Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts

Monday, October 23, 2017

New poetry chapbook! Poets against War & Racism | Poetas contra la guerra y el racismo

Order your copies of Poets against War & Racism here.


Here's the first in a series of chapbooks that we will be publishing to read and work together to raise our voices and ink (real & virtual) against the calamaties of capitalism: war and racism.

At the core of our words is the belief that we can create the world, small and big, horizontal and communal, where we are safe to be ourselves, free and self-determined.

To get there we have to create and practice the new language.

So here is a small offering by five poets who are against war & racism and for deep community and justice.

Get one for yourself and get two or more for your friends and families.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

What remains after us?

Poetry is what remains
after we make love,
after we march for justice,
after we make little revolutions against big injustices,
after we paint and color the canvasses of our skin,
when we make peace with the rage of the system,
when we kiss
... the hands of our elders,
.. the mouth of our lovers,
.. the nose of the new born

Poetry is what remains
after we hold hands or smile or talk and listen to one another,
when our hands glance each other's shadows,
when the moon is full and we are empty.

Poetry is what remains
after we have lived
many suns together.

Come make poetry with us
Poetry that swallows the wind to make us rain
Poetry that touches our faces with the hands of the dust
Poetry that makes craters in the soul of your heart
Poetry that defies bullets and the shadows of mourning
Poetry made by the hands and the eyes of rainbow warriors who struggle to make springtime the only season of our dreams

Poetry that buries the war dead with the words and cries of our elders who never gave up
Poetry that makes love to overthrow capitalism and its war machinery of wage labor, mining, fossil fuel and paved over acquifers
Poetry that is the flower and bread of organizing our utopias and seeds
Poetry that is on the lips of the loved ones,
.. the first kiss of humanity,
.. the first kiss of revolutions,
.. the kiss of our ancestors and newborn.

Poetry that says never again to war and hate, extraction and exploitation of our deepest life gestating in the earth herself.
Our dreams do not fit in
voting urns
banks
Our dreams fit
in our hearts and word of peace, sisterhood and justice...

--arnoldo garcía

Monday, April 15, 2013

[Poema 15] Song against the bombs




1.
My love,
listen
the bombs
make it hard to hear
the honey of your voice
the burning flesh
quashes
the aroma of our flowers
Listen,
my love.
We can't bury ourselves
in each other's melodious panting
with the whining threat of jets overhead
My heart
trembles
for you,
the bombs rattle
the land,
our bodies
go up
in a mushroom cloud
is it ecstasy or extermination
why are we not
inside each other?

2.
Invadidos

When I talked
they said
I growled
When I wrote
they said
nonsense
When I left them
they called me
traitor

When they called me back
they found out
they had to follow me.

They turned
my land
upside
down
and came to the conclusion
that I was lost.

Now I am free.

3.
Cuántas bombas
han lanzado
cuántas afganís
han molido
cuántos dioses
han perdido
sus creyentes
a manos
de sus creídos?


