An introduction to Poetry of Remembrance/Poesía del Recuerdo 2020 (and two poems) by Sonoma County Poet Laureate Phyllis Meshulam.
One Boy Who Cried, Un Niño Que Ha Llorado
Día de los Muertos, 2018, the year when thousands of immigrant
children were separated from their families at the border. 2018,
año en que a miles de niños inmigrantes los separaron de sus
familias en la frontera
At the time of year of the dying sun,
when the time of day was night,
a year when many families were un-membered,
met for a Day of the Dead commemoration.
Día era noche y
I stood with my student before the crowd
en la fiesta del Día de los Muertos, rodeados
por papel picado azul y rosado, beloved faces in frames, sugar skulls.
Con mi alumno, ante la multitud,
I read of my own mentor who gave up her ghost in May.
Surrounded by paper lace, framed faces, calaveras de azúcar,
my boy, reading homage to his grandma, cried, could not go on.
Hablé de mi mentora, que todavía me persigue.
Reading of his abuela’s empty bed,
el niño se atragantó, no pudo continuar.
I read the end – about the fire of his grief.
La cama de su abuela ahora vacía,
his aunt materialized beside him, held him.
El fuego de su dolor aún lo consumía.
but we all began to dance, to conjure:
nuestros seres queridos se materializaron a nuestros lados
as we ate bread of the dead, drank horchata like mother’s milk.
Conjuramos amigos, padres, mentores para que bailaran con nosotros
otra vez
Later, many told me the boy’s tears had crystalized their loss.
Comimos pan de muertos, bebimos horchata como leche materna,
en la estación del del año del sol moribundo.
Para muchos, las lágrimas del niño cristalizaron su pérdida
in a year when families more than ever needed re-membering
A Book of Ruths My mother’s name was Ruth – Ruthie at affectionate moments from Dad. Ooie, originally from the neighbor baby who couldn’t yet say her rs, then for years used as a tease. Less than 30 years after women had gained the right to vote, Mom lay in a hospital bed in Illinois, having just given birth to me. She had to beg to get a ballot – absentee. If those Republican doctors had known how I was going to vote, they never would have granted my wish, she once mused. It was a close enough election that The Tribune got the headline wrong the next day. But, in truth, her candidate had prevailed. Mom died a couple years after RBG was seated on the Supreme Court. I know she must have felt relief at someone in power who saw the feet on the necks of her generation of women. Justice Ruthie was about the same height as my mom, a little thinner, born a couple decades later, but she, too, knew how women had been undermined and misused for millennia. RBG was asked what the right number of women on the Supreme Court would be and she answered – I thought I heard none at first, but it was definitely nine. Spunk. Mom had sweetness and some spunk. RBG had both in spades. Spunk in defense of equal rights under the law. Ut sit. May it be so.
“Eliza Ya Se Ha Muerto” performed by Jabez Churchill
“Voces (Voices)” by Jabez Churchill
“La Llorona” performed by Jabez Churchill
“Say Their Names/Diga Sus Nombres” by Sandra Anfang
Say Their Names
Black Lives Matter marches
We march from distant points
at opposite ends of town
converge on the fairgrounds
three miles separate us
though it might as well
be a continent
we have no barrio to speak of
but it’s no secret that the east side
is the bedroom of the working class
side by side with twenty-somethings
we punctuate
the air with fists and signs
say their names: Breonna Taylor
say their names: George Floyd
say their names: Eric Garner
while dopplered car horns answer
a man emerges from a sunroof
flares a Mexican flag like a giant kite
his face a dueling ground
of joy and tears
the horns continue their applause
say their names: Sandra Bland
say their names: Stephon Clark
say their names: Jacob Blake
at the fairgrounds
we learn what it takes
to understand a people’s pain
the ways to offer
service and respect to sisters
black & brown—
what books to read
what films to watch
a syllabus in getting woke
before we disperse
we take a knee
a simple act
humbling & quaint
as if proposing to the world
in all its rainbow beauty
will you take me
as I am
for better & for worse
say their names: Philandro Castille
say their names: Tamir Rice
say their names: Michael Brown
Diga Sus Nombres
Caminamos de puntos distantes
En partes apuestas del pueblo
Nos encontramos al recinto ferial
Hay tres milias de separacion
Entre nosotros
Pero parece como continente
No hay barrio distinto
Pero todos saben que el parte oriental
Es la habitacion de las clase media.
Lado a lado con los jovenes
pertubamos el aire
con punos y carteles de protesta
diga sus nombres: Breonna Taylor
diga sus nombres: George Floyd
diga sus nombres: Eric Garner
mientras las bocinas responden
un hombre se pone de pie en un coche
vuela una bandera Mexicana como gran cometa
su cara un campo
de alegria y lagrimas
continuan las bocinas
diga sus nombres: Sandra Bland
diga sus nombres: Stephon Clark
diga sus nombres: Jacob Blake
al recinto ferial aprendimos
que es necesario para entender
el dolor de la gente:
como ofrecer servicio y respeto
a nuestras hermanas
negras y marrones
que libros leer
que peliculas mirar
un programa de estudios
antes de salir
nos arrodillamos
un acto sencillo
humillante y pintoresco
como proponiendole al mundo
en su belleza arcoiris
me tomaras como soy
para bien o para mal
diga sus nombres: Philando Castille
diga sus nombres: Tamir Rice
diga sus nombres: Michael Brown
“Tucker McMullen” by Eva Corbin
Tucker McMullen- 1959-2020
Kind and Gentle Spirit
Generous, Loving Heart
Musical Soul
Devoted and Steady Friend
Supportive, Caring Father
Delightful “Happy Go Lucky” outlook on life
Thank you for sharing these parts of yourself with us;
We are forever enriched by it.
