Cuentecitos

As it gets closer to Dia de Los Muertos – that day where we Aztec dancers celebrate and honor our ancestors, I start to think of Aztec poetry. Only a few fragments remain but their beauty is haunting and makes me wonder about all that was lost in the conquest. The ancient Mexica called their poetry Flor y Canto – Flower and Song.

This poem always gives me chills. I’m hosting the round up over at AmoXcalli.

Comenta el poeta

¿Quién me tomará? ¿quién irá conmigo
Aquí estoy en pie, amigos míos.
Yo soy un cantor, desde el fondo del pecho
mis flores y mis cantos desgrano ante los hombres.
Una gran piedra tajo, grueso madero pinto:
en ellos pongo un canto
Se hablará de eso un día, cuando yo me haya ido,
del modelo de cantos que dejo en la tierra.
Allí vivirá mi corazón, allí vendrá de la región de niebla,
mi recuerdo y vivirá mi nombre
La flor de los príncipes exhala fragante aroma,
se están uniendo en uno nuestras flores.
Ya se oye, ya germina mi canto:
está retoñando mi trasplante de palabras.
Se yerguen nuestras flores en tiempo de lluvia
Y la flor de cacao fragante se va abriendo,
exhala aroma y caen en lluvia enervadoras flores.
Ya se oye, ya germina mi canto:
está retoñando mi trasplante de palabras.
Se yerguen nuestras flores en tiempo de lluvia.

The Poet Remarks

Who will take me? Who will go with me?
Here I stand, my friends.
I am a singer, from the depths of my breast
My flowers and my songs I spread before men
I split a great stone, I paint a thick log:
I put in them a song
This will be talked about someday, when I have gone,
the model songs I leave on earth
My heart will live there, there from the region of fog
my memory will come and my name will live.
The princes’ flower emits a fragrant aroma,
our flowers are becoming one.
Already my song is heard, is germinated:
my transplant of words is sproutingagain.
Our flowers rise up in times of rain.
And the fragrant cocoa flower keeps opening,
it emits its aroma and enervating flowers fall in rain.
Already my song is heard, is germinated:
my transplant of words is sprouting again.
Our flowers rise up in times of rain.

I love reading fun poetry to my grandkids and this definitely qualifies. I love Lewis Carroll’s sense of silly. The round up today is here.

The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright.-
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done-
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
“To come and spoil the fun!”

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead-
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand:
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
“If this were only cleared away.”
They said, “It would be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops
swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“That they could get it clear?’
“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

“O Oysters, come and walk with us!”
The Walrus did beseech.
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach.
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.”

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head-
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces
washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat-
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more-
All hopping through the frothy waves;
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of-shoes-and ships-and sealing wax-
Of cabbages-and kings-
And why the sea is boiling hot-
And whether pigs have wings.”

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
“Before we have our chat;
“For some of us are out of breath,
and all of us are fat.”
“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
“Is what we chiefly need.
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed-
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
we can begin to feed.”

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
“After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“The night is fine,” the Walrus said.
“Do you admire the view?

It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“Cut us another slice.
I wish you were not quite so deaf-
I’ve had to ask you twice!”

“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
“To play them such a trick.
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“The butter’s spread too thick!”

“I weep for you,” the Walrus said:
“I deeply sympathize.”
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?”
But answer came there none-
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one”

One of my granddaughters is half Guatemalan and I am so glad she will never have to endure the work of the coffee plantations there. She’ll grow up safe, loved and protected. Her life will be a good one. If she’s anything like my son, her father she’ll read a lot and love history.

I go out of my way to buy Zapatista coffee – coffee that is grown by a collective and not the coffee that Rafael Guillen writes about in his poem El Cafetal which is Cuentecitos’ offering this week for Poetry Friday. I post it in honor of my granddaughter Isis Lucia Mextlipapalotl Ilhuicacatzin Ruiz who is having her second birthday next week right after the celebration of Mexico’s Independence from Spain.

Mextlipaplotl Ilhuicacatzin means Cosmic Butterfly of Splendor in Nahuatl. Each of my children and grandchildren have an Aztec/Mexica name which corresponds to their day and time of birth on the Tonalamatl (the Aztec pages of days). As traditional Aztec dancers and indigenous people, the naming of our children is a very spiritual and important process. By continuing to keep our traditions and our names, in a very small way we contribute to keeping our culture and heritage alive.

The round-up is here.

