- Apr 2024
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docs.google.com docs.google.com
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Lots more people may enjoy reading him than Faulkner, but there's still a learning process we go through when we open his book.
very accurate statement. Hence why we tend to stick to a certain genre, author, or writing style.
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We have to learn to read every new novel, so the novel must be a series of lessons on how to read this one.
This could be interpreted as writers style, the history, backstory, or overall setting of novel.
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Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself." "This is the saddest story I ever heard."
Again, pokes at the curious fellows. Makes you wonder what the flowers are for.
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"What's it going to be, then?"
ultimatum feel with this line, which does intrigue me.
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Perhaps more importantly, it wants us to get involved. When it's over, we may feel wooed, adored, appreciated, or abused, but it will have been an affair to remember.
A risk you have to be willing to take if you want to finish a novel. I've defenietly had a few reads where I regret finishing the book because of its terrible ending.
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Otherwise, the book goes back on the shelf. You can’t read ‘em all.
great description that helps the reader place themselves in the scene. I'm sure most of us have done this at one point or another.
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they no longer know or intuit that an individual person has created the thing that is the source of their pleasure.
Easy to fall into something that is in our pockets at all times. Common theme we see kids at the table with ipads so to not disturb.
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Hitler was mildly consoled to find a painting by Caravaggio-Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio-whom Hitler thought was the same person as Michelangelo Buonarroti.
wowww! Hitler really was not knowledgable
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We understand it, and we don't. It's irreducible; it can't be summarized or described; we feel something we can't describe.
One of my favorite aspects of art. Sometimes you cant explain it. It erupts emotions I cant even comprehend sometimes.
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And in fact, I wasn't shocked enough to remember which artist contestant won.
hahaha but also, it may have had an impact on somebody else
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It's a question to which there is no real answer, except to mention truth, another difficult and complicated thing, and to add that we do feel we know beauty when we see it. We could quote Emily Dickinson's famous definition of poetry as applying also to beauty:
anything that sparks emotion has beauty in it. Having feelings and expressing them is beautiful. Regardless of how dark or cheesy it may be.
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Why do I love the marvelous scene in Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather in which Sonny speaks out of turn and the Tattaglia family knows that the Corleones are vulnerable and can be attacked?
perhaps the passion behind Sonny speaking out. Seeing the passion in their eyes just to get their point across
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she is even homelier than they remember,just as she is even more intensely the love of their life and their jailer.
This can be interpreted differrent ways. Growing up, my parents made me incredibly hyper-aware to my weight since a very young age. This makes me assume the parents cant be content. She leaves and she returns a renewed version of herself and her parents notice that. Yet they still remind themselves of the rough patches she goes through.
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If we think the Apollo Belvedere is beautiful, what do we say about the naked bottom and legs of a manemerging from a strawberry and scurrying around Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights?
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
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And, really who can blame anyone for not wanting to sling around this vague, loaded, indefinable, and antiquated term in the learned journals?
I could see this as an opinion of someone who hasnt experience true beauty or is insecure.
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- Mar 2024
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docs.google.com docs.google.com
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Me and my brother Dan and Syl and me, we just kind of stank from the heat and dealt with it.
I guess the sisters were younger, the younger siblings always have it easier. We would have never been able to ask for an expensive perfume while in school.
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At the time, the rest of the family had not consciously realized that our job, as new Americans–and worse yet, as Texans–was to be as white as possible,
I grew up in a predominately white town where the Mexican and black kids could be counted with your hands. We stuck out like a sore thumb and I remember I also fell into the traps of hiding my identity and attempting to blend in more with theirs.
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"But my colleague, a Mexican national writer, will never finish reading your great book because she can't get past the errors,” Sandra said.
I think that that's just unfair. They didn't even give the book a chance.
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t was a difficult and painful process. There were so many words I'd forgotten or never learned
This is the worst feeling. You not only let yourself down but also your people. You start feeling a real disconnect from your roots.
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There have been a couple of times when I've tried to write in Spanish, but it is a painful experience. The words don't come; they remain so buried beneath the English words that it takes a tremendous amount of effort to dig through my memory and unearth them
my heart goes out to her. so sad to see the trauma of speaking her native tongue has brought upon her life. one of the many sacrifices made for a better life sometimes.
