Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts

Sunday, June 29, 2008

America's Jazz Diplomacy Revisited

When America finds itself on the defensive on the PR front, it puts its talented -- and preferably Black -- tenth forward. During the Cold War, it sent its best jazz musicians -- Dizzy Gillespie, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and other geniuses -- on international tours, whose photographs are now on display in the exhibition titled "Jam Session: America's Jazz Ambassadors Embrace the World" at the Meridian International Center.


"Louis Armstrong in Cairo in 1961," Louis Armstrong House Museum

Reviewing the exhibition, Fred Kaplan reports that "Curtis Sandberg, the curator at Meridian International, said that during the three years it took to prepare the show his staff would frequently gaze at the photos and say, 'Why aren't we doing something like this now?'"1

But cultural power rises and falls with economic power, and American culture no longer enjoys the same edge -- the ability to combine innovation and mass appeal, drawing upon cultures of Blacks and immigrants, and market its products worldwide -- it did at the height of the Cold War.

Today jazz in America is for connoisseurs, not for masses. The largest film industry in the world is Bollywood, whose films, salacious and yet demure ("[f]ilmmakers in India are banned from glorifying drinking, drug abuse and smoking, or including scenes 'degrading or denigrating women in any manner'"), are "popular in regions where Hollywood has had only limited success, like the Middle East."2 Jackson Pollock's Abstract Expressionism could be plausibly promoted as "free enterprise painting" (in the worlds of then MOMA President Nelson Rockefeller) superior to Soviet socialist realism, but Jeff Koons and his ilk can only serve as a test of what the market bears. As for literature, even English professors would get stumped if they were asked to come up with the ten most influential American writers alive today in whom the rest of the world ought to take interest.

The only field of culture in which America truly eclipses all others may be the art of self fashioning. That's what Barack Obama is good at,3 and that's what he sells. So far, it's sold very well in America. Will the rest of the world buy it, though?

1 Fred Kaplan, "When Ambassadors Had Rhythm," New York Times, 29 June 2008. The historical facts in Kaplan's article are based on Penny M. Von Eschen's excellent research: Race against Empire: Black Americans and Anticolonialism, 1937–1957 (Cornell UP, 1997); and Satchmo Blows Up the World: Jazz Ambassadors Play the Cold War (Harvard UP, 2004). See, also, Frances Stonor Saunders, The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters (New Press, 2001).

2 Thomas Fuller, "It's Bollywood!/'They Can't Compete with Us in Emotions': Indian Movies Speak to a Global Audience," International Herald Tribune, 20 October 2000.

3 Matt Taibbi on the art of being Obama:
Here's the thing about Obama, the reason they call him a "natural" and a "rare talent." When Hillary Clinton spouts a cliché, it's four words long, she's reading it off a teleprompter, and it hits the ear like the fat part of a wooden oar. Even when Hillary announced she was running for president, she sounded like she was ordering coffee. Obama on the other hand can close his eyes and the clichés just pour out of his mouth in huge polysyllabic paragraphs, like Rachmaninoff improvisations. In this sense he's exactly like Bill Clinton, who had the same gift. He is exactly what is meant by the term bullshit artist. ("Obama Is the Best BS Artist Since Bill Clinton," AlterNet, 14 February 2008)

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Federico García Lorca

Federico García Lorca was born on 5 June 1898. In his honor, listen to Estrella Morente sing "Los Cuatro Muleros."

Lorca cherished the profound influence of Arab, Persian, and Islamic cultures on the culture of Spain, and he highlighted it in his poetry and lectures:
  • "Just as in the siguiriya [the prototypical song form of the cante jondo. . .] and in its daughter genres are to be found the most ancient oriental elements, so in many poems of cante jondo there is an affinity to the oldest oriental verse. When our songs reach the extremes of pain and love they come very close in expression to the magnificent verses of Arab and Persian poets. The truth is that the lines and features of far Arabia still remain in the air of Cordoba and Granada." -- Federico García Lorca, "Historical and Artistic Importance of the Primitive Andalusian Song Called Cante Jondo"

  • "In all Arabian music, in the dances, songs, elegies of Arabia, the coming of the Duende is greeted by fervent outcries of Allah! Allah! God! God!, so close to the Olé! Olé! of our bull ring that who is to say they are not actually the same, and in all the songs of southern Spain the appearance of the Duende is followed by heartfelt exclamations of God alive! -- profound, human, tender, the cry of communication with God through the medium of the five senses and the grace of the Duende. . . ." -- Federico García Lorca, "The Duende: Theory and Divertissement"
According to Yair Huri, Lorca, in turn, has had a far-reaching influence on Arab poets, especially those of the 1950s and 1960s: "'In Your Name this Death is Holy': Federico García Lorca in the Works of Modern Arab Poets" (Ciberletras 13, July 2005). He has found his way into the hearts of Iranians, too, through the translations of such writers as Ahmad Shamlou.

Ironically, the European Union chose to issue tough new rules to expel undocumented immigrants (many of whom are from Europe's former colonies in North Africa and West Asia) on the birthday of the poet who lamented the "Reconquista" of 1492 -- "An admirable brand of civilization, of poetry, of architecture, and delicacy unique in the world -- all were lost, to be replaced by a poor, craven town, a 'wasteland' now dominated by the worst bourgeoisie in Spain," said Lorca -- which compelled Jews and Muslims to convert to Christianity and expelled those who refused to submit to forced conversion: "Les Etats membres de l'UE s'accordent sur les conditions d'expulsions des sans-papiers" (Le Monde, 5 June 2008).

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Omar Khayyam

Omar Khayyam was born in Nishapur, on 18 May 1048.
ای صاحب فتوی ز تو پر کارتریم
با این همه مستی ز تو هُشیار تریم
تو خون کسان خوری و ما خون رزان
انصاف بـده کـدام خونخوار تریم؟

O City Mufti, you go more astray
Than I do, though to wine I do give way;
I drink the blood of grapes, you that of men:
Which of us is the more bloodthirsty, pray?
          -- Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,
          Trans. Edward Henry Whinfield, 1883
Answers to many of the questions in the Islamic tradition today will be found in the Islamic tradition itself if Muslims seek them there.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Sa'di

A Persian poet Sa'di wrote in Golestan: "Strike the head of a serpent with the hand of a foe because one of two advantages will result. If the enemy succeeds thou hast killed the snake and if the latter, thou hast been delivered from a foe." These must be among the lines that Iran's power elite have all learned by heart, making them smarter than both Ba'athists and imperialists.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

The Walking Paradox

La paradoja andante
por Eduardo Galeano

Cada día, leyendo los diarios, asisto a una clase de historia.

Los diarios me enseñan por lo que dicen y por lo que callan.

La historia es una paradoja andante.  La contradicción le mueve las piernas.  Quizá por eso sus silencios dicen más que sus palabras y con frecuencia sus palabras revelan, mintiendo, la verdad.

