This is a particularly bloody traditional poem I heard as a recording over the radio as I was growing up. A few years ago, I had my aunt send me the text, which I lost. I got this version here. It's been recited so many times that it's usually credited to anonymous. One website credits Manuel Muroty as the poet. Who knows?
EL DUELO DEL MAYORAL
Qué cómo fue señora....?
Como son las cosas cuando son del alma.
Ella era muy linda y él era muy hombre,
y yo la quería y ella me adoraba.
¡ Pero él !, hecho sombras se interponía
todas las noches junto a su ventana,
fragantes manojas de rosas había
y rojos claveles y dalias de nácar...
Y cuando las sombras cubrían las casas,
y en el cielo la luna brillaba,
de entre las palmeras brotaba su canto
y como una flecha a su casa llegaba.
¡ Cómo la quería !
...Como le cantaba sus ansias de amores
y como vibraba con él su guitarra.
Y yo tras las palmas con rabia le oía
y entre canto y canto brotaba una
lágrima,lágrima de hombre, no crea otra cosa señora
que los hombres lloran como las mujeres
porque tienen débil como ellas el alma.
No pude evitarlo....La envidia es muy negra
y la pena de amor es muy mala,
Y cuando la sangre se enrabia en las venas
no hay quien pueda calmarla señora.
Y una noche lo que hacen los celos
lo esperé allá abajo junto a la cañda.
¡ Retumbaba el trueno!..llovía, y el río...
Igual que mis venas, hinchado bajaba.
Al fin, a lo lejos lo vi entre las sombras.
Venía cantando su loca esperanza.
En el cinto colgaba el machete, y
bajo el brazo la alegre guitarra.
Llegó hasta mi todo tranquilo...sereno.
Me clavó en los ojos su fría mirada.
Me dijo___Me esperas...?Le dije___¡ Te espero !.
Y no hablamos más, ni media palabra...
Que era bravo el hombre, cual los hombres machos,
y los hombres machos, pelean y no hablan.
Como la quería...El machete lo dijo
su amor y sus ansias. Roncaba su pecho,
brillaban sus ojos, y entre golpe y golpe ponía su alma.
___No fue lucha de hombres; fue lucha de toros...
Eso bien lo sabe la vieja cañada.
Pero más que el amor y el ensueño,
pudo la rabia y la envidia.
Y al fin mi machete lo dejó tendido sobre su guitarra.
¡ No tema señora !...Son cosas pasadas.
Todavía en el suelo llorando me dijo.
___¡ Quiéra...Que es buena...Quiérela, que es santa...
Quiérela como yo la he querido
que aunque me muero, la llevo metida en el alma.
Y tuve celos de aquel que moría
y aún muriendo la amaba.
La sangre cegó, mis pupilas
y el machete en la mano
temblome con rabia.
Lo hundí en su pecho,
con odio y con furia.
Rasgué su carne buscándole el alma...
porque en el alma se llevaba mi hembra,
y yo no quería que se me la llevara.
Autor: Anonimo
English-
How did it go, Senora? It went like things that arise from the soul. I loved her, and me, she adored. Into this picture another man intruded. Every night, he would serenade her with his guitar. One night, when the jealousy was too much, I waited for him in the cane brake. Along he came with his guitar. Like men, we fought, not speaking. But like men, we let our machetes talk. We fought not like men, but like bulls, as the cane brake can attest. How he fought! How he loved her! But rage and envy overcame love, and I left him draped over his guitar. Don't be afraid, Senora. These things were in the past.
How he loved her! Crying, he begged me to love her as he had loved her, that even though he was dying, he was taking her with him in his soul. And I was jealous of he who was dying. The blood clouded my eyes and my hand trembled with rage, as I plunged the machete in his chest, raking it, looking for his soul. He was taking my woman with him, and that I did not want.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
In the Presence of the Lord
was one of the better known Blind Faith songs. It seems fitting because not too long before the advent of Blind Faith, "Clapton is God" grafitti began appearing. All of this is brought to mind because I just noticed on Barnes & Noble new releases, that there is a Clapton autobiography. "Wow, man," I thought, reverting to the early seventies.
