Little by little I will rediscover what I once lost, one word at a time.
I am glad to see that she does not resign herself and continues attempting to master her Spanish Voice.
Little by little I will rediscover what I once lost, one word at a time.
I am glad to see that she does not resign herself and continues attempting to master her Spanish Voice.
And although I expected her to one day thank me for enrolling her in a bilingual program, her gratitude came much sooner than expected.
Parents should push there kids, often to do the things they don't want to. I wish my parents had made me continue many of the things attempted as opposed to letting me quit when I didn't want to.
My daughter didn't want to be enrolled in that programbut we gave her no choice.
Projecting her own feelings on to her daughter.
So he came along and sat through my presentation, where I spoke English to the gringos in the audience--including my own son. After the talk, we went out to dinner with the PEN members, all of whom could speak English. But there was a teenaged girl in attendance who spoke only Spanish. She sat next to my son, and throughout dinner my son texted me his complaints. "Mom, why didn't you teach me Spanish? I'm sitting next to an angel and now I can't talk to her!" I have single-handedly ruined my son's love l
I visited Mexico a year ago and met a beautiful Mexican woman. I don't speak Spanish, she didn't speak English. We spent a lot of time together. The language barrier wasn't much of a barrier.
She's trying to connect with you, I told myself as I drove to the airport to catch my flight back home, but I couldn't help feeling bad about what her gift meant, of what it said about our relationship.
She's trying, try back :( communicate. Have the hard conversations about how you feel. Tell the truth and pursue a real connection.
It was all small talk, as if she were an acquaintance I'd run into by chance instead of the woman who delivered me into this world.
A connection was not just lost, it wasn't maintained, a major failure. A lack of effort to maintain truth in understanding a daughter, a mothers wall never pushed against.
What I cannot live with is not trying to reclaim what I once lost-my first language, my first love.
There goal as a writer was to write it it in there own voice, Spanish or English. I think this is admirable. Something we should all aim towards in our writing.
There was so little we could talk about, little I could share with her about my English-speaking American life, and through the years it became harder and harder to find common ground; even finding the words in Spanish to tell her about my world became a challenge.
Did her mother not regularly speak to her in Spanish? Which might allow for a more true bilingualism than a language replacement?
These are the words I do not know; this is what I lost when I immigrated.
Is it possible to learn? Could they immerse themselves in Spanish, and rekindle there "first love"?
I get so focused on the words that the characters I wanted to write about walk away and won't return until I switch to English.
Helps to understand that this person did not learn English, they replaced Spanish. They are not bilingual as the two languages seem to inhabit the same space for them as opposed to being two separate entities.
“Do I belong here? Do I belong over there? Do I belong anywhere?"
Maybe it's either, maybe it's both. Maybe you have the flexibility to choose who your going to be. Maybe this creates trauma and anxiety as there are choices to be made about who you want to be.
The underlying message was that English would lead to success in this country.
It seems sort of obvious.
What I learned from that experience was this: IfI write in Spanish, I will be rejected. If I write in English, I will be celebrated and win prizes.
In an English speaking society who would be able to judge your Spanish on any foundation other than simply being able to speak it.
We didn't read literature in Spanish or do any kinds of activities where we could continue to improve our Spanish skills.
A failure of the school, but seemingly the parents also did not encourage native language reading and speaking.
I sat there thinking I was the problem-my lack of English was the problem. It didn't cross my nine-year-old mind that perhaps it was my school that was the problem, that my teacher's failure to be sensitive to my needs was the problem.
I think both things seem to be contributions to the problem. The child needs to learn English to properly succeed, but the teachers have e responsibility to facilitate this.
On my first day of school in September 1985, on realizing that I didn't speak a word of English, my fifth-grade teacher pointed to the farthest corner of her classroom and sent me there. She ignored me for the rest of the year.
Very fairly described as traumatic.
I was also risking the loss of my mother tongue. My journey toward learning English was so traumatic that, to this day, I'm still dealing with the repercussions, not only in my career as a professional writer but also in my interactions with my own family-especially my mother and my children.