The Mexican government believes Subcomandante Marcos – the ski-masked face of the Zapatistas to be one Rafael Sebastion Guillen Vicente and this is sometimes confused with the poet Rafael Guillén who was born in Spain and doesn’t look anything like Marcos to me.

El Cafetal by Rafael Guillen

 Llegue del sol naciente, y no he traido mis que dos ojos, todo lo que tengo, silo dos ojos, para la cosecha del dolor, que se esconde en estas selvas como el arbusto del caf. Son menos pero se elevan altos, intangibles, los arboles que cubren falazmente de la luz esta ub?rrima indigencia. Con mi machete voy por los senderos del cafetal.   Senderos intricados donde acecha la tamagos, hundidos en la lujuria vegetal del tropico, en la carnal lujuria que abrillanta los ojos del ladino; sinuosos senderos entre enebros y aguacates en los que el pensamiento, amedrentado desde antes del gringo, no ha podido encontrar otra luz, que la del pozo quiche, cegado, ahondando de se mismo. Seleccionando bayas, los guanacos solo esperan que el chupe los libere del cafetal.   Bajo la sombra humeda de los gigantes ceibas, las inditas multicolores hormiguean,, una tras otra con la carga mero encima del ensue?o. No existen. No han nacido y ya dialtiro estan muriendo, lisas, hechas mojada tierra con los ranchos, hechas vigilia y cuido del jicaque siempre de goma y muerto tambien siempre, de lluvia a lluvia, bajo los arbustos del cafetal.   El pueblo esta perdido dentro del grano; un tiempo de aguardiente lo va cubriendo. Alzo la mano, cojo la roja baya, selecciono a prueba de agua, mondo, espero que el fermento de la melosa pulpa lo descarne. ?Cuantos siglos aun? ?Cuanta angostura para llegar al hombre? ?Cuanto llanto? A vueltas de rastrillo, se reseca el grano limpio al sol. Cruje y lo siento bajo mis pies. ?Eterno secadero del cafetal!   Conciencia aguacalada. Alma cebada con tamal y elote. Tinto sangre con palo de campeche. El hombre abajo. Arriba, los volcanes. Guatemala me pone de rodillas mientras que cada tarde, lluvia y truenos, Tohil el poderoso me flagela las espaldas recien llegadas. Llanto son los rumores vegetales, tiernos, del cafetal.   I came with the rising sun and I've broughtnothing but two eyes, all I have,simply two eyes, for the harvestof grief that's hidden in this junglelike the coffee shrubs. Fewer,but they fling themselves upwards, untouchable,are the trees that invidiously shut outthe light from this overwhelming indigence.With my machete I go through the pathsof the cafetal.

Intricate pathswhere the tamags lies in wait, sunkin the luxuriant vegetation of the tropics,the carnal luxury that gleamsin the eyes of the Creole overseer; sinuouspaths between junipers and avocadoswhere human thought, cowedsince before the white man, has neverfound any other light than the wellof Quich; blind; drowning in itself.Picking berries, the guanacoshope only for a snort to free themfrom the cafetal.

Through the humid shade beneaththe giant ceibas, Indian womenin all colors crawl like ants, onebehind the other, with the load balancedon a waking sleep. They don't exist. They've never been bornand still they are dying daily, rubbed raw,turned to wet earth with the plantation,hunkered for days in the road to watch over the maneternally blasted on booze, as good as deadfrom one rain to the next, under the shrubsof the cafetal.

The population has disappearedinto the coffee bean, and a tide of white lightningseeps in to cover them. I stretch out a hand, pluckthe red berry, submit it to the testof water, scrub it, wait for the fermentationof the sweet pulp to release the bean.How many centuries, now? How much miserydoes it cost to become a man? How much mourning?With a few strokes of the rake, the stripped beandries in the sun. It crackles, and I feel itunder my feet. Eternal drying shedof the cafetal!

Backwash of consciousness,soul sown with corn-mush and corn cobs,blood stained with the black native dye.Man below. Above, the volcanos.Guatemala throws me to my kneeswhile every afternoon, with rain and thunder,Tohil the Powerful lashesthis newly-arrived back. Lamentationis the vegetal murmur, tenderof the cafetal.

Glossary:Cafetal: a coffee plantationtamagos: a venomous serpentguanaco: a pack animal, used insultingly to indicate the native laborersceiba: a tall tropical hardwood tree 

© Rafael Guillen (translation Sandy McKinney)

A sad Poetry Friday – Madeleine L’Engle has died. See the news roundup at AmoXcalli.