I was a bit too young for Woodstock and all that, not to mention that my Cuban parents thought it was all Sodom and Gonorrhea, as my mother would say. It was only in high school when I went to see The Concert for Bangladesh with friends that I discovered Clapton. It was love at first sight. I became enamored of his music and started buying any album where he had ever played from Mayall to Delany & Bonnie to his solo album. I spent long hours in the basement, my really cool headphones jacked into my carefully researched stereo system, just grooving out on the music. Unfortunately, this was the period in Clapton's life when he was battling heroin addiction and had dropped from sight.
So when it was announced he would be playing Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey, I forced my parents to cut short a vacation to Puerto Rico. (Knowing how crazy I was about Clapton, they actually did it.) Since it was general admission, my friends and I went early in the morning. By the time the opening act came on, we were hot, tired, and most of the crowd was under the influence of some mind altering drug. Surprisingly we weren't, maybe we were still too young. To make matters worse, the opener was some sort of clownlike comedian prancing around the stage in tails with a flower in his hand. He did not exactly connect with the besotted bikers sitting behind us, who demonstrated their displeasure by lobbing projectiles over our heads toward the stage.
Clapton came out and was understandably miffed. Actually, he was so miffed, he only played 45 minutes. So, I had forced my parents to come home early and spent hours in the hot sun to hear less than an hour's worth of music. I can't say I stopped listening to Clapton. I only did that after "Money and Cigarettes." To this day, the strains of "Layla" still have the power to lift my spirits, and "Please be with me" is one of my all time favorite love songs, rivaled only by Dave Mason's "You are Every Woman in the World to me" and some of my father's Javier Solis songs like "Bonita."
So I didn't give up on his music, but I never went to another Clapton concert. By the way, anyone know what Bangladesh is called today?
I was a bit too young for Woodstock and all that, not to mention that my Cuban parents thought it was all Sodom and Gonorrhea, as my mother would say. It was only in high school when I went to see The Concert for Bangladesh with friends that I discovered Clapton. It was love at first sight. I became enamored of his music and started buying any album where he had ever played from Mayall to Delany & Bonnie to his solo album. I spent long hours in the basement, my really cool headphones jacked into my carefully researched stereo system, just grooving out on the music. Unfortunately, this was the period in Clapton's life when he was battling heroin addiction and had dropped from sight.
So when it was announced he would be playing Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey, I forced my parents to cut short a vacation to Puerto Rico. (Knowing how crazy I was about Clapton, they actually did it.) Since it was general admission, my friends and I went early in the morning. By the time the opening act came on, we were hot, tired, and most of the crowd was under the influence of some mind altering drug. Surprisingly we weren't, maybe we were still too young. To make matters worse, the opener was some sort of clownlike comedian prancing around the stage in tails with a flower in his hand. He did not exactly connect with the besotted bikers sitting behind us, who demonstrated their displeasure by lobbing projectiles over our heads toward the stage.
Clapton came out and was understandably miffed. Actually, he was so miffed, he only played 45 minutes. So, I had forced my parents to come home early and spent hours in the hot sun to hear less than an hour's worth of music. I can't say I stopped listening to Clapton. I only did that after "Money and Cigarettes." To this day, the strains of "Layla" still have the power to lift my spirits, and "Please be with me" is one of my all time favorite love songs, rivaled only by Dave Mason's "You are Every Woman in the World to me" and some of my father's Javier Solis songs like "Bonita."
So I didn't give up on his music, but I never went to another Clapton concert. By the way, anyone know what Bangladesh is called today?
God's Warriors and Anti-Christian Paranoia
In the I told you so department, Gary Bauer Writes of CNN's God's Warriors
I’ll spare you the details of the six hour mini-series and get right to the documentary’s central message: Conservative Christians who pray in front of abortion centers and orthodox Jews who settle down to live in Israel pose as much of a threat to freedom-loving Americans as fanatical Muslims who preach hatred of all non-Muslims and send their children off to become suicide bombers.
He seizes on this and other examples of the campaign against what is described as "Radical Christianity." His is an interesting take on the same, if a bit naive. Read it in Human Events, here.
