Soy del otro lado | i am from the other side

Soy del otro lado
del lado bravo
del lado tuyo
del lado izquierdo
donde tengo el nido
para tus abrazos
Soy del otro lado
donde los muros
son las sombras
que persiguen
a los policías
que defienden
a los tiranos del mercado
Y el sol está
a nuestro lado
el lado de la tierra
el lado de las lágrimas con sus sonrisas
el lado de la luna llena y vacía
el lado que es combustible para las estrellas
el lado donde somos íntegros
el lado que divide a las bestias
adomándolas con nuestra luz
el lado que nos abriga
contra la rabia del dinero
Soy de ese lado
con sus seis direcciones y sus siete espacios
donde los abrazos abren cielos y puertas
donde los llantos espantan a las fronteras
y las mujeres nos dan su espalda
para cargarnos y sobrevivir
Del lado donde nuestros desaparecidos
reaparecen
Soy del otro lado
del lado tuyo...

*

I am from the other side
from the side of the Bravo
from your side
from the left side
where there is a nest
for your embraces & love
I am from the other side
where the walls
are shadows
that persecute
the police
who defend
the tyrants of the market
And the sun is
at our side
on the side of the earth
on the side of the tears with her smiles
on the side of the full and the empty moon
the side that is fuel for the stars
the side where we are whole
the side that divides the beasts
taming them with our light
the side that protects us
against the rage of money
I am from that side
with her six directions and seven spaces
where our embraces open skies and doors
where our crying intimidates borders
and the women give us their backs
to carry us and survive
From the side where our disappeared
reappear
I am from the other side
from your side...

*

poem & art: arnoldo garcía

The human story that turns against herself

The human story that turns against herself: forced migrations. Humanity became humanity when she rose up and started walking, following the rhythms and flows of the natural world.

The first migrations were forced by the changes that occurred in the relationship between humans and the natural world. These changes in turn affected and transformed the relationships between humans and humans and those relationships in turn affected the natural world. Our skin, our pigment, tells the story of longer and shorter stays along the longitudes and latitudes of the world. Movement was indispensable till someone, a woman or women, more than likely, among the humans took note of the seeds and caught them at the headwaters of the natural world.

My ancestors walked toward the horizons cut by the rising and falling of the sun. The earth tilted for its seasonal bows to the sun, creating longer and shorter days, shifting the human settlements.

Human movement has been an indicator of social, economic and cultural development. The only borders the earliest human migrations knew were bio-regional, geophysical and followed the movements and migrations of other earthly species more in tune with the gravity of the world. Migration is a shared story among all two-legged, four-legged and other species who like humans were connected to the magnetic fields of life herself.

Along with movement and migrations, all species share the water to live and procreate life and her cycles and her plants and offerings among species to share the energy of the constellations of earthly life in all her shapes and forces. Movement, water and plants are now subjugated to the dominant industrial modes of human settlements.

To be human is to be a nomad.

The most human of humanity today are migrants, who have been forced to leave or flee for their lives, to survive, a cosmic spiral of sorts that links migrants to her first ancestors, who changed their relationships and became more human by walking together.

--arnoldo garcía

my status is Palestine

My status is Palestine
There are no walls between our lands, our skins, our hearts
Palestine is the horizon of humanity
I am Palestine
I am nomad on the longest walk to return to her
Palestine: either we are all free or we are all fucked.
Hold my hand
Hold my body
Hold my head
Hold my tears
From your bed to the workplace
From the long-distance phone calls to your voice
Hold me Palestine
Her first name is love
Her last name is peace
She will hold me
For she is Palestine
The land is Palestine
The sea is Palestine
The sky is Palestine
The moon is Palestine
The sun is Palestine
And
wherever I stand
wherever I dream
wherever I cry
wherever I love
wherever I live and die
Palestine

My status, write it down, is Palestine ...

