at the new reality in writing and in Latino literature in particular, and to understand that there need not be a sacrifice anymore between diversity and quality. But to do that, we need open minds and their goodwill.

I don't want any librarians (from Texas or anywhere else) mad at me; I truly don't. El Paso public libraries changed my life and opened my mind to writing. I just want the Texas Library Association to think about what it's doing, and to consider a better way.

(Note: The TLA list did have three books about girls at “elite boarding schools,” and two books on Australian teenagers.)

La Bloga welcomes your comment on this, or any, column. Click the comments counter below to share your views. La Bloga welcomes guest columnists. If you have a book, arts, or cultural events review to share, perhaps some material from your writer's notebook, click here for information on how you can be our guest.

Juana

2009-11-02T00:01:00.005-07:00

A short story of murder and betrayal by Daniel Olivas

Juana told me to meet her at El Museo de Arte Moderno. Right by “The Two Fridas” at noon she said. Juana knew that I despised Frida Kahlo’s obsession with herself and that it would have been just as easy for us to get together at the Colón Misión Reforma where she’s staying. And she also knew that she would arouse my suspicions by keeping me away from her hotel. But she always liked to tweak me, get my goat as they say in the United States. I couldn’t refuse Juana, of course. And she knew that, too.

It’d rained all morning but mercifully it stopped just before I went out to flag a taxi. The sky remained gray and oppressive as honking cars and buses strangled the slick streets. I’ve found that my ability to remain calm in Mexico City’s traffic, especially when it rained, has seeped away with each year so that I’d rather spend a few pesos for someone else to sweat through it for me. Though I’d left plenty of time, it took too long to get there. I gave my driver a generous tip and then I remembered that I’d have to pay the museum’s admission fee which annoyed me further. It figured that there’d be a charge to see Juana.

After buying a ticket, I entered the museum and approached the information desk to ask where I would find “The Two Fridas.” The woman offered a smile that let me know two things. First, she didn’t mind the way I looked in my dark, blue suit. Second, she was proud to direct me to one of the museum’s most appreciated pieces. I nodded my thanks and returned her smile. If things didn’t work out with Juana, I figured I could pay another visit to the information desk.

I got to the painting but Juana wasn’t there. I glanced at my watch. I was no more than five minutes late. But certainly even Juana wouldn’t force someone, especially her ex-husband, to meet her at a museum and then leave because of a mere five minutes. A tour of about seven Americans stood too close to the Kahlo painting as the guide explained each symbolic element. He called the canvas a masterpiece of self-awareness. I call it nothing more than solipsism.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

I turned. Juana stood not more than a foot behind me, arms crossed, head cocked to the right pretending to admire the painting.

“Un pedazo de mierda,” I said even though Juana had made her pronouncement in English.

The tour guide stopped in mid-sentence. Luckily the Americans didn’t seem to understand what I’d said. I turned to the guide, offered an apologetic shrug, and tried to lead Juana away. She wouldn’t move.

“Not even a kiss hello?” she asked still speaking in English.

She wanted to annoy me as much as possible but I wouldn’t let her win. My English was as good as hers so I jumped right in.

“But of course,” I said as I leaned in and kissed her cheek. She smelled of cigarettes, perspiration and a perfume she’d never worn while we were married.

“Much better,” Juana whispered. “Where can we talk?”

I scanned the area and spied a free bench by a large Rufino Tamayo canvas. We made our way to it and sat. We looked at each other for a minute or so in silence. I figured Juana should begin since she was the one who had flown to Mexico City to see me.

“I need help,” she finally said.

“I figured as much.”

Juana snorted and turned away from me. Her eyes rested on the Tamayo. I looked at her left hand and I grew excited. Her ring finger sported nothing more than a pale line. Could she have left Reynaldo already? Sure. Why not? I never expected them to last. Two ex-husbands before Juana reached twenty-five.

“Did I waste my time coming home?” she said keeping her eyes from mine.

“I thought San Diego was home now.”