De aquí a poco se publicará un libro mío que se llama Espejos.  Es algo así como una historia universal, y perdón por el atrevimiento.  “Yo puedo resistir todo, menos la tentación”, decía Oscar Wilde, y confieso que he sucumbido a la tentación de contar algunos episodios de la aventura humana en el mundo, desde el punto de vista de los que no han salido en la foto.

Por decirlo de alguna manera, se trata de hechos no muy conocidos.

Aquí resumo algunos, algunitos nomás.

- - -

Cuando fueron desalojados del Paraíso, Adán y Eva se mudaron al Africa, no a París.

Algún tiempo después, cuando ya sus hijos se habían lanzado a los caminos del mundo, se inventó la escritura.  En Irak, no en Texas.

También el álgebra se inventó en Irak.  La fundó Mohamed al Jwarizmi, hace mil doscientos años, y las palabras algoritmo y guarismo derivan de su nombre.

Los nombres suelen no coincidir con lo que nombran.  En el British Museum, pongamos por caso, las esculturas del Partenón se llaman “mármoles de Elgin”, pero son mármoles de Fidias.  Elgin se llamaba el inglés que las vendió al museo.

Las tres novedades que hicieron posible el Renacimiento europeo, la brújula, la pólvora y la imprenta, habían sido inventadas por los chinos, que también inventaron casi todo lo que Europa reinventó.

Los hindúes habían sabido antes que nadie que la Tierra era redonda y los mayas habían creado el calendario más exacto de todos los tiempos.

- - -

En 1493, el Vaticano regaló América a España y obsequió el Africa negra a Portugal, “para que las naciones bárbaras sean reducidas a la fe católica”.  Por entonces, América tenía quince veces más habitantes que España y el Africa negra cien veces más que Portugal.

Tal como había mandado el Papa, las naciones bárbaras fueron reducidas. Y muy.

- - -

Tenochtitlán, el centro del imperio azteca, era de agua.  Hernán Cortés demolió la ciudad, piedra por piedra, y con los escombros tapó los canales por donde navegaban doscientas mil canoas.  Esta fue la primera guerra del agua en América. Ahora Tenochtitlán se llama México DF.  Por donde corría el agua, corren los autos.

- - -

El monumento más alto de la Argentina se ha erigido en homenaje al general Roca, que en el siglo diecinueve exterminó a los indios de la Patagonia.

La avenida más larga del Uruguay lleva el nombre del general Rivera, que en el siglo diecinueve exterminó a los últimos indios charrúas.

- - -

John Locke, el filósofo de la libertad, era accionista de la Royal Africa Company, que compraba y vendía esclavos.

Mientras nacía el siglo dieciocho, el primero de los borbones, Felipe V, estrenó su trono firmando un contrato con su primo, el rey de Francia, para que la Compagnie de Guinée vendiera negros en América.  Cada monarca llevaba un 25 por ciento de las ganancias.

Nombres de algunos navíos negreros: Voltaire, Rousseau, Jesús, Esperanza, Igualdad, Amistad.

Dos de los Padres Fundadores de los Estados Unidos se desvanecieron en la niebla de la historia oficial.  Nadie recuerda a Robert Carter ni a Gouverner Morris.  La amnesia recompensó sus actos.  Carter fue el único prócer de la independencia que liberó a sus esclavos.  Morris, redactor de la Constitución, se opuso a la cláusula que estableció que un esclavo equivalía a las tres quintas partes de una persona.

“El nacimiento de una nación”, la primera superproducción de Hollywood, se estrenó en 1915, en la Casa Blanca.  El presidente, Woodrow Wilson, la aplaudió de pie.  El era el autor de los textos de la película, un himno racista de alabanza al Ku Klux Klan.

- - -

Algunas fechas:

Desde el año 1234, y durante los siete siglos siguientes, la Iglesia Católica prohibió que las mujeres cantaran en los templos.  Eran impuras sus voces, por aquel asunto de Eva y el pecado original.

En el año 1783, el rey de España decretó que no eran deshonrosos los trabajos manuales, los llamados “oficios viles”, que hasta entonces implicaban la pérdida de la hidalguía.

Hasta el año 1986, fue legal el castigo de los niños en las escuelas de Inglaterra, con correas, varas y cachiporras.

- - -

En nombre de la libertad, la igualdad y la fraternidad, la Revolución Francesa proclamó en 1793 la Declaración de los Derechos del Hombre y del Ciudadano.  Entonces, la militante revolucionaria Olympia de Gouges propuso la Declaración de los Derechos de la Mujer y de la Ciudadana.  La guillotina le cortó la cabeza.

Medio siglo después, otro gobierno revolucionario, durante la Primera Comuna de París, proclamó el sufragio universal.  Al mismo tiempo, negó el derecho de voto a las mujeres, por unanimidad menos uno: 899 votos en contra, uno a favor.

- - -

La emperatriz cristiana Teodora nunca dijo ser revolucionaria, ni cosa por el estilo.  Pero hace mil quinientos años el imperio bizantino fue, gracias a ella, el primer lugar del mundo donde el aborto y el divorcio fueron derechos de las mujeres.

- - -

El general Ulises Grant, vencedor en la guerra del norte industrial contra el sur esclavista, fue luego presidente de los Estados Unidos.

En 1875, respondiendo a las presiones británicas, contestó:

-- Dentro de doscientos años, cuando hayamos obtenido del proteccionismo todo lo que nos puede ofrecer, también nosotros adoptaremos la libertad de comercio.

Así pues, en el año 2075, la nación más proteccionista del mundo adoptará la libertad de comercio.

- - -

Lootie, “Botincito”, fue el primer perro pequinés que llegó a Europa.

Viajó a Londres en 1860.  Los ingleses lo bautizaron así porque era parte del botín arrancado a China, al cabo de las dos largas guerras del opio.

Victoria, la reina narcotraficante, había impuesto el opio a cañonazos.  China fue convertida en una nación de drogadictos, en nombre de la libertad, la libertad de comercio.

En nombre de la libertad, la libertad de comercio, Paraguay fue aniquilado en 1870.  Al cabo de una guerra de cinco años, este país, el único país de las Américas que no debía un centavo a nadie, inauguró su deuda externa.  A sus ruinas humeantes llegó, desde Londres, el primer préstamo.  Fue destinado a pagar una enorme indemnización a Brasil, Argentina y Uruguay.  El país asesinado pagó a los países asesinos, por el trabajo que se habían tomado asesinándolo.

- - -

Haití también pagó una enorme indemnización.  Desde que en 1804 conquistó su independencia, la nueva nación arrasada tuvo que pagar a Francia una fortuna, durante un siglo y medio, para expiar el pecado de su libertad.