I’ll spare you the details of the six hour mini-series and get right to the documentary’s central message: Conservative Christians who pray in front of abortion centers and orthodox Jews who settle down to live in Israel pose as much of a threat to freedom-loving Americans as fanatical Muslims who preach hatred of all non-Muslims and send their children off to become suicide bombers.
He seizes on this and other examples of the campaign against what is described as "Radical Christianity." His is an interesting take on the same, if a bit naive. Read it in Human Events, here.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
In Keeping With The Bovine Theme: A Round-up
Today's chemo day, so I'm outta here. Thought it would be a good time to clean house and post various brief items I've had floating around.
Found a trailer for Cuban Blood, one of my favorites. Can't post it, so click here. It really is a little gem of a movie, despite Harvey Keitel's accent and Bernal's presence.
Found this a while back in Newsweek, surprisingly, kinda reminds me of the days when they had a more factual perspective and I was a subscriber. It's an interesting take on the choice facing Cuba now.
I've posted on the dismal state of reading in America. Seems liberals read an average of one book more a year, a grand total of four. Sure enough, the left never misses an to belittle conservatives. Ex-congresswoman Pat Schroeder seized on that one. I'm no statistician, but I have to wonder whether the fact that most college professors are liberal helps them on that one. Anyway, there's a good response here.
And for a little bit of fun, what about a food fight? Click here.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Cattle Rustling Revolutionary Style
Found this old article on Cubanet via Cubaverdad, a farmer had his only cow butchered, alive, I might add, right in his field. Read it here
It reminded me of an incident. My grandfather would raise a single pig in his backyard. When it was ready for slaughter, he would distribute the meat far and wide in his hometown, for which he was universally beloved. When he died, the custom continued, carried on by a relative. Things got so bad, that this relative was reduced to raising the pig in the kitchen. Alas, the expedient was not enough. One night, they broke into the house while the residents were sleeping and made off with the pig, the sewing machine, and two picture frames with pictures of me. Also taken was the bicycle, their only means of transportation, requiring a thirty some odd hike to the nearest city.
It reminded me of an incident. My grandfather would raise a single pig in his backyard. When it was ready for slaughter, he would distribute the meat far and wide in his hometown, for which he was universally beloved. When he died, the custom continued, carried on by a relative. Things got so bad, that this relative was reduced to raising the pig in the kitchen. Alas, the expedient was not enough. One night, they broke into the house while the residents were sleeping and made off with the pig, the sewing machine, and two picture frames with pictures of me. Also taken was the bicycle, their only means of transportation, requiring a thirty some odd hike to the nearest city.
War Movies on the Way
A number of big screen movies about the Iraq War are on their way. An ABC news article points out
Unlike past war films, the majority of which were not released until years after the conflicts had ended, Hollywood is anticipating the fall release of films inspired by the current war in Iraq.
The explanation given for the same is the public's widespread disgust with Bush and his policies, note not the filmaker's. As it goes into explanations, the liberal myopia becomes apparent. It just doesn't occur to them that there is any other view but their own. Perhaps they should ask themselves a question, why haven't their own politicians ended the war?
Aside from an unfair advantage in that most Hollywood Types are left leaning, I am concerned about the effect on the public. After all, one of the biggest obstacles Cuban Americans face in trying to convey the reality of the regime is the stupid Havana scene in the Godfather, which has become for Americans what Cuba was before the revolution, instead of a small segment of a very different country. So to me the question becomes what qualifications do these people have to be shaping public policy? Were they elected? How smart are they? How well versed in the issues?
Scariest, however, is the possibility that a film could have an actual effect in the conflict, could result in the deaths of American soldiers. I really hope they have used whatever residual common sense they have.
Read it here.
Unlike past war films, the majority of which were not released until years after the conflicts had ended, Hollywood is anticipating the fall release of films inspired by the current war in Iraq.
The explanation given for the same is the public's widespread disgust with Bush and his policies, note not the filmaker's. As it goes into explanations, the liberal myopia becomes apparent. It just doesn't occur to them that there is any other view but their own. Perhaps they should ask themselves a question, why haven't their own politicians ended the war?
