Monday, February 27, 2006

"FRIENDS - MySpace Poem For Friend, Pris"

* today's MySpace bulletin from Pris

I have so many great people on my Friends list whose profiles I like to bring up top so others can see them. I don't have the patience to program the way MySpace offers to put more up top, so I'm taking a couple of places in that eight and rotating new people in for a few days, then more new, etc. I have eight I tend to keep up there....yes, I can get resistant to change and I appreciate them doing the same with if you're usually in my top eight and disappear, you'll be back. If you're not there, you'll show up.

If you want to write me a poem about this garbled message, you can do that, too.


FRIENDS - Poem for Friend, Pris

Friends disappear.
Garbled couple, a poem
I'm taking, resistant
and same. This, too, that you
can do. . . . places to tend
rotating in change, great
list of appreciate. This them
I see: my new. My I. My
usually and back.

~ Lorna Dee Cervantes

"Unconscious Mutterings #160 On 2/27/06"

  1. Baby step:: in a jump-up world.

  2. Wasted:: ways and wages,

  3. Reggie:: to the plate,

  4. Pitiful:: and raged.

  5. Acting out:: in a cage.

  6. Tomato:: and ripe plum bruises.

  7. Bad night:: and bad hair

  8. Trip:: She tripped.

  9. Finance charges:: All the utilities off.

  10. Sport:: check.

* Spot your own trick at a subliminal Luna Nina.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

The Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel

I'll be taking it easy today, in bed with my Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel poetry anthology from No Tell Motel where Reb Livingston proves once again that good poets make good publishers. I'll be working on my review of it for the new review from animo Eileen Tabios, Galatea Resurrects in case any of y'all's ears are burning. I took it with me to read on the plane to Chicago, but was too sick to open it. Seems appropriate though: a bedded review for a Bedside Guide. And, telling.

Po' Chile No Po Chai

SICK SICK SICK SICK SICK. Sick. I was out of my Po Chai medicine for a while before I left. I ordered a case from the company and needed them badly when they came in on monday, a holiday, the day I left. I took a couple on the plane (tiny purple pellets of Chinese herbs for my ulcer). It started out bad, my fault. I went off on an empty stomach, I'd left behind my nice bowl of beans in the rush. I always forget to eat if I'm stressed or working. Not good. I made a point of buying & bringing my yerba mate & agave as the coffee & tea of traveling has trashed my stomach. When I got to the airport for my 5pm flight there was nothing to eat but airplane food in the food kiosks. Not good. Turkey & wheat & cheese. Not good. I'd been feeling so good I'd gotten lax about what I can & shouldn't eat. Then the plane didn't have any hot water for my tea. (!!?) I was feeling queasy when we landed, and I forgot my little bag of tea & agave nectar and PO CHAI PILLS!! I landed in Chicago where a driver took me to Notre Dame/ St. Mary's and when I finally arrived at the hotel at 12:30 exhausted from shlepping all my stuff (add extra weight of laptop & bag, digital video camera & iPod -- all of which I was too sick to ever turn on) [a measure of my degree of illness: too sick to turn on the computer until now since monday] -- and discovered I'd left it on the plane. From that point on I couldn't eat or hold any liguids. I didn't sleep for throwing up every five minutes. I spent the nights in the bath. Seemed to help control the vomiting to the point I could catnap in the tub. Thanks to Maria for finding yerba mate & agave nectar for me!

I felt okay for the performances by the students of my and others poems from the exhibit; it energized me. I was moved by the range and depth of interpretation -- bodily interpretation. It comes from the knowledge of the body so I guess it makes sense that there is a cycle by which it returns as embodied: as voice, as movement; e-motion in the etymological sense of the word, the old French: after motion, as a rational act of the body to a particular stimulus. An other body.

And when dwelling among irrationality? Like the sale of our country, our Ports, our major entryways and arteries to the ones who funded and launched the attacks with not even a port doc on dock to inspect? Oh, Wretched of the Earth! Oh, Wretched Wretch! O, wretchéd wretching. Yes, sick as a dog. The whole time. I think I got through the reading, miraculously, on sheer adrenaline. I missed lunch with Francisco on wednesday, and really missed catching up with Sonia Gonzalez who was there in the the hotel from Purdue. And I missed touring Notre Dame's collection of arte Chicano/Latino, probably the largest anywhere.

Came back, dragging, handing cash to porters and begging them to let me sit on the cart. I could barely get up the stairs. I got in close to 11 pm wednesday. And the first thing I did was grab a couple boxes of Po Chai, microwave some quick tea, and head up to bed where I stayed until this morning. Missing my class on thursday and a day of meetings with students yesterday.

This is why I hate to to travel anymore. Especially alone. I get really sick. I started vomiting blood when I got to DIA. This is why I had to decline so many reading offers and cancel out-of-state performances the past handful of years. It scares me.

But the Po Chai pills really help. I was planning to go in that night or first thing in the morning. But I slept through most of the night (a bit delirious, waking up intermittently with the words: SASHA COHEN SASHA COHEN SASHA COHEN on the lips and this constant Olympics announcer in my head, maybe the skater - I think I lose brain cells in all this - who suffered groin cancer but made a comeback.) (I love figure skaters!)