Juana turned to me. I tried to read her eyes the way I used to but I couldn’t. As my curiosity started to swirl and gain momentum, Juana touched my hand. Actually, not quite a touch. She put her hand just above mine so that I could feel the heat from her palm. But she never really made contact with my skin.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Vamos al hotel.”

* * *

As I lay in bed, I rested my eyes on the large and sole window in Juana’s hotel room. It’d started raining again on the way here but the sun was now beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. My stomach rumbled because Juana preferred to make love rather than eat lunch. While we were married, she often made me delay my meals on the theory that a hungry body could feel more sensation. I never believed it. And now as she snored softly next to me, I could only fantasize about gorging myself on succulent carnitas and steaming corn tortillas washed down with cup after cup of hot, black coffee. Juana stirred and before I knew it, her eyes were wide open, staring at me. I reached over and touched her face. She didn’t respond.

“Él está muerto,” she announced without a flinch.

I sat up, confused. “Who’s dead?”

“Reynaldo.”

“How?”

Juana got out of bed. She wore only a large t-shirt that made her look even tinier than she was. She folded her arms and paced back and forth on the red, shag carpet. This room had been elegant once but now it looked a bit frayed at the edges, unstylish, out of a different era.

“I had left him a few months ago,” she began keeping her eyes on her feet as they moved. “But he wanted to see me, to talk.”

I nodded, understanding what Reynaldo had felt.

“And?”

“And so he cooked dinner for me,” said Juana. “Halibut.”

I didn’t need to know what they ate. But I let her continue.

“We were having a good time, really. It was fine to talk. And then it happened.”

“What?”

Juana stopped pacing, dropped her arms and stared at me. “Reynaldo started choking, on a bone.”

Ah, that’s why she mentioned the halibut. But I was still confused.

“So they couldn’t save him from a fish bone?”

Her left eye twitched. And then I understood what she was trying to say.

“You didn’t call for help, did you?” I said.

Juana didn’t answer but she didn’t have to.

“When was the funeral?”

She shook her head.

“Juana,” I said. “When was the funeral?”

She walked to the bed, lifted the covers and snuggled next to me. I sank into the mattress and pulled her close.

“He’s still there,” said Juana. “In his house.”

At that moment, I probably should have jumped out of bed to get away from her. But I didn’t. Instead, I pulled Juana closer.

“When did it happen?” I asked using a tone that would’ve been appropriate at ask a young child where she had lost her favorite doll. Juana didn’t answer as if she had to think about it.

“What day is it?” she finally asked me.

“Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“Yes.”

Juana exhaled loudly through her mouth. I felt a hot tear fall onto my chest.

“Monday,” she said.

I turned away and looked at the window. The sky grew brighter as the clouds continued to dissipate. Juana’s breathing grew heavy.

“Mi amor,” I said softly.

She didn’t answer. Within a few moments, she snored softly into my chest. I kissed her hair and thought for a moment. I then carefully extricated myself from her body and dressed as quietly as I could. Before I left, I kissed Juana’s forehead and touched her hair. As I reached the street, the sun shone brightly without obstruction for the first time all day. I signaled for a taxi and got in.

“El Museo de Arte Moderno,” I said before I realized it.

The driver nodded and eased his car into traffic.

“Finally, some sun,” he said as he caught my eye in the rearview mirror.

“Yes,” I answered with a smile. “Finally.”

[This story first appeared in PALABRA: A Magazine of Chicano & Latino Literary Art (spring/summer 2007). Author's note: I actually love Frida Kahlo's art so please do not send me hate e-mails...this is fiction!]

◙ Over at the El Paso Times: Rigoberto González, an award-winning writer living in New York City, reviews the new book by Oscar Casares, Amigoland: A Novel (Little, Brown).

◙ Daniel Alarcón sends along some exciting literary news: Campo Santo, a San Francisco-based theater group, is performing "The Future Project: Sunday Will Come," which includes a preview of an adaptation of Alarcón’s novel Lost City Radio. The show will be up through November 7th at The Intersection for the Arts in the Mission. If you're in the Bay, come out and support local theater. For more information, click here. And to read a review in the San Francisco Chronicle, click here. Also, Alarcón is finally on Facebook after much pressure from his soccer team.