Aside from an unfair advantage in that most Hollywood Types are left leaning, I am concerned about the effect on the public. After all, one of the biggest obstacles Cuban Americans face in trying to convey the reality of the regime is the stupid Havana scene in the Godfather, which has become for Americans what Cuba was before the revolution, instead of a small segment of a very different country. So to me the question becomes what qualifications do these people have to be shaping public policy? Were they elected? How smart are they? How well versed in the issues?
Scariest, however, is the possibility that a film could have an actual effect in the conflict, could result in the deaths of American soldiers. I really hope they have used whatever residual common sense they have.
Read it here.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
Splutter, Splutter, Splutter!: Updated
I thought the Mad Emailer was a thing of the past, that I had worked out my anger through the blog, that I was now a reasonable person all of the time. But just like Closeau's unfortunate chief, I am sitting here spluttering and probably have a runaway tic. Reading Penultimos Dias I clicked on a link to what was supposedly a good recap of Cuban-American relations. Oh, it was Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish, so it couldn't be that bad, could it?
I guess I should have known when the author of the piece, Steve Clemons, referred to his "perch" on The Huffington Post. Alas, other than remarking on it, I did not realize until later that every liberal shibboleth in the arsenal was in play. I'm not even complaining here about whatever proposal was being espoused, although I'm pretty sure it was something like "open the flood gates." It is the colossal naivete of the entire article that leaves me floored. These people run around making pronouncements like the voice of God based on wishful thinking and good PR. Amazing!
Clemon's runs through the positions of the various Dem contenders for the White House, declaring Dodd's "the gold standard:"
He wants American people to meet Cubans and wants to trigger an arbitrage between the norms of our society and theirs. That is the American way. That's what we did with China.
Of course, this won't be easy with the tourist apartheid practiced in Cuba, but that's just an inconvenient fact. And since when is there freedom in China? After all, according to the embargo lifters, that would be the logical outcome of increased trade and tourism.
Next, he brings out the big guns, Congressman Jeff Flake and the ubiquitous Joe Garcia, token Cuban American poster boy for the liberals. The aptly named Flake, who hitherto has limited himself to salivating over the business bonanza to be had in the impoverished Cuban market, is all sentiment toward the poor exiles who cannot return home at will:
President Bush's tightened restrictions on Cuban-American family travel is now forcing people to choose whether they are going to attend their father's funeral or their mother's.
Now I ask those of you who have been following the Cuba situation, when has Flake cared a rat's derriere about Cuban exiles?
Next comes the one of the few valid points in the whole exercise, the story of a poor GI who about to deploy to Iraq cannot visit his sons. Let's see, how many of those do we have?
The rest of the article dwells on the self-recriminations of the former Chief of Staff to Gen. Powell. If his is the expertise of our establishment, it is no wonder we are in the mess we're in in Iraq. Highlights:
One of the areas of Cuban activity on which we focused was what has been described as one of the world's best systems for delivering healthcare to impoverished people-
The passion in the doctors' eyes as they related their experiences in delivering basic healthcare in isolated, freezing regions of Pakistan was truly heartwarming. Some of the human interest stories the doctors related brought laughter to us all and served to demonstrate conclusively how deeply these medical personnel had been touched by their almost year-long experience in Pakistan.
Talk about effective public diplomacy!
He is absolutely right. It's all terribly effective, the use of slave doctors as a tool of diplomacy. Gee, how come Cuban doctors in Namibia, Venezuela and elsewhere defect regularly? How come host countries have to sign agreements to in effect act as their jailers? And how come this "world's best system" fails to deliver to its own? Do these people have any idea of the realities of Cuba?
There's more
Those interested in the realities of Cuba's health care progress -- and the many lessons we can learn -- can skip the Michael Moore film and instead see Salud
After the Russians, Venezuela cuddled up to the Cubans and now they essentially barter doctors and medical support for oil between each other
Let's see, the many lessons we can learn, huh. Words fail me. We can learn how to practice medicine without most medications, modern equipment, and decent facilities. And the word, barter, barter, he says. Are Cuban doctors not human beings that they should be exchanged for oil like kumquats?
Finally, he gets to his point
Fidel will not be around long in my estimation, and we need our political and policy leaders to begin plotting a policy not riveted in the past and not dominated by a shrinking cartel in Miami.
Uh, oh, you knew that was coming, the old Miami Mafia swipe. Stupidity, stupidity, stupidity!