the noise of the noiseless

I am the noise of the noiseless

I am the sex of the sexless

I am the orgasm of the orgasmless

I am the leg of the legless

I am the god of the godless

I am the mouth of the mouthless

I am the nose of the noseless

I am the eye of the eyeless

the blind of the blindless

the heart of the heartless

the seed of the seedless

the son of the sonless

the love of the loveless

O I am the voice of the voiceless (more or less)

the tonsil of the tonsilless

the silly of the silliest

the path of the pathless

the apathy of the apathyless

O I am the aim of the aimless

the scorn of the scornless

I am the land of the landless

I am the migrant of the migrantless
I am the ink of the inkless
the paper of the paperless
the documented of the documentedless
the undocumented of the undocumentedless
the illegal of the illegalless
the human of the inhumanless
the male of the maleless
the man of the manless
the erect of the erectless
the secret army of the proletarian armyless
the mess of the messless
the shadow of the unshadowed
the punk of the punkless
the shit of the shitless
the wit of the witless
the brains of the brainless
the more of the less
the more or less-less
I am the hope of the hopeless
the care of the careless
the cruelity of the cruel-less
the top of the topless
the bottom of the bottomless pit
i am the stink of the stinkless
the skunk of the skunkless
the music of the musicless
the mute of the muteless
the karma of the karmaless
the caramel of the appleless
I am the passion of the passionless
the hatred of the hateless
I am the body of the bodiless
hear me well, more or less, voiceless
for I am the sign of the signless
the deaf of the deafless
the dog of the dogless
I am the tattoo for the tattooless
I am the skin of the skinless
the nudity of the nudeless
the breast upon which of the breastless suckle
the lips of the lipless
the hip of the hipsterless
the style of the stylishless
the unpublished of the unpublishedness
the queer of the straightless
the long-play of the shortstopless
the grand slam of the hungerless
the lust of the lustless
the kiss of death of the lipless
the laughter of the laughless
the happiness of the sadless
the fucked up one of the unfucked ones
the hipster with double hip replacementless
the admonisher of the admonishless
the hand of the handless
O I am more or less human
more or less understood
more or less loveable
more or less
given an lifeless or two
I am the weeroh of the grasshoppers counting the heat of the sun's rhythms
I am the voice of the suffocating dreamless
I am the body entering the bodyless
I am the possession of the dispossessed
I am the tenderness of the hardenedless
I am the contradiction of the dictionless
I am the field, the hoe, the migrant, the whore, the shore, the mostless
I am the holy of the holyless
I am the sacred of the profaneless
the sin of the sinless
the hell of the hell-less
the purgatory of the constipatedless
I am the color of the colorblindness
the healer of the healless
the shoe of the shoeless
the scar across the back of the spineless
I am the cacophony of the cacophonyless
the cacao of the chocolateless
the poetry of the poetless
the saliva of the drymouthedness
I am the spit of the spitless
the smile of the sweet revengeless
I am the humanfan, unfolding,
the crack of the crackless
the drug of your manic choiceless
the vice of the viceless
the voice of the choiceless
the coitus of the handless
the leper of the leopardless
the assassin of the unassailableless
the bullet of the clueless
the shadow of the sunless
the wrinkle in time of the timeless
the space of the spaceless
the nectar of the flowerless
the loneliness of the solitudeless
I am O I am
the nothing of the nothingness
the synthesis of antithesis
the anti-matter of the matter-of-fact-less
the chingon of the chingonless
the puta of the putaless
the horn of africa for the buffaloless
the aztlan of your landless desire for land
the spontaneity of the masses for the massless
the community of the lostless
the soul of the soulless
the thought of the thoughtless
the vile of the vileless
the war of the warless
the peace of the peaceless
the weapon of the unarmedless
the word of the wordless
the voice of the viciousless
the viciousness of the speakerless
the democracy of the democratless
the notes of the noteless
the compost of the dungless
the fire of the fireless
I am O I am forever walking for the walkless
I am the job of the jobless
I am the revolution for the revolutionless
I am the justice for the injustless
I am the vision of the sightless
I am the rotting teeth of the teethless
I am the almighty for the mightyless
I am a world traveller for the localless
I am the commonest manifesto for the manifestoless
I am the listener for those who are never listened to the earless
the glue for the glueless
I am O I am the center for the centerless
I am the ballet for the clubfootedless
I am the drunk for the teetotalerless
the dictator of the dictatorshipless
I am the spoiled fruit of the fruitless
I am the soiled of the soiledless
I am the alibi of the guiltyless
the sorcerer of the witchless
the baying of the bitchless
the sixth sun of the sunless
the distant thunder of the rainless
the traitor of the complacentless
the missive of the illiterateless
the missile of the armyless
the doomsday of the presidential bunkerless
I am the cost of bad schooling and good mannerismsless,
I am a curandera of the healthless
I am the inexhaustible panting of the pantless
the butt of the jokeless
the glass eye of the glassless
I am the rage of your voicelessness
I am by all accounts a ventriloquist of the woodenless
I am a stand-up communist of the proletarian revolutionary punchline of march
a noise among the noisyness
a nose among the nosyness
The nooses for the counterrevolutionaries
I am the representation of the representationless
the loss of the lossless
more or less...