Thursday, July 26, 2012

My land | arno!do garcia



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My country
is the smallest country
in the world.
my country fits
inside one-hundredth
of one molecule
in a touch between one strand of DNA
my country
has room
for everyone
every European
every Chinese
every Mexican
every African
every Indian
every Asian Pacific Islander
every queer
every human
every nomad
of the earth
every two-legged, four-legged,
crawling, burrowing, winged-being
fits in my country.
Everyone is welcome, everyone
I'll happily give you
my country
as long as you promise
to take care of her
to let everyone
live in her in peace
in garbled flags
in borders without pigment
borders with human pores
to breath freely
to live breathing
My country is everyone, is everywhere
my country is small
bothers no one
invades no one
drones no one
doesn't stamp your passport
doesn't ask for identity documents
my country lets you be
lets you exist as yourself
lets you determine who you are
my country has no borders
other than those of humanity to humanity
my country has
no armies
no prisons
no police
no homeless
no one suffers
at the hands of other humans
my country is
all the colors,
the clash of colors,
the contrast,
the muddy blends,
the stark yellows,
the pink sunrises,
the red of your tongue
my country fits
in your veins
fits in the bat of an eye
welcomes you to our bodily paradise
you can have my country, if you want
it's already yours
walk slowly take your time
my country is in no rush
peace and freedom take their time
rest a bit, get up, work hard, party
in my country
even the dead
get a turn to dance
every now and then.
There are no regrets
there is only life
and its mortal pleasures
in my country.
Oh! in my country
you would be ideal
you would fit right in
like you always lived there
like your ancestors had been buried there
as a matter of fact
I would encourage you
to bury your ancestors here...
to bring your ancestors here
to my country
to bury them here
take care of them here
take care of our country
where everyone
where every living being
fits
my country is so small
that everyone fits.
And in one of her pores
fit all the suns and moon,
my country, you and me...

*****

Friday, January 16, 2009

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Three Poets, Four Poems for Gaza


Note from Arnoldo Garcia, EL FEO: These poems were sent to me by Miriam Ching Yoon Louie, author of Sweatshop Warriors and co-author with Beth Ching and myself, Arnoldo Garcia, of XicKorea: poems rants words together.

These four poems denounce the Israeli war against Palestinians and Palestine in Gaza. There are two poems by Suheir Hammad, noted Palestinian poet; one by Miriam Ching Yoon Louie and Janine Mogannam.

Why must these poems be written, read, disseminated, memorized, exchanged, lived? Israel launched a military invasion of the Gaza Strip on December 27, 2008, a seige that continues to this date and with no end in sight. Over 1,000 Palestinians have been killed (a third or more of the casualties are women and children) and thousands more wounded, maimed and traumatized. Israeli F-16 jets are bombing Gaza cities and towns into rubble, tanks and soldiers follow with shells, mortar fire and weapons firing against the people, whether they are in mosques, schools, homes, apartments, U.N. buildings and schools. Israel is carrying out a massacre, with the deliberate intention of a holocaust. The carnage must stop; Israel must be disarmed and driven back, driven out. Gaza must live.

Here are three poets aiming their words, their only weapons, for peace, justice, for those who have been buried and are dying in Gaza under the rubble of Israel. What will last longer? The Israeli siege and destruction of Gaza? Palestine? These poems? Who will remember forever, who try to forget today the Israeli killings? If Gaza is destroyed, I will rename Oakland, Gaza. I will name my home Gaza, my mourning, my happiness, my migrancies, my displacements, my love, my tenderness -- all Gaza.

*}*{*

Miriam Ching Yoon Louie

GazaNam

White phosphorous means
Napalm means VietGaza means
Child aflame run Korea

Survive Holocaust/ how
Collective hungerment/ can you
Smell charred flesh again?

Scorched root still grows
Bay night luminous with kaffiyah moms
Hoarse chanting babies

Eyelash boys beat buk thunder
Drum witness big bros rippling Leila
Wings from bus shelter roofs

Red black green white prayer
Cape catches my drumstick—kung!
End—the occupation

Now—a lil bit louder
Stop—the genocide
Free—free Palestine!

Hope pray hope
March hope please hope means
Stop burning children want peace.

*}*{*

Suheir Hammad


gaza

a great miracle happened here
a festival of lights
a casting of lead upon children
an army feasting on epiphany

i know nothing under the sun over the wall no one mentions
some must die wrapped in floral petroleum blanket
no coverage

i have come to every day armageddon
a ladder left unattended
six candles burn down a house
a horse tied to smoke
some must die to send a signal

flat line scream live stream river a memory longer than life spans
the living want to die in their country

no open doors no open seas no open
hands full of heart five daughters wrapped in white

each day jihad
each day faith over fear
each day a mirror of fire
the living want to die with their families