A complicated issue. Moving a new place where your language isn't the main spoken language is being described as traumatic here. Is this necessarily the fault of a culture that refuses to adapt? Or is it a proper expectation that you will need to learn and transition to the language of the people who live there? I think a common argument may be that the Spanish were in California first so Spanish could be seen as the native language, but what of the indigenous before the Spanish, and the Mexicans? The over 20 native languages of California do not include Spanish, or English.
I believed what I wrote, because I wrote what was true. My words did not come from books or textual formulas, but from a deep faith in the voice of my heart.
Very powerful statement. He writes the truth, he has no fear in his words for he has faith in his heart. The power of faith lies in truth, there is little more powerful than the truth.
But I honed my image-making talents in that sensory-deprived solitude
He found freedom in uninterrupted imagination.
I wrote about it all—about people I had loved or hated, about the brutalities and ecstasies of my life.
Writing about our own history can help us to understand why we are the way we are and more importantly allow us to begin to answer the question of exactly who we are.
I always had thought reading a waste of time, that nothing could be gained by it. Only by action, by moving out into the world and confronting and challenging the obstacles, could one learn anything worth knowing.
Seems reading is one way to learn about the world and how to confront challenging obstacles.
I had been guilty of nothing but shattering the windshield of my girlfriend’s car in a fit of rage.
I had been guilty of nothing but vandalism out of anger...?
There was nothing so humiliating as being unable to express myself, and my inarticulateness increased my sense of jeopardy.
Dropped out of school unable to read, unable to express yourself, and inarticulate. Learns to write, expresses much through this memoir. Knowledge is power.
I enjoyed the quiet, away from the screams of shotgunned, knifed, and mangled kids writhing on gurneys outside the operating rooms.
Fair.
rail against my culture. I fear no betrayal on my part because, unlike Chicanas and other women of color who grew up white or who have only recently returned to their native cultural roots, I was totally immersed in mine. It wasn’t until I went to high school that I “saw” whites.
Railing against her culture, or whites culture, or just all culture?
I made the choice to be queer (for some it is genetically inherent).
Is it a choice of attraction or a gene of preference?
that human nature is limited and cannot evolve into something better.
Better as defined by who exactly? Her?
In my culture, selfi shness is condemned, especially in women; humility and selflessness, the absence of selfishness, is considered a virtue.
Since when is selflessness not a virtue? Is using your energy to help others as opposed to your own self interest not characteristic of a high moral standard? Which is by definition virtuous.
Which was it to be—strong, or submissive, rebellious or conforming?
Why is strong in contrast with submissive? She speaks to Christian religion previously but does not accept that a woman can be strong AND submissive? She then relates strong to rebellious, what does strength have to do with rebellion in this context?
Christianity and most other major religions, woman is carnal, animal, and closer to the undivine, she must be protected.
Woman is emotional, intuitive, and closer to instinct than consciousness, she must be protected. Protected from her own vulnerability.
Women are made to feel total failures if they don’t marry and have children.
Made to feel that way by who? I'm assuming she's blaming men again, perhaps society. Women who can't have children despite they're wanting to can feel just as much like failures. I'd blame God, if for nothing else, for having the choice.
It refuses to take orders from my conscious will
Highlighting a refusal to listen to ones own consciousness. A need to be able to follow ones impulsive will, a sort of "I do what I want not what I'm supposed to, even if I'm the one telling myself to."
I was “lazy.” Instead of ironing my younger brothers’ shirts or cleaning the cupboards, I would pass many hours studying, reading, painting, writing. Every bit of self-faith I’d painstakingly gathered took a beating daily. Nothing in my culture approved of me.
"Instead of doing my chores I did what I wanted, but this is not self-ish, it's self-faith because I know who I am and who I am doesn't do living up to my parents expectations." I have a hard time reading this as anything other than having an insolent and selfish attitude.
“¿Cómo te gusta la mala vida?”
Choosing chaos, newness, and discomfort over stability and comfortability.
I had to leave home so I could find myself, find my own intrinsic nature buried under the personality that had been imposed on me.