- - -

Las grandes empresas tienen derechos humanos en los Estados Unidos.  En 1886, la Suprema Corte de Justicia extendió los derechos humanos a las corporaciones privadas, y así sigue siendo.

Pocos años después, en defensa de los derechos humanos de sus empresas, los Estados Unidos invadieron diez países, en diversos mares del mundo.

Entonces Mark Twain, dirigente de la Liga Antiimperialista, propuso una nueva bandera, con calaveritas en lugar de estrellas, y otro escritor, Ambrose Bierce, comprobó:

-- La guerra es el camino que Dios ha elegido para enseñarnos geografía.

- - -

Los campos de concentración nacieron en Africa.  Los ingleses iniciaron el experimento, y los alemanes lo desarrollaron.  Después Hermann Göring aplicó, en Alemania, el modelo que su papá había ensayado, en 1904, en Namibia.  Los maestros de Joseph Mengele habían estudiado, en el campo de concentración de Namibia, la anatomía de las razas inferiores.  Los cobayos eran todos negros.

- - -

En 1936, el Comité Olímpico Internacional no toleraba insolencias.  En las Olimpíadas de 1936, organizadas por Hitler, la selección de fútbol de Perú derrotó 4 a 2 a la selección de Austria, el país natal del Führer.  El Comité Olímpico anuló el partido.

- - -

A Hitler no le faltaron amigos.  La Rockefeller Foundation financió investigaciones raciales y racistas de la medicina nazi.  La Coca-Cola inventó la Fanta, en plena guerra, para el mercado alemán.  La IBM hizo posible la identificación y clasificación de los judíos, y ésa fue la primera hazaña en gran escala del sistema de tarjetas perforadas.

- - -

En 1953, estalló la protesta obrera en la Alemania comunista.

Los trabajadores se lanzaron a las calles y los tanques soviéticos se ocuparon de callarles la boca.  Entonces Bertolt Brecht propuso: ¿No sería más fácil que el gobierno disuelva al pueblo y elija otro?

- - -

Operaciones de marketing.  La opinión pública es el target.  Las guerras se venden mintiendo, como se venden los autos.

En 1964, los Estados Unidos invadieron Vietnam, porque Vietnam había atacado dos buques de los Estados Unidos en el golfo de Tonkin.  Cuando ya la guerra había destripado a una multitud de vietnamitas, el ministro de Defensa, Robert McNamara, reconoció que el ataque de Tonkin no había existido.

Cuarenta años después, la historia se repitió en Irak.

- - -

Miles de años antes de que la invasión norteamericana llevara la civilización a Irak, en esa tierra bárbara había nacido el primer poema de amor de la historia universal.  En lengua sumeria, escrito en el barro, el poema narró el encuentro de una diosa y un pastor.  Inanna, la diosa, amó esa noche como si fuera mortal. Dumuzi, el pastor, fue inmortal mientras duró esa noche.

- - -

Paradojas andantes, paradojas estimulantes:

El Aleijadinho, el hombre más feo del Brasil, creó las más hermosas esculturas de la era colonial americana.

El libro de viajes de Marco Polo, aventura de la libertad, fue escrito en la cárcel de Génova.

Don Quijote de La Mancha, otra aventura de la libertad, nació en la cárcel de Sevilla.

Fueron nietos de esclavos los negros que generaron el jazz, la más libre de las músicas.

Uno de los mejores guitarristas de jazz, el gitano Django Reinhardt, tenía no más que dos dedos en su mano izquierda.

No tenía manos Grimod de la Reynière, el gran maestro de la cocina francesa.  Con garfios escribía, cocinaba y comía.

The Walking Paradox
by Eduardo Galeano

Every day, reading newspapers, I attend a history class.

Newspapers teach me by what they say and by what they don't say.

History is a walking paradox.  Contradiction moves its legs.  Perhaps for that reason its silences say more than its words and its words reveal the truth frequently through lying.

Soon a book of mine will be published, titled Espejos [Mirrors].  It's just like a universal history -- pardon my audacity.  "I can resist everything except the temptation," Oscar Wilde said, and I confess that I have succumbed to the temptation to recount some episodes of human adventure in the world, from the point of view of those who have not appeared in the picture.

In other words, it's about little known facts.

Here I sum up some of them, just a few.

- - -

When they were expelled from Paradise, Adam and Eve moved to Africa, not to Paris.

Some time later, after their children had already embarked upon the ways of the world, writing was invented.  In Iraq, not in Texas.

Algebra, too, was invented in Iraq.  It was founded by Muhammad Al-Khwarizmi, one thousand two hundred years ago, and the words algorithm and guarismo [numeral] derive from his name.

Names usually do not correspond to what they name.  In the British Museum, for example, the sculptures of the Parthenon are called "Elgin marbles," but they are marbles of Phidias.  Elgin was the name of the Englishman who sold them to the museum.

The three novelties that made the European Renaissance possible, the compass, gunpowder, and the printing press, had been invented by the Chinese, who also invented just about everything that Europe reinvented.

The Hindus had known before everybody that the Earth was round and the Mayans had created the most exact calendar of all times.

- - -

In 1493, the Vatican gave America to Spain and granted Africa to Portugal, "so that barbarous nations be reduced to the Catholic faith."  At that time, America had fifteen times more inhabitants than Spain, and Black Africa one hundred times more than Portugal.

Just as the Pope had commanded, barbarous nations were reduced.  Very much.

- - -

Water made Tenochtitlán, the center of the Aztec Empire.  Hernán Cortés demolished the city, stone by stone, and with its rubble he filled the canals where two hundred thousand canoes sailed.  This was the first water war in America.  Now Tenochtitlán is called Mexico City.  Where water once ran, now run cars.

- - -

The highest monument of Argentina has been erected in tribute to General Roca, who in the nineteenth century exterminated the Indians of Patagonia.

The longest avenue of Uruguay takes the name of General Rivera, who in the nineteenth century exterminated the last Charrúa Indians.

- - -

John Locke, the philosopher of freedom, was a shareholder of the Royal African Company, which bought and sold slaves.

When the eighteenth century was born, the first of the Bourbons, Felipe V, abdicated his throne signing a contract with his cousin, the King of France, that the French Guinea Company would sell Blacks in America.  Each monarch took 25 percent of the profits.

Names of some slave ships: Voltaire, Rousseau, Jesus, Hope, Equality, Friendship.

Two of the Founding Fathers of the United States vanished in the fog of official history.  Nobody remembers Robert Carter or Gouverneur Morris.  Amnesia was the reward of their deeds.  Carter was the only independence leader who emancipated his slaves.  Morris, drafter of the Constitution, objected to the clause that established that a slave was equal to three fifths of a person.

The Birth of a Nation, the first Hollywood blockbuster, was released in 1915, at the White House.  President Woodrow Wilson gave it a standing ovation.  The film quotes Wilson's words singing a racist hymn to the Ku Klux Klan.