the girl loses limbs her brother gathers arms
some must die for not dying

children on hospital floor mother beside
them the father in shock this is my family
i have failed them this is my family i did
not raise their heads i have buried them
my family what will i do now my family is bread
one fish one people cut into pieces

there is a thirst thefts life
there is a hunger a winter within winter

some must die to bring salvation
i have come to end times always present

the woman lost parents her children and screams
my sister i have lost my sister i want to die
my sister’s eyes were honey her voice mine
i can’t face this only god only god my sister

medics killed schools hit convoys bombed
the injured are dying the dead are buried in three
hours the people pray together and curse the people
mourn loud and quiet always too loud not enough

some must die because they are the vicinity
some must die because it was written

no army does not apologize has never
apologized authority chases paper assembly
occupation settles deeper

a great miracle here
the living are dying and the dying living

a festival of lights
a strip a land a blaze
the sea a mirror of fire

a casting of lead upon children
their heads roll off their shoulders into streets
their tops spin in hands

an army feasting on epiphany
driving future into history
carrying torches into women


*}*{*

Janine Mogannam

for gaza

ya allah what
is there is anything
left

allahuakbar

scream cold into cobalt darkness
frigid breath cannot temper
the fury of earth betrayed
ablaze her children only human
orphaned to her now

land of ghosts hollow
cost of growing up cactus
fruit people knew
what the war
saw replanted advantage over
wheat and olive
people always without

i know that cool midnight
sky navy royal
purple alight by
stars struck the gash
of rockets mortar fire
and brimstone paradise
lost children and limbs
reaching for home phantom
fragment gory spilling
insides endless vultures
circling for the kill

the city
in shambles city
of the dead gaza
a graveyard tumbled
walls are tombstones
marking graves anonymous
babies mothers scream
into the sunlight i
can't believe
in the sky anymore

but the light
persists waiting to be
found the sun
still rises in gaza nablus jenin
haifa ramallah bethlehem points
in between stars
still twinkle unknown
signs in three
languages point nowhere
into the trees or into
the sea the river rebirth
its children false witness
history rewritten
so that every town bears
a different name
a different scar slashed
swift and sweet into
the skin of this land

bring me to her break
my heart in two
bury it half
here half within me
so i always feel
her pain always
remember fortune born
on the right end
of the flat earth
as i return
in my mind faces
at qalandia expressions
cannot be translated
into words eyes
wide as the moon or
fallen trees lips parched
feet cracked and
aching to return
to remain
still and i am speechless
with sorrow with guilt pushing
away the sesame jerusalem loaves
warming my lap there is
no bread enough
to feed those eyes
those feet these memories
these horrors push
bodies push away my hand my chair
away from the table the television terror
i remember i cannot DO anything
push away palestine push

make use
shoot
my arrow at the stars
make light rain onto her
rebuild
take the pebbles splinters
shrapnel (once home)
mix with water
mix with blood mix
until hands are crimson
and raw as hearts as insides
laid bare and open flesh
wounded against rocks feeding
the soil
the rage feeding
another day
rebuild
rebuild

*}*{*

Suheir Hammad

jabaliya

a woman wears a bell carries a light calls searches
through madness of deir yessin calls for rafah for bread
orange peel under nails blue glass under feet gathers
children in zeitoun sitting with dead mothers she unearths
tunnels and buries sun onto trauma a score and a day rings
a bell she is dizzy more than yesterday less than
tomorrow a zig zag back dawaiyma back humming suba

back shatilla back ramleh back jenin back il khalil back il quds
all of it all underground in ancestral chests she rings
a bell promising something she can’t see faith is that
faith is this all over the land under the belly
of wind she perfumed the love of a burning sea

concentrating refugee camp
crescent targeted red

a girl’s charred cold face dog eaten body
angels rounded into lock down shelled injured shock

weapons for advancing armies clearing forests sprayed onto a city
o sage tree human skin contact explosion these are our children

she chimes through nablus back yaffa backs shot under
spotlight phosphorous murdered libeled public relations

public

relation

a bell fired in jericho rings through blasted windows a woman
carries bones in bags under eyes disbelieving becoming
numb dumbed by numbers front and back gaza onto gaza
for gaza am sorry gaza am sorry she sings for the whole
powerless world her notes pitch perfect the bell a death toll