It’s Poetry Friday and the Round-up is being held over here. I love this poem by A.A. Milne, the writer of Winnie the Pooh. Too often I’m guilty of just not taking enough time to see what the grandkids find so fascinating and the poem serves as a gentle reminder. Children do see the wonder in the world don’t they?

Come Out with Me
A.A. Milne

There’s sun on the river and sun on the hill . . .
You can hear the sea if you stand quite still!
There’s eight new puppies at Roundabout Farm-
And I saw an old sailor with only one arm!

But everyone says, “Run along!”
(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, “Run along! I’m busy as can be.”
Every one says, “Run along,
There’s a little darling!”
If I’m a little darling, why don’t they run with me?

There’s wind on the river and wind on the hill . . .
There’s a dark dead water-wheel under the mill!
I saw a fly which had just been drowned-
And I know where a rabbit goes into the ground!

But everyone says, “Run along!”
(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, “Yes, dear,” and never notice me.
Every one says, “Run along,
There’s a little darling!”
If I’m a little darling, why won’t they come and see?

Title: Doña Flor: A Tall Tale About a Giant Woman With a Great Big Heart
Author: Pat Mora
Illustrator: Raul Colón
Publisher: Knopf Books for Young Readers (October 25, 2005)
ISBN: 0679980024

Award winning Pat Mora and illustrator Raul Colón, an award winner in his own right have collaborated once again in this funny, touching and gorgeous book. They have partnered once before with Tomás and the Library Lady, which won several awards, including the Tomás Rivera Mexican-American Children’s Book Award.

Doña Flor is a giant woman who lives in the Southwest and makes giant tortillas which the children use as rafts and the grown ups use to roof their houses making the air smell of sunshine and warm corn. Her casa is as huge as a mountain, which she made herself adding estrellas to make the adobe shine. To cheer up the villagers, she scratches them out a rio. Everything she grows in her garden grows to amazing sizes and she lets the children in her pueblo use flowers for trumpets and the huge sunflowers for umbrellas. The people love the beautiful and kind Doña Flor and look up to her so it is no surprise when the villagers hear a loud roaring to call on her for help against the strange sound. What follows is a funny and wonderful tall tale of Doña Flor’s hunt for the creature that is terrifying the villagers she protects and loves. Pat Mora’s story telling is humorous, wonderful and filled with her love for the Southwest. The imagery is amazing; you can almost smell those giant corn tortillas and hear the roar of the “monster gato”.

The illustrations by Raul Colón are lovely, a wondrous combination of watercolor washes, etchings and colored and litho pencils. Doña Flor and her world are vividly portrayed and you can almost step into each page and walk into the fantastic world created by Ms. Mora. The characters faces are so beautiful; Doña Flor in particular is a gorgeous rendition of a Mexican woman with a beautiful oval brown face, full lips and deep brown eyes. She is reminiscent of a Diego Rivera painting or a Da Vinci Madonna. The colors are soft yet vibrant – luscious blue-greens and the rich warm hues of a desert sunset. Ay que bonito! I loved this book and the story made me laugh out loud. I love turning the pages and finding more and more to love in the illustrations of children marching with their flower trumpets – copa de oro my grandmother called those flowers and just about every house in our neighborhood growing up had them growing so the book also brought back a rush of warm and happy memories.

Pat Mora writes poetry, non-fiction and children’s books. She is a recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts Poetry Fellowship and a Kellogg National Fellowship. She is a native of El Paso, Texas and currently lives in Santa Fe.

Raul Colón has illustrated many books for children. He has been awarded gold and silver medals from the Society of Illustrators for his picture-book art. Mr. Colón resides in New York City.

Title: Gathering the Sun: An Alphabet in English and Spanish

Author: Alma Flor Ada and Simón Silva (illustrator)

Publisher: Rayo; 1st edition (April 28, 1997)

ISBN: 0688139035

This is one of those books that sit on a favored shelf, that get bought and re-bought in stacks to be handed out as gifts to every child in my rather large family and friends network.

The book is absolutely beautiful with double page gouache illustrations by Simón Silva who uses vibrant earth tones in blues, oranges, browns, reds, yellows and greens in shades that I like to call the Mexican colors. Y que colores! They are gorgeous, sun-drenched and stunning. Each of the illustrations are each a story in themselves; featuring lush depictions of migrant farm workers at work in the fields and at home. The artwork to me is reminiscent of some of the great muralists and painters of Mexico like Jose Clemente Orozco.