- - -

Some dates:

From 1234, and for the following seven centuries, the Catholic Church prohibited women from singing in temples.  Their voices were impure, on account of Eve and the original sin.

In 1783, the King of Spain decreed that manual labor was not dishonorable, "vile offices" which thitherto entailed the loss of nobility.

Until 1986, in the schools of England, it was legal to punish children with belts, sticks, and clubs.

- - -

In the name of freedom, equality, and fraternity, the French Revolution proclaimed in 1793 the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen.  Then, the revolutionary militant Olympe de Gouges proposed the Declaration of the Rights of Woman and the Citizen.  Her head was cut off by the guillotine.

Half a century later, another revolutionary government, during the First Commune of Paris, proclaimed universal suffrage.  At the same time, it denied women the right to vote, unanimously except one dissent: 899 nays, one yea.

- - -

The Christian Empress Theodora never claimed to be revolutionary, nothing of the sort.  But one thousand five hundred years ago, the Byzantine Empire became, thanks to her, the first place in the world where abortion and divorce were the rights of women.

- - -

General Ulysses Grant, victorious in the war of the industrial North against the slave South, next became President of the United States.

In 1875, in response to British pressures, he answered back:

-- Within 200 years, when America has gotten out of protection all that it can offer, it too will adopt free trade.

So, in 2075, the most protectionist nation in the world will adopt free trade.

- - -

Lootie, "Little Booty," was the first Pekinese dog to arrive in Europe.

The dog traveled to London in 1860.  The English named it "Lootie" because it was part of the booty snatched from China, at the end of the two long opium wars.

Victoria, the narco-trafficking queen, imposed opium by cannons.  China was turned into a nation of drug addicts, in the name of freedom, free trade.

In the name of freedom, free trade, Paraguay was annihilated in 1870.  After a war of five years, this country, the only country in the Americas that did not owe a cent to anybody, incurred its first foreign debt.  At its smoking ruins arrived, from London, the first loan.  It was destined to pay an enormous indemnification to Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay.  The murdered country paid the murdering countries for the work of murdering it.

- - -

Haiti also paid an enormous indemnification.  Ever since 1804, when it won its independence, the new nation, devastated, had to pay a fortune to France, for a century and a half, to expiate the sin of its freedom.

- - -

Great corporations enjoy human rights in the United States.  In 1886, the Supreme Court extended human rights to private corporations, and thus stands it to this day.

A few years later, in defense of human rights of its corporations, the United States invaded ten countries, in diverse parts of the world.

Then, Mark Twain, a leader of the Anti-Imperialist League, proposed a new flag, with skulls instead of stars, and another writer, Ambrose Bierce, confirmed:

-- War is God's way of teaching us geography.

- - -

Concentration camps were born in Africa.  The English initiated the experiment, and the Germans developed it.  Later, Hermann Göring applied in Germany the model that his papa had tried in 1904 in Namibia.  The teachers of Joseph Mengele had studied, in the concentration camp of Namibia, the anatomy of the inferior races.  The guinea pigs were all Blacks.

- - -

In 1936, the International Olympic Committee did not tolerate insolences.  In the 1936 Olympics, organized by Hitler, the soccer team of Peru defeated, 4 to 2, the team of Austria, the native country of the Führer.  The Olympic Committee annulled the match.

- - -

Hitler did not lack friends.  The Rockefeller Foundation financed Nazi medicine's racial and racist research.  Coca-Cola invented Fanta, in the middle of the war, for the German market.  IBM made the identification and classification of Jews possible -- the first large-scale exploit of the punch card system.

- - -

In 1953, workers' protest exploded in Communist Germany.

Workers took to the streets and the Soviet tanks took care to shut down their mouths.  Then, Bertolt Brecht proposed: Would it not be easier in that case for the government to dissolve the people and elect another?

- - -

Marketing operations.  The public opinion is their target.  Wars, like cars, are sold by lies.

In 1964, the United States invaded Viet Nam, because Viet Nam had attacked two US ships in the Gulf of Tonkin.  After the war had already disemboweled a multitude of Vietnamese, Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara acknowledged that there had been no Tonkin attack.

Forty years later, history repeated itself in Iraq.

- - -

Thousands of years before the North American invasion brought civilization to Iraq, in that barbarous land was born the first poem of love in universal history.  In the Sumerian language, inscribed in clay, the poem narrated the encounter of a goddess and a shepherd.  Inanna, the goddess, loved that night as if she were mortal.  Dumuzi, the shepherd, was immortal while the night lasted.

- - -

Walking paradoxes, stirring paradoxes:

El Aleijadinho [The Cripple], the ugliest man in Brazil, created the most beautiful sculptures of the colonial American era.

The book of travels of Marco Polo, adventure of freedom, was written in a prison of Genoa.

Don Quixote de la Mancha, another adventure of freedom, was born in a prison of Seville.

It was descendants of slaves, Blacks, who created jazz, the freest music there is.

One of the best jazz guitarists, the gypsy Django Reinhardt, had only two fingers on his left hand.

Grimod de la Reynière, the great master of French cuisine, did not  have hands.  With hooks he wrote, cooked, and ate.


Eduardo Galeano, a Uruguayan writer, is the author of Open Veins of Latin America, Days and Nights of Love and War, and Memories of Fire among other publications.  This essay was first published in Página/12 on 30 December 2007.  Translation by Yoshie Furuhashi.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Culture

Aharon Shabtai, born in 1939 in Tel Aviv, is one of the most acclaimed Israeli poets and the foremost Hebrew translator of Greek drama. This poem was published in his book J'Accuse (Trans., Peter Cole, New Directions Publishing, 2003) on p. 14.
Culture
by Aharon Shabtai

The mark of Cain won't sprout
from a soldier who shoots
at the head of a child
on a knoll by the fence
around a refugee camp --
for beneath his helmet,
conceptually speaking,
his head is made of cardboard.
On the other hand,
the officer has read The Rebel;
his head is enlightened,
and so he does not believe
in the mark of Cain.
He's spent time in museums,
and when he aims
his rifle at a boy
as an ambassador of Culture,
he updates and recycles
Goya's etchings
and Guernica.
Shabtai refused to participate in the Fifth International Poetry Festival in Jerusalem in 2006, living by his conviction that "even poets were not allowed in the past, and not in the present, to ignore persecutions and discriminations on a racial or national basis," and will be boycotting the Turin Book Fair (8-12 May 2008) and the Salon du Livre de Paris (14-18 March 2008) where Israel will be the "guest of honor."