◙ Gregg Barrios interviews Junot Díaz over at the San Antonio Current. A little taste of the give-and-take:

BARRIOS: Do terms like “Latino writer” or “Dominican writer” bother you?

DÍAZ: Being a Dominican writer signifies very little except being connected to Santo Domingo, but it doesn’t over-determine who I am or what I write about. The notion that only the unmodified writers can represent the universal is absurd. My concept of a Latino or a universal writer is non-exclusive.

◙ It's coming: This week, my new short story collection, Anywhere But L.A. (Bilingual Press), hits the shelves. Book events are already scheduled with more on the way. The official book launch will be on November 13, 8:00 p.m. at the Beverly Hills Library as part of Sally Shore’s wonderful New Short Fiction Series. More on event this next week. We want to pack the place with Raza!

◙ The Latest on LatinoLA.com:

Post-projects Halloween Misadventures

Narrative Ghosts of Historic L.A.

Euripides' Medea, With a Latina Twist

On the Shelves: Zona Rosa Coffee

Franz Kafka in Fresno

◙ That’s all for now. In the meantime, enjoy the intervening posts from mis compadres y comadres here on La Bloga. And remember: ¡Lea un libro!

by tatiana de la tierra

2009-11-01T00:01:00.007-06:00

I AM SNOW MERMAID

tatiana de la tierra

i am snow mermaid
northeast animal
heart twitching
blood on cutting board
cells on ice

i am pig woman
snorting orgasms
dancing death
kissing kidneys
waxing lips

i am girl alive

SOY SIRENA DE LA NIEVE

tatiana de la tierra

soy sirena de la nieve
bestia del norte
corazón saltante
sangre en el sartén
celulas congeladas

soy marrana
bufando orgasmos
danzando muerte
chupando riñones
pintando labios

soy niña en vivo

Same Old Sh_t, different pendejos

2009-10-31T00:01:00.001-06:00

Top 10 Reasons Not To Wear A Culturally Appropriating Halloween Costume
(with thanks to Freddie Fagula, a Facebook friend, for the initial text)

10. That shit is tired and you’re more creative than that. You can be anything.

9. You don’t wanna be “that guy/that girl” at the party.

8. You won’t be endorsing a history of domination, colonization, and genocide through your flippant, cartoonish, or stereotypical portrayal of cultures other than your own.

7. People of color won’t have their night ruined by your costume.

6. No one else will have their night ruined by your costume.

5. People who you’ve never met won’t take one look at you and decide to avoid the ignorant person who would wear THAT.

4. Your odds of getting laid will be dramatically increased because you won’t have offended half of the people at the party.

3. You aren’t an unfeeling jerk who likes to insult and hurt people.

2. You won’t be asked to leave the party because you are a white person dressed in black face or as a “native,” a Nazi*, Mexican, Indian, gypsy, geisha, Orthodox Jew, Arab terrorist, sheik, or hula dancer, etc.

1. You are an awesome, deep, conscientious individual who understands the importance of respecting the life, experiences, culture and ethnicity of people different from yourself.

*Yeah, I know it’s not technically “appropriating” but please, not okay.

Here is how wikipedia defines cultural appropriation: Cultural Appropriation is the adoption of some specific elements of one culture by a different cultural group. It denotes acculturation or assimilation, but often connotes a negative view towards acculturation from a minority culture by a dominant culture. It can include the introduction of forms of dress or personal adornment, music and art, religion, language, or social behavior. These elements, once removed from their indigenous cultural contexts, may take on meanings that are significantly divergent from, or merely less nuanced than, those they originally held.

Obviously, there are many ways to create an offensive costume that may not be pointed out above or fall into the cultural appropriating category. If you’re wondering whether your costume will offend someone than it probably will. If you’re still thinking about wearing it, ask your more thoughtful friends to weigh in on it. I realize this is a multi-faceted topic deserving more attention than once a year on Halloween, but this is as good a time as any to bring it up.

