February 19, 1991, La Voz de Aztlan Page 5 |
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POETin
..-,
In Memory of
Onshore winds leaden by the fog,
a damp and chilling afternoon
in spring, and the monotony of a job;
I'm slowly becoming this place.
Rolling foothills busting with green
have a new flowering yellow today,
the quail, the coyote, the wind calling me
from the nearby stream like a dream.
And the hollow-eyed owner in his pale
hand
holds a pocketbook and smiles at us,
it's a good crop this year.
And we: the chorus of Mexican workers
in sync
keep striking down the weeds, row after
row,
Our weather-beaten faces wrapped
in red bandannas because the lettuce
needs
picking. Backs bent, faces to the ground,
eyes focused on the hoe, mouths shut,
we'll keep chopping away all day
with the bitter taste of sulfer
in the air we breath.
Julio Leal
TOSTADAS AT NOON
In the freespeech area
near the fountain
on a table
taken from class
Teresa scoops beans
Hector chops lettuce.
While the cowboy preaches
Blondes soak
in sun
rvduhUeanUbiw
sunglasses sparkle
and Veronica gives
change back
to a student
who knows nothing
del Aztian
that melts in his mouth.
While Chicanos choose
education and get Iraq
While Australian aborigines bleed
While diego pushes
pedro back
across the border
While cancer kills
Willy's cbaparu
While white sun slaps
the backs
of Blacks
In Africa
and America
While bombs blowout
the Brown desert
While Carlos is wiped like cheer/
jello off the hull of an aircraft
and Calvin gets in
While Nicaragua chokes
on democracy dollars
and CNN
Anita fries the tortillas
in grease
In the freespeech area at noon
Students active picture
a banquet
big with bignames
of the His-
Panic community,
Sponsored by a tortilla company and
coors beer
TO A HOMEBOY READY TO DANCE
You're ready to dance
you say?
I believe you;
homeboy. you,
running from la Liorona
to some cantina on a back road
off old 99.
unaware or just afraid of the dance floor.
Mama told you to stay away
from places like that,
where serpents
dance some kind of seductive
jarabe with their split tongues.
Viejas sin verguensa, your mamita used to say.
You always seemed to have your glass
still full whenever a ranchera came your way.
Stumped on your stool
with thoughts,
thoughts of:
singing to your people,
the taste of salt in your beer,
and those chingasos with the
childhood landlords.
Dreams of the Yerba Buena
your abuelita doesn't show you.
Yeah. The kind you don't grow in
front of4he house,
but it cures just the
same. Images
of smokey spirits
playing lag
with the cracks of the walls
of your apartment or
your head,
and doing all kinds of other
crazy shit. And those
cucarachas, laughing
because they stole the halos.
And now you have to answer to pissed off
angels late for their part in fucked up poems
-like this one.
homeboy, I remember you
carrying death in your pocket,
a little here and there to keep you going.
Scaring off the girls
because you'd have too much,
making a bulge in your pants.
Like some kind of Necrnooo philiac
And now you're there.
Ready for Saturday's Quinccafiera.
Anticipating to be crowned
Prince of the Rainbow Ballroom.
AJUWA!
Esia lisio para bailar
My homeboy is ready to dance
v Canales
untided.
standing alone in cold
exposed
the chilly night air
blows on my face
tingles the tips
of my ears
awakening my senses
stirring
feelings
of
despair
Lucia Sanchez
calle baghdad
dos vatos on the calle,
single file, filtering through
a tirade of laughing spirits.
an old woman
on the roadside mourning
at the cross of her son,
killed twenty years before
by vc or perhaps usa.
dos vatos on the calle,
single file, filtering through
a tirade of screaming spirits
grasping sickles.
starving dogs fighting
in the yard thai used to be
cheo's, fighting over a used
chicken mole bone and children
laugh at the skinny spectacle.
dos vatos on the calle
that nams to sand,
guns in their hands.
spirits tickle spines, and in fresno
the carpenter is making their
crosses while mothers cry
in the fields.
