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Twenty-thirteen, Day OneMichael Sedano |
Twenty-twelve with three seconds remaining. |
La Bloga sends you wishes for vigorous health and awesome opportunities in the new year.
In support of which, forthwith find suitably pithy epigrams upon which to hang sundry new year's thoughts:
You deserve more, and that's up to you.
View "problems" as opportunities; this way you'll find ways to fix what's not satisfactory and define your own outcomes.
Have a plan, work the plan. If you fail, understand why, rather than win accidentally without a clue.
If you don't know where you're going, any which road will take you there.
With the right tools, you can do anything.
It's the "U" in "fun" that counts.
Here's to everyone having something like what I'm enjoying the last day of the year, a six year-old blowing streams of mocos out both nostrils and laughing joyously, her cold broken and robust health coming back, right on time for the new year.
La Bloga On-Line Floricanto Best Poems of 2012Tara Evonne Trudell, Ramón Piñero, Odilia Galván RodrÃguez, John Martinez, Andrea Mauk, Andrea Hernandez Holm, Devreaux Baker, Victor Avila, Francisco X. Alarcón, Nancy Aide Gonzalez, Sharon Elliott, Elena DÃaz Bjorkquist, Sonia Gutiérrez, Carmen Calatayud, Hedy Garcia Treviño, Claudia D. Hernández
“Border Song” by Tara Evonne Trudell“They Have Names” by Ramón Piñero“Poem 6 ~ Being A Border” by Odilia Galván RodrÃguez“Words Can Set The Meter of Healing” by John Martinez“Mudos Across the Ocean Divide” by Andrea Mauk“Not Enough-Too Much” by Andrea Hernandez Holm“Recipe for Peace” by Devreaux Baker“A House Full of Light (Psalm 1000)” by Victor Avila“Ultimate Migrants: Monarch Butterflies’ Life Mantra / Migrantes por excelencia: Bio-mantra de las mariposas monarca” by Francisco X. Alarcón“Tapestry of Dawn” by Nancy Aide Gonzalez“The Day of Little Comfort” by Sharon Elliott“Calling Forth the Seeds of Winter” by Elena DÃaz Bjorkquist"Herencia / Legacy" by Sonia Gutiérrez"Commitment Otra Vez" by Carmen Calatayud"Walking on the Shards of Broken Dreams" by Hedy Garcia Trevino“Tejiendo la niebla" por Claudia D. Hernández
Border SongBy Tara Evonne Trudell
will I bethe border songyou singagainstrusty tallfenceswill I bethe warmfleshyou acheto feelin colddistanceswill humanityever comprehendhow deepbrowncan feelso many yearssuppressinggenerationstaking fearand crafting itto the masseskeeping soulstrappedin far awayplacescontinual stealingtaking earthandkilling her peoplewill children dieplaying sticksand stonesgrowinginto livinga walking deadsocietytireless ancestorsspirits fightingrevolutionsover and overin an Americathat doesn't careto questionwill I beyourlast bordersong?
They Have NamesBy Ramón Piñero
“No one asked their names.”So screams the headlinesthroughout theArab worldWe know justthat nineteenwere killedthis time;
We didnot count thelast timethe lasttimewe said thiswould be thelast time
No one asked their names;they almost never dothey are expendablefodder for the cannonsofwar
One sidepoint’s fingerswe excuse it‘cause after allit had to be a roughgoing backone timetwo timesthree timeswho could have?would have thoughtthat war and violencehas no reset button
when you’re deadyou stay deadno health barsno extra livesin this videogame versionof mans’ oldestfolly; yesthe oldestprofessionon steroids
no one asked their namesso screams the headlinesthrough the Arab worldas it should scream outthroughout this world.
The dead were:Mohamed DaewoodKhudaydadNazar MohamedPayendoRobeenna
the other deadincluded:
Yesenia BriseñoTrayvon Martin
all childrenor womenall inocentes
The dead were:ShatarinaZahraNazia Mazooma
the other deadincluded:those travelerson theTrail of TearsBataanthose in thecargo holdsof slave shipsthrown overboardworked to deathwithout a nameto their name.
