A very special thank you to Anna J. Small Roseboro for her guidance and support during this September’s 5-day writing challenge with teachers. Her website is filled with more resources as are her books. (Check out her new book of poems in English and Spanish on the right.) She is very generous with her time on Facebook and Twitter, so we recommend following her as she is an English language arts treasure! Much gratitude, Anna. Writers, enjoy the last prompt of this month’s challenge, and we will see you October 13-17 with Andy Schoenborn. And now Anna’s inspiration:
Día de los Muertos
For nearly twenty years, I lived and worked in San Diego, California, right on the border with Mexico. Many of my students celebrated Día de los Muertos, a joyous occasion reflecting on the life of those who have died. It is celebrated throughout Mexico and by people of Mexican heritage elsewhere.
Process
While this holiday is not observed until the end of October, let’s prepare today by writing a celebratory elegy/eulogy inspired by the music of Hispanic American musicians. There are several clips, find one that inspires you to reflect on the contributions of someone of Latinx heritage who made a valuable contribution to a field important to you. This may have been to medicine, science, music, education, or the arts. If the person about whom you wrote the Acrostic Poem on Day Two now is dead, consider that person as your focus today. That person deserves further celebrations.
- A variation could be to write a poem about someone you love who you have lost (an elegy, an ode). Ofrendas are an essential part of the celebration. The word ofrenda means “offering” in Spanish. They are also called altares or alters, but they are not for worship. Rather, ofrendas are set up to remember and honor the memory of an ancestor, so they include the four elements (water, wind, earth, and fire) in addition to a photo of the person to whom the altar is dedicated and things that person enjoyed in life! Write a poem about what your person enjoyed in life.
- Try a quatrain (four lines) in iambic pentameter (or about 10 syllables each). Any form is welcome as is any length. Whatever time and energy permits.
Anna’s Poem
National Hispanic Heritage Month Video Bonus
All are welcome to participate in the 5-day Open Write — from one day to all days, depending on your schedule. There are no set rules for the length of a poem, and you are free to modify or reject the prompts as you wish, allowing you to write whatever is on your mind or in your heart. We firmly believe that the best writing instructors are actual writers, and this platform offers a supportive environment for you to nurture your writing journey. Just scroll down to share your poem in the comment section. For more information about the Open Writes click here.
We are teachers, so we value every minute of the day. My investment in myself as a writer (I don’t remember where that phrasing came from, but I use it a lot–and with my students) is prioritized during this monthly challenge. THANK YOU, Sarah, for your organization, and THANK YOU, Anna, for pushing me in a direction I needed to go.
Tonight’s prompt reminded me of a life experience I wanted to solidify. (Isn’t that why we write?) But after giving myself my allotted 20 minutes, then 20 minutes more, I had not yet reached the climax of the experience I was trying to capture.
Because you are teachers, you will understand why I am now posting this roughest version of a poem. It reads more like a journal entry. But I see where I am going, and I will continue to work on this. Thank you for letting me splash my first messy words on this page:
I am the poet
the laughter and tears
and hub of this family wheel.
Dan
Is the steady engine that turns the axle.
his forearms (my god, stop writing about his forearms)
are scarred
with barbwire hatching
and welding burns.
He barely laughs.
He never cries.
Val is from California,
but his parents are from Mexico.
(Don’t ask.)
He came to us via Grinnell College.
They may have given him a scholarship,
But no funds for return trips home
over holiday breaks.
So he came to the farm with our daughter, his classmate,
for turkey and grits,
ham and pie.
In return,
the daughter and her brother spent winter break
in the Mexico hills with Val’s grandparents.
They shot a BB gun on top of a ridge in Christmas sun.
Chickens squawked through the kitchen in the afternoon
and then appeared roasted on plates at suppertime.
The Mariachi bands played in the streets.
When Val’s parents at last made the journey to Iowa,
Val, robed in Crimson and Black,
swelled across the stage.
His name mispronounced.
He grasped the diploma,
a shooting star,
and slung it carelessly into his life’s backpack.
After the ceremony
Val’s family came to the farm
for photographs,
a denouement.
As we hugged
Val translated:
“I do not have the right words to say this, but my father
is jealous of what you have.”