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The New Monastics

This poem by Dennis Brutus was posted to Debate, a discussion list of the independent left in Southern Africa, today.
The New Monastics
by Dennis Brutus

Tall black-shadowed cypresses
slender beside arcaded cloisters:
thus were monastic enterprises:
now with our new doctrines
secular-consumerist we bend
with similar devoutness in service
to our modern pantheon --
Bretton Woods, its cohort deities
-- World Bank, IMF, WTO --
diligently we recite
"We have loved, o lord, the beauty of your house
and the place where your glory dwells"
"Amen" we chorus in unison
as ordered by our Heads of State
obediently we traipse to our slaughterhouse
directed by our Judas-goats
Mbeki's herds tricked out in shabby rags
discarded by imperialist gauleiters
who devised our Neepad subjugation

ActionAid Economic Justice course,
Kenyan School of Monetary Studies
Nairobi, November 26, 2007

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Requiem

Kurt Vonnegut, who was born on 11 November 1922 and died on 11 April 2007, ended A Man without a Country (Seven Stories Press, 2005), his last book, with this poem (p. 137):
Requiem

The crucified planet Earth,
should it find a voice
and a sense of irony,
might now well say
of our abuse of it,
"Forgive them, Father,
They know not what they do."

The irony would be
that we know what
we are doing.

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
"It is done."
People did not like it here.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Let the Ascetics Sing of the Garden of Paradise

How do people develop? Dialectically, or so suggest
Ghazals of Ghalib, one of the witnesses to the Great Uprising of 1857.
ستایشگر ہے زاہد اس قدر جس باغِ رضواں کا
وہ اک گلدستہ ہے ہم بے خودوں کے طاقِ نسیاں کا

کیا آئینہ خانے کا وہ نقشہ تیرے جلوے نے
کرے جو پرتوِ خورشید عالم شبنمستاں کا

مری تعمیر میں مضمر ہے اک صورت خرابی کی
ہیولیٰ برقِ خرمن کا ہے خونِ گرم دہقاں کا

خموشی میں نہاں خوں گشتہ لاکھوں آرزوئیں ہیں
چراغِ مردہ ہوں میں بے زباں گورِ غریباں کا

نظر میں ہے ہماری جادۂ راۂ فنا غالب
کہ یہ شیرازہ ہے عالم کے اجزاۓ پریشاں کا

In Jane Hirshfield's translation (The Enlightened Heart, Ed. Stephen Mitchell, Harper Perennial, 1989):
Let the ascetics sing of the garden of Paradise --
Who dwell in the true ecstasy can forget their vase-tamed bouquet.

In our hall of mirrors, the map of the one Face appears
As the sun's splendor would spangle a world made of dew.

Hidden in this image is also its end,
As peasants' lives harbor revolt and unthreshed corn sparks with fire.

Hidden in my silence are a thousand abandoned longings:
My words the darkened oil lamp on a stranger's unspeaking grave.

Ghalib, the road of change is before you always:
The only line stitching this world's scattered parts.

Monday, September 17, 2007

The Approaching Hour

William Carlos Williams wrote this poem in 1939.
The Approaching Hour

You Communists and Republicans!
all you Germans and Frenchmen!
you corpses and quickeners!
The stars are about to melt
and fall on you in tears.

Get ready! Get ready!
you Papists and Protestants!
you whores and you virtuous!
The moon will be bread
and drop presently into your baskets.

Friends and those who despise
and detest us!
Adventists and those who believe
nothing!
Get ready for the awakening.
What awakening is in store for us today? And are we ready?

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Postcard form Palestine

This poem was posted to assawra by Djamal Benmerad, an Algerian poet (who blogs at euromed.skyrock.com), today.
Carte postale de Palestine

A Ramallah l’enfant
éventré
par une bombe à fragmentation
me regarde les yeux mi-clos
comme pour me dire
« Pourquoi ? »

Djamal Benmerad
Postcard form Palestine

In Ramallah the child
blown apart
by a fragmentation bomb
looks at me with his half-closed eyes
as if to say "Why?"

Djamal Benmerad
Translation by Yoshie Furuhashi

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Mohsen Namjoo

Nazila Fathi of the New York Times compares Mohsen Namjoo, an Iranian singer-songwriter, to Bob Dylan: "Iran’s Dylan on the Lute, With Songs of Sly Protest" (1 September 2007). The problem is that Namjoo doesn't sound at all like Dylan. If he must be compared to another singer-songwriter, why not Victor Jara? (But his politics isn't straightforward, unlike Jara's. The refrain from "Aghayede Nue Kanti [Neo-Kantian Ideas]," which Fathi discusses, goes: "I have my neo-Kantian ideas / You have your poppies from Normandy." Get it?) Or Leonard Cohen? (But his lyrics are not as cynical as Cohen's. The aforementioned song also says, "What do you say to yourself? My dear Khatami? / What are you still pursuing? My heartache?")

Listen to Namjoo's "Begoo Begoo," "Zolf Bar Bad," "Gees," "Toranj," and "Ya Ali," as well as "Aghayede Nue Kanti," and you be the judge. (N.B. Most of the videos were made by his fans, so he's not responsible for their visual contents.)






Fathi also claims that Namjoo's "music sounds Persian, but the melodies take away the melancholy that often suffuses classical Persian music." Namjoo himself, however, does not appear to think so. He wrote an essay for TehranAvenue "In Praise of the Minor Key, A -- The Third Note" (March 2006):
I have been fascinated, for many years now, and after repeated encounters, by the magical hold that the minor key -- more specifically, the third degree (or note) of this scale -- has over everyone’s ears*. Many composers use it, consciously or instinctively. The history of the utilization of this musical tool is a fascinating aspect of any culture’s artistic heritage. In fact, where this position is most effective is when it forms an interval of minor third, in relation to the tonic (the first note of the scale), ascending, from one to three, or descending, from three to one, with the former being the most prevalent.

This is basically a romantic interval, meaning that it has an aura of sanctity to it. Regardless of why or how, it invariably guides the listener towards a place of depth and meaning, which is also melancholic.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An ideological revolution is undoubtedly a manifestation of romantic fury, and the third of minor is, likewise, a romantic position. It is used by both the victor, to denote his supreme righteousness, and by the conquered, to highlight the tragedy of her defeat.
In this erudite and yet whimsical essay, Namjoo ranges widely, surveying a wide variety of music from traditional Persian music in a time of revolution to Cohen's "I'm Your Man."

BTW, in her article, Fathi notes in passing: "To this day, women are not allowed to sing" in Iran. And yet, back in June, Neo-Resistance, an Iranian woman's blog, cited an ISNA aricle: "Arian Band is the first ever band consisting of both men and women singers and players in Iran and the first music group to represent Iranian pop music. Their debut album, 'Gole Aftabgardoon' (The Sunflower) was released in 2000. The album had huge success in Iran. The band was recently nominated for the BBC World Music Award" (emphasis added). BBC favorably took note of the band in 2004: "Iran's First Pop Revolutionaries" (13 December 2004). Nevertheless, the Times reporter acts as if nothing of the sort had happened in Iran. Par for the course for the empire's paper of record.