The dead were:FaridaPalwashaNabiaEsmatullah
The dead alsoincluded:those babiesin Appalachiathe Sonoran desertthose killedby the Zeta andSinaloa Cartels.
The dead were:FaizullahEssa Mohamed Aktar Mohamed
in thismake believewar where onlythe otherdies
where only wedeservejusticeand allelse“unfortunate andunforeseen”
how many timescan youask aman to killwithout killingthe man in him
no one askedtheir namesto be addedto a dustbinofforgottenmassacres;
My LaiPonceTlatelolcoRwandaBirkenbaufootnotes inhistory
RiveraJonesMohammedBrieseñoMartinand thehundredsandhundredsmore,all namesetched foreverin my memoryetched foreverin my heart.
Poem 6 ~ Being A BorderBy Odilia Galván RodrÃguez
I've been here all of my lifeon the edge of this or thata bridge between my peoplecrossing peoplethey come to me to enter more worlds than I can even fathomall I am is a border something of a fence sitter except in my case I am not neutralI take both sides, I am from and forboth sides, yesI live the in-betwixt and in-betweenI am the center and the balanceI see good and badat every turnat every crossroadsand every crossing is a ritual what do you offer to enter?seven shiny dimes to the mother of all mothers, of the salty watersor nine pennies to the wind whispererthe keeper of the last door we enter...I've been here all of my life and all I want to do is cross that linemyself, want to pass the torchhaving now been totally scorchedby this playing at blind justiceis there really such a thing?I think not.someone always has to winand someone loseseven if I know the secretthat losing you winstill, that's becauseI'm a different kind of thinkerhaving the luxury or curseof being from the middleliving on that fine line between this or thathere or thereit's a fact being a border is no funyou have to let some inand keep some out...then all thoseconvoluted routespeople take to get here --even when they know in their heartit's not for them, andthey should've stayed putthey figure that out latersometimes, when it's too damn latebut wait, why'd I let them in
in the first place?
oh yes, because it was a lesson...lofty this job of mediator border deity job seems too bigtoo pretentioussomehow playing god when all I really amis a bad idea
I am a bordera doora hoarder of hopesof injusticestucked inside promisesof new lives, lives not new or bettersimply differentI am a bordera lineuna lÃneaa big lie.
WORDS CAN SET THE METER OF HEALINGBy John Martinez
Para El Maestro, Francisco X. Alarcón
If I could give myself,Without speaking,To the suffering,To the clenched body,I’d give that part of meThat does not hate,That does not wantWhen othersCannot have
I’d give the songThat has no sadness.
If I could giveIn silence,Just a pieceOf myself,To those who have lostEverything to greed,I’d give my soul,All 21 grams
If I could give myselfLike a hushTo the mother,Whose childWeeps in the corridorsOf death, wanting toHold her like air,I would giveMy two hands,Touch her faceWith fingers of rain,Assure her, with my eyes,That he will be waitingNear the fountainWith the others
If I could rise one day,Knowing that painIs being lifted like a shawlFrom the CountriesBeneath the bootOf my U.S.A,I would rise withA greater love
Today, I have words,Not guns,Not the rabid teethOf a killer
I have wordsThat I can shout,That I can throwLike brown birds intoThe audience,Because these birdsKnow the meaningOf peaceAnd these wordsCan pushA convoy of donkeysDown an indigenous path,With medicine to treatThe sick, the starving
Words yes wordsCan set the meterOf healing
If I could give myself,Wholeheartedly,To the suffering,I would give myselfWith words,Words yes wordsCan set the meterOf healing
© 2012 John Martinez
Mudos Across the Ocean DivideBy Andrea Mauk
I shed the flag in which I'm draped so I can see myself bare breastedunadorned by donkey tails and elephant tusks.I pluck the stars one by onefrom the field of blueand launch them out the window sillwonder if they can stillflybut they twirl back to earthin a tailspinand melt like snowflakesas they touch down.
I come from an islanda goddess of red, white and blueSpain's last outpost,one star, her voicewashes between coastlinesloudly unheard,testing groundfor the pill,breeding ground ofbeauty queens...And here, we are hemming skirtsand stocking shelvesrolling up sleeves,as they're trading coffee beansand sugar canefor tax-free tradeand tourism.Would you like an umbrella with that?