This sounds insecure, like the personality was forced on her and she must leave to go let her "intrinsic" nature become her personality? She wants to break the influence of her family so she can experiment.
You do not speak for the dead.The dead speak for you.
How to make art? Let your creative nature do the talking, just give it a topic, like the past, and it'll do the rest. This is as if to say the art was already there, just waiting for you to manifest it.
The songs will be new in your throat
Songs from your abuelo, songs from your ancestry, your identity.
After rolling joints in two Zig-Zags, after an hour of starching pants,he transferred trollies and buses. He’s going places. Look at homie, trying to fix himself. Thinks,out of repetition comes variation.
Really showcases how hard it can be to put your life together when many of the influences around might otherwise push you towards behaviors mal adapted to success.
You ever try to read philosophy high?
I would never..
i will make song
Is love the song?
the choices we make out of fear are not choices
Very powerful statement a broad and widely applicable truth.
and when the body does not obey as the doctor demands more pillsmore insulin more syringes more often
Fighting for your health when the problem is you. The doctor points this out and helps fix you, for a price. Prioritize, your health? Or the electric bill? Shouldn't have gotten sick when you did..
Today at the vigil, the native singersaid we are all connectedby water, la sangre de vida.
Alluding back to the Rio Grande.
Here, our river kills more crossersthan the sun, than the singular heat of Arizona
Saying the Rio Grande kills more trying to cross into Arizona than hot Arizona sun.
‘Til one day she got madand stayedand threw pebbles right back at him!After they got married,
Cute...
Right here(or maybe a little farther down)
Only adding the (or maybe a little farther down portion to farther removed generations.
maybe the reason Ms. Nelson treated me like shitin her second grade class was becauseI didn’t belong thereor did I?
When you realize people have been biased against you for one reason or another your whole life, you start to wonder. Perhaps she's connecting some dots here.
seen over-worked and hollow-eyed men in the unemployment line, their wrinkled bodies worked-over
A sad reality faced by many even today.
long before Jamestown,
Referring to the first English colony in Jamestown. What makes it long before?
Rule 9: Be selective about what you swallow.
Pride, words.. The consequences of saying nothing are often worse than those speaking your mind.
Verify that the inside voice is yours.
Very powerful sentence. Make sure your not being controlled by someone else's thoughts and idea's.
I've had four hundred and one without anesthetic.
I wonder what the significance of 401 is? And know another?
I want to rattle and rent you in two.I want to defile you and raise hell.I want to pull out the kitchen knives,dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,like it or not, honey.
Sort of reminds me of the stereotype that Latina's are crazy. But also a complicated battle of identity between colonizer and indigenous people. Does this allude to an inner-battle being waged?
You bring out the colonizer in me.The holocaust of desire in me.
Highlighiting Mexico's complicated history, from the Aztec, to the Spanish colonizers. It is a complicated identity.
Tu sonrisa es un sunrise cosechada de tu smile sembrada como una semilla dentro del sol de mi soul con una ardent pasíon passion ardiente chisporroteando en un mar de amar donde more es amor en un sea de sí llena con la sal de salt en la saliva de saliva que da sed pero jamas esta sad. Dos lenguas que se encuentran no es un beso de boca sino amor bilingue.
The mirrored translation as an extension of the original; the original seems incomplete without it.
Your sonrisa is a sunrise that was reaped from your smile sewed like a semilla into the sol of your soul with an ardent pasíon, passion ardiente, sizzling in a mar de amar where more is amor, in a sea of sí filled with the sal of salt in the saliva of the saliva that gives sed but is never sad. Two tongues that come together is not a French kiss but bilingual love.
If you don't speak Spanish, do translate. Understanding this poem is well worth it when you realize it's beauty.
I ran into the mist of morning,carrying the heat of emotionthrough the sun’s rays
The emotional catharsis is well conveyed.
the babies
The way he casually mentions the babies, to downplay them as just some of her things.. I wonder if he did this intentionally, as if the full weight was too much, too heartbreaking to describe.