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“Do I belong here? Do I belong over there? Do I belong anywhere?" I asked
such a common theme in a lot of Latinos. That culture shock of which side we belong to more. Especially after being on the other side for so long
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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. The underlying message was that English would lead to success in this country. It was here,
I think its easy to interpret this as a victim mentality, however, I see what she means. Growing up I was bullied for simply being able to speak spanish. This caused me to completely abandon it and not use it for years in fear of ridicule. She spent her first 3 years in a corner simply for not knowing the language. So I can see why she would assume she would be listened to more if she spoke english.
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I worked hard to learn English so that I would no longer have to go to those dreaded bungalows and could rid myself of the stigma of being an ESL student.
this is still prevalent today. I remember in high school we had an ESL program and the students who attended were always bullied.
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My teacher's rejection of my story hurt me deeply. To me, she wasn't just rejecting my story--she was rejecting me. I felt ashamed to be an immigrant and a Spanish speaker.
I wonder how many talented children flunk out of school because of teachers like her. So many missed opportunities and chances for them.
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The trauma of realizing that the language used in school was the one I didn't know led to debilitating thoughts such as: I am not enough. I am insufficient.
how tough it must be to be a child and feel so alone.
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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. Había agarrado malos pasos. Something was “wrong” with me. Estabá más allá de la tradición.
very common theme in Hispanic culture. You're expected to tend to the men because your place is at home. I am so grateful my parents didnt push this ideology on me and encouraged me to go to school.
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Because I left of my own accord me dicen, “¿Cómo te gusta la mala vida?”
This is so common to. I left my hometown and the first year was a struggle, family always told me that I did it to myself and was welcome to come back. What a shame they cant at least support her and be proud she is trying to do something different.
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To this day I’m not sure where I found the strength to leave the source, the mother, disengage from my family, mi tierra, mi gente, and all that picture stood for. 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 is seen a lot, especially for the oldest of a mexican family. You act as a parent to your younger siblings and often times don't even have a personality of your own. What a bold move of her
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Hable pa’ ’tras. Fuí muy hocicona. Era indiferente a muchos valores de mi cultura. No me deje de los hombres. No fuí buena ni obediente.
which is a sentence in itself. What power it holds. Growing up Latina the last thing I would have ever done is speak back, especially to a male. It shows how rebellious she really was despite her culture
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Me costó muy caro mi rebeldía—acalambrada con desvelos y dudas, sintiéndome inútil, estúpida e impotente.
This makes it sound like she made some decisions thinking she was ready or prepared and made` mistakes instead. which left her feelinf dumb and unimportant
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ríos desbocanados
overflowing rivers
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docs.google.com docs.google.com
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I ran across bridges, beneath overhead passes,and then back alongside the infested wallsof the concrete river;splashing rainwater as I threaded,my heels colliding against the pavement.So much energy propelled my legsand, just like the river,it went on for miles.
he truly didn't care anymore. He didn't care how he was perceived to the world. He simply wanted to escape his emotions.
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A radio, broken TV, and some dishes remained.I didn’t stop her.There was nothing to say that my facedidn’t explain already.Nothing to do. . . but run.
he had nothing left. I imagine running was his escape from the emptiness he felt. Crazy to see how a woman was the one to make him soft. He carries a gun to protect himself from gangs but loses himself when she leaves.
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discordant
harsh; lack of harmony
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and it will wear on you the constant battle of necessity versus necessity a box of syringes vsgas money
we see this today too. price of insulin has skyrocketed. sad to see what basic necessities people must choose between.
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It should be an air ball to go to college at twenty-one, the father of two, just to play basketball. Whenmost folks say they want to change the world they mean their own.
its a shame they can't see he doesnt want to have this kind of life forever. He's trying to make something of himself and his family. why should he think. of the others when they dont stop to think of him or themselves for that matter.
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and, too, lynchings and genocide in the feathery strandsof our DNA that move our hands to do the work.
their history
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I look down and see new immigrants coming in,mattresses rolled up and on their shoulders,new haircuts and brogan boots,looking around, each with a dream in their heart,thinking they’ll get a chance to change their lives.
our prison system needs reform. So sad to watch more people come in with the same dream you once had and know the inevitable fate.