I sew the stripes togetherand wind them 'round mewalk to the nearest polling placeenthusiasm of a mummy,close the curtainand cast my net across the widefroth of Atlantic bluecatch my fill of calamarand octopus,fry them up withGreen Party platano but loving arms, tostones and tentacles aside,I am awash in my own milk and honey land,they call me that other kind of Mexican (?)
I am not a slave but I am owned,possessed like a nounwatched over by the eyeand the pyramid.And I question the Goddess,does she really wantto be a statewhen the state of the nationis unraveled, just brokencoming ungluedlink by linkon the partisan spineand the laborious backs,to be owned by the boardroom masters on the 87th floor?
I run down the stairs out the front stoopto gather the stars that have yet to dissolve upon the bodega'ssidewalkplace them in my eyes,their sparkling hope fleating,let the ribbon of stripes sewnred after white fly towards home from the boardwalk on this starless night,send my voicespinning out to sea,a gift to those who stayed behind.
We are citizens both here and there.We are mudos across the ocean divide,our borders drawn by Poseidón.We are peripheral,between the shores.I have given away my stars and stripesleft only with the yellow fringebelted around my nakedness.It doesn't really matter.No one will even notice meon this election eve.
Recipe For PeaceBy Devreaux Baker
Bare your feetroll up your sleevesoil the immigrant's bowlopen the doors and windows of your houseinvite in the neighborsinvite in strangers off the streetroll out the doughadd spices for a good lifecardamon and soulcumin and tearssesame and sorrowadd a dash of saltpink as new hopeadd marjaram and thymerub lemon grass and holy basilon your fingers and pat the doughbless the tablebless the breadbless your hands and feetbless the neighbors and strangers off the streetbake the bread for a century or moreon moderate heatunder the olive trees in your back yardor on the sun filled stones of Syriain the white rocks of Beirutor behind the walls of Jerusalemin the mountains of Afghanistanand in the sky scrapers of New YorkFeast with all the migrant tonguesuntil your mouth understandsthe taste of many different homesand your belly is fullso you fall asleep cradledin the skirts of the worldin the lap of peace.
A House Full of Light (Psalm 1000) By Victor Avila
I was born in a house full of light.
In one where corners have never known shadows.
I stand before windowsthat have never known night.
I stare out its doors-This house free of sorrow.
Yes, I was born in a housefull of light.
I grew up amid melodies joyful,
that awoke me from the deepestof slumber.
And the luminous voice,perhaps of an angel
calmed every fearand whispered remember-
You were born in this housewhere one day is a thousand.
Here all time is sandand each second eternal.
So come share these wallsfor you are the Father's.
He knows you are here and delights.
He welcomes you hereto his house full of light.
ULTIMATE MIGRANTS: MONARCH BUTTERFLIES’ LIFE MANTRABy Francisco X. Alarcón
we defeat time, the coldand all borders –we arethe ultimate migrants
thousands of mileswe fly North–South and East–West–beauty is our might
the Sun guides our flight–nothing can really stops us,no even our short lives
to return to the landwhere our great–grandparentsonce emerge from
four generationswe undergo in a year —from eggsto caterpillars
and then to pupato emerge from cocoonsas beautiful butterflies–
we are fearlessin our commitment to lifebeyond our own lives–
we defeat time, the coldand all borders –we arethe ultimate migrants
MIGRANTES POR EXCELENCIA: BIO-MANTRA DE LAS MARIPOSAS MONARCAPor Francisco X. Alarcón
vencemos el tiempoy toda frontera –somos migrantespor excelencia
miles de millas volamosdel Norte al Sur y del Este al Oeste–la belleza es nuestro poder
el Sol no guÃa–nada puede pararnos,ni nuestra corta vida
para volver a la tierrade donde nuestros bisabuelosemergieron
cuatro generacionespasamos en un año —de huevosa orugas
luego a pupaspara del capullo emergercomo bellas mariposas—
no tenemos miedoal compromiso a la vidamás allá de la propia–
vencemos el tiempoy toda frontera —somos migrantespor excelencia
Tapestry of DawnBy Nancy Aidé González
Sun, summoning dawntruth will come with portraits of consciousnessnarratives of shelter
interlocked woven fabricsfind equilibriumstrings of transcendence in cosmos
beyond ancient knowledge aliveplanets orbit echoing memory of universesaffron stars manifest wholeness
nimbus treasures – rainjaguars roam spirit realmleave prints where
trees take rootin tierra firmedrawing humanity closer.