And so, when the gunman
shot up Walmart
in El Paso
and hated
the Mexicans,
the immigrants,
the other,
My husband called me on the phone
to say what he could not say to my face.
“Val’s dad and I are the same person”
he said through his sobs.
“We were just born in different places.”
Allison- I’m so glad you brought this forward even if you know you’re still drafting, because this is a remarkably important piece. So, poignant— so heart-touchingly intimate in those last lines…the shared “Val’s dad and I …same person …in different places.” The shared worlds…especially in light of the godawful El Paso horror…oh gosh, you’ve really got something here. How lucky you and your family are to have had Val and his family connect in this way! World changing relationships. What seems so simple now seems so extraordinary in the country’s current climate. As you continue to work on this, I hope you’ll share it with me again. Susie
Allison, I can see why you couldn’t shake this story today. Your simple line, “His name mispronounced” says so much about the experience of foreign people on America. And then, El Paso. Wow. I’m crying.
Alison,
What we have become? USA supposed to be the land of the free and hom eof the brave, a beacon of hope. The hate, the divide, the mental illness unchecked!!
Thank you for making us not forget this gun violence. We grieve with you.
I chose Haiku because I love Sonia Sanchez’s “Morning” and I wrote 2 Haiku poems for My Loved One who passed away unexpectedly on April 16. She was 51 years old and we’d been friends over 25 years. I had enjoyed a Saturday night dinner party with her and two good friends and she was just fine. Laughing and enjoying life. I had no idea that would be my last time seeing her alive.
We ate, drank, and laughed
A dinner party for four
You seemed so happy
ER on Sunday
Home on Monday with fever
Dead on Tuesday. NO!!!!!!!!!
Grief is so hard, especially when unexpected like this. I’m glad you have a wonderful memory of your special friend and I’m sorry for your loss.
Stacey, your two stanzas contrast and emphasize the sudden, wrenching sadness of losing your friend. Students have asked me why I like so many sad poems. I tell them because poetry takes the pain of human experience and turns it into something beautiful. Thank you.
Stacey — The jolt. I am feeling this with you, but nothing is so hard as the moments of love and joy slapped away by the sudden jolt of loss. Writing this is so personal, and I appreciate your sharing something so close to your heart. When we don’t have words, the haiku speaks to that, and you’ve done justice with a small bite of that pain. Sending vibes of breathable air. Susie
Is this an elegy? No my poem is a sweet Thank You to all the hard working mammas who put their dreams on hold so their kids can achieve.
Tired to the bone,
walking all alone
Mama of 10 kids,
walking cause need
Hoping for a smile
walking 100 miles
Fighting with the world
who treat you like a turd
Sleep, sweet Mama
You’re cool nana
Purviben, today was an invitation to write a serious reflection about a person. So, this is just just right.
Mamas are serious about doing what they can to help their kids achieve. Your Mama’s work obviously has not been in vain. Look at you.
While the elegy tends to be reserved for those who have died, that is not a requirement. Anyway, Sarah J. Donovan has made this an open space so each in invited to write and share. You’ve done just that and we’re glad you’re here.
Anna,
Thanks for your graceful comment. I agree with you that Sarah’s invitation to write has given me an opportunity to learn from all of you and push myself a bit more. I am glad I came across the invitation and took the challenge.
The mama in the story is any mom, who is toiling for better future.
My parents have 3 daughters whom theey love, nourish and care for more than they care for themselves. My parents were lawyers in India. They chose to move to USA in their 40s so we, the younger girls can have better opportunity (my elder sister was already in law school and completing her MBA simultaneously). They worked 7 days a week, often 13 hours day in service sector so we will have education without any loans. They never complained, never weavered and never ask for handout. They only wished we gave our best.
So my mom does not have 10 kids, but this is tribute to all the parents, including mine, who forgo their desires and dreams so their kids can achieve.
Best wishes.
Purviben,
I can think of no women more deserving of honor than the Hispanic mamas I’ve known. They do, indeed, walk and walk.
Glenda,
Thank you.
I was thinking of Mama in Esparad Rising when I wrote this poem.