I brushed away roaches that meanderedacross their faces,but not even that could wake them.
Quickly, gives us a good idea of the surrounding conditions.
I don’t love my country. Its abstract gloryis beyond my grasp.Still (though it sounds bad) I’d give my lifefor ten places there, certain folks,ports, forests, deserts, fortresses,a city in ruins, ashen, monstrous,various historical figures,mountains–and three or four rivers.
He does not love his idea of the United States, He loves certain aspects of the places he's from. If perhaps he went to war he would not be fighting for the U.S. but for things from home.
come inching out–then bursting out by way of laugh/cry, and cry being the best of all because then the ocean that lives within me shatters the seawall of my reason
The ocean characterizes an overwhelming emotion, that once come up over the seawall, her reasonable senses, throw her into an emotional fit, the likes of which others seem to describe as, bitch.
Yes, fusion is possiblebut only if things get hot enough –
Which also runs the risk of some burning, turning to smoke.
I am a welder.Not an alchemist.
A clear distinction. Not a performer of miracles, clearly just one of good efforts pointed in the direction of bring two things together, like that of a welder.
But in the end, some will just sit aroundtalking about how good the old world was.Some of the younger ones will become gangsters.Some will die and others will go on livingwithout a soul, a future, or a reason to live.Some will make it out of here with hate in their eyes,but so very few make it out of here as human
Very real and sad statements regarding the prison system.
The administration says this is right,no mixing of cultures, let them stay apart,like in the old neighborhoods we came from.
Also seemingly odd as I think it is more the choice of people to associate themselves with familiarity than it is of the administration or perhaps local government.
they talked about rehabilitation,about being able to finish school,and learning an extra good trade.But right away we are sent to work as dishwashers,to work in fields for three cents an hour.
The poem is seemingly talking about prison, making this an odd expectation. Although opportunities can exist for inmates, I wouldn't become one in search of opportunities.
The old men who have lived here stare at us,from deep disturbed eyes, sulking, retreated.
A terrifying foreshadowing.
i’ll laugh at contradictions
A common theme of this poem.
Soledad was a girl’s nameyears ago
More specifically, there was a girl named Soledad.
A hard reality, despite there hoping, nothing ever changed.
i respect your having been: my Loma of Austin my Rose Hill of Los Angeles my West Side of San Anto my Quinto of Houston my Jackson of San Jomy Segundo of El Paso my Barelas of Alburque my Westside of DenverFlats, Los Marcos, Maravilla, Calle Guadalupe, Magnolia, Buena Vista, Mateo, La Seís, Chíquis,El Sur, and all Chicano neighborhoods that
What Loma of Austin may have been to this writer he recognizes that these communities were the same for Mexican peoples all over the U.S.
i needed you then . . . identity . . . a sense of belonging i need you now. so essential to adult days of imprisonment, you keep me away from INSANITY’S hungry jaws Smiling/Laughing/Crying.
Sort of making the case that knowing who you are, Identity, protects our sanity.
No lawyer no jury no trial i’m guilty Aren’t we all guilty?
Alluding to the idea that it wasn't merely an individual convicted but a culture convicted.
You, too, are granted immortality.
reiterating it's existence now forever in his memory.
lament of La Llorona–the weeping lady
Must be a common folktale for those of Mexican culture, it is repeated throughout many Mexican works as a fond memory from childhood.
were sent home excused from class for having cooties in their hair! Did only Mexicans have cooties in their hair?
Cooties, aka lice. No, it is not only Mexicans who have cooties, my sister would attest.
Neighborhood of
The author repeats "Neighborhood of" and then proceeds to describe what the community was like. He emphasizes that the neighborhood now destroyed, was more than just a collection of homes, but rather, a unified community.
“Sons of independence!” Emphasis on allegiance to the tri-color
The tri-color refers to the Mexican flag. Each color of the flag stands for something, Green is for hope, White, for purity, and Red for the blood-shed during independence.
You live on, captive, in the lonely cellblocks of my mind.
Although the neighborhood is gone, it is remembered.