The Day of Little ComfortBy Sharon Elliott
the day of little comfortand no foodbegan as any other daythe sun came up
palewistfulresting on the horizonlifelessthere was no heatradiating from its yellow eye
outsidethe crows were quietsitting in echelons on telephone wireslike mourners in black babushkaseyeing the humans below themwith sadness
green and growing thingsstruggling to push through concretedirt solid as granitecompacted by the soleson hundreds of shoesgave it upnodded their twoor threeleafy shootsand toppled over
she peeked outside the curtainswondering whythere was so much silenceshe hummed softlya lullaby that soothedher 6 year old heartopened the window a crackstuck her head outinto the full force of
nothing
where had all the creatures gone?hidingfrom her?from them?from what?
a low rumble beganlike a ruined growldeep in the throat ofan archangelbreathing holy asthma
a tree across the streettried to hidebut the respiration resurrectioncaught it in a lierattled its twigs andleavingsbent it doublesnapped it in half
she started to praya lonely supplicationtoo young to be heardolder than endless
she didn’t notice the rainpouring wet blessingsinto clandestine passagesfull of peoplecatapaulted outby invincible waterejected by a depraved howitzerspraying unsanctified bullets on the streets
her mother scrambled to close the windowwas sucked out into the rainfell from a great heightto splash into the villainous riverin the street
her fatherrushed down the stairstrying to save her mothersank into the same torrentthey disappeared
she wonderedabout where her breakfast would come fromwho would tuck her into bedwhen she should get ready for schoolwho would help her tie her shoes
and then
the lights went out
Calling Forth the Seeds of WinterBy Elena DÃaz Bjorkquist
Dedicated to my Comadres of Sowing the Seeds who endured the cold outside onthe porch at our last meeting!
In cold truth, Summer ends,Seeds prepare to rest.Something about that cold.Things come out of it,Settle in our writer’s heart.
Sun vanishes, temperature drops,We endure head-clearing cold,Recall, recognize, honorThe seeds of our wisdom’s harvest.
Winter winds like sacred voicesCall forth abundance,A time to resurrectOur natural creativity,A joy for all.
Time to remember the giftsFrom loved ones who’ve gone on.Time to select seeds of wise actionsTo plant for future harvest.
Cold and heat,Summer and winter,Seed time and harvest time,Suggest a definite time of harvest.
But there's no fixed time for harvest,We can call it forth at will.The harvest is clear—memoriesReveal the lessons of what's passed.
We become aware,Accept the creative power of now,Conceptualize, visualize, energizeA world of beauty, good relationships.
The heart of awareness,Is the dance of arising worlds,Soul seeds planted in winter.
HerenciaPor Sonia Gutiérrez
for Poets Responding to SB 1070
Soy la lengua de Frida—vulgarcomo la de mi abuela.
Y la punta del bolÃgrafo azul,doblegando al papel callado.
También soy la flor de tuna,asomándome por la madrugada.
Soy orejas de olla de barro, escuchandoel paladar de mis antepasados.
Mujer de cara redondacomo la tortilla de maÃz y nopal.
Cuerpo de abeja punzantede donde nace el mañana.
Y soy, por supuesto, letras armadascon azadones arreando nuestro destino.
La mariposa sedienta, bebiendodel sudor de una mano humedecida.
Soy las garras del jaguar, rasgandolas lÃneas esclavas del bufón de vista corta.
Soy la poeta que las leyes escupen muy lejos—al exilio de los poetas.
Soy herencia—que pinta de mil maticesde verde a esta nuestra tierra natal.
Pero definitivamente soy una manita de puercosi tu horquilla del diablo asoma su feo rostro.
A esos los vestimos de esqueletosy los ponemos a bailar por las calles, eternamente.
LegacyBy Sonia Gutiérrez
for Poets Responding to SB 1070
I am Frida’s tongue—vulgarlike my grandmother’s.