Now before you go calling me an intransigent, historic exile, etc..., please be aware that I am nowhere near geriatric, I am a native born American, open to change. However, if you're going to make pronouncements from Mt. Olympus, you ought to know you're talking about! I would like policies built on fact, thank you. Read the whole miserable thing here.
Update: how's this for a quick turn around? If you can stand it, go to the article Clemons cites here.
I guess I should have known when the author of the piece, Steve Clemons, referred to his "perch" on The Huffington Post. Alas, other than remarking on it, I did not realize until later that every liberal shibboleth in the arsenal was in play. I'm not even complaining here about whatever proposal was being espoused, although I'm pretty sure it was something like "open the flood gates." It is the colossal naivete of the entire article that leaves me floored. These people run around making pronouncements like the voice of God based on wishful thinking and good PR. Amazing!
Clemon's runs through the positions of the various Dem contenders for the White House, declaring Dodd's "the gold standard:"
He wants American people to meet Cubans and wants to trigger an arbitrage between the norms of our society and theirs. That is the American way. That's what we did with China.
Of course, this won't be easy with the tourist apartheid practiced in Cuba, but that's just an inconvenient fact. And since when is there freedom in China? After all, according to the embargo lifters, that would be the logical outcome of increased trade and tourism.
Next, he brings out the big guns, Congressman Jeff Flake and the ubiquitous Joe Garcia, token Cuban American poster boy for the liberals. The aptly named Flake, who hitherto has limited himself to salivating over the business bonanza to be had in the impoverished Cuban market, is all sentiment toward the poor exiles who cannot return home at will:
President Bush's tightened restrictions on Cuban-American family travel is now forcing people to choose whether they are going to attend their father's funeral or their mother's.
Now I ask those of you who have been following the Cuba situation, when has Flake cared a rat's derriere about Cuban exiles?
Next comes the one of the few valid points in the whole exercise, the story of a poor GI who about to deploy to Iraq cannot visit his sons. Let's see, how many of those do we have?
The rest of the article dwells on the self-recriminations of the former Chief of Staff to Gen. Powell. If his is the expertise of our establishment, it is no wonder we are in the mess we're in in Iraq. Highlights:
One of the areas of Cuban activity on which we focused was what has been described as one of the world's best systems for delivering healthcare to impoverished people-
The passion in the doctors' eyes as they related their experiences in delivering basic healthcare in isolated, freezing regions of Pakistan was truly heartwarming. Some of the human interest stories the doctors related brought laughter to us all and served to demonstrate conclusively how deeply these medical personnel had been touched by their almost year-long experience in Pakistan.
Talk about effective public diplomacy!
He is absolutely right. It's all terribly effective, the use of slave doctors as a tool of diplomacy. Gee, how come Cuban doctors in Namibia, Venezuela and elsewhere defect regularly? How come host countries have to sign agreements to in effect act as their jailers? And how come this "world's best system" fails to deliver to its own? Do these people have any idea of the realities of Cuba?
There's more
Those interested in the realities of Cuba's health care progress -- and the many lessons we can learn -- can skip the Michael Moore film and instead see Salud
After the Russians, Venezuela cuddled up to the Cubans and now they essentially barter doctors and medical support for oil between each other
Let's see, the many lessons we can learn, huh. Words fail me. We can learn how to practice medicine without most medications, modern equipment, and decent facilities. And the word, barter, barter, he says. Are Cuban doctors not human beings that they should be exchanged for oil like kumquats?
Finally, he gets to his point
Fidel will not be around long in my estimation, and we need our political and policy leaders to begin plotting a policy not riveted in the past and not dominated by a shrinking cartel in Miami.
Uh, oh, you knew that was coming, the old Miami Mafia swipe. Stupidity, stupidity, stupidity!
Now before you go calling me an intransigent, historic exile, etc..., please be aware that I am nowhere near geriatric, I am a native born American, open to change. However, if you're going to make pronouncements from Mt. Olympus, you ought to know you're talking about! I would like policies built on fact, thank you. Read the whole miserable thing here.
Update: how's this for a quick turn around? If you can stand it, go to the article Clemons cites here.