Listen to Arian Band's "Ay Javidan Iran [Immortal Iran]," the song the band made for Iran's national football team on the occasion of World Cup 2006.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Lenin Platz in Berlin

A friend of mine says that three blocks from his apartment in Moscow stands a statue of Lenin. The sculptor who made the statue "did his first Lenin at the age of about 8, when Lenin died. He said he remembered that everybody was really sad, so he went down to the river and made a little Lenin out of clay," according to an article about him. My friend also tells me that to the left of the statue of Lenin, just out of view, is an Iran Air office -- how appropriate.
Lenin Platz in Berlin
by Fadhil al-Azzawi

There in his square
he stood, arms stretched forward
as if begging the passers-by
to stop and hear him out.
He wore his ragged black coat
and had his grey cap
pulled over his eyes.
I saw him prophesy revolution
to workers and soldiers
and threaten the bourgeoisie with Hell.

He did not have a chair to sit on
so he remained standing
and waited forever.

When they arrested him
he was asleep and dreaming
on his high platform.
They cut through his hardened body
with an electric saw
and carried his marble head
with a rented forklift
to a storeroom of archaeological remains.

The workers covered his grassy square
with cement
afraid the thieves of the class struggle
would plunder its invaluable dust.

A lot of blood stuck to our shoes
as we walked the streets
following his coffin.

Dasvedanya!

Translated by the author
and Khaled Mattawa

Banipal, No. 6, Autumn 1999, p. 7

Friday, April 07, 2006

Naita Aka Oni

There is a popular picture book for children in Japan, titled Naita Aka Oni [The Red Ogre Who Cried].

The story goes like this:
Once upon a time, there were two ogres. One was red, and the other was blue. The red ogre wanted to become friends with children in a village nearby. So, the red ogre put up a sign in front of his house:Naita Akaoni
Home of a Gentle Ogre
All Are Welcome
Tea and Tasty Cakes Available
But no one showed up, and the red ogre grew puzzled, sad, and angry. "I'm such a kind ogre -- why would nobody visit me?" Despairing, the red ogre even tore down the sign: "This is useless."

Moved by his friend's feelings, the blue ogre said, "Look, I have a plan."

The blue ogre's plan was for him to pretend to terrorize children and then have the red ogre chase him off, "rescuing" them from him. The plan went without a hitch, and the red ogre became the most popular creature among the children, and all came to play with him.

After a happy day of enjoying the children's company, the red ogre found a letter from the blue ogre. The letter said, "My Dear Red Ogre, if people find out that you are a friend of the Bad Blue Ogre's, they will not let the children come to you any more. So, I'm leaving. Please live happily with the children. Goodbye. Blue Ogre."

The red ogre cried out, "Blue Ogre is gone! A dear friend of mine! He is gone!" And he wept.

The red ogre and the blue ogre were never to see each other again.
Hamada HirosukeIt's a great story about the costs of assimilation.

The story was written by Hamada Hirosuke, who wrote many other children's stories. It was first published in 1933.

I read it first (or rather my parents read it to me) when I was a child, and later I wondered if the author was gay, if he was a leftist, or if he had read Oscar Wilde's "The Selfish Giant." I never found out.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi

Rohan Shivkumar of Anarchitect offers a tantalizing glimpse of a new Indian film: Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi (Dir. Sudhir Mishra, 2003).

Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi

The film's title comes from a ghazal by Ghalib:

Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi Line 1
Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi Line 2
A thousand desires like these, each worth dying for
Many are filled, and yet as many remain.

Read Maithili Rao's review below, and you will not want to miss the film if it comes to a screen near you.
Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi is an unconventional triangle with no single hero dominating the narrative. It is an open-ended graph of shifting relationships between three friends, two men and a woman, and not a rigidly enclosed triangle of formulaic romance. Two abiding themes -- the play with time and the changing psychology of people over a given time -- surface in practically every film [Sudhir] Mishra has made and they come together with near perfection in Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi. He uses his Masters in Psychology to flesh out characters conceived in the round, a novelistic trait that film-makers so often overlook in the pursuit of the perfect image for its own sake.

So, it is time to meet the three protagonists as they graduate from a prestigious Delhi college and get inextricably drawn into their closely observed lives. Siddharth Tyabji (Kay Kay) is the emblematic representative of secular elitism: obviously the son of liberal Leftists who married across the communal divide. His dilemma is typical of his class, afflicted by the peculiar predicament of bearing a Muslim surname but unable to speak good Urdu. No one is more aware of this existential irony than Siddharth himself. He is the idealist looking for a cause in the ideological vacuum of a Delhi polluted by politicking. This is a Delhi society where class and education count more than ethnicity and language.

Geeta Rao (Chitrangada Singh) is the brilliant daughter of an eminent scientist, who, for all his eminence, clings to his South Indian conservative ways. Geeta has this innate ability to live easily in many worlds, a seeming epitome of the high-achieving modern woman. From the Telugu-speaking orthodox home complete with an extended family to the trendy set she hangs out with, and then on to Oxford for higher studies and finally to a strife-worn Bihar village... she traverses them all in the course of an eventful life, driven by her singular passion: Siddharth.

If Siddharth is the love of Geeta's life, Siddharth is in love with his great cause: bringing revolution to the parched land and disenfranchised peasants of Bihar. He gives up the cultured ease of Delhi to join the naxalites. His gentle, scholarly father watches helplessly -- he cannot approve but neither can he forbid, for he understands Siddharth's commitment to his chosen cause for which he is willing to pay any price.

Watching this drama from the sidelines is Vikram Malhotra (Shiny Ahuja). If his friends inhabit a rarefied realm of passionate idealism, Vikram is the point of identification. He is himself and yet, everyman. He is the typical small-town boy, desperate to acquire the cosmopolitan sheen that comes so naturally to the elegant Geeta and sophisticated Siddharth. Vikram is in a hurry to distance himself from his father's legacy -- a small-time, small-town politician who retains his idealism for which the son has nothing but contempt.

But watching the political process at first hand has given Vikram an invaluable lesson: how to spot, then court and win the politico and the party that is calling the shots at the moment, but without burning his bridges to previous denizens of the corridors of power. From artful survivor to smooth operator with high connections to independent purveyor of power is the fascinatingly familiar trajectory that Vikram's career takes. He knows everybody and apparently, everybody knows him too -- the more important part of the power transaction. Vikram's transformation from uncertain small-time guy to the assured, if oily, power-player, is wryly funny and precise in finding the satirical target.