*}*{*

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

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Another Offering for a Peaceful East Oakland

I stopped yesterday morning by another street sidewalk altar on East 55th Avenue. A small rememberance for a young life? How did the young man -- I speculate, for all I know the altar honors an church elder -- die? A bullet? Rare , fatal disease? A car accident? How is his/her death affecting his/her siblings, parents, friends, the neighborhood, the community? The altar the death represents hits me; black and brown youth take it out on each other and our present and future diminishes.

The evening before I was driving by and there was a gathering of young people, their backs to street. I knew what was going on. So on my way to work I stopped to see their offerings.

Drive-by shootings and killings are memetic, they infect the survival mode with violent, irrational motives and hunger for revenge.

Power grows out of a barrel of gun, Mao declared. Powerlessness pulls the trigger, powerlessness over one's destiny and the attempt to impose it over others. Losing a loved one to violence is devastating, a black hole that attempts to suck everything of life into it and drown the days, the dreams. Anything having to do with hope, optimism, becomes an ordeal.

Black on black violence, brown on brown violence, the young feeding off the young, the old alone and unheard. Mourning spews out of the barrel of gun.

A bullet hole dominates the horzion.
I have a bullet hole in my heart.
I have bullets for eyes.
I have bullets for words.
I have pulled a net of bullet holes over the sky.

The horizon is reddening with the madness of fast food, drive-in's, drive-by's, prostitutes who are teenagers, drug dealers fresh out of middle school; gangbangers that stick up for each other and threaten anyone who offends their onion paper thick sensitivity. Gangbangers that stick up the local tienditas that sell everything we need at inflated prices.

I have spent shells for music.
Useless conch shells that call out to deaf gods and ancestors
Empty cartridges that have opened bloodied eyes on the bodies of another young man
Spent shells that wll never hang on a gold chain to revere a revolution.

We do not honor the living until they are dead. The youth honors each other on the sidewalks after it's too late. They make pledges out of fear; they are marked.

The odds have always been against us. I never thought I'd live to be this old. Neither do my children and their friends. What is this that U.S. capitalism makes us fulfill it's own branding, its own consumer rush to powerlessness through things?

The gun is the ultimate rush. Those with power and control have guns at their disposal -- either on their side or in their police forces, army and other institutions and agents of coercion.

In parts of Oakland, the police force is replaced by the deadly force of an empty economy, an economy that fuels predators and informal economies of scale: the body of a girl or a young/old woman for sale, the small-time pusher in marijuana and other intoxicants.

Day laborers who are solicited for yard/landscaping work, construction, clean-up, and sex. There are the mini-empresarios, the street vendors who sell snacks, tamales, coffee, pan dulce, grilled maize (corn on the cob), tacos, home-made goat cheese, quilts, clothes, ice cream, sodas, and other utensils.

They/we live and work, they/we smile and grow, side by side with the homeless, the small family-owned stores, gas stations, sidewalk sales. They/we say with their/our bodies, their survival work:

We are here and we matter, we belong here and here we will stay, thrive or struggle withut bitterness or rancors, with our way of happiness.

We all want to push away poverty. Even the poor want to end not just their but everyone's poverty. Being poor is not about money -- although having money to pay bills, buy healthy food, get access to culture doesn't hurt!