I believe it’s healthy for people to want to transform themselves, and Halloween encourages that. It gives people a sense of possibility. It’s a creative outlet in a culture of full rules about who can make legitimate “art.” It’s the extra nudge one may need to let go and be someone else. Even if it’s just for a laugh. It’s an opportunity that I wouldn’t want to deny anyone. What I do want is a Halloween where one persons liberating costume is not another persons insult to their life, experiences, culture, or race.

Please give it some thought and don’t be “that pinche pendejo/a” on Halloween.

Thanks,

Lisa Alvarado

Desperado

2009-10-30T00:01:00.005-06:00

A FEW PAGES FROM DESPERADO, A NOVEL IN PROGRESS
By Manuel Ramos, copyright ©2009

The only suit I owned, a dark blue pin-striped job with out-of-date, too-big lapels, was warm and itchy. There were many people at Artie’s funeral who were not dressed in suits or sport coats, not even ties. But I wasn’t like that. I believed that death deserved respect and the best way I knew to give respect was to dress like the occasion mattered. Apparently, there were others in Artie’s circle of friends and acquaintances who felt the same way since I wasn’t the only one sitting and kneeling in the pews under too many layers of clothes.

Judging from the mourners in the old Catholic church, Artie circulated among a wide and varied crowd. There were guys like me – blasts from his past and his wild youth. We wore the funeral look, stressed and worried, that said, “How much time do I have left if Artie’s gone already?” Then there was the money crowd – realtors, lawyers, a few bankers and developers. These men and women dressed neat and professional, nothing out-of-date about their outfits, but stress and worry played on their faces, too. Deep down, under the uniforms and costumes, we all harbored the same fears.

After the services, Linda Cisneros Baca, the widow, hugged her children and accepted the condolences of the crowd outside the church. An older woman in a faded black dress huddled near Linda and the children – Artie’s mother, I assumed.

The hearse had been loaded with Artie’s body and the procession to the cemetery waited for Linda, the children, and the mother. When I got the chance I walked up to her and extended my hand.

“I’m very sorry, Linda. If there’s anything …”

She pushed away my hand and gave me a quick hug.

“Gus Corral. It’s been forever. Thank you for coming. I know you and Artie were good friends, back in the day.” Then she moved on to the next person in line.

Linda appeared to be holding up well. She was a tall woman. In high heels and a simple black dress she appeared to tower over many of the people who commiserated with her. A few strands of gray punctuated her dark auburn hair. Almost indiscernible wrinkles floated around her mouth. She looked worried, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice that she projected health and vigor. She stood straight, no slouching, and her legs were sinewy and toned – a runner’s legs.

Her daughter and son stood behind her; the boy seemed angry, the daughter cried quietly but insistently.

I started to say something to the older woman standing next to Linda but she frowned and then whispered, “Gracias.” Her eyes were bloodshot and occasional sobs escaped her throat. I moved on to my car.

I followed along in the funeral procession to the cemetery where the mother completely fell apart. Her anguish came out in loud curses and threats, in Spanish, against God and whoever was responsible for her son’s death. She draped herself across the coffin as it was about to be lowered in the ground. Two men gently dragged her away but her hollering filled the background and cascaded across the dark green lawn. Linda drew her children closer and waited with them until Artie’s coffin had disappeared. She led the son and daughter back to their car, her arms wrapped around their shoulders. The girl kept looking back at the burial site; Linda and the boy stared straight ahead.

I admit that I was affected. My throat tightened and a deep, swirling uneasiness took root in my gut. It’s not like I had any special reason to feel sorry about Artie. His surprise visit had been the first time I had seen him in years, and the only motive he had for talking with me was to try to rope me into his scheme to get rid of his blackmailer. Other than that, Artie Baca hadn’t any use for me since we had been arrested together, hundreds of summer nights before. But the hysterical mother and the grieving children and the essential waste of Artie’s life could not be ignored.

I joined the crowd at the Baca home, a nice place near Sloan’s Lake about twenty minutes from the cemetery. The Southwestern architecture was complimented by Southwestern furniture, Indian pottery, and bright wall colors. An amazing picture window took up most of the space of the front wall of the house. The Baca family had a great view of the lake, picnickers and boaters. I imagined that at night it was equally as impressive, especially with the city lights reflected in the murky water of the lake.