For all his pragmatic survival skills that make him somebody over the years, Vikram is desperately in love with Geeta. And how this love stays with him -- even after Geeta returns from Oxford, becomes a journalist and endures an unhappy marriage and finally, throws in her lot with Siddharth, a man hunted by the police -- is Vikram's path to redemption. He is jealous of Siddharth at one level, specially when he finds out that Geeta has been using her journalistic cover to meet the fugitive activist and has an off-and-on affair with him. At another level, Vikram has a reluctant admiration for a man who has the courage of his convictions. When it comes to the crunch and Siddharth's life is in imminent danger, it is Vikram who uses his connections and comes to the aid of his one-time classmate and rival. (Maithili Rao "Mapping a Political Era," Frontline 22.5 26 Feb. -11 Mar. 2005)
Mishra, who has a banner of Che Guevara in his living room, says: "He [Che] had a dream, and every dream which talks of a better future inspires me" (qtd. in Mohammed Wajihuddin, "Join the Fight," Screen 20 Apr. 2005).

Saturday, January 15, 2005

The Politics of Mourning

What was lost when state socialism collapsed? It wasn't simply what socialist states did manage to provide. The most devastating loss is, paradoxically, the most intangible: the loss of what we never had. Only by mourning that loss can we mourn the loss of socialism properly, or so says Volker Braun in his poem "Das Eigentum [Property]":
Das Eigentum

Da bin ich noch: mein Land geht in den Westen.
KRIEG DEN HÜTTEN FRIEDE DEN PALÄSTEN.
Ich selber habe ihm den Tritt versetzt.
Es wirft sich weg und seine magre Zierde.
Dem Winter folgt der Sommer der Begierde.
Und ich kann bleiben wo der Pfeffer wächst.
Und unverständlich wird mein ganzer Text
Was ich niemals besaß wird mir entrissen.
Was ich nicht lebte, werd ich ewig missen.
Die Hoffnung lag im Weg wie eine Falle.
Mein Eigentum, jetzt habt ihrs auf der Kralle.
Wann sag ich wieder mein und meine alle.

Property

I'm still here, though my country's gone West.
PEACE TO THE PALACES AND DEVIL TAKE THE REST.
I gave it the elbow and heave-ho once myself.
Now it's giving away its negligible charms itself.
Winter is followed by a summer of guzzling.
But I remain, worrying at the root of all evil.
And my poem becomes increasingly puzzling,
To wit: what I never had is being filched.
I shall always mourn what never happened to me in person.
Hope lay across the path like a trap.
And that's my junk you've got your paws on.
Will it ever again be given me
To say mine and thereby mean the collective me.
The sense of loss expressed by Braun is not his alone -- it is a "mass perception" that has elicited "a memory crisis" because state socialism was never given a proper burial:
"What I never had, is being torn away from me. What I did not live, I will miss forever." With these line from his drama Property (Das Eigentum, 1990), playwright Volker Braun renders his melancholic reaction to the disintegration of the German Democratic Republic. The GDR once prided itself as the tenth strongest world economy, but following the postcommunist turn, or Wende, most of its industries have been brought to a halt, and hundreds of thousands have found themselves jobless. The euphoria at the opening of the Berlin Wall dimmed within a few months, and a pall seemed to set in over the two Germanys, one which prompted many to reconsider the disintegration of state socialism. Whereas most Germans considered the communist project a failure, many others proceeded to mourn its passing, nonetheless. Paradoxically, what Braun's protagonist lost with the collapse of communism was the possible past he never really had.

The mass perception of loss has elicited a memory crisis in contemporary culture. While retrospective literary texts and artworks proliferate, museum exhibitions salvage and curate the wreckage of the GDR as if there were literally no tomorrow. A new German word has surfaced to describe this trend: Ostalgie, derived from Nostalgie, or nostalgia. The first syllable drops the letter n to become ost, the word for east. What remains signifies something like nostalgia for the "eastern times" of state socialism. Yet the nostalgic longing for some home that, perhaps, never really existed distinguishes itself from two other modes of memory that charge postcommunist culture: mourning and melancholia. . . . (Charity Scribner, "Left Melancholy," Loss: The Politics of Mourning, University of California Press, 2003, p. 300)
Is it any wonder that, in 2003, Wolfgang Becker's film Goodbye, Lenin! became one of the highest grossing German films in history?

 Daniel Brühl

Goodbye, Lenin!

Goodbye, Lenin! became an international hit as well. The act of mourning socialism perhaps "harbors a latent utopian desire, a refusal to accept the fait accompli of late capitalism as the only imaginable frame of our world" (Scribner, p. 316) -- the desire that is utopian, not because it has no place in the world, but because it knows no geographic border or generational boundary.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Welfare Quean

How does capital compel individuals to submit to wage labor? In part, by stigmatizing the unemployed. How does it stigmatize the unemployed? By dividing the unemployed into "deserving" and "undeserving," making social welfare benefits for the "undeserving" short, meager, and subject to easy revocation. And by creating conditions for a depressing client-case worker relationship in which the case worker feels overworked and the client feels tyrannized and humiliated. Wanda Coleman's poem "Welfare Quean" perfectly captures the stigma of unemployment:
WELFARE QUEAN
by Wanda Coleman

red-faced you follow the loony white line to the blue door where the 7 a.m. wait runs fifty deep

you in your unwashed crown your snaggled teeth your aircraft-carrier hips you're snotting all over America this bad gin morning fizzle you've just run out of tissues so you use the flap of your grimy muumuu worn fax paper thin the truth you've tried to peddle did not feed or free you but has trapped yon in the dungeon of working ass poor doings

you fill out white forms in blue ink twixt curses and prayers, check the red boxes

the helpers you consult are underpaid automatons who smell of bureaucratic bugkill yet sniff down their noses at you maurauder your larcenous fingers filching their taxes you tinsel thugsta robbing them of phone time with sweethearts you pernicious promiscuous sloven spreading VD, AIDS and black males

of course you're allergic to work, would rather

sleep till noon watch the soaps the blabfests the shitcoms
(low self steam) stand on street corners swiggin' grape
or sippin' coonshine loudtalkin' gamblin' prostitutin'

blue brained under the white sheets, gasping to the throb warning code red

a cliché with a skin condition as

seen by those spaced-out heads/those probing amber eyes narrowed to amused slits denying your claim on the dream o purple mountains of prose charting your failures as you nut up under the thunder of blows your majesty that kinkknot on your psyche of course you're guilty of breaking illusion and taking up too much sun of course you're guilty of looting the nation's coffers of course you're lucky

to have survived past thirty five—you

bloodwart on the schnoz of Christ (Poems for the Nation: A Collection of Contemporary Political Poems, ed. Allen Ginsberg, et al., Seven Stories Press, 1999)

Sunday, August 08, 2004

Saadi Youssef: "This Iraq Will Reach the Ends of the Graveyard"


"Marines of the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit on Friday, the second day of advance in the Najaf cemetery, formerly a sanctuary for militiamen" (Lucian M. Read/World Picture News).