Being poor is about not having adequate housing, health and access to relevant and quality health care, education and other social services and support that generates livinghood, hope, a different future. I wouldn't mind continue being a migrant farmworker; farmworkers need health care that is conscious of the precarious conditions udner which we toil (pesticides, the physical bombardment the body receives from just working in the fields -- hunching over, carrying heavy loads of produce, the dust, the long hours and longest hours when harvest seasons come; the need for real vacations, breaks out of the sun my granfather would say. He never understood why anyone would want to go sunbathing. Try working 12, 14, 18 hours in the sun and you'll see what he means.

We survive against all odds, but they are not our odds. Someone is literally making a killing off our impoverishments, off our dead youth, off our incarcerated youth and elders, off our crumbling schools, off the Flatlands.

And we honor ourselves and our friends, our sons, daughters, our students sometimes too late.

Through their altars we remember to live differently, love constantly those around us, love one's self too.

Social class analysis calls these social urban clumps the lower strata of the working class. Urban planning and city hall officials and police would call this those who they believe have no dignity, no vision, no power, no will, no plan and subject to us to their plans, their indignity that comes with their power, vision, power, will and demeanor over us.

They forget that we too are Oakland.

The Hills thrive off the Flatlands; they come down for tasty food, sex workers, drugs and gentrify in the process. We drive to the Hills, yet we get profiled as prowlers.

Hills and Flatlands are inseparable in the natural and social worlds.

We live in and occupy different socio-economic strata and spaces, yet we are the offspring of the same socio-economic and political mother. We are blinded by colors, race, genders, social classes, social stratae.

I call this the inability of capital(ism) to absorb us or crush us. We are inside its process, subject to its depradations, yet stand outside of the economic crises, the dot boom-bust, the recession, the banking collapses, the auto bailout. We are affected and unaffected, we are already poor, lack health care, have access to low expectations and machine-age teachers, day laborers all. We make capitalism possible, have made and are making Oakland possible.

We can get poorer, more impoverished, sicker, meet death in any of foreseen possibilities, work full time and yet be homeless forever.

We are cast as the inhumane face of capitalism. Capitalism calls us names, brands us incorregible, imprisonable, exploitable; we are the ugly. Capitalism has no humane face that anyone could be proud of -- in comparison to us, the lower strata, the unplanned, the unemployed/underemployed, the Flatlanders, the toxic wasted sites, capitalism has a prettier face. The chain stores and cafes can hire young beautiful women to sell their addictions; super and everyday models of consumption.

Yet we are a market, we consume, we shop, we flock to the big box stores, when we can afford them, when we have a car to get us there. Or we walk to the local corner stores, go walk to the Fruitvale. Or the street vendors, the mobile little stores, come to us, pass by our apartments and houses, our homes and beckon with poetic calls, bells and songs.

Stop the Violence, How?

When he was Oakland's Mayor, Jerry Brown proposed 100 new cops for Oakland, but mainly for east and west Oakland. The Oakland electorate voted to get the new cops but did not want to pay for them.

Our new Mayor Ron Dellums tried again to get voter approval for 100 new cops.

In the meantime, from every Thursday evening through Monday early morning, at least 100 cops are brought into east Oakland, they prowl Jack London Square, zoom about certain parts of downtown and west Oakland. They stare at young men of color, they pull them over and ticket them, harass them to leave. But, to where?

Saturation policing, racial, ethnic-nationality and religious profiling, cops pulling over young men of color for any slight offense. Other drivers pulled over for being on the cell phone, or making a rolling stop. Check-points eyeballing drivers for color and class.

How about a 100 new jobs in east Oakland and 100 for west Oakland -- stable, lifelong, living wage jobs that make a difference? How about 100 new teachers, 100 new park-n-rec programs, 100 new affordable housing units, 1oo new small businesses, 100 new cultural centers, 100 new chapbooks, posters and magazines featuring the voices and dreams of east Oakland?

How about a 100 poetry readings and writing workshops -- two a week from January 1 - December 31? One concert a week of live music, blues, hip hop, jazz, corridos, cumbias, punk, rock en español, rock-n-roll, metal?