Unbelievable: Who Do They Think They Are
Why is it that when people reach a certain level of achievement in, say, pretending to be someone else or in being savvy enough to sell their Internet start up before the crash of hi tech, they seem to think they have the same prowess in the field of national politics or international relations? I mean, give me an essay, and I can do a pretty nifty job of editing, but that doesn't mean I think I can do brain surgery. Apparently some do.
I am horrified at what I hear of the new Brian de Palma project, bankrolled by Mark Cuban. The PR nightmare of Abu Ghraib wasn't enough, now they want to smear the troops who are risking their lives for their country, whatever you may think about the war. It is very scary, because the visual image in the hands of a professional can have a profound influence on the American public. Of course, that's what they are counting on.
At the same time, I stumbled on this link on Babalu, stories by independent journalists on the ground in Iraq. A completely different feel from the MSM. It felt like an antidote. What is the truth, I wonder. What is more likely? That our troops are running amok in Iraq, or that they are doing a yeoman's job under extremely difficult circumstances? I refer back to my post on Lone Survivor to point out the effect that this liberal mindset is having on our troops.
Can you imagine the effect on the WWII American public if every day, they were subjected to losses, scandals, etc... instead of "Why We Fight." Compare the figures. We lost about a million men. Of course, I'm beginning to think FDR had the right idea, impose censorship on war matters until after combat.
Frankly, I am no devotee of war or even this war, however, we cannot afford to walk away. If these liberal and show business types had their way, we'd go back to our pre 9/11 ways. And how long would that last, as we sat at home with a big, fat bulls eye on the landscape?
If the American public does not voice its displeasure now, we might as well pack our suitcases, retreat to the mainland and never ever go beyond our borders. Maybe we could build a fence to keep out terrorists. Oh, no, that won't work for planes, and anyway that would hamper illegal immigrants. Unbelievable!
H/T Abajo Fidel
I am horrified at what I hear of the new Brian de Palma project, bankrolled by Mark Cuban. The PR nightmare of Abu Ghraib wasn't enough, now they want to smear the troops who are risking their lives for their country, whatever you may think about the war. It is very scary, because the visual image in the hands of a professional can have a profound influence on the American public. Of course, that's what they are counting on.
At the same time, I stumbled on this link on Babalu, stories by independent journalists on the ground in Iraq. A completely different feel from the MSM. It felt like an antidote. What is the truth, I wonder. What is more likely? That our troops are running amok in Iraq, or that they are doing a yeoman's job under extremely difficult circumstances? I refer back to my post on Lone Survivor to point out the effect that this liberal mindset is having on our troops.
Can you imagine the effect on the WWII American public if every day, they were subjected to losses, scandals, etc... instead of "Why We Fight." Compare the figures. We lost about a million men. Of course, I'm beginning to think FDR had the right idea, impose censorship on war matters until after combat.
Frankly, I am no devotee of war or even this war, however, we cannot afford to walk away. If these liberal and show business types had their way, we'd go back to our pre 9/11 ways. And how long would that last, as we sat at home with a big, fat bulls eye on the landscape?
If the American public does not voice its displeasure now, we might as well pack our suitcases, retreat to the mainland and never ever go beyond our borders. Maybe we could build a fence to keep out terrorists. Oh, no, that won't work for planes, and anyway that would hamper illegal immigrants. Unbelievable!
H/T Abajo Fidel
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Tomorrow They Will Kiss...Maybe
Tomorrow They Will Kiss is a novel I've been circling for about a year. It's interesting but the trade paperback and the artwork reminded me of the Esmeralda Santiago novels, so I skipped it. This week I was pretty desperate for reading materials while doing my chemo escort thing, so I finally picked it up. I should have picked it up sooner.
A while back I posted on the old telenovela, El derecho de nacer, and the gurgling Rafael del Junco. Well, in Eduardo Santiago's Tomorrow They Will Kiss, we have another telenovela with a a temporarily blinded Rosalinda who is almost romantically involved with her boss. It is one of the unifying factors in this story about the lives of five Cuban women carpooling to their jobs in a Union City doll factory.