Jealousy got the better of me as I strolled through Artie’s house with a paper plate of blue corn chips and artichoke dip in my hand. We had been the same age, we graduated from the same high school, neither one of us had gone to college. He lived in one of the nicest houses in a very nice neighborhood; I camped out, literally, in the back of a second-hand store. Men and women with money and influence were upset at his death and their grief looked genuine; I couldn’t get a half-hearted “good morning” from my ex-wife. Artie enjoyed the good life with a beautiful wife and handsome kids and enough money to afford paintings or sculptures or jewelry from the latest Santa Fe favorite; I had no kids, I drove a used and noisy Subaru, and any extra cash I managed to hold onto at the end of the week went for a few beers at the Holiday or another dive just as bad.

Then I remembered that I was still alive, eating Artie’s food in Artie’s house while lucky Artie had just been laid to rest in the warm earth minus critical parts of his skull and brain. My jealousy pang turned into a greasy burp and I felt better.

I settled in on the back patio sitting with a group of people who had attended North High when Artie and I had both been students. I didn’t recognize most of them but two were familiar: running partners from those years when who you ran with was one of the most important decisions you could make.

“Yo, Gus, how the hell are you, old man?” That was Pato or Shoe, depending on the mood of the evening. Tony Vega, somewhat of a basketball star on a team that couldn’t win more than two games a season.

“Shoe, good to see you.”

“Too bad it’s under these circumstances, eh? Real sorry about Artie. What a trip, eh?”

“You mean that he was murdered and the cops don’t know shit about what happened?” That was Ice (every mob had an Ice back then) Zamarippa, legendary music man – he could sing, play the guitar, and dance like Astaire smothered in green chile, smooth but spicy. I had always liked Ice, even though he was an Oakland Raiders fan – I never understood that – but he had left town to find fame and money in the music business. I had heard that he had returned and worked for the City and County of Denver, taking care of parks in the summer and driving a snow plow in winter.

“The cops will nail someone for this,” Shoe said. “He’s a player now. Look at this house, man. They can’t let his murder go without an arrest. Now if it was you, Ice, or Gus there, well …”

“Or you, pal,” added Ice. “Far as I heard, you ain’t shit either.”

“Whoa, man. I got it going, you ain’t been told?”

“No, I ain’t,” Ice laughed. “How about you, Gus? How you been? We never see you anymore.”

“I don’t get out much. Can’t afford it. In case you haven’t noticed, the economy sucks.”

They both nodded and their faces got all serious for a sec.

“Somebody told me you work for Sylvia. How’s that going?” Shoe asked and he must have thought he was sly, but a smile crept into his words. Tony Vega had dated Sylvia before she settled for me. I had assumed he had taken her out after our divorce; hell, maybe before, for all I knew. He had to be wise to all the dope about Sylvia and me and our current arrangement. One thing I did know was that there was plenty I didn’t know about Sylvia and the breakup of our marriage.

“It’s all good. Meaning I don’t have to see Sylvia that much. I manage her shop, supervise sales, keep the books, handle the marketing, take on extra help when we need it. I keep busy, that’s most important to me.” Okay, I got a little carried away but isn’t that what we all do when we get around the old crowd? Tell me you never did that.

Shoe and Ice glanced at each other and it was obvious we all knew I was full of it. But these guys were my homies – they didn’t say anything. They had been through their own hard times, and one thing we didn’t do was kick a brother when he was down, unless it involved a woman, of course. That goes without saying.

I changed the subject.

“What do you think happened? I mean, for Artie to get shot like that and then dumped like he was a sack of garbage? That’s hard core. Someone really had it in for him.”

“Artie was into stuff, so it doesn’t surprise me,” Ice said.

“Yeah, the guy screwed people,” Tony added. “I don’t want to speak bad about the dead, so I won’t. And this isn’t the time or place. I’ll just say I’m not surprised either. You remember what Artie was like in school. Add a dozen years to that, a lot more money, and a lot more ambition, and you can see why someone might have wanted to blow his brains out.”