*

poem & painting by arnoldo garcía
"El poets," 25"x22" (2011, mixed media)

Small note to Billie Holiday

Will your love
defeat my sorrow
trounce my abandonment?

I will make the winter endless
so that you may never die.

[Poema 31] the imagination of the working class | may day 2013

the working class
did not rise up today
the non-profits
mobilized
the professionals
were disappointed
the working class
did not rise up today
the day laborers
the domestic workers
the immigration policy advocates
the union bureaucrats
the working moms
the unemployed
the anarchists
the lobbyists
the civil rights activists
the retired and semi-retired labor aristocrats
the hipsters with class consciousness
the ilegales
they marched today
together yes
the Chicago martyrs
must be happy
even with these small numbers
the fire is still aflame
the revolution
is still possible
the dictatorship of the working class?
even if the march and rally
lasted three hours
that's three hours out of 2000+ work hours in a year
where workers became workers for herself,
which is not necessarily good.

No necesitamos
papeles
documentos
visas
permisos
ciudadanías
para
ser humanos
para vivir y sobrevivir
para trabajar y ser explotados
para gozarnos sin temores estatales
No te ofrezco nada
No haré nada por tí
te ofrezco
acompañarte
te acompaño
si tu me acompañas
Juntos desbarataremos los sistemas
no nos puede clasificar ni descalificar
Te ofrezco sí
plumas
plumajes
plumerías
para ser humanos
libres
jornaleros
jornaleras
migrantes
de la vida y nada más, que es mucho
no necesitamos nada
tenemos que ser humanos
emplumados
porque somos
explotados
somos
comunidades
de
viento y polvo
cielo y tierra
lodo ancestral
semilla solar
luna oleadora
la comunidad emplumada

disperso mis lágrimas
contra los números y los vocales y los consonantes y los lenguajes serviles
del imperio virtual-no-virtual
una ráfaga de tierra
una emboscada de sílabas libres
una campaña de primaveras
una oleada de mártires que no se cansan de morir por la causa
una mirada serena que nos ve y
ve que somos diferentes
que porque nuestras lágrimas se transforman en semilla

Somos, soy, eres
corazón emplumado
inmigrante emplumado
fronteras emplumadas
puños emplumados
orgasmos emplumados
sonrisas, besos, labios
palabras voladoras

De cada poro florecen plumas
bayonetas
que cortan
y parten
al viento
las contradicciones
en dos, tres, en tí, en mí
lenguas emplumadas
lenguajes de lodo
lenguajes emancipadores
sueños emplumados
pueblos emplumados
íntimos, íntimas
emplumados
no empleados

the singing wires
are no match for our humming hearts
the electromagnetic fields
are no match for the elote fields
I can send my messages
at the speed of digital DNA
spinning out of control
disembodied into bytes
dismembered
dislocated
displaced
twirling through electronic space
wireless through wires everywhere
dissed
in time and space
and land
reconstituted
reformed
remembered
in your eyes
in your digital screens
whole
yet I destroyed
insects
electrons
eros
and I will disappear
vanish
turn into another quark and quasar
bursting on a future radar
on the other side of the border
a meaningless signal from a lost civilization