Andres Montoya
Object Description
| Title | 1991_02 The Daily Collegian February 1991 |
| Alternative Title | Daily Collegian (California State University, Fresno) |
| Publisher | Associated Students of Fresno State, Fresno, Calif. |
| Publication Date | 1991 |
| Description | Daily (except weedends) during the school year. Microfilm. Palo Alto, Calif.: BMI Library Microfilms, 1986- microfilm reels; 35 mm. Vol.1, no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- |
| Subject | California State University, Fresno -- Periodicals. |
| Contributors | Associated Students of Fresno State. |
| Coverage | Vol.1 no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- to present |
| Format | Microfilm reels, 35 mm. |
| Technical Information | Scanned at 600 dpi; TIFF; Microfilm ScanPro 2000 "E-image data" |
| Language | eng |
Description
| Title | February 19, 1991, La Voz de Aztlan Page 5 |
| Alternative Title | Daily Collegian (California State University, Fresno) |
| Publisher | Associated Students of Fresno State, Fresno, Calif. |
| Publication Date | 1991 |
| Description | Daily (except weedends) during the school year. Microfilm. Palo Alto, Calif.: BMI Library Microfilms, 1986- microfilm reels; 35 mm. Vol.1, no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- |
| Subject | California State University, Fresno -- Periodicals. |
| Contributors | Associated Students of Fresno State. |
| Coverage | Vol.1 no.1 (Feb 8, 1922)- to present |
| Format | Microfilm reels, 35 mm. |
| Technical Information | Scanned at 600 dpi; TIFF; Microfilm ScanPro 2000 "E-image data" |
| Language | eng |
| Full-Text-Search | POETin ..-, In Memory of Onshore winds leaden by the fog, a damp and chilling afternoon in spring, and the monotony of a job; I'm slowly becoming this place. Rolling foothills busting with green have a new flowering yellow today, the quail, the coyote, the wind calling me from the nearby stream like a dream. And the hollow-eyed owner in his pale hand holds a pocketbook and smiles at us, it's a good crop this year. And we: the chorus of Mexican workers in sync keep striking down the weeds, row after row, Our weather-beaten faces wrapped in red bandannas because the lettuce needs picking. Backs bent, faces to the ground, eyes focused on the hoe, mouths shut, we'll keep chopping away all day with the bitter taste of sulfer in the air we breath. Julio Leal TOSTADAS AT NOON In the freespeech area near the fountain on a table taken from class Teresa scoops beans Hector chops lettuce. While the cowboy preaches Blondes soak in sun rvduhUeanUbiw sunglasses sparkle and Veronica gives change back to a student who knows nothing del Aztian that melts in his mouth. While Chicanos choose education and get Iraq While Australian aborigines bleed While diego pushes pedro back across the border While cancer kills Willy's cbaparu While white sun slaps the backs of Blacks In Africa and America While bombs blowout the Brown desert While Carlos is wiped like cheer/ jello off the hull of an aircraft and Calvin gets in While Nicaragua chokes on democracy dollars and CNN Anita fries the tortillas in grease In the freespeech area at noon Students active picture a banquet big with bignames of the His- Panic community, Sponsored by a tortilla company and coors beer TO A HOMEBOY READY TO DANCE You're ready to dance you say? I believe you; homeboy. you, running from la Liorona to some cantina on a back road off old 99. unaware or just afraid of the dance floor. Mama told you to stay away from places like that, where serpents dance some kind of seductive jarabe with their split tongues. Viejas sin verguensa, your mamita used to say. You always seemed to have your glass still full whenever a ranchera came your way. Stumped on your stool with thoughts, thoughts of: singing to your people, the taste of salt in your beer, and those chingasos with the childhood landlords. Dreams of the Yerba Buena your abuelita doesn't show you. Yeah. The kind you don't grow in front of4he house, but it cures just the same. Images of smokey spirits playing lag with the cracks of the walls of your apartment or your head, and doing all kinds of other crazy shit. And those cucarachas, laughing because they stole the halos. And now you have to answer to pissed off angels late for their part in fucked up poems -like this one. homeboy, I remember you carrying death in your pocket, a little here and there to keep you going. Scaring off the girls because you'd have too much, making a bulge in your pants. Like some kind of Necrnooo philiac And now you're there. Ready for Saturday's Quinccafiera. Anticipating to be crowned Prince of the Rainbow Ballroom. AJUWA! Esia lisio para bailar My homeboy is ready to dance v Canales untided. standing alone in cold exposed the chilly night air blows on my face tingles the tips of my ears awakening my senses stirring feelings of despair Lucia Sanchez calle baghdad dos vatos on the calle, single file, filtering through a tirade of laughing spirits. an old woman on the roadside mourning at the cross of her son, killed twenty years before by vc or perhaps usa. dos vatos on the calle, single file, filtering through a tirade of screaming spirits grasping sickles. starving dogs fighting in the yard thai used to be cheo's, fighting over a used chicken mole bone and children laugh at the skinny spectacle. dos vatos on the calle that nams to sand, guns in their hands. spirits tickle spines, and in fresno the carpenter is making their crosses while mothers cry in the fields. Andres Montoya |