Mamas of all shapes, size, nationalities and color work hard for their kids. This is true for first generstion mamas as well as the once who are trying to rise above their situation.
My mom is from India; when we came to USA, she toiled and toiled while being our home’s backbone. Once we completed our education, she went, get necessary education and achieved. It must be hard for her to go back to school in her 50s, especially when she already had double masters from India and she had to start from scratch here.
Looking forward to joining you here and on slice of life.
Best wishes.
Purviben
@trivediziemba
Ode to La Musica Latina
When that salsa beat comes on,
I can’t help but move my feet.
It doesn’t matter if it’s in the house or on the lawn,
I move when the music and my blood meet.
When that cha cha fills the air,
I twirl without a care in the store
Or in my classroom, my hands flare
And I swing my hips a little more.
When that samba swirls by
Or the mamba, I can’t control
How my body moves so fast, I fly
Until it slows and there’s a lull…
When soft melody fills the scene,
A slow dance and I press close
To my husband, into him I lean
Of this tender moment, I make the most.
When the beat picks up, he swirls me out
Into a merengue that makes my head spin
And my feet begin to hurt, I’m about
To take a rest, this is it. El fin…
But when a Cumbia pierces my ear,
My feet tap, my hips swing and my heart sings
And I dance and dance and mirror
The every move of my partner and the musicians and singers
I dance until I can’t see and my ear rings
And the ghost of the past lingers
Until the last note….
… ends the night.
Robin, this is so easy for me to visualize. You have a flow that makes the music, moves, and emotions dance through your poem. I loved:
When the beat picks up, he swirls me out
Into a merengue that makes my head spin
Nothing more sensual than a song, a great dance partner, and passion.
Robin — What a joyous poem you have written. I am feeling that music…the feet moving to pick up the beat, the leaning in, the swirls, swings, the cha cha… and dancing in the mirror is so fun! This poem just makes me feel good! Thanks! Susie
Robin, your poem is so lyrical and rhythmic, just like the music you honor. You really make me want to work on my rhyming!
I struggled w/ today’s prompt. I tried several ideas, but I couldn’t get a woman I saw in our NYC hotel out of my mind, so I wrote my poem to honor her and immigrant farm workers I knew in the early 1980s when I lived in Arizona. The names are former students.
“Those Who Do the Work”
Elevator doors open.
A Haitian woman—
Tall with an angular jawline—
Floats into the space.
Her arms enfold over white linens,
The left one crossed over the right,
She hugs the whites to her breasts.
Her Hands touch opposite shoulders
Posing her torso like an upright corpse,
A living spirit, a hollow shell,
Silent in place and time
Doing the DOMESTIC work: cleaning rooms, making beds, hanging towels that
Drop to the floor, pooled like wrinkled dreams.
This nameless woman,
One among many—
From many with one wish—like
Countless, unidentifiable walking shadows
Reaches into my memory and
Pulls gray, dormant threads:
Araceli’s, Gloria’s, Misael’s
Madres, Papas, Abuelas
Rising in the dark morning,
Boarding buses to fields—
Not those of dreams but of leafy greens
Destined to rot without their toil—
Dependent on their cupped hands.
Who will weep for these lost ones
When to dust they return?
The box jolts to a stop, and the steel doors open.
In silent repose the Haitian woman—
Her face frozen; Her expression stoic—
Leaves, unknown and nameless to me. I
Give thanks for her SERVICE—the stuff
My dreams are made of—
A whiff of air catches my hair,
Blowing it like an Arizona sand storm,
Pelting me into a bow so I can
Avoid its coarse reality and
Shelter myself from the coming monsoon.
“Doing the DOMESTIC work: cleaning rooms, making beds, hanging towels that
Drop to the floor, pooled like wrinkled dreams.” This is poetry in its best state. I love your choices in descriptions and how the towels were perfectly compared to wrinkled dreams. I’ve always felt a certain guilt and yet an undeserved privilege when I leave soiled towels on the bathroom floors in hotels to show that I want clean ones.
I can’t even really explain how deeply your poem hits me. The last stanza left me with my hand over my mouth and thinking…still thinking…”Who will weep…”
Incredible.