And the tip of a blue ballpoint penkowtowing shy paper.
I am also the prickly pear flowerpeering at dawn.
The ears of a clay pot, listeningto the palate of my ancestors.
A woman with a round facelike the corn and cactus tortilla.
Body of a throbbing beewhere tomorrow is born.
And I am, of course, armed letterswith hoes spurring our destiny.
The thirsty butterfly drinkingfrom the sweat of a moist hand.
I am the claws of the jaguar, tearingthe enslaved lines of the nearsighted fool.
I am the poet whom laws spit far away—to the exile of poets.
I am legacy—who paints this our homelanda thousand shades of green.
But I am most definitely an arm twistif your devil’s pitchfork shows its ugly head.
To those, we dress up like skeletonsand make them dance through the streets, eternally.
Commitment Otra VezBy Carmen Calatayud
For R.V.
Some generations ago,you were a Zapatistainside your great-grandmother’swomb, black eye sockets ofrevolution, carrying roseswith the pink blown out,dando gritos in earshotof the Americas.
But now your doubtis strewn across the roomlike petals from dead maravillas,even in this space you rentwhere spiritual warriorspray for your countryand you can finally sleepthrough the night.
Listen, amigo de los desamparados,this is your time, again,beyond gut-level fearand black and white film:The explosions just keep coming,and you are chewing on history,and never let it be saidthat all you could do was cry.
Originally appeared as Split This Rock's Poem of the Week
Walking on the Shards of Broken DreamsBy Hedy Garcia Treviño
Walking on the shards of broken dreamsscattered voices callfrom underneath the desert sandwhere nothing growsLies still the seed of hopeAwaiting the furrow of the plowunearthing hope that never sleepsgaining strength from every stormLies still the seed of hopeCalled forth by footsteps on the desert floorkeeping rythm with the heartbeat of the suncomes forth the seed of hope
Tejiendo la nieblaPor Claudia D. Hernández
Descalzo uno emigraa tierras extrañas
hay quienes no olvidan,
hay quienes se ensartansu patria en el alma.
—La tierra no tiene fronterasmurmuran los pies reventados
las huellas que implantantrasmiten nostalgia;
hay tierras calientesque a veces se enfrÃan;
hay campos doradosque tejen la niebla;
hay volcanes que arrojansus piedras de pomo.
Y uno aquÃ, escupiendocenizas en la lejanÃa
—La tierra no tiene fronterassuspira la arboleda
El árbol exiliado no logra evitarque su fruto florezca
¿Qué culpa tiene la almendraque el viento la arrastre y la engendre en tierras ajenas?
BIOSTara Evonne Trudell has resumed writing poetry after a break of almost ten years and is passionate about combining poetry and film to create a visual art form of her own. She is a mother of four children and raising them to be socially aware and conscious of the injustices that plague our society. This is a top priority of hers as a she rediscovers her own word in a world that only attempts to silence the Indigenous spirit. She advocates strongly on behalf of Earth and incorporates this into her poetry, film, and life as part of her love and commitment to give back and represent her own connection.
Ramón Piñero. Ex Bay Area poet living in the buckle of the Bible Belt, aka Florida. Where good little boys and girls grow up to be republicans who vote against their own interest. Father of three and Grandfather to six of the coolest kids ever.
Odilia Galván RodrÃguez, poet/activist, writer and editor, has been
involved in social justice organizing and helping people find their
creative and spiritual voice for over two decades. Her poetry has been
widely anthologized, and she is the author of three books. Her last editing
job was as the English edition editor of Tricontinental Magazine in Havana, Cuba.
Odilia is one of the founding members and a moderator of Poets
Responding to SB 1070 on Facebook. She teaches creative writing
workshops nationally, currently at Casa Latina, and also co-hosts,
"Poetry Express" a weekly open mike with featured poets, in Berkeley,
CA. For more information about workshops see her blog http://xhiuayotl.blogspot.com/
or contact her at Red Earth Productions & Cultural Work 510-343-3693.