But no solids until yesterday. A little yogurt (which made me wretch, more from dehydration). And finally, last night, the old stand-by: miso soup. And tea. Thinking about sushi. And, I always think of Cesar; like fasting, but not.

Now I'm better. Good old Po Chai pills. Ancient Chinese medicine. More effective quicker than anything.(Except maybe CHAYA!) And, believe me, I, and my doctors have tried everything since this started in July of 2001. Good thing they're economical. And, now, I can get them online.

YEA! I'm saved!

Hungry as a bear for non-gluten porridge. MMMmmm, down to cook.

Hope y'all are feeling okay. Don't forget: Ocssillococcinum for flu, especially if you take it at the first threat, rasp or sniffle. And, echinacea -- nothing but the extra-strength tincture under the tongue. They make it for kids, too. Sorry for rambling & whining. I just feel glad to be alive, like after-major-earthquake talk out n the street. And, hey, I'm home.

Welcome Home!

* more on St. Mary's, the reading, and the exhibit at Notre Dame soon!

Monday, February 20, 2006

Where In The World Is Lorna? Lorna Dee's Spring Calendar

I posted a number of posts yesterday as I'm outta here. Maybe I'll see y'all in South Bend? I'll also be in Chicago on the 22nd. See ya, sweets.

You can access my calendar online from now on at and subscribe at webcal://
Tuesday, February 21, 7:00pm - 9 pm
St. Mary's College - Notre Dame
Notre Dame, IN

Lorna Dee Cervantes reads from DRIVE: The First Quartet
7:00pm Book sale and gallery viewing
7:30pm Reading

This event is presented in conjunction with
“Poetas y Pintores: Artists Conversing with Verse”
an exhibition at Saint Mary’s College’s Moreau Galleries through March 3.

Free and open to the public. A reception and booksigning will follow.

Don’t miss this chance to see an electrifying reading
by one of American poetry’s most powerful women!

* Public lecture on "The Interrelationship Among the Arts" in the afternoon

Thursday, March 9, 6:00 - 10:00 pm
Con Tinta Celebration Reading in Conjunction with the AWP Conference
Austin, TX
Con Tinta Celebration--Achievement Awards to Rolando Hinojosa-Smith & raúlsalinas. Readings by Diana Delgado, Oscar Bermeo, & Lorna Dee Cervantes.

Doña Emilia's South American Bar and Grill -- 101 San Jacinto Blvd, Austin, TX 512-478-2520, Admission: No cost for buffet. Cash bar. More info: Richard Yañez @
Friday, March 10, 12:00 - 1:15 pm
AWP Panel - Chicano Politics and the Activist-Writer in American Literature
Austin, TX
Chicano Politics and the Activist-Writer in American Literature. (Rigoberto Gonzalez, Helena Maria Viramontes, Alicia Gaspar de Alba, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Benjamin Alire Saenz) Austin Convention Center Meeting Room 9ABC, 3rd floor south
AWP - Book Signings at Wings Press Table
March 8 - 11
Thursday, March 16, 7:00-10 pm
An Evening of Women's Poetry
CSU- Pueblo, CO
Lorna Dee Cervantes presents an Evening of Poetry and Presents the winners of the Soutwest Women's Poetry Awards judged by Lorna Dee Cervantes.
Friday, March 31- April 2
Writers Garrett Poetry Workshop and Reading
Dallas, TX
Lorna Dee Cervantes reads from DRIVE and conducts 2-day poetry workshop at The Writers Garrett.
April - TBA
Poetry For the People class presentation
UC Berkeley
Thursday, May 18 (TBA)
Panel on Lorna Dee Cervantes
San Francisco (ALA?)
Lorna Dee Cervantes attends panel on "Lorna Dee Cervantes"
Friday, June 2, 7:00 - 9:30 pm
Galeria de la Raza - Voces de Ixchel Poetry Series
San Francisco, CA
Lorna Dee Cervantes presents poetry and music with brother Steve Cervantes at the Galeria de la Raza. Time & Date TBA. Series directed by Marc Pinate.
* I'll be updating my template just as soon as I figure out how to fix it. I stupidly deleted a bunch of / div marks & other stuff. Oops. In case you've had problems reading or accessing this site on certain browsers, that's why. Sorry. I'm a recovering Luddite.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

"Unconscious Mutterings #159 On 2/19/06"

  1. Right time:: for a

  2. Funeral:: with winter dressed in his finery.

  3. Calculate:: the end of a snowflake.

  4. Believe me:: This will not fade.

  5. Chat:: away into obscurity. Live an

  6. Anniversary:: with yourself. Don't

  7. Let you down:: Be well in the well.

  8. Shout:: Storm.

  9. Sweatsock:: in the dryer, your

  10. Prayer:: ain't worth the softener.

* Delint your own filter at the Subliminal Luna Niña where there's always time.