Glenda — A poem of thanks…so lovely. I love that you paid such close attention to this woman (“her face frozen…expression stoic”) And “nameless among many” is so often the case. I particularly liked these phrasings: “walking shadows reach…pulls grey dormant threads”; “Arizona sand storm”; “hanging towels that drop to the floor, pooled like wrinkled dreams.” I love that “wrinkled dreams” a bunch! So many good people doing so much hard work… it feels right that we all pay close attention. Thank you for sharing this piece. Susie
Glenda, several of my favorite lines others have already mentioned, but I especially liked this:
Her arms enfold over white linens,
The left one crossed over the right,
She hugs the whites to her breasts.
Her Hands touch opposite shoulders
Posing her torso like an upright corpse.
Such a striking image, with her stoic face, she is both dead and alive. Wow. Thank you.
I’m using Glenda as my role model today and typing this on my phone at the airport! Hope there aren’t too many mistakes!
How did you do it?
Whenever I have a stressful day,
I try to catch my breath,
Gather my thoughts,
And put myself in your shoes.
Dad died nearly a half century ago
Leaving you with nine children to raise.
How did you do it?
How did you not succumb to your emotions?
How did you soldier on
When the world shifted on its axis the day he died?
I was only seven then and had no understanding about death or loss.
Now I look back and marvel at how you got out of bed each day.
I now know that we, your children, were your motivation.
Every day you cooked for us.
You cleaned for us.
You helped us with homework.
You went on field trips.
You listened to us.
You laughed with us.
You loved us.
My heart aches to thank you.
We all turned out pretty good, if I do say so myself.
We are a tight knit group of professors, laborers, artists, teachers, carpenters, and housewives.
We didn’t have much growing up,
But we always had each other.
We still do.
Today I celebrate a life well lived.
A life of loss and love-
But mostly love.
Mo,
This is lovely. The questions are very effective. I love posing questions in poetry. Your concrete list of professions shows the effect of your honoree, making the cause (the how in the questions) less of a focus.
P.S. I see no errors. ?
Mo — The tribute is very loving. I was moved by the tone of your wanting to let “you” know how much you are aware of the endless chores and attention the “you” provided for your benefit… all that cooking and cleaning and tending NINE children (wow!). I’m touched by the “putting myself in your shoes.” Too seldom do folks do this. Good for you. “Celebrate a life well lived.” Thank you for sharing this poem. Susie
Oh how well I know these emotions of love, loss, grief, and the undying need to say thank you. “My heart aches to thank you.” This captures ALL of me right now. Your poem brought tears to my eyes because I have fresh grief which will be in my poem today. Thank you for your tenderness.
Heartfelt thanks for all who have visited, read, posted poems and written comments.
The poems you have shared reiterate why so many of Mexican descent celebrate the memories of the dearly departed. When we celebrate, we’re not so sad! And, as our dear , Sarah J. Donovan has written in the opening line in her closing stanza of her poem,
“but we will dance and sing on”
In unity today, we who are not of Mexican descent, join the celebration of those who have gone on, and who have left a legacy of music that keeps us going in joyful remembrance of their life, labor, and legacy.
Muchas gracias!
Today I wrote a hashtag poem about my Day 2 Hispanic Hero.
#VivaLaCausa
#Yumaborn #namedforgrandpa
#Marchbaby #CesarEstrada
#marriedHelen #doublewedding
#had8children #wasn’tkidding
#boxingmatches #playedhandball
#foughtforwagesfairforall
#USNavy #Seamanfirstclass
#peacefulprotest #hopefulfoodfast
#UFW #CSO
#boycottgrapes! #UvasNo!
#Si,SePuede #”yes,onecan”
#Barack’sSlogan #Presidentialfan
#grassrootsvegan #Huerta’sfriend
#civilrightsfighttotheend
#diedinApril #activist
#certainlynopacifist
Kim, what a clever way to meld various poetic devices in a single elegy to great man. Your use of the hashtags give it a contemporary look and the rhyming couplets a traditional feel. The words, of course, serve as a eulogy sharing details about his life, and a elegy, praising him for what he accomplished during that life. This definitely exemplifies that goal of Día de los Muertos.
.