The photograph above, which accompanied Sabrina Tavernise and John F. Burns's article "U.S. Officers Say Two-Day Battle Kills 300 Iraqis" (New York Times, August 7, 2004), reminds me of the first six lines of a 1997 poem by Saadi Youssef, an Iraqi socialist poet who has lived "a life of forced departures":
A VISION

This Iraq will reach the ends of the graveyard.
It will bury its sons in open country
generation after generation,
and it will forgive its despot.
It will not be the Iraq that once held the name.
And the larks will not sing.
So walk -- if you wish -- a long time.
And call -- if you wish --
on all the world's angels
and all its demons.
Call on the bulls of Assyria.
Call on a westward phoenix.
Call them
and through the haze of phantoms
watch for miracles to emerge
from clouds of incense.

Amman, 8/3/1997

(Saadi Youssef, Without an Alphabet, Without a Face, trans. Khaled Mattawa, Saint Paul, MN: Graywolf Press, 2002)

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Manifesto Issued from the Last Trench of the Revolution

The ninth stanza of "The Teachings of F. Al-Azzawi" (Fadhil Al-Azzawi, Miracle Maker: The Selected Poems of Fadhil Al-Azzawi, trans. Khaled Mattawa, Rochester, NY: BOA Editions, Ltd., 2003, p. 34):
Manifesto Issued from the Last Trench of the Revolution

Fight with us for a happier world
Free hotel rooms
Come sleep with us on collective beds

A world revolution in cities and countryside to create the Corporation of Free Society (Dh. M. M. Inc.), we declare we will fight for the following goals:

1.
2.
3.
4.


Fill in the blanks with whatever goals you wish. We trust you.

Signed:

The Old Committee for the New Revolution

Saturday, June 05, 2004

Nicolás Guillén's Politics of Language

Here are three powerful poems (from Obra poética, 1958-1972, Vol. 2, ed. Ángel Augier, La Habana: Instituto Cubano del Libro, 1974) by Nicolás Guillén, the national poet of Cuba, about the politics of language. The poems challenge their implied audience -- who all know something about Caliban's curse ("You taught me language; and my profit on’t / Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you / For learning me your language," The Tempest, I.ii.365-367) -- to struggle against the use of language as an instrument of imperial class power and to win "the pleasure of going / (just an example) / to a bank and speaking to the manager, / not in English / not in 'Sir,' / but in compañero as we say in Spanish" ("I Have," trans. Robert Marquéz, ¡Patria o Muerte! The Great Zoo and Other Poems by Nicolás Guillén, New York: Monthly Review Press, 1972, p. 191):
  • Nicolás Guillén, "Canción puertoriqueña," La paloma de vuelo popular (1958)
  • ¿Como está, Puerto Rico,
    tú de socio asociado en sociedad?
    Al pie de cocoteros y guitarras,
    bajo la luna y junto al mar,
    ¡qué suave honor andar del brazo,
    brazo con brazo, del Tío Sam!
    ¿En qué lengua me entiendes,
    en qué lengua por fin te podré hablar,
    si en yes,
    si en sí,
    si en bien,
    si en well
    si en mal,
    si en bad, si en very bad?

    Juran los que te matan
    que eres feliz . . . ¿Será verdad?
    Arde tu frente pálida,
    la anemia en tu mirada logra un brillo fatal;
    masticas una jerigonza
    medio española, medio slang;
    de un empujón te hundieron en Corea,
    sin que supieras por quién ibas a pelear,
    si en yes,
    si en sí,
    si en bien,
    si en well,
    si en mal,
    si en bad, si en very bad!

    Ay, yo bien conozco a tu enemigo,
    el mismo que tenemos por acá,
    socio en la sangre y el azúcar,
    socio asociado en sociedad;
    United States and Puerto Rico,
    es decir New York City with San Juan,
    Manhattan y Borinquen, soga y cuello,
    apenas nada más . . .
    No yes,
    no sí,
    no bien,
    no well,
    sí mal,
    sí bad, sí very bad.
  • Nicolás Guillén, "Tengo," Tengo (1964)
  • Cuando me veo y toco
    yo, Juan sin Nada no más ayer,
    y hoy Juan con Todo,
    y hoy con todo,
    vuelvo los ojos, miro,
    me veo y toco
    y me pregunto cómo ha podido ser.

    Tengo, vamos a ver,
    tengo el gusto de andar por mi país,
    dueño de cuanto hay en él,
    mirando bien de cerca lo que antes
    no tuve ni podía tener.
    Zafra puedo decir,
    monte puedo decir,
    ciudad puedo decir,
    ejército decir,
    ya míos para siempre y tuyos, nuestros,
    y un ancho resplandor
    de rayo, estrella, flor.

    Tengo, vamos a ver,
    tengo el gusto de ir
    yo, campesino, obrero, gente simple,
    tengo el gusto de ir
    (es un ejemplo)
    a un banco y hablar con el administrador,
    no en inglés,
    no en señor,
    sino decirle compañero como se dice en español.

    Tengo, vamos a ver,
    que siendo un negro
    nadie me puede detener
    a la puerta de un dancing o de un bar.
    O bien en la carpeta de un hotel
    gritarme que no hay pieza,
    una mínima pieza y no una pieza colosal,
    una pequeña pieza donde yo pueda descansar.

    Tengo, vamos a ver,
    que no hay guardia rural
    que me agarre y me encierre en un cuartel,
    ni me arranque y me arroje de mi tierra
    al medio del camino real.
    Tengo que como tengo la tierra tengo el mar,
    no country,
    no jailáif,
    no tennis y no yacht,
    sino de playa en playa y ola en ola,
    gigante azul abierto democrático:
    en fin, el mar.

    Tengo, vamos a ver,
    que ya aprendí a leer,
    a contar,
    tengo que ya aprendí a escribir
    y a pensar
    y a reír.
    Tengo que ya tengo
    donde trabajar
    y ganar
    lo que me tengo que comer.
    Tengo, vamos a ver,
    tengo lo que tenía que tener.
  • Nicolás Guillén, "Problemas del subdesarrollo," La rueda dentada (1972)
  • Monsieur Dupont te llama inculto,
    porque ignoras cuál era el nieto
    preferido de Víctor Hugo.

    Herr Müller se ha puesto a gritar,
    porque no sabes el día
    (exacto) en que murió Bismarck.

    Tu amigo Mr. Smith,
    inglés o yanqui, yo no lo sé,
    se subleva cuando escribes shell.
    (Parece que ahorras una ele,
    y que además pronuncias chel.)

    Bueno ¿y qué?
    Cuando te toque a ti,
    mándales decir cacarajícara,
    y que dónde está el Aconcagua,
    y que quién era Sucre,
    y que en qué lugar de este planeta
    murió Martí.

    Un favor:
    que te hablen siempre en español.