Shoe stopped and looked around in case someone other than Ice or I heard him. This time Ice rolled his eyes at me. “That’s harsh,” I said. We let it drop.

We talked for a few minutes more. I let them know that a pair of policemen had visited me about Artie, and they were surprised but not too much. “That’s what cops do,” Ice said. We asked about classmates, predicted great things for the Rockies and Broncos and Nuggets, except Ice, and when I said I had to leave, they also decided to go. Shoe and Ice agreed to call me so that we could hang out in lighter circumstances.

...

I looked for Linda to say goodbye but I didn’t see her. Many people had stopped by to honor Artie Baca and the house had taken on an awkward party atmosphere. I thought Artie would have liked that, especially the fact that he had a good crowd turn out for him.

I did see the mother, who sat in a recliner with a wet towel wrapped around her forehead and temples. She mumbled to herself. I steeled myself and approached. I should tell her goodbye, I thought; say something before I took off.

She was praying. She opened her eyes. I extended my hand; I didn’t know what else to do.

“Hijo,” she screamed.

I jumped backwards and tripped against a coffee table. I lost my footing on the waxed hardwood floor and fell directly on my back, knocking the breath out of my lungs. The mother stood over me, crying and praying. “Hijo,” she screamed again.

Linda appeared at her side. “Carlota, cálmate. That’s not Artie. Artie’s gone. Calm down. Go to your room and rest. Take a nap.”

Linda’s son grabbed the old woman’s hand. “Grandma, let’s go. Come with me; it will be all right.” The grandmother quieted. She hugged her grandson and let him lead her away. I struggled to my feet, breathing again.

“I’m sorry, Gus. Carlota thinks she sees Artie everywhere. Any man the same age – any Mexican-looking man. She’s having a hard time. Artie was her favorite.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I just wanted to say goodbye. I was leaving.”

“Let me walk you to your car. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”

“Sure.” I was a bit surprised but I figured she was being overly polite because of Carlota’s antics.

“And we should talk, Gus. About Artie, of course. There are some things I want to ask you.”

“Whatever I can do, Linda.”

We walked across her precisely xeriscaped yard: neat bushes, flowering cactus, clumps of grasses with hints of red and yellow, a path made of blue and charcoal concrete pavers that zigged and zagged around flowers, plants, and insects.

“I hadn’t seen Artie for a while, you know.” I thought I should clear that up at the jump.

“That’s what I assumed. Then the police told me they found a check on Artie made out to you. That’s one of my questions.”

She stopped in the middle of her front yard. Bees darted in and out of brilliant purple sage. A hummingbird flitted around a feeder. The day had become hot and oppressive. “Why was Artie going to give you a thousand dollars, Gus?”

That damn check. Money I didn’t want; payment for a job I quit before I started. More trouble than it was worth; a thousand dollars of questions and suspicions from cops and a widow.

“Artie stopped by Sylvia’s shop a few days before he, uh, he was …”

“He did? To see you?”

“Yeah. He wanted me to do some work for him. I said yes, but then later I changed my mind. “

“He hired you? Doing what? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been any good. We both know he wasn’t a boy scout. I hope he didn’t drag you into one of his schemes. You changed your mind?”

“Yes. I decided I didn’t like what he asked me to do. So I was going to tell him he should get someone else. But I never got the chance.” Then I lied. “I didn’t know he had already written a check for the job. Not until the cops told me.”

She looked at me hard, doubting, not believing. Too many details didn’t sit right. First Artie Baca hired Gus Corral – unlikely. Second, I had second thoughts about the deal after I had agreed to do it for a thousand dollars – even more unlikely. Third, she didn’t know anything about the arrangement – did Artie let her in on all of his plans?

“What was it, Gus? What did Artie want with you?”

“Ah, Linda, I don’t feel good about this. I don’t want to cause any trouble. Artie’s gone, can’t we just leave it there?”

A bee buzzed near my ear and I jerked away. Linda swayed backwards in reaction to my sudden move. I grabbed her and supported her until she found her balance. She shook but under my touch her strength was obvious.