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But right away we are sent to work as dishwashers,to work in fields for three cents an hour.
how sad that this was the outcome despite coming here with hopes and dreams
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pero eso sí, compiras,’no quiero regresar.
that's a brave line. because they are usually taught that it's the only family they will ever have.
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when night became the coverletand darkness filtered songs,when all alone i’d dierealizing just how sordida prison life can be . . .
the reminder that no matter how close the bonds are on the inside, it doesnt change the loneliness they feel at night when they are truly by themselves.
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i’ll laugh at convicts scurryingfrom cell block to the canteenwith books of scripted moneyto purchase cokes and cookiesand candy bars as well;
it's sad that we cant see this side of them on the outside. They have such a tough outer layer and its fascinating to me how often times they open up and show more of their true authentic selfs in situations like these
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am leavingand it hurts,funny that it hurts,i see faces of my friends,we joke about my getting out,
this is seen time and time again. you build bonds in prison and often times feel guilty for leaving your friends behind. very slippery slope and easy for it to become a cycle when you know you have somebody to come back to on the inside.
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La pinche vida Que a tirones la vivimos under a never changing sun nos sigue jodiendo.
La pinche vida indeed. We bust our ass y aveces se siente como para que? Especially when we see our parents or even grandparents still working to just put bread on the table.
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Algodón piscando y al sol la cara dando como si rezando a un Dios Todopoderoso
What a comparison.. On his knees working, but almost like he was down on his knees praying to the Lord Almighty. Which im sure he was. Silently praying to get him out of this trap.
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Las chicharras en los mesquites cantan Y segundea la tortolita con su coo-coo-cooEl algodón cae torpe on pavement ground
He has a great deal of imagery in this poem. Truly paints a picture.
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surcos
grooves?
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stay-out-late chicks in search of Modern Romance lovers, who always stood them up unable to leave their world in the magazines’ pages. Angry fingers grabbing, squeezing, feeling, french kisses imposed; close bodily contact, thigh & belly rubbings under shadows of Cristo Rey Church.
My parents always said "lo que no aguantas ver en publico es lo que tienes en casa" a lot of times in our culture we judge other peoples children without really paying attention to what their kids are doing.
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Kids barefoot/snotty-nosed playing marbles/munching on bean tacos
Growing up this is exactly how my sister and I were brought up. We'd play a canicas game and then walk over to the restaurant my mother worked at and eat tacos de frijoles con queso fresco.
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- Feb 2024
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docs.google.com docs.google.com
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The villagesthe mountainsthe mountainsthe streamsbelong to Zapatistas.
At first glance, I thought it was shoemakers but after looking it up, it is actually an army by the name "Ejercito Zapatista de Liberacion Nacional" simply defended indigenous peasants rights in Southern Mexico at all costs. They are still around today, but they are focused on peaceful tactics for an effective economy, civil society, etc.
https://nacla.org/news/2022/12/21/spark-hope-ongoing-lessons-zapatista-revolution-25-years
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AndI am the eagle and serpentof Aztec civilization.
I found a video of the legend of the eagle and serpent that I found very interesting.
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look at myself.I watch my brothers.I shed teads of sorrow.I sow seeds of hate.I withdraw to the safety within thecircle of life– MY OWN PEOPLE.
Joaquin is so focused on the damage they have caused to his people. Which makes him just embrace his culture more and hate Americans more.
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I must choose betweenthe paradox ofvictory of the spirit,despite physical hunger, orto exist in the graspof American social neurosis,sterilization of the souland a full stomach.
Joaquin is clearly having a hard time trying to figure out who he is or who he wants to be. Not wanting to abandon his roots and what he has grown up on but also considering what life would be like if he did just jump in to "American life" It was clear the next generation would be the most confused as to whose side to be on. They see the pain they've caused the grown ups around them but also are curious towards what it could be to assimilate to the new American way.
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My fathershave lost the economic battleand wonthe struggle of cultural survival
This part makes me think of the identity crisis this older generation may be going through. Everything they've known is suddenly changing and they are expected to just put their differences aside and assimilate to the "new way of life" I'm sure its a feeling of impotence not only for themselves but for what their kids will now have to grow up with. Even more when they are judged for simply just being Mexican.
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