"Unconscious Mutterings #158 On 2/19/06"

  1. Unorthodox:: core of choice,

  2. Skate:: on subliminal ice.

  3. Hold on:: to the edge,

  4. Europe:: or the waste -- land, a good

  5. Reminder:: of what's lost in the conquest.

  6. Gold:: or the ubiquitous

  7. Calcium:: the bone's denial

  8. Rated R:: on a wednesday.

  9. Saturday night:: supper of violence and tantrum.

  10. Tell:: or be told. Ice.

* Sing for your supper subliminally at La Luna Nina.

"Brick", "Emergency", "Unfold", "Current", "Hush", "Own" - A Week's Worth of One Minute OneWord Poems


laced dirt
under our selves

sun aimed
for good, bone

the hands
that placed them

in our
denials acceptances

brick fists
of blood read.



Go to
the sewer, swim,

Try anything.
Don't eat it

like you
mean it, urgent

your cells
emergency, try living

moment of
conception, the emergence.



into feathers
be the strip

pained petals
ivory sutures healed

steps -- glaciers
across your age



words strike
hearts in the minds

bear arms
and silver pens

harbor feathers
wade the current

daily feet
pink cement divers

for a
chance reconnaissance, whistling



be water,
pond beyond wind.

on your
own parade: be

stationed on
the cross -- pollination

Be everything
that's not sneeze.



up to
it -- the daze

praise, the
paying off, all

own imaginings
dashed: salt. pepper.


* Grind your own spices OneWord at a time in sixty seconds or less.

A Good Idea

Friday morning, on a bus to meetings in my office with students because the babysitter's car broke down on the way to taking me there and all the power in the car died including steering and brakes just as we were coming into a busy icy intersection, it struck me: an idea so simple and basic and doable and good that I truly don't know why I didn't think of it before. It would involve not a lot of time but would fulfill the most basic part of the poet in me, something I love, which fuels me, impels me into possibilities. And, hey, what else can anyone else ask for?

It started as a stressed reverie about being late and missing another meeting with one my best undergrad poets (Intermediate Poetry Workshop), about how much more simpler life might be or not be if I were like everybody else and could just get in my car and go when I want to; or why I don't have a cell phone/ text messaging, etc. For the same reason I don't ride my bike anymore since giving birth to my son, I've become paranoid about protecting "my investment", my mind, and can't risk brain damage; holding intense and strange electromagnetic energy pressed to your medulla oblongata several hours a day just doesn't strike me as prudent. But it would have allowed me to call and explain: I was stuck on a bus on one of the coldest, iciest days in Boulder and freaked out about my son in the car in the parking lot with the babysitter with a faulty battery wire. And missed telling someone how much I liked his poems, how exciting it is to see a voice take shape, like looking into a microscope at the exact moment of conception when cells start dividing and find the power of motion unto themselves. I like looking into the microscope just for the satisfaction of that moment. As every true poem teaches us, the poets, something about how to make a poem, just as making love will do if we care to pay attention. And to know I can help people. This teaching stuff appeals to the Chicana in me who just wants to help people or as Marge Piercy put it in the poem and book by that title: it allows me To Be Of Use.

I decided early on that I wasn't going to blog about students or teaching, not current teaching. For those of you just joining me on this journey, this blog is for, by and of The Dead. This is why I never correct my spelling errors or typos, I just correct the live links because The Dead know all anyway, or, it doesn't matter anyway. And The Dead aren't interested in teaching -- Death is the only lesson, the Death that walks beside us awaiting personification.

Sometimes I long to be Ana or Sandra, the new novelist in me, who can just shun the enormous debt to my time and creative energy I pay by paying attention to new writers and students beyond my own at the U, high school students, critics. . . Not that they don't do the same -- they do; but they actively carve out a private space and anonymity that shuts out the possibility of much interaction beyond the superficial. I feel a deep sense of responsibility to canon-building, for want of a better term; that logos of Machado's building the road as we speak it -- as Xicanerati, as Chicanaos, as People of Experience. I have spent my entire adult life, since I was an adolescent really, dedicated to finding out and ferreting out who's good in poetry. MANGO was a labor of love, as any poet/publisher experiences it; it took a lot of time and work away from my own work to make it my business to find and publish the best. I had been reading, finally, on friday morning, the list of Neglectorinos, the challenge to current fellow profs to teach at least one person from the list. I realized that just that past week I had lent out my copies of no fewer than ten of the listed writers to students that week in my office. "Here/Hear! Read this." I realized, too, that coming of poetic age in the Bay Area in the late 60s - early 70s as a independent press hound, my entire exposure to poetry had been exposure to "Neglectorinos", those "Poets' poets" who write or drink or work or love themselves into obscurity. This is why I detest all Schools of Poetry, all theories of taxonomies and taxidermy. SHOW ME THE BOOK! I say. Give me the poem. And, please, stick to the words on the page -- something I learned via Bob from that other Neglectorino, Ivor Winters. Ironically.