Kim, your combination of contemporary use of hashtags and the traditional poetic device of rhymed couplets so artfully show the flexibility of poetry. You captured in this elegy and recreated his life as a eulogy reminding of reasons to celebrate with joy this great man who has died.
Kim — For most of my life I have been so aware of Cesar Chavez, but the depth of my knowledge of his life was pretty scant. In your creative poem here, I’ve learned so much more. I had no idea he’d been in the Navy nor that he’d had EIGHT kids (wow!) Nor that he’d been born in Yuma. I used to drive out that way years ago when I lived in Tucson and had a sister who lived in AZ. But the impact of his hard work and “#civilrightsfighttotheend” are certainly part of my mindset. To this day, I will not touch Gallo wine… old battles leave a deep commitment. I’m stubborn that way. I appreciate your homage to such a hero. Thank you! Susie
You raise a great point. As much as I love wine, I never considered the history of winemakers in the grape strike. I haven’t bought Gallo wine but I need to see where my favorite labels fell in all of this: hmmmm……
I just love this format. I really think my students will like it, too!
Kim, you are so clever! I wish I’d thought of using the hashtag format. I like the way it draw attention to and emphasizes the subject.
LOALWA BRAZ: NEVER DEAD
Como ritmos y caderas
en roca tándem,
faldas en remolinos,
celebrando amor
y el deseo de ello;
Loalwa Braz,
Brasileña en sus huesos,
Y su música vive mucho más allá
las notas
y en nuestras vidas
en todo el mundo.
Su música, su Lambada,
un pronunciamiento de alegría
triunfo sensual de la sexualidad
y el hormegueo seductor
de amor
abre el corazón
de una mujer brillante,
arrancado de nosotros demasiado pronto,
pero viva para siempre,
nunca muerto.
LOALWA BRAZ: NUNCA MUERTAS
As rhythms and hips
in tandem rock,
skirts in swirls,
celebrating love
and the desire of it,
Loalwa Braz —
Brazilian in her bones —
and her music live far beyond
the notes
and in our lives
around the world.
Her music, her Lambada,
a pronouncement of joy,
sensual triumph of sexuality
and the beguiling tingle
of love,
open the heart
of a brilliant woman,
torn from us too soon
yet lives forever,
never dead.
by Susie Morice
https://youtu.be/EOX91GYo7Cs
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/Loalwa-Braz.jpeg
Susie, the dual Spanish and English versions are a great way to honor the heritage of this artist by writing in her native language but also the language of the many fans who loved her. You always have a way with words – I love this part best:
As rhythms and hips
in tandem rock,
skirts in swirls,
celebrating love
and the desire of it,
That’s such a picture to me – – I can sense the music and the movement – first on the dance floor and then…..behind closed doors. Your sensory details are amazing, and they make this work so beautifully.
Kim — Something I learned today about Braz is that she was fluent in FOUR languages! Whoof! It may well be that her native language is Portuguese, but I don’t really know for sure. It was all I could do to figure out the Spanish for my elegy. A friend of mine and I have vowed to learn Spanish…my two years in high school are a long way from where I’d like that knowledge to be. Thank heavens for online translators! It was fun reading those words out loud — my big ol’ dog and I wanted to dance that Lambada and the La Bamba piece that Sarah posted today! We were feeling very moved by the prompts this week! LOL! Susie
Susie, your closing line portrays the life you described when you wrote, open the heart
of a brilliant woman,
torn from us too soon
yet lives forever,
never dead.
Reading your elegy, you have brought alive for a woman we can not help but celebrate!
Susie, Your poem is a dance. The way you arrange words gives the poem sway: “rhythm and hips in tandem rock, skirts in swirls,” “Brazilian in her bones,” “sensual triumph of sexuality.” I love these lines. The alliteration is fabulous, so musical. You always choose the most fabulous subjects for your poems.
ofrende for the dancing lovers
Here they lay, side by side, two lovers
A restless rest, where under the clover
They still spin, together, hand in hand
To all the castanets and singing instruments
Of the band. Colorful, blinding,
Their sequined and flowing sleeves shining
In the lights strobing through the dance floor,
Hearts pulsing in tandem, forever,
To the sound of remembrance, connection–
Childhood memories’ reflections
Puerto Rico, a beat– Orlando,
A measure’s untimely end.