Each illustration features a letter of the alphabet and a lovely little poem by Alma Flor Ada with the English translation by Rosalma Zubizarreta. The poem for each letter also corresponds to the migrant farm worker’s life. I love that each letter corresponds to the Spanish word rather than the English. The loveliest poem in the book is the touching elegy to César Chavez and Simón Silva’s illustration of his face is simply astounding. The translations of each poem into English are wonderfully done as well.

Start with “À” for Àrboles; be prepared to be entranced by the poetry and the illustrations. I remember the first time I saw this book back when it was published in 1997. I was amazed at the beauty of each page and of how each poem fit itself perfectly to the artwork or maybe the artwork to the poetry. Either way, the book is stunning and a must for any library, adult or child – especially a Chicano library.

I used this book to teach my pochito children not only about art and poetry but the alphabet in Spanish and it worked a whole lot better than my previous attempts to teach them the language I grew up with. Each one of the four still has their much read copy of Gathering the Sun and each one has asked me to buy one for their children as they have come into the world. I can’t think of better praise for a book than that.

Title: Prietita & The Ghost Woman/Prietita y la Llorona

Author: Gloria E. Anzaldúa

Illustrator: Maya Christina Gonzalez

Publisher: Children’s Book Press

ISBN: 0892391367

Which of us Chicanos didn’t grow up afraid of La Llorona y el Cucui? I for one stayed up at night worrying that La Llorona was coming for me and remain slightly obsessed with her story. If I had had this lovely folktale by the late Gloria Anzaldúa, Xicana feminist poet, writer, teacher and activist I might have wanted to meet La Llorona instead of terrified she’d come and get me.

This is the story of Prietita, whose mother is gravely ill. The curandera has told Prietita that only ruda will cure her mother and so brave Prietita sets off in search of it to the dangerous King Ranch where they shoot trespassers. She encounters various creatures on her way and asks each, the salamander, the dove and the deer if they know where the plant grows but none know. La Llorona appears and guides Prietita to the plant and to safety.

The story is lovely. Prietita and the other women in the story are strong and brave Chicanas. The Aztec lore, our herbal healing traditions and love of family are depicted throughout the tale. There’s history here and culture. I loved it when the dove answered “cucurrucucu”. It immediately brought to mind the song Cucurrucucu Paloma and Lola Beltran’s voice singing it. Just one perfect word brings up a surge of memory, of Xicanidad, of casa y comal, of love and family. Each page, each paragraph does this, touches the heart, the very core of being Chicano. It’s astounding. The book would stand alone without the illustrations – Gloria Anzaldúa’s writing is so poetic, so evocative that you can see the people, the animals, La Llorona, feel the emotions, smell the night air, the ruda, the very earth.

However, the illustrations by Maya Chrisina Gonzalez are equally astounding. They’re gorgeous. The green of the nopal, the strong Chicana faces, the long black hair flowing, the colors, the light, the warmth! Looking at these illustrations makes me feel I’m in the Southwest, I can almost touch the life in them. What struck me most was the eyes of the women and Prietita. Ojitos Mexicanos que bonitos!

I love the idea too, of La Llorona being a helping spirit. It got me thinking. Maybe La Llorona is just another aspect of Tonantzin the Earth Mother, La Virgen de Guadalupe. Maybe the sound of her wailing is because we don’t listen, we’re forgetting our lore, our heirbas, our recetas, our language. Quien sabe? What I do know is this book made me think and think hard. It made me re-think.

Title: Mi Hija, Mi Hijo, El Aguila, La Paloma: Un Canto Azteca

Author: Ana Castillo, Susan Guevara (Illustrator)

Publisher: Dutton Juvenile; (March 1, 2000)

ISBN: 0525458670

Price: 12.99

Ana Castillo, the reknowned Xicana poet, novelist and essayist has written one of the loveliest little children’s book I’ve ever seen. It is a blessing and a prayer based on an old Aztec flor y canto beautifully illustrated by Susan Guevara.

The book is small and looks something like the facsimiles of the old Aztec codices. It is written Spanish. It begins with Mi Hija, La Paloma, or My Daughter, the Dove; a canto designed to teach little girls of their preciousness, beauty and how to live their lives. It has a charming lilt to it. The first stanza begins:

“Mi hija, preciosa,

como un collar de oro

preciosa

como una pluma de quetzal,

tu eres mi sangre,

mi imagen – ”

“My daughter,

precious like a golden necklace

precious

like the feather of a quetzal,

you are my blood

my image – ”

It continues to extol the virtues of the daughter as well as giving some life lessons, reminding the daughter not to be lazy, to study, to work. It tells that a girl must learn to live her life on the right path.

