Imagen Latina

Hola mi gente,
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Today, I am sharing a poem that served as the inspiration for a song by the great Orquesta Libre.

Imagen Latina/ Latin Image

Indians, Hispanics and blacks
Came together to become
A race of all races
With a future to be won

To the belly of the beast
(As Marti called it here)
We have come to do battle
So we can work, so we can live

From Quisqueya^* to El Plata
From Las Pampas to Havana
We are our blood, our voice,
Part of this American land

In the land of snow
Under the sun of the palm tree
Latino/as everywhere
Must find their own freedom

All the Americas are here
North, Central and South
In a time of struggle
For a future full of light

This is my Latin image
This is my new way of singing
To tell you my brother
Get together, now

 — Bermardo Palombo
(translated by Bernardo Palombo and Kurt Hollander)

Imagen Latina

Indios, Hispanos y negros
Nos vinieron a formar
Raza de todas las sangres
Y un futuro por lograr

A las entrañas del monstruo
Corno dijera Marti
vinimos, para esforzarnos
A trabajar y a vivir

Desde Quisqueya hasta El Plata
De Las Pampas a La Havana
Somos  sangre voz y parte
De esta tierra Americana

En el país de la nieve
Y bajo el sol del palmar
El latino en todas partes
Busca por su libertad

Americanos todos somos
El Norte, el Centro y el Sur
Con un presente de lucha
por un futuro de luz

Esta es mi imagen Latina
Este es mi nuevo cantar
Para decirte mi hermano
Busca y encuentra unidad

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

*Quisqueya (or Kiskeya) is one of the names of Hispaniola believed to mean “mother of all lands” in the Taíno language. In the mid-19th century, Dominicans adopted the name for the Dominican Republic to differentiate themselves from Haiti. Nonetheless, it is used by both sides of the island.

To Die Dreaming (Morir Soñando)

Hola Everybody,
I wrote the following a while back. It’s part of an unfinished short story that tracks the travels of two lovers. On another note, Morir Soñando is also a Dominican refreshment. In any case, I have a funny relationship to my dreams (none of which I ever remember) and I can say I write while dreaming…

Morir Soñando

Dreaming men are haunted men.
— Stephen Vincent Benet

 

… The thought of her beauty awakens me sometimes, from the middle of dreams I can’t remember. It’s not the image of her face, the softness of her skin, but just the sudden awareness of her total beauty — that first strike before any of the details become clear — that jolts me awake and leaves me longing on the broken shoals of my bed.

For a brief moment, I’m upset she’s not here with me, but the anger gradually subsides into longing, and I stand and pace, haunting the darkness of my room, thinking of possibilities. Gradually, I come to the awareness that there’s no reason for anger, only choices. I ponder all this for what seems like hours and it’s the thought of her beauty that makes me lie back on my bed, weighing me down so that I plummet through the thin fabric of wake and sleep and drown in the middle of dreams I don’t remember…

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…