John Martinez studied Creative Writing at Fresno State University under Phillip Levine and has published poetry in El Tecolote, Red Trapeze and in The LA Weekly. Recently, he has posted poems on Poets Responding to SB1070 and this will be his 14th poem published in La Bloga. Martinez has performed (as a musician/political activist, poet) with Teatro De La Tierra, Los Perros Del Pueblo and TROKA, a Poetry Ensemble, lead by poet Juan Felipe Herrera. He has toured with several cumbia/salsa bands throughout the Central Valley and in Los Angeles and has just completed first book of Poems, PLACES. For the last 18 years, he has worked as an Administrator for a Los Angeles law firm. He makes his home in Upland, California, with he wife Rosa and four children.
Andrea GarcÃa Mauk grew up in Arizona, where both the immense beauty and harsh realities of living in the desert shaped her artistic soul. She calls Los Angeles home, but has also lived in Chicago, New York and Boston. She has worked in the music industry, and on various film and television productions. She writes short fiction, poetry, original screenplays and adaptations, and is currently finishing two novels. Her writing and artwork has been published and viewed in a variety of places such as on The Late, Late Show with Tom Snyder; The Journal of School Psychologists and Victorian Homes Magazine. Both her poetry and artwork have won awards. Several of her poems and a memoir are included in the 2011 anthology, Our Spirit, Our Reality, and her poetry is featured in the 2012 Mujeres de Maiz “‘Zine.” She is a regular contributor to Poets responding to SB 1070. Her poems have been chosen for publication on La Bloga’s Tuesday Floricanto numerous times. She is also a moderator of Diving Deeper, an online workshop for writers, and has written extensively about music, especially jazz, while working in the entertainment industry. Her production company, Dancing Horse Media Group, is currently in pre-production of her independent film, “Beautiful Dreamer,” based on her original screenplay and manuscript, and along with her partners, is producing a unique cookbook that blends healthful recipes with poetry and prose from the community.
Devreaux Baker is a Pushcart Prize nominee and winner of the 2011 PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Poetry Prize for her book; Red Willow People. She is the recipient of the 2012 Hawaii Council of Humanities International Poetry Prize, and the Women’s Global Leadership Initiative Poetry Award. Her poetry fellowships include a MacDowell Fellowship, the Hawthornden Castle International Fellowship, three California Arts Council Awards and the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation Fellowship. She has published three books of poetry; Red Willow People, Beyond the Circumstance of Sight, and Light at the Edge and conducted poetry workshops in France and Mexico. She has taught poetry in the schools with the CPITS Program and produced the Voyagers Radio Program of original student writing for KZYX Public Radio.
Victor Avila is an award-winning poet. Two of his poems were recently included in the anthology Occupy SF-Poems From the Movement. Victor has taught in California public schools for over twenty years.
Francisco X. Alarcón, Chicano poet and educator, is the author of thirteen volumes of poetry, including, Snake Poems: An Aztec Invocation (Chronicle Books 1992), recipient of the 1993 Pen Oakland Josephine Miles Award, From the Other Side of Night: Selected and New Poems (University of Arizona Press 2002). His latest book is Ce•Uno•One: Poems for the New Sun (Swan Scythe Press 2010). His most recent book of bilingual poetry for children is Animal Poems of the Iguazú (Children’s Book Press 2008). He teaches at the University of California, Davis. He created the Facebook page, POETS RESPONDING TO SB 1070: http://www.facebook.com/PoetryOfResistance
Nancy Aidé González is a Chicana poet who lives in Lodi, California. She graduated from California State University, Sacramento with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature in 2000. Her work has appeared in Calaveras Station Literary Journal, La Bloga, Everyday Other Things, Mujeres De Maiz Zine, La Peregrina and Huizache The magazine of Latino literature. She is a participating member of Escritores del Nuevo Sol, a writing group based in Sacramento, California which honors the literary traditions of Chicano, Latino, Indigenous and Spanish-language peoples. She attended Las Dos Brujas Writer’s Workshop in 2012.
Born and raised in Seattle, Sharon Elliott has written since childhood. Four years in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua and Ecuador laid the foundation for her activism. As an initiated Lukumi priest, she has learned about her ancestral Scottish history, reinforcing her belief that borders are created by men, enforcing them is simply wrong.
