oh wow. you’re right! i never thought of that. i always tend to re-read the poem before i unlock someone’s review and the thought that had been creeping into my mind was this is SOOO long i cannot believe i wrote this and how does anyone have the patience to read through every “and” and “but”. yeah you’re right some of those words are totally unnecessary. thank you!
Poetry / Debido a Mi Madre
Not thinking
of it I can still
feel the outline of your face
on my blue pillowcases—
bendito como Veronica’s rags
stained with Christ’s image.
Pillows bring to mind my hands
pressing these mounds of my bed
against your face. Struggling under my
weight, persistent,
like that afternoon you cornered me
for twenty-five cents, my name, and our
first words were caught on the glass of
our school’s vending machines. I’m tempted
to go back. To coat the glass with my breath and
remember what we said.
I was always too busy looking at the
shapes of my face in the mirror and
an abundance of clothes weighed me down.
Afraid of the natural cradle of hips I swore
never to marry Peruvian.
Tired of
staying in almost every night,
how estoy llena, no tengo hambre
was a constant, and the way I’d wrap my
sheets around my body as soon as my
clothes came off, covering my tremendous
imperfection you said, esto se esta volviendo
ridiculo
The next morning as
I missed the hug of lap and chest
I swore never to marry Hispanic.
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robertryburn reviewed Version 1 -
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Your words were touching and your writing has a good flow to it. I could feel where you were when you met at the $.25 machine.
You are a poet and you will be published.
You contact uris when you are ready for publication.
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Paulettea reviewed Version 1 -
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Hi!
Firstly I think the subject matter you’ve written on is great and the perspective you bring is terrific also. There are some wonderful, powerful, imagery throughout the poem, my favourite lines showing this are in the verse one,
‘bendito como Veronica’s rags
stained with Christs image.
I think this poem would be easier to read, and more effective if there were more comma’s, and perhaps different structure or adding is perhaps a better way of saying it.
I was always too busy looking at the
shapes of my face in the mirror and
an abundance of clothes weighed me down.
Afraid of the natural cradle of hips I swore
never to marry Peruvian
Perhaps for example going something like this,
I was always too busy looking at the
shapes of my face in the mirror,
miss the and simply begin with
An abundance of clothes weighed me down.
Afraid of the natural cradle of hips,
I swore NEVER.. to marry Peruvian.
So it would go like this,
I was always too busy looking at the
shapes of my face in the mirror,
An abundance of clothes weighed me down,
Afraid of the natural cradle of hips,
I swore Never.. to marry Peruvian.
A good poem.
eemer101 reviewed Version 1 -
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is the person being referred to as ‘you’ a past version of yourself? I love the strong images in this poem, the language is a bit scattered and ambiguous but i think this may have been deliberate- you never explicitly say the emotions you were feeling, just ideas and thoughts that we can then interpret as indicative of something. Possibly the vending-machine stanza could be better explained. But as a big-hipped, curvy woman myself… hope it is something to celebrate!!
ArsenicAndLipstick reviewed Version 1 -
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Although I’m not Hispanic I fully understand many of the sentiments you express so wonderfully here. I love that you haven’t gone overboard in the use of Spanish phrases it’s just enough to give that push into the proper mindset. Lovely work.
Callirhoe reviewed Version 1 -
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Fantastic. I really admire the way you play with both languages in this poem—I don’t speak Spanish, but it hardly matters. The use of the Spanish phrases adds authenticity to the poem, and one can tell that the speaker has internalized this culture even while superficially despising it.
There are some absolutely beautiful turns of phrase in here. I especially love the lines “Afraid of the natural cradle of hips I swore / never to marry Peruvian.” Besides the cleverness, this sentence has a wonderful swaying rhythm, like those hips it references. I like that a lot.
Wonderful writing, absolutely great poem! Thanks for sharing it.
Noburo reviewed Version 1 -
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I find this to be a very moving piece. It almost seems that you were bolimic in you self loathing. It is sad how much self hate we can generate for ourselves while growing up. Thank you for sharing this poem.
I especially loved the first stanza about the pillowcase. Powerful imagery.
sundaran9 reviewed Version 1 -
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I regret to say,the background is quite unfamiliar to me,as i hail from the Indian subcontinent; as far as I can make out, the writer belongs to one of the South American countries. I have met some young ladies from Mexico, Brazil etc., who come here to learn our classical dance forms which are world famous. Very nice girls too. I hope to invite some of them to come over and interpret this for me. The reference to a Peruvian sounds rather intriguing! Here is wishing all the best to the yung lady(?).
Lin reviewed Version 1 -
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I didn’t pick up anything to do with racist except that you don’t, DON’T! want to marry one of your own. I married a Singapore Malayali Indian girl 36 years ago. She didn’t want to marry the handsome eligible men her mother’s brothers kept bring around. As an outsider there was no dowry. Your poem is excellent.
asmevadan reviewed Version 1 -
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I am very impressed by the author’s writing, both in the poem and in the reviewer notes. While the poem shows the author to have a gift for English poetry that many anglos lack, the notes show her ability to shape English words into something unexpected and beautiful: I love “equivalated.” “Yes, I was self-loathing” is another example, more true to the author’s voice and the language itself than the standard “I hated myself” or “I loathed myself.” A real gift for language is at work here, nurtured by Hispanic-American cross-cultural living.
As if the superb language wasn’t enough, the poem also gives us some gorgeous images: the pillows like breasts, like rags stained with the image of Christ…this poem is sensuous, concrete, and spiritual in a way that most writing by nice Americans is afraid to be. And I could go on: the breath caught on the vending machine, the cradle of her hips, the shapes of her face in the mirror…how feminine, how powerful, how wise….
Well, I can’t really think of a single criticism just at the moment; I can only advise the author to keep writing….
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