I'd been trying to think this to T. Why I don't just hang it up, the petty power-broking that goes on in an department not based on verifiable facts but the physics of fictions, and by not sticking to THE BOOK, but muttering off the page onto constructing literary dynasties fit only for a king and his many concubines -- for example. But just work like I worked as printer. You get up. Clean up. Get dressed. Do the work. Pile up the pages. (The line is straight or it's not. The type is inked or it's not. The color is Pantone code specific or it's not.) Living in the IT's of life and not doomed to dong to depression on the ITS of things. You go in, you do the work and you go home. Unfortunately, typically so boned tired all you want to do is zone out in front of the silly-tube after eating and falling asleep on the couch as opposed to having the stamina to read, say, Silliman speak on poetics and the School of Quietude. Something sounds heavenly in just hanging it all and going into business for myself, for instance, my ChayaMaya business, and never having to think about anyone else's delicate Muse but my own. But I know that wouldn't work. Just like it doesn't work to think I could just stop blogging and reading po'blogs because it takes so much time. What I get in return, by reading a really good poem by someone I had never heard of before, and probably not likely to ever hear of or read otherwise is enormous in the pay off.

I'm working on a couple of reviews, for the first time, now that I've become a little more confident in my prose, and pushed a bit past my lifelong prose block, mostly due to this blog. But, I know it's not enough. And, like Robert Pinsky with whom I worked as a contributing editor to an anthology of the "Best" American poetry for Norton -- which never saw the light of a laser print due to neither of us being into crowning kings for a living -- I would like to do an anthology, some day will, but for that King-thing. Who can say what's the Best in America? Who's "now" do we address? Good poets are always more aware of what's left out of a text than what's in it.

It's the midwife in me. I want to help catch the babies.

So, I got this idea. . .

On Poems & Figure Skating: Silliman, Myles, Sikelianos and George

*Posted today on Ron's blog

There is a lesson in this for poetry. When I say, as I have more than once, that there are more good poets now writing than ever before in our history, I don’t necessarily mean that more great poems a la ”The Waste Land” or “Howl” (or whatever your iconic preference might be) are being written at this moment, tho that’s not inconceivable. What I mean is this: there are more poets who are not making Johnny Weir’s mistake – they are putting everything they have into the poem, not at all holding back. That to me is the test of a poet, regardless of which school they aspire to. Do they give everything to the poem? If the answer is yes, then I don’t see how you or I could ever ask anything more of them. Let’s just marvel at the effort.

~ Ron Silliman

Absolutely with you on this. Particularly the last paragraph. I have often compared the poetic process and the test -- whatever it is -- to the Olympics for figure skaters. How it's so much body and bodylessness. I think of that other black skater (oops, spacing out on the name) who used to listen to George of the Jungle, the theme from the kids' cartoon, while she skated, timing her quads to the part: "Watch out for that tree!/ Aaaauuuuwwaaahhhahhhhh!" and land them perfectly. Then, when she felt too old and cool and GOLD for the tape, she started falling. I think she owns a skating rink now. And maybe is a sports injury doctor.

By the way, the latter part of your last paragraph was almost verbatim my argument for giving your NEA application an award. I couldn't care less about taxonomies and trophy hunting. Ah! but the poem! Marvels indeed. I was just recommending your work, the poetry, to a student friday (in case your ears were burning.) I was describing "winning" the argument (against: "Oh, this just seems to me to be the typical garden variety NY l=a-n=g-u=a=g=e poetry") by just reading the lines I had happened to write down on my comment card and then reading back lines of an app the panelists had just trashed, the lines I had written down on a card as examples of 'leaps not landed": Good lines. Bad lines. Good lines. Corrupt judging or not; it all becomes transparent in the product. For all the reams of styles, you either land it or you don't. Or, like that snowboarder, headed into the final jump before ending the poem and throwing in a bit of melopoetic logopoeia just to showboat, and taking the "Backside Method" in public. One poet I really admire who lands her leaps and can skate is Eileen Myles. Yowza. She's like the gymnist who, unlike everybody else who sticks their dismount at the end of a poem with "Ta DUH!" she ends her recent poems with this breathtaking flurry that leaves you open-mouthed before you even realize it's the end of the poem. But she sticks the landing every time without a wobble, with her own distinct: Dahdahdah DAH!

Yes, many good poets now. Now when we need it. Yes. Let's just marvel at the effort. And buy their books.

Thanks for the daily midwifery. Thanks for bringing so many great new & old poets to our view, like Eleni Sikelianos whom I remember when she was a student at Naropa. She's a good example of a poet who pushes the conditions of possibility to the (b)rink.

It's the river to the slough. Thanks for raining.

p.s. I think Blogger was messed up yesterday afternoon and last night


Friday, February 17, 2006

30,001 Visitors Since May 5

Gracias a todos!

"Convenience" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

wearing the
same clothes, summer's

idling the
market into frenzy.

this! Stream
into fields of

Take this.
Save into fall

buy away
the silver shadow.

* Conveniently convene your consciousness into a minute word of wonder.

"Fabric" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

of a
dream ripping seams

into play
the river wades

current saves
try the wave

into the
fabric woven saviors

touching dreaming
saving the savorers

* Sign your own seconds into One Word

"Direct" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

drive down
energy lane -- mammatus

cloud vast
distances traveled only

the mind
take a turn

ravens nag
thrush flushed now

* Take a daily drive down memory lane, a OneWord highway, in a minute flat.