By the time he reached his mom and Roque, the note was already somewhere on the asphalt parking lot. Look, he said in a full voice. They all signed the ball.
Perhaps just excited by the ball, or maybe genuinely wished for his mom to stay with Roque, whom seems to be an actually decent guy.
When the window opened once more, this time the ball was there. Catch.
This reminds me a of a similar childhood experience where I got a hockey stick sign by a team of hockey players at the age of six.
He rubbed the bumpy seams of his home-run ball.
A good childhood memory.
Erick thought, she might want to go somewhere else, even with somebody else.
Is Erick alluding to unfaithfulness?
His mom decided that all three of them would go on a Saturday afternoon, since Saturday night,
Roque puts effort into connecting with Erick in a sincere way.
How could she not like him for that?
The first man with a seemingly genuine interest in Ericks mother. Roque sounds as if he is in love with her genuinely.
because the engineer was supposed to be his new dad any minute.
A pattern of potential marriage between his mom and the men in her lives seems apparent.
when a man started changing it all. Most of the time it was just a man staring too much—but then one would come over.
A powerful indicator for what kind of story this might be.
He prayed for good to come, for his mom and for him,
At a young age he could feel the reality of there situation and his love for his mom is highlighted here.
When she got upset about days like that, she told Erick that she wished they could just go back home. She was tired of worrying.
More context on her motivations. She wasn't just after the money of these men, she was after security for her and her son.
even he could see the money.
A young child could recognize the pattern of the men in his mothers life, they had money, or at least, the must have appeared too.
The man winked at Erick as if they were buddies.
Highlighting how when pursuing a single mother winning over her children can be a part of the challenge.
She almost always gave the man her number if he was wearing a suit. Not a sports coat but a buttoned suit with a starched white shirt and a pinned tie meant something to her.
She would judge potential suitors status based on their an appearance of wealth.
he might have a tan uniform on
The writer does a good job of illustrating to us what kind of persons he and his mother are encounter
La Raza!Méjicano! Español! Latino! Hispano! Chicano!or whatever I call myself,
Joaquin highlights here the many different and complicated ideas and identities that make up what we call Mexican Americans. European Spanish, Mexican Spanish, Indigenous American groups, Aztecs, American Indian, American... Mexico has a long complicated yet vibrant and rich culture and history. Whatever we call them, could never fully envelope the identity of the insanely broad group we call Mexican Americans.
And now the trumpet sounds,the music of the people stirs the revolution.Like a sleeping giant
Joaquin highlights what is often called the sleeping giant, the large group of Mexican Americans who do not vote in our elections. The stir of revolution has interesting implications in modern day. If the sleeping giant awoke, could the affects be akin to a revolution?
Part of the blood that runs deep in me could not be vanquished by the Moors.I defeated them after five hundred years,and I endured.
Joaquin nods to an interesting part of his Spanish Heritage. The Spanish Christians fought against the Moors for centuries. Under Spanish Monarchs King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in the late 15th century the Iberian peninsula was united making up what is now Spain. Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. "Reconquista". Encyclopedia Britannica, 7 Sep. 2023, https://www.britannica.com/event/Reconquista. Accessed 8 October 2023.
I shed the tears of anguishas I see my children disappearbehind a shroud of mediocrity,never to look back to remember me.I am Joaquín. I must fight and win this struggle for my sons, and they must known from me who I am.
Here Joaquin talks about the consequences of such oppression. The anger they feel towards being unable to climb the social ladder, unable to make their lives worthy of remembering. He then says he must fight for this. Despite odds he must fight to be remembered. And not from the Anglo perspective, but from his own.
deadon the battlefield or on the barbed wireof social strife.
Joaquin talks of a fight to death in two ways, in war, and in the oppressions of society.
The art of our great señores,Diego Rivera,Siqueiros,Orozco, is butanother act of revolution of mankind.
Here Joaquin uses the word revolution. I find this significant because it seems like it's talking of taking what was and is somebody else's identity and culture, apprehending it, and then calling it your own.