(in remembrance of Jean Carlos Mendez Perez and Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, Latinx victims of the Pulse nightclub shooting, 12 June 2016)
Ashley — This is beautifully written. And so tragic a memory. Each of the musical details and images are effective in taking us to the beauty of the dancers (“castanets and singing instruments…sequined and flowing sleeves”) I love the strobing lights… and my favorite is the poignant ending (a measure’s untimely end). The contrast of love and dancing and the horrific reality of yet another shooting. Heartbreaking. Thank you for reminding us of just what we are losing. Susie
What a fabulous way to honor these lost souls. I’m liking the use of the word tandem today – – it’s a fun word to say out loud. I also like your use of musical words – pulsing, beat, measure. Clever words to use in a musical poem.
Ashley, Susie and Kim have articulately more elegantly what I’d say about your poem. Your closing line ,
“A measure’s untimely end.”
makes me think of a song that ends before the final chord is resolved. We keep waiting for more.
Thanks for helping us celebrate the couple who, as you say will “spin, together, hand in hand” in our minds.
Elegy of a Master: Gabriel Garcia Marquez
You opened my eyes to the realm of dreams.
Your words are magic carpets, diving through
Sunbeams and rainbows and fiery stars.
Magic and reality coexist.
Your worlds opened my eyes, unveiled the truth.
Humans behave badly and they know it.
The thin, silky thread between God and man
Is a spider’s web, elusive and frail.
You made me laugh, stomach cramping, booming,
While library patrons, pale, fragile, sad,
Looked on with irritation, vexation,
While I was transported, transfixed, entranced.
That middle stanza is just breathtaking. I like it all, but the 4 middle lines caused a pause and some deep thinking there for a few minutes. Such truth.
Shaun, your description of the power of Marquez’ writing to transport you is so artfully described! That series of concrete adjectives helps us visual snarky librarians who do not seem to appreciate the magic of the books they dispense day after day after day! Your well chosen words have eulogized a master well.
Shaun,
The fiction w/ which you end this tribute to the fabulous Gabriel Garcia Marquez has a lyrical quality, which I think is owing to the /t/ sound in “transported, transfixed, entranced.” Marquez is one of my favorite authors. Love the magic carpet metaphor and the implied personification.
Anna – My thanks to you for these five days devoted to Hispanic and Latinx people and culture. This has opened us to scads of resources and meaningful stories that pushed each of us and pulled us together into an even better writing community. Muchas gracias to all the excritores reflexivos here. Susie
a Mexican wedding song de Veracruz
dating back to the sixteen hundreds
bambolear, to sway or swing
para bailar la bamba, to dance la bamba
se necesita una poca de gracia
it takes a little bit of grace
a song of dance
and Valens danced, and sang:
1958 de Los Angeles, angels
he brought una poca de rock and roll
to la bamba’s folk spirit with
Crows, Penguins, Drifters,
Bo Diddly and Buddy Holly
rock riffing, raw solo
Valens invented Latino rock
in this two-minute classic, La Bamba
and we danced
for eight months
we danced with Valens
y arriba iré
and come on there I’ll go
arriba February 1959
el capitán joined
Buddy Holly on the flight
that never danced again
but we will dance and sing on
para bailar la bamba
se necesita una poca de gracia,
una poca de gracia y otra cosita
I share with you a modern version of “La Bomba” by a fantastic band called Las Cafeteras: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhKUTNWvIIc
Sarah!! What a perfect way to start my day! My big old dog and I just danced to La Bamba and the delightful video and loved the poem you wrote. We’re now ready for our day! Thank you!! Susie
As soon as I read the lines in Spanish, I heard the music and remembered learning the song in Spanish. I love how you created music with words!
I still cry when I watch the movie, when his mother hears the news on the radio while she’s out hanging laundry on the line to dry…..and you have us in that moment, while he’s back alive again, dancing in the corners of our minds…..what a great choice of a musical legend to honor today.
Sarah, reading your poem and considering the song, demonstrates to link between music and poetry! The rhythm, the emotion, the ways words can appeal to the sense of sound that evokes fond memories of people, places and events gone by.