"Attendant" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

seeds structure
feeds meadow's hay

silk sentences
wished for songs

when you
least expect it

statuary stealth
in world: attendant

* Shave your own snowcone in 60 seconds OneWord at a time.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

'Then Don't Mind Me 'Cause I Ain't Nothin' But A Dream'

"Follow" ~ Jerry Merrick

Wednesday is Work Day. Work is whatever I want, whatever I will, whatever I write.

Today I'm reading Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters. I think I put off reading it so long because I knew I would love it, and I didn't want to like it -- on principle. I love it. I savor it slowly like the sweet chunks in a lobster casserole. Asshole.

"Then close your fingertips and fly where I can't hold you. . ."

I've been writing Valentine's poems for about 7 years now. Maybe birthday poems, too. I don't remember. But Valentines Day poems. I have a new book that's almost done; it needs mo(u)lding. It's called "Una poca de gracia/ Bit of Grace, a book of love poems. The "In A Bird" poem at the end of Hard Drive, the last book in DRIVE is from that collection. I don't know if I'll steal it back for the Bit of Grace. I might post some of the ones that appeared in mags, mostly Sniper Logic/ Square One, the grad student mag where I publish new work (which reminds me, I was going to send them more poems yesterday.) Otherwise, the only final versions appear on the cards. A psychedelic Frida in red this year.

"Well the mockingbird sings each different song. . ."

Yesterday I read from Neruda's 20 Love Poems to my intermediate poetry workshops. Pablo's 19 year old "soul" passing in translation through my lips. Not the Lorca-lush 100 Love Sonnets I would have preferred, but a beginning. Mine.

"Follow in the darkest night the sounds that may impel you. . ."

I've been posting the love poems from DRIVE at my poetry site on myspace to really nice comments. Gracias a todos. I've been working in an absolute vacuum for so many years now -- preblog decades. It's like wandering on the mountain in the fog following the sounds of the river run and when it finally clears it is so darned clear it startles the senses.

While darkness blinds the sky with all its light. . ."

And reading No Tell Motel poems. No Tell poems. Maybe. Yesterday, I told my classes that it was okay to write an erotic love poem without a Subject. "Honestly, Dear, it's just a collection of images!" You can do anything you can never do in a love poem. And none of it is fair. Your mouth is so ugly, wide as a guitar. . .. Just ask Pablo. He'll tell. And live to kiss it again.

"With eager tongues we taste our strife. . ."

And listening to my favorite song since I was 14 years old, sung this time by Susan Tedeschi, over and over again. Once for every year since. It's this year's Valentine's gift. And a poem: "I Love Lorna When She Dances." And watching the slow spill like leftover tears as the bucket of snow seizes the slabs from my view. The hard killing slabs of summer now cushioned in excess; thick thumbs of ice at my arms, asking for my hand in the dance. Death always takes the lead. Life is a free throw on the line we draw ourselves -- with our self -- that body on the line.

"Each song has wings, they won't stay long. . ."

And looking to love, the underside of re-evolution, sister-state to response-ability, co-dominium of the heart's lair, the loyal lure. Not to what endures, but to what keeps coming back to the same place like a daffodil. Naturalized by love, that wild taming in luscious living liquids. Why not?

"Come taste and smell the waters of our time. . ."

And reading you, too, looking for your lovesongs, your proofs of rock, your Gravities of the Exterior, your skeletonal embraces, you, who you choose to have say you, breath you into being from a sock puppet in one night. Full blown. Full fashioned. Fully Empowered. Full feathered. Emplumada.

"And maybe, when we meet there, suddenly I will know you. . ."

And wondering if all you need is a bit of grace. Whatever gets you past the ice sheets of an old neglected snow. What causes you to walk on water, elegant in the glide and stride. What wins the gold of your eye. The silver of an aging moon. "The sun and moon are both right" sang Richie Havens so long ago in a dream deferred. The chipped and empty plates of my past. How could I forget what I loved for so long? Until an other brings it back wrapped in a lovely dream of green on the eve of the threat of a lasting snow.

"Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetops, child, if you're able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table
Come and touch the things you cannot feel"

And wondering if all we need is a bit of grace. Grace is all you need. Yo soy el Capitan. And. . .

"If all the things you feel ain't what they seem
Then don't mind me 'cause I ain't nothin' but a dream"

~ lyrics by Jerry Merrick
EMI Umart Catalog Inc. (BMI)
Listening to Susan Tedeschi, Hope and Desire, 2005
Happy Happy Hearts Day, Dear Deer Hearts! ~ LDC

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

I Have Love Poems From DRIVE Posted at ...

The Poems, The Whole Poem, And Nothing But the Poem

Now, I have to go write out my annual Valentine's Day poem. What's yours?

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Reflections On the National Budget: Pig Shit or the Arts For Our Nation?

One of the highlights of the national budget is $35 million dollar federal grant to study chemicals which neutralize the smell of big factory pig farms (IN THE NATIONAL BUDGET? Isn't that what transnational corporations are for? What good's capital if you can't use it to clean up your own shit? And, why subsidize immoral "farming" techniques of the third most intelligent species on the planet at the expense of our children's experience of any form of cultural production?) $35 million - that's exactly the amount the new budget proposes to cut from Arts in Education.