Elena DÃaz Björkquist. “I have enjoyed being a moderator on Poets Responding to SB 1070 since its creation by Francisco and Odilia. It’s a pleasure opening poems and reading so many wonderful works, but always difficult to select the ones for La Boga’s Floricanto. I like being a friend and mentor to many great poets on Facebook. Reading poetry is an inspiration for writing my own poetry.”
A writer, historian, and artist from Tucson, Elena writes about Morenci, Arizona where she was born. She is the author of two books, Suffer Smoke and Water from the Moon. Elena is co-editor of Sowing the Seeds, una cosecha de recuerdos and Our Spirit, Our Reality; our life experiences in stories and poems, anthologies written by her writers collective Sowing the Seeds.
As an Arizona Humanities Council (AHC) Scholar, Elena has performed as Teresa Urrea in a Chautauqua living history presentation and done presentations about Morenci, Arizona for twelve years. She received the 2012 Arizona Commission on the Arts Bill Desmond Writing Award for excelling nonfiction writing and the 2012 Arizona Humanities Council Dan Schilling Public Humanities Scholar Award in recognition of her work to enhance public awareness and understanding of the role that the humanities play in transforming lives and strengthening communities. She was nominated for Tucson Poet Laureate in 2012.
Her website is at http://elenadiazbjorkquist.com/.
Sonia Gutiérrez is part of this generation of Chican@ poets of the New Sun. Sonia writes about pressing social issues that haunt her and demand our immediate attention. La Bloga’s On-line Floricanto is home to Sonia’s Poets Responding to SB 1070 poems, including “The Books”/“Los libros,” “Careful with the River”/“Cuidado con el rÃo,” “MemografÃa”/“Memography,” “Mi bandera”/“My Flag,” “My Heart Is a Strawberry Field,” “The Passing,” and “La maza y cantera de una poeta”/“A Poet’s Mallet and Quarry” (10 Best Poems of 2011). Her bilingual poetry collection, Spider Woman/La Mujer Araña (Olmeca Press) is forthcoming in 2013. Sonia is at work on a novel, Kissing Dreams from a Distance, among other projects. Her website www.soniagutierrez.com is coming soon.
Carmen Calatayud's first poetry collection In the Company of Spirits was published in October 2012 as part of the Silver Concho Series by Press 53. In the Company of Spirits was a runner-up for the 2010 Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets. Her poetry has appeared in various journals and anthologies, including Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Cutthroat: A Journal of the Arts, Gargoyle, La Bloga, PALABRA: A Magazine of Chicano and Latino Literary Art, Red River Review and the anthology DC Poets Against the War. Carmen is a Larry Neal Poetry Award winner and recipient of a Virginia Center for the Creative Arts fellowship. She is a poet moderator for Poets Responding to SB 1070, a Facebook group that features poetry and news about Arizona’s controversial immigration law that legalizes racial profiling. Born to a Spanish father and Irish mother in the U.S., Carmen works and writes in Washington, DC
Hedy M. Garcia Treviño. Has written poetry since the age of eight. Her first poem came as a result of being punished for speaking Spanish in school. Her poetry has been published in numerous journal's and other publications. She has performed her poetry at numerous cultural events. She continues to write poetry, and inspires others to use the written word as a form of self discovery and personal healing. Hedy is also one of the moderators for Poets Responding to SB 1070.
Claudia D. Hernández was born and raised in Guatemala. She's a bilingual educator, poet, writer, photographer and translator in the city of Los Angeles. She's pursuing an MFA in creative writing at Antioch University Los Angeles. Her photography, poetry, and short stories have been published in: The Indigenous Sovereignty Issue of The Peak, Hinchas de PoesÃa, KUIKATL Literary Journal, nineteen-sixty-nine an Ethnic Studies Journal, Blood Lotus, REDzine, Kalyani Magazine, Along the River II Anthology, among others.
She’s currently working on a project titled: TODAY’S REVOLUTIONARY WOMEN OF COLOR. This is a yearlong project that will tentatively culminate on November 2013, with a walking photography exhibit and the publication of a photography book.
To stay updated with the latest interviews of these phenomenal women, please visit and ‘like’ TODAY’S REVOLUTIONARY WOMEN OF COLOR Facebook page @
http://www.facebook.com/TodaysRevolutionaryWomenOfColor?ref=ts&fref=ts