“Tell me, Gus. Don’t I have a right to know? The police are looking at you. They think there might be a connection between that check and Artie’s killing. I know that’s nonsense. I told them that. But they won’t let it go. You may be in trouble. I can help, if you need it. I just want to know what Artie was up to. I’m his wife, you have to tell me.”

Her voice had gradually reached a higher pitch. She bit her bottom lip and then chewed on the fingernail of her left little finger. Tears filled her eyes.

“All right, all right.” I gave in. “But remember I had decided not to do the job. I couldn’t go through with it.”

She waited in the sun for my explanation. And then I lied again.

“Artie wanted me to spy on you. He wanted me to watch you for a few days, without you knowing. He wanted me to learn if you were having an affair. I guess he thought you were seeing someone else.”

She puckered her lips. She coughed into her fist. The cough turned into a snort, then a laugh. She laughed quietly, but she didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t stop laughing but the laughter was silent, kept within herself. I turned away and then I heard a loud and harsh laugh coming from her. And for the second time in a few days a woman laughed at me as I walked away.

______________________

That's it from sunny Southern California, where in one week I: visited East L.A. College where I watched a free screening of The Chicano Wave, a PBS movie about Chicano music that featured everyone from Flaco Jiménez to Cannibal and the Headhunters; at the same movie I listened to a great set of music by the legendary Chicano band Tierra; checked out Los Fabulocos at a casino in Commerce that had no slot machines; visited the tiendita at Plaza de la Raza; tried to find Lucha Corpi's new book at the Plaza Mexico Librería Martínez (Death at Solstice not in yet); bought Chicano Soul at Cultura Latina bookstore (proudly still displaying a cover of Gods Go Begging signed by Alfredo Véa back in 1999); and last night I was entertained and enlightened by R. Crumb. And this during a "cold spell." A guy could get used to this.

Later.

New Regular Columnist: Jesse Tijerina. The Man Who Could Fly and Other Stories by Rudolfo Anaya.

2009-10-29T00:01:00.001-06:00

Blogmeister's Note: Today we welcome former La Bloga Guest Columnist Jesse Tijerina as La Bloga's alternate-Thursdays writer.

“Let me begin at the beginning. I do not mean the beginning that was in my dreams and the stories they whispered to me about my birth, and the people of my father and mother, and my three brothers,” writes Anaya. “But the beginning that came with Ultima.” Anaya’s character of Ultima has toppled barriers and transcended time; she is as infinite as the landscape of weathered llanos along the Southwest. And fortunately for us, Don Rudy continues to craft such memorable characters.

Widely recognized as the Godfather of Chicano Literature, Anaya’s prolific writings have breathed life into the canon of American Literature and abroad for nearly four decades. Although revered mostly for his award winning first novel, “Bless Me, Ultima,” and his pioneering quartet of Sonny Baca mysteries, Anaya has also penned a mixture of short stories of the highest order. In, “The Man Who Could Fly and Other Stories,” fans, for the first time will have the pleasure of indulging into a supreme collection of 18 stories spanning thirty years.

The stories in, “The Man…,” some previously published in the ever elusive and long out of print, “The Silence of the Llano,” may very well showcase Anaya at his finest. Intermingled with poignant folklore, religion, magic, and spirituality, readers of all walks of life now have an opportunity to join Anaya as he travels among people and places not often found in his novels. Undeniably influenced by the cuentos of his youth, Anaya’s stories cease to be merely words in print, but rather voices which will echo long after the book is shelved. In the title story, The Man Who Could Fly, we are reminded of the power of magic by way of an ill-fated loss of a rancher and his land. My personal favorite, B. Traven Is Alive and Well in Cuernavaca, features a writer who finds his muse in the enigmatic legend of B. Traven, the author of the classic, “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.” In what likely will be considered the most touching story, The Silence of the Llano, introduces us to Rafael, a ranchero whose life is shattered in the wake of his wife’s death while giving birth to their daughter; it will take sixteen years and another tragedy until they both find closure and solace. Que Viva Anaya!!!

The Man Who Could Fly and Other Stories by Rudolfo Anaya; University of Oklahoma Press, 2006