So, People, what's it going to be? Sweet smelling pig manure for the filthy rich or saving the sounds and sights of our national souls?

~ LDC <--suffering from Pork Belly (como me da asco!)
Educational technology state grants, $272 million
Even Start, $99 million
High school programs terminations:
Vocational education state grants, $1,182 million
Vocational education national programs, $9 million
Upward Bound, $311 million
GEAR UP, $303 million
Talent search, $145 million
Tech prep state grants, $105 million
Smaller learning communities, $94 million
Safe and Drug-Free Schools state grants, $347 million
Elementary and secondary education program terminations:
Parental information and resource centers, $40 million
Arts in education, $35 million
Elementary and secondary school counseling, $35 million
Alcohol abuse reduction, $32 million
Civic education, $29 million
National Writing Project, $22 million
Star Schools, $15 million
School leadership,$15 million
Ready to Teach, $11 million
Javits gifted and talented education, $10 million
Exchanges with Historic Whaling and Trading Partners, $9 million
Comprehensive school reform, $8 million
Dropout prevention program, $5 million
Mental Health integration in schools, $5 million
Women's Educational Equity, $3 million
Academies for American History and Civics, $2 million
Close-Up fellowships, $1 million
Foundations for Learning, $1 million
Excellence in Economic Education, $1 million
Higher Education Programs:
Education demos for students with disabilities, $7 million
Underground Railroad Program, $2 million
State grants for incarcerated youth offenders, $23 million
Postsecondary Student Financial Assistance Programs:
Perkins Loan cancellations, $65 million
Leveraging educational assistance programs, $65 million
Byrd Scholarships, $41 million
Thurgood Marshall Legal Educational opportunity, $3 million
B.J. Stupak Olympic scholarships, $1 million
_Vocational rehabilitation programs:
Supported employment, $30 million
Projects with industry, $20 million
Recreational programs, $3 million
Migrant and seasonal farmworkers,$2 million
Teacher Quality Enhancement, $60 million

Total $3,468 million
Total cost of the illegal war on Iraq: $240,390,000,000.
Let's turn it into The Most Expensive Chimpeachment In History. Sign on now.
P.S. How many of these cuts symbolize jobs lost for poets? How many of these cuts symbolize future poets lost? Oh, the horror!

New Poems by Lorna Dee Cervantes - "Mammatus" & "Reservoir" @ Mi Poesias

Check out my new poems here, and read some fine poems by other women writers at Mi Poesias Magazine. And, have a listen!

Friday, February 10, 2006

Reviewers? Critics? Free Copy of DRIVE: The First Quartet Available For New Review

Here at La Chatelaine Poet's lair in Galatea. (scroll down to Feb. 2 post) Galatea Resurrects will feature all poetry reviews -- hey, maybe even one from "Moi" -- so, pen's up!

"Wrench" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

the pear
from sanity's stomach

what's there
sizzling inside summer.

four tears
from a presidential

Be wary
of the pits.

* Send your own letters to yourself One Word at a time.

"Spare" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

the word.
Be someone's shadow.

the hand
from crying faces

the lips
from hearts breaking.

the kingdom
from autumn's taking.

* Sic it on yourself in sixty seconds at OneWord.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Justice for Leonard Peltier Feb. 13!

this from a friend at MySpace:
Please read; here is something that you can do...

Hearing Set for Leonard Peltier

From the Leonard Peltier Defense Committee

February 5, 2006

For Immediate Release: A Hearing has been scheduled for February 13, 2006 to correct the illegal sentencing that occurred in Leonard Peltier's case. The basis for this motion is that the United States District Court lacked subject matter jurisdiction under the statutes upon which Mr. Peltier was convicted and sentenced. The statutes in question require that the crime take place "within the special maritime and territorial jurisdiction of the United States". Since the deaths of the agents occurred on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation which is neither "within the special maritime [or] territorial jurisdiction of the United States", the Peltier defense team is asking the Court to grant Mr. Peltier's motion and vacate the illegal sentences imposed upon him. If the Court does not recognize the Pine Ridge Reservation as sovereign "then one must wonder, what does sovereignty mean?" stated Barry Bachrach, attorney for Leonard Peltier. "Sovereignty seems to be a concept that is merely given lip service. It is raised when the government does not want to get involved, and infringed when the government wants to take action." According to Bachrach, "This hearing is important because Mr. Peltier was never charged with crimes over which the United States had jurisdiction. The history of the constitution, and the statutes implicated, unequivocally establish that Mr. Peltier was not convicted under the Indian Crimes Act, which is the only possible authority under which the government could have tried and convicted Mr. Peltier. Whereas here, the court had no jurisdiction to convict Mr. Peltier under the crimes for which he was convicted, those convictions must be set aside as a matter of law." The hearing will take place on Feb 13, 2006 Time: 9 am Location: Thomas F. Eagleton Courthouse Southeast Courtroom 27th Floor 111 S. 10th Street St Louis, Missouri For more information please contact: Leonard Peltier Defense Committee @ 915 - 533-6655 Barry Bachrach, Attorney @ 508-926-3403.