How about building a skate park on the lot that's at 55th and "International," nee East 14th?

We can stop the violence. We have to change the channel, change the numbers, a change of heart, make poetry, bread, style, laughter, community, health and culture in east Oakland, in west Oakland, in Oakland. We can't make much culture when the solution is policing, state violence and coercion, the pressure and pushing out of gentrification.

I am still shocked and in shock of the youth on youth violence, the young who die so young. I have lost friends to violence since I was young. Now that I am older, I still am losing young friends to violence and despair. I mourn the loss of the youth who perished and was honored on 55th.

But the majority of youth are succumbing to gun and other types of violence. They are succumbing to the violence of social and economic policies that have written them off. The violence and despair of little or any living wage job prospects. The standardized violence and despair students learn at the schools and lack of prospects for higher education.

We cannot just be survivors. We have to be strugglers, organizers against state violence, the daily bread of militarism that's got us in a choke hold. We have to live, work, worship, study and play in peace. For that we need a redirection of existing resources. We need hundreds of new things. Maybe we do need a 100 new cops, 100 that live and hope in east Oakland; it's work, too. But we need hundreds of new jobs, hundreds of investors willing to take a risk with the youth themselves, hundreds of spaces where culture, art, elders and youth can sit side by side and enjoy live's longest cycles so that no one perishes in vain.

We choose to live, even when we suffer losses that cause profound pain, seemingly unending, darkness when anyone we love, however old or young, dies.

After I snapped a few photos, even though it was cold, I bought an ice cream cone from Esteban,a peripatic ice cream vendor. It was a crisp, coldish morning.

I asked him how it was going. He said, I'm just getting started. He took off walking down the neighborhood and I got in my car and drove off -- both to work in Oakland.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

I have lived between wars

arnoldo garcía

I have lived between wars
all my life
between the Korean War
between the Vietnam War
between the Cold War
between the covert wars
between COINTELPRO
between Indian Wars
between Middle East Wars
between Bosnian Wars
between Israeli wars
between Holy Wars

between field wars & nuclear silos
between Lebanon wars
between Che’s wars
between Central American wars
Nicaragua El Salvador Guatemala
between Zapatista wars
and rain forest revolutions
between the war on drugs
the war on poverty
and the war on terrorism
between Cuban revolutionary wars
between border wars and unarmed migrants
bewteen war and occupation of Iraq
between war preparations
to invade Cuba Grenada Panama
Chile Nicaragua Dominican Republic
Venezuela Iran North Korea
Tenochtitlán Tamaulipas

I live between wars
remembering how bombs explode twice
once in Beirut
once in New York
once in Baghdad
once in East Oakland
once everywhere
the second time at home
remembering how soldiers die twice
or live once with shrapnel
bleeding dead their imagination our indignation
remembering our war dead
never die, our war dead
(not the nation’s, not the President’s Armies)
what war do you live between?

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Mis ejercitos

arnoldo garcía

los alacranes
las viboras
los serpientes
las hormigas
cascabeles
las telarañas
la tinta
el papel
el polvo
los soles
las lunas
mis muertos
los arboles
las risas
tus sonrisas
las guitarras
las acordeones
tu cuerpo
en mi
imaginación
las músicas
las miradas
la tierra
con o sin
fronteras
los ríos
los oceános
los vientos
las cuatro direcciones
el calor de
tus danzas
la plática caótica
de mis fiestas
la naturaleza
los arcoírises
las ambulantes
semillas
voladoras
los perros
las perras
los gatos
las gatas
el espacio
la luz
sus sombras
tus terremotos
los volcanes
la lluvia
los huracanes
las inundaciones
las tempestades
las sazones
los muertos que cantan
la gravedad
las moscas
los zancudos
los murcielagos
las palomas
las aguilas
los zopilotes
los peces
las ballenas
los elefantes
los colores
la piel
de tu fricción
la ternura
tu palabra
la mía
tu sangre
la mía

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