The second section is written for a boy, Mi Hijo, El Aguila, El Tigre or My Son, The Eagle, The Tiger begins:

“Mi hijo,

aguila y tigre,

ala y cola

Hijo mio,

Tan querido, tan amado –

¡escuche!”

“My son,

eagle and tiger,

wing and tail,

My son,

So dear, so loved –

listen!”

It goes on to speak of ancestors, of pride, or what our ancestors have left for us in lessons, in our culture, our heritage. It tells of doing good works, becoming a good man, of living life with care and dignity. It asks that the son listen with his heart and go on to become a good man.

The book is illustrated with Aztec symbols from the old codices as well as delicate and powerful paintings on amatl paper or tree bark in the indigenous tradition. The paintings, while done in the style of the ancient people are of contemporary children and their parents and surprisingly, fit in perfectly with the Aztec symbols and images.

It is an astounding message, a lovely and loving book and a testament to Ms. Castillo’s love of our culture. She and Ms. Guevara have created a lasting and honorific tribute to our ancestors as well as a beautiful and contemporary moral poem for children and parents to enjoy for years to come.

Arrorró, Mi Niño – Latino Lullabies and Gentle Games

Author and Illustrator: Lulu Delacre

Musical Arrangements by Cecilia Esquivel and Diana Sáez

Publisher: Lee and Low Books, Inc.

Do you remember those songs your abuelos used to sing? Or maybe it was your parents. Or a tia or tio. Someone in your family used to sing those silly little songs, those funny Spanish rhymes that made no sense except to make you smile. Maybe it was you. Maybe you chanted, “dale, dale, dale…” whenever there was a piñata to break, or maybe you sing Los Pollitos to your little baby. I know I did. I had an amazing abuelos who taught me silly rhymes and lullabies and I in turn taught them by singing them to my children and now my grandchildren. I still sing, “los pollitos dicen, pio, pio, pio” to my grandchildren and they love it. My granddaughter Jasmine will ask for the “chickie song” and my grandson Aiden will say “peep peep” the minute he hears me start to sing it. These songs, rhymes and lullabies are important to us as a family. They are our traditions and our memories past and future. Imagine my great pleasure in finding this book Arrorró, Mi Niño – Latino Lullabies and Gentle Games in my local bookstore.

The minute I picked it up and turned a page, I knew I had to have it. I paid hurriedly and almost ran home with it. Jasmine and I flipped through the pages at home and we both couldn’t wait to play. I found Los Pollitos and other fun songs as well as the completions to bits and pieces I had floating around in my memory. It was tremendous to be able to finally complete the thought! Silly rhymes that made no sense that I had thought were just my Papa Chava’s were printed in bold black and white and it brought his raspy voice floating back to me saying, “Pon, pon, pon el dedito en el pilon”.

This book is a treasure filled with tickling games like El Mercado which I loved to play with my little children as I tickled under their arms saying, “Cuando vayas al mercado, no compres carne ni de aqui, ni de aqui, solamente ¡de por aqui!” and I remembered them laughing out loud and screaming in delight.

The illustrations are lovely as well and portray Latino life with everyday errands and happy, laughing children. There is a nostalgic and dreamlike quality to the illustrations which fits perfectly since you’re being swept away to nostalgia, dreams and memory. You’re remembering that perfect day, that night spent being rocked in your mother’s arms, the laughter of youth, the shouts of children playing, the smell of your abuela’s kitchen or flower garden, the way the sun shone just so when you hurt your knee and your tia kissed it and said, “sana, sana colita de rana” and you knew it would be all right because she had blessed it with her kiss and incantation.

In the back of the book, there is written musica for those of you who read it and want to sing or play your gitarra. This book is everything you need and everything you want. For the expectant parents or grandparents, this is a perfect gift. If you’re feeling lonely and missing someone, buy this book and sing something funny. If you’re sad, read it and you can’t help but smile. As if all this wasn’t enough, the book is bilingual! I can’t wait to read more of Lulu Delacre’s books.

Arrorro, Mi Niño – Latino Lullabies and Gentle Games was the winner of the 2006 Pura Belpre Award for Illustration