From Lionel Little Eagle

You can also learn much more about the on-going work to bring justice to Leonard by visiting the Official website for the Leonard Peltier Defense Committee. I would also urge that you pour your free prayers into the sky, let them mingle with the free clouds, find the free rain drops, lay softly upon the free birds and be carried across this free Earth to be released upon the city of St. Louis and the free hearts and minds of those men and women who have been chosen to hear the words and make the decisions. Do this pryaer work as many times as you can between now and February 13th, 2006. Let the mystery take charge!

Lorna Dee Cervantes @ Notre Dame/ So. Bend, IN, 2/21

Maybe I'll see you there?

Spring calendar to follow.
* This is what teaching fulltime does to blogging.

Awesome Symposium Coming Up: Beauty & Power In the Filipino/American Communities - UCB 2/18

Featuring Performances & Readings by po' bloggers Barbara Jane Reyes, Jean Vengua, Veronica Reyes, and presentation by Shirley J. Lim. Go to Barbara Jane's blog to read about it. I wish I could go to this. Interesting to read their remarks about this particular type of nausea, since it's really what I suffer from in reality -- ha, right now; and how tied this is to particular kinds of research -- into the True Heart of Darkness at the intersection of Power, Class & Race in America and how that's engendered in our bodies. The worst of it happening when I was researching conditions for women in the Deep South at the turn of the last century for the Memphis Minnie screenplay. Rape, the underside of lynching. And then dealing with how one's own body and mode of being is coded by this unspoken herstory. And that, may take a lifetime to play out completely. Como me da asco.
filipina/o beauty

Saturday, February 18, 2006
1:00 PM - 6:00 PM
370 Dwinelle Hall
UC Berkeley

Refreshments will be served at 12:00pm.

Noël Alumit
Veronica Montes
Barbara Jane Reyes
Jean Vengua

Shirley J. Lim, SUNY - Stony Brook
Dawn Bohulano Mabalon, San Francisco State
Elizabeth H. Pisares
Evelyn Ibatan Rodriguez, University of San Francisco
Joanne L. Rondilla, UC Berkeley
Roland Tolentino, University of the Philippines

A meeting with performance artists, writers, poets, and academics, Beauty and Power in Filipino/American Communities examines how Filipino/American communities are affected by notions of beauty — how are these notions internalized, embraced, and subverted? What does it mean to talk about beauty in the context of the global circulation of stereotypes of Filipinos/as — as prostitutes, servants, domestic workers, caregivers, and exploitable labor? This one day conference will include discussions about pageants, rituals, body type, skin color, etc.

This event is free and open to the public.

The Critical Filipina/o Studies Working Group

Asian American Studies Program * Beatrice Bain Research Group * Center for Race and Gender * Center for Southeast Asia Studies * Center for the Study of Sexual Cultures Department of Ethnic Studies * Department of Gender and Women's Studies

For more information please contact or

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Who Will Be the Next American. . .


Tuesday, February 07, 2006

"Surface" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

Surface --
the exception
of Saturn. Play

the way
down the core,

sustantial holdings
in death beckon.

be there
unaware of autumn.

Shed it in a minute, just say One Word.

Monday, February 06, 2006

E. Ethelbert Sums Up the Superbowl

"Blender" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

leaves dancing
dust-devils asking, winding

in the
fall of desire.

heed needy
storms. Whisper: wind.

* Mix your own shake in sixty seconds.

"Fire" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

state. Edit.
Share. Shed remedies.

the smell
of ash blood.

state of
memories, stagnating ash.

* Sense it in sixty seconds in One Word.

"Saliva" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

sweet memory
of taste, touch

nails blood
pure red earth

* Seed your own furrow with One Word.

"Unconscious Mutterings #157 On 2/6/06"


  1. Taking sides:: of a score
  2. Couples:: decide which one's a chore. The
  3. Right of refusal:: crashes down onto them.
  4. Marla:: in the kitchen, bitch suds
  5. Multiple:: and diminish.
  6. Trinity:: aborted, the Holy Ghost merely a
  7. Sneeze:: and a genuflection.
  8. Sweatpants:: stunned into marlins.
  9. Steve:: sounds up the megaphone:
  10. Fabulous:: Families For Sale.
    Your share for a price.

*Be your boss by the line, get your mind at the Subliminal Luna Nina.

Sunday, February 05, 2006

Betty, You Died On Your Birthday!

Betty Friedan (1921-2006)

Where would I be without you and Roe vs Wade? Certainly not here. Certainly not any where. . . . Rest in Peace -- You allowed us to allow.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

"Who Honestly Cares About the Next American Idol?"

Who Honestly Cares About the
Next American Idol Winner?