I have made the Anglo rich,yet Equality is but a word–the Treaty of Hidalgo has been brokenand is but another treacherous promise.My land is lostand stolen,
Joaquin insinuates that the Mexicans who fought for freedom from Mexico were not treated with equality as promised. Perhaps they thought they would be free to be on there own land within there own culture, but this was taken from them, while what they fought for, became not theirs, but now belonged to the Anglo.
Here I standbefore the court of justice,guiltyfor all the glory of my Razato be sentenced to despair,
In the terms of the accuser he confesses. But clarifies that what they accuse him of, is merely holding on to what is great about his people.
could not surrender with indignity their country’s flagto strangers . . . in their land.
He alludes to Mexican patriotism.
Blood has flowed from me on every battlefield betweencampesino, hacendado, slave and master and revolution.
Joaquin recognizes his ancestors had fought for every purpose. Part of his identity is found in both sides of every fight and every war.
I look at myselfand see part of mewho rejects my father and my mother
Here Joaquin recognizes that his differing ancestral lines discriminate against each other. There is tension inside him from being created of both sides.
my age- old burdened back. Inferiorityis the new load. . . .
Joaquin calls inferiority a new load, insinuating it is a new kind of oppression. I wonder how he would compare this "new load" to the class systems of the previous centuries.
Allwere added to the number of headsthatin the name of civilizationwere placed on the wall of independence,heads of brave menwho died for cause or principle,good or bad.
He talks of those that died fighting for good and bad but for independence. The way he illustrates this wall of independence makes me think of a sort of memorial. A memorial, of those who fought for Mexican freedom.
I killed those men who dared to steal my mine,Who raped and killed. my love my wife.ThenI killed to stay alive.
He addresses a time he took vengeance, on men who committed atrocity. He killed, them, and then he killed anyone who came after him. He killed for his wife, and then for his life.
YaquiTarahumaraChamulaZapotecMestizoEspañol.
Joaquin, is developing a Mexican identity, while being careful to include it's multi-facets. He paint's a picture of a complicated Mexican identity due to a diverse and complex history of many different types of people.
“This land is ours . . .Father, I give it back to you.Mexico must be free. . . .”
Here he lays claim for Mexicans in the land, but gives it back to God. His last line is on freedom, further suggesting that the idea of Freedom under God had strength in Mexico.
Our lifeor yoursis only trade for soft brown earthand maize.
I like the analogy, that they are trading there lives for land.
I was he
Throughout the poem, he associates himself with Mexican figures. He is not them but he posses the spirit of them. He identifies himself with them. They are HIS people who fought for HIS people. I think he can see that desire in himself, and feels passion of the spirit when learning of others who have done so, well and virtuously.
Freefrom Spanish rule in Eighteen-hundred-twenty-oneMexico was free ? ?
Joaquin highlights that although Mexico is free from Spanish rule, true freedom would require a shift from the culture and society that was put in place by the Spanish. True freedom, is hard to come by.
from these words grew men who prayed and fought fortheir own worth as human beings,
The Spanish brought Catholicism, Joaquin is saying here that this planted the idea that everyone, of every decent, in every class, is created equal in the eye's of God, and that this idea grew into the Mexican culture. Until they finally fought to end the Spanish rule over them, securing their independence, and more importantly, their freedom.
I owned the land as far as the eye could see under the crown of Spain,and I toiled on my earthand gave my Indian sweat and blood for the Spanish masterwho ruled with tyranny over man andbeast and all that he could trample But. . . . THE GROUND WAS MINE.
He expresses a frustration over not owning the land, or the land being taken from him, but then expresses that it'd be better to be subjugated. I wonder if the Aztecs at the time of the Spanish empire under often cruel Spanish rule would agree.
the paradox ofvictory of the spirit,despite physical hunger, orto exist in the graspof American social neurosis,sterilization of the souland a full stomach.
He feels that his only option to hold on to his cultural identity would mean forfeiture of success of well-being, otherwise he 'd have to sell his soul of sort and assimilate.
caught up in the whirl of a gringo society,
Starts by emphasizing that he's not there by choice but is stuck, in culture that is foreign to him.