what are roads and highways for?
they go nowhere except the marketplace, the mall, the factory, the shanty barrios
you cannot even get lost on the u.s. highways
the department of transportation should be renamed
the department of physical control
walk, drive, get on a bus:
you can only go to work, to shop, to consume, to waste your life
making useless objects, pushing paper (instead of poems)
disposable diapers, disposable babies, disposable, deportable people
Turn your palms up
there is your human answer
you were born squeezing feathers
the earth's minerals, the earth's stones
hold up your flesh, blood and dreams
you were born on the plumed path
that leads to other worlds
your plumed hands are
the human-long journey, an explosion, a steep horizon
a path that ends and starts at your feet

the imagination of the working class?
smokestacks and rust-belts
cranes and world trade centers
beaches and vacations
pensions and retirement homes
the endgame liberators?

the imagination of the human revolution
is volcanoes and mountains
wetlands and aquifers
seeds and plantings
fresh air and fresh water,
fresh
soil
fresh
souls
of families, elders and ancestors that care for you

the imagination of the working class
is to abolish work, capitalist work, capitalist exploitation
is to abolish industrial man
abolish the contaminated man
the poisoned man
the deadly, toxic, radiation-spill man

the imagination of the human revolution
is a tsunami that connects and reconnects
moves movements of energy from one field to the next
a farmworker tsunami
a human tsunami
a tsunami
that destroys to rebuild
that connects us across the oceans
in drownings
in nuclear spills
in cars, neighborhoods, people
swept away
uprooted
into the longest night of the human cosmos

the human revolution cannot be commercialized
you and i cannot sell the land upon which humanity dreams
you and i cannot cut and paste relationships
you and i will learn again to plant our feet
grow roots
germinate
flowering maize
rattling leaves
laughter in the dust and dirt-clods of childhood
prepare to become mineral again,
stones for the next foundation of humanity
becoming ancestor
becoming fresh humans
who take care of the dust
who take care to notice how fragile
we really are
to bullets
to cars
to fists
to tenderness
to hurricanes
to irrigation canals
to solitude
to abandonment
to the utopia of your caresses

I do not want to bury you
I will not be able to keep my sanity
without you alive
without you at my side
I will not bury you
I will love another woman
before I have to bury you
because I will not bury you
the first kiss of humanity
the first lover to bury her lover
because I do not want to bury you
the first lover lays on my shoulders,
my humpbacked words

this is a long trek of grief, forsaken gods,
accumulated cries drowning in my eyes
the dust of graves choking in my throat
I will not bury you.

lines connect and divide us
borderlines
bloodlines
crossed lines
frontlines
hairlines
lined paper
lined soldiers
lines connect and divide us

Gilberto
taught me to hunt horizons and wild horses
that would guide us into other realms
where we would observe ourselves
freed from the constraints of time
we would spend years walking
a journey of suns and sweetgrass
in the rolling hills
horse heaven became ours
coyote dens and
the rivers with their choruses of light
became our kin
we never left those sepia mirages
we are still walking there
Gilberto waits there for the next dream

john trudell
would say
this ferris wheel
is an illusion
of power
of journey
of vision.
this
power
this
journey
this
vision
of dominant
industrial
society
goes
nowhere
round and round

Our work makes us human
Their work makes us unhuman
the capitalists don't just squeeze us
they work us to death
until the virus of middle classism kills our body
then we become working class zombies
the lowest strata rising from the dead 24/7
we hold up all the sky
and get crumbs from the pie
We have no work that is ours
Our work is to become free
become dream foragers
cultivate the land and the mind
plant, tend and harvest the maize
We will become human again
Don't mistake your humanness now for humanness
Humanity was never this cruel to humanity
Humans were never meant to stop humans from being humans
life did not make greed, greed does not make life
Our work is to become human again.