She was searching
for the key of F.
Funk fables furring
her head, the perfect
make-up fading under red.
She was trying to make it,
hit the big, beat ‘em up down
instead of getting beat up.
Her mother in the corner
throwing the first blows,
fixing the wrist she
shatters into slivers,
drips to a heart of lip
service: Fat. She was striving
for a dream that was already
broken, off the cuff,
in the rough, and off the key
of Freedom.

from DRIVE: The First Quartet - Book II - BIRD AVE. Wings Press. San Antonio. January 1, 2006.

Me to T This Morning


~ spoken like the mad scientist in the original Frankenstein movie: "It's alive! It's alive!"

And with the word: oomlat on my lips.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Between Depleted Democracy and The State of Disunion. . .

my ulcer is back. Spent all last night vomiting every 5 and 10 minutes. Not good. My arms and chest hurt like my cells were imploding. Finally, about 4:30 am I soaked in the tub. Seems to help. Maybe it leaches out lactic acid or just helps my muscles relax. Something. Or just my fiery nature always needing the comfort of water close by. Or maybe I'm just turning into one of those hybrid lizard aliens and I can hold my breath for half an hour. I'm able to doze in the tub.

Now that my son's home from school, I can try and sleep. The vomiting stopped in the bath, the nausea a little while ago. I can drink tea, nibble rice cakes, talk. My hands are still numb. I had to cancel my office hour today, but my hours are by appointment this semester & I'll be meeting with all my student twice for 45 minutes and seeing them before and after class, especially after V-Day when the poetry workshops start to meet at the house. I wasn't expecting anyone today. I won't be meeting with my independent study student until tuesday. I was just going to use the time to read manuscripts, although my office is so dang noisy! It wasn't designed as a faculty office and there's a classroom right across from me so the students gather outside my office door and talk. I can't keep my door office open -- that and the constant interruptions from people expecting me to be the secretary as it's next to the dept. office, the site of the former steno pool. And I look the part.

So, I'm sorry if anyone came by looking for me today. I started becoming ill tuesday after class and off & on wednesday. Thursday I felt good again, then coming home on the bus it hit: that fisted grip in the gut and icy chills.

Ah, yes! What one can not stomach. What do they say about it? "Those who live by the metaphor. . .".

But, don't worry friends. There is a cure. Pure-hearted resistance and push for TRUTH -- and PO CHAI pills! I bought a case in San Francisco which healed me right up last spring, and I took my last one tuesday. But, as my mother would say: "Where there's a will there's a website: PO CHAI Pills. Better than Nexium to which I had a severe reaction. The reason I'm out is that I didn't need much to make me all better and I gave half of what I had away.


And, come on, somebody say it, our king won't utter it: "KATRINA!" "We're sorry so many people had to die and so many children and other loved ones are still missing. We're sorry. Now, how are we going to help?"

Thursday, February 02, 2006

"Wary" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

of rain
the canyon surges

of shame
the pews engorge

of fame
portraits bulge black.

of name
lovers tie back


* Wage your own word war in a while at One Word.

"Linger" - A 'One Word' Hay(na)ku Poem

a while,
stay in stairs

no down
feathered trails leading

to good
hearted will the

to try
a still song


* Sing your own song in sixty seconds on OneWord.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

New Poems Posted at Cafe Cafe

this morning I posted a couple of poems that came out of my Intermediate Poetry Workshops this week, from some generative exercises that we do, one "play" poem written yesterday and another from an exercise we tried, something I do to jog myself out of my many many writing blocks -- hmmm, I just typed "riding blocks" -- ha! The hand is more accurate than that big fist of a mind. Anyway, poems are posted at my favorite hang-out, Cafe Cafe where I get inspired reading the good poetry posted there.

National Call-In Day to Save Darfur - Feb. 1

February 1st National Call-In Day to the United Nations
February 1st is the first day of the U.S. presidency of the UN Security Council. Lets call U.S. Ambassador to the UN, John Bolton, and ask him to take the action necessary to stop genocide in Darfur. By calling the mission we demonstrate how many people across this nation care to see action on Darfur and we send the message that we are watching the U.S. while they are in this leadership position at the UN.

On February 1st, a national call-in day on Darfur, please call the UN with the following message:

Hello. I am calling with a message for U.S. Ambassador to the UN, John Bolton. Mr. Bolton, as you take the presidency of the Security Council, I urge you to introduce a resolution for a multinational intervention in Darfur in support of the African Union with a mandate to protect civilians. As the violence continues to rise in Darfur, there is no more time to waste. Anything short of a resolution will be a lost opportunity. Thank you.

You can reach the U.S. Mission at the United Nations by calling: (212) 415-4050.
From: a HOLOCAUST is happening. Save_Darfur
Date: Feb 1, 2006 8:39 AM

Why today and not tomorrow?
-Because today in Darfur, every 4 minutes a person will die because of genocide.
-Because on your lunch hour alone, 16 people will have died in Darfur as a result of genocide.
-Because when you awake tomorrow morning, 190 people willl have died in Darfur because of genocide.

Why by the end of this week?
-Because the amount of people who will die in Darfur by the end of this week will be equivalent to the amount of people killed in the terrorist attacks on 9/11.

Why by the end of this month?
-Because the amount of people who die in Darfur as a result of genocide will be 10,000.*

(*numbers from world health organization (WHO))





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