This is what some now call the "historical" wave of exile. Forced by the growing repressiveness of the Cuban revolution from a tropical world where their concerns centered on the petty scandals of their neighbors and the perfect half moons on their nails into the cold gray world of a Union City production line, the story of each emerges. There is the more entrepreneurial of the lot, Leticia who drives them in her yellow van, sometimes still reeking of fresh pork from her husband's early morning delivery route; the elderly and infirm Berta: the reclusive wife of a political prisoner, Raquel; and Graciela, Caridad, and Imperio, a trio from Palmagria.
The point of view here shifts from Graciela to Caridad to Imperio. These three adversaries cum friends are locked in a tangle of emotion that predates the novel. As each tells her story in the present, their shared history emerges. Caridad and Imperio here represent the small-mindedness, the strictures of small town Cuba, yet they are all too human. And it is the scandalous, reckless, passionate Graciela who rises triumphant from the ashes of the past.
If I have one quibble, it is that her romance with the her rather one dimensional boss, Barry O'Reilly, read hippie, is too like the telenovelas that the women discuss in the van every day. On one level, this is definitely grown woman's chick lit, on the other it has much to say about the human cost of the Castro regime and the redemptive nature of exile for some. Intricately plotted, Santiago has done a marvelous job of weaving together an amazing number of threads. I enjoyed it.
A while back I posted on the old telenovela, El derecho de nacer, and the gurgling Rafael del Junco. Well, in Eduardo Santiago's Tomorrow They Will Kiss, we have another telenovela with a a temporarily blinded Rosalinda who is almost romantically involved with her boss. It is one of the unifying factors in this story about the lives of five Cuban women carpooling to their jobs in a Union City doll factory.
This is what some now call the "historical" wave of exile. Forced by the growing repressiveness of the Cuban revolution from a tropical world where their concerns centered on the petty scandals of their neighbors and the perfect half moons on their nails into the cold gray world of a Union City production line, the story of each emerges. There is the more entrepreneurial of the lot, Leticia who drives them in her yellow van, sometimes still reeking of fresh pork from her husband's early morning delivery route; the elderly and infirm Berta: the reclusive wife of a political prisoner, Raquel; and Graciela, Caridad, and Imperio, a trio from Palmagria.
The point of view here shifts from Graciela to Caridad to Imperio. These three adversaries cum friends are locked in a tangle of emotion that predates the novel. As each tells her story in the present, their shared history emerges. Caridad and Imperio here represent the small-mindedness, the strictures of small town Cuba, yet they are all too human. And it is the scandalous, reckless, passionate Graciela who rises triumphant from the ashes of the past.
If I have one quibble, it is that her romance with the her rather one dimensional boss, Barry O'Reilly, read hippie, is too like the telenovelas that the women discuss in the van every day. On one level, this is definitely grown woman's chick lit, on the other it has much to say about the human cost of the Castro regime and the redemptive nature of exile for some. Intricately plotted, Santiago has done a marvelous job of weaving together an amazing number of threads. I enjoyed it.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Literary Interlude: Variation on a Theme
Assimilation
Otherness came to me on Mami’s knee,
actually, it must have been the babysitter’s,
‘cause Mom was always working in the
perpetual immigrant nightmare- took it in with
the formula- no La Leche in league, daycare or ballet-
as soon as I could be bullied into fear, they left me,
left me all alone, just me and Quick Draw McGraw,
and aluminum tray tables garnished with
cool little boxes of Frosted Flakes.
Wordless I first learned otherness-
strange words running in rivulets over
the big shiny raincoat of my mother tongue-
a lesson relearned with whiptail words,
wielded with childspite, because...I was...smart.
Oh, the shame of being foreign and smart,
of being less than and not equal to those with
bouncy blond curls.
But having lived with otherness all my life,
I think I’ve learned the truth. Audreys,
Eileens, Marys, they, too, were afraid of
being alone...only difference
...I learned all about the importance of words.
Otherness came to me on Mami’s knee,
actually, it must have been the babysitter’s,
‘cause Mom was always working in the
perpetual immigrant nightmare- took it in with
the formula- no La Leche in league, daycare or ballet-
as soon as I could be bullied into fear, they left me,
left me all alone, just me and Quick Draw McGraw,
and aluminum tray tables garnished with
cool little boxes of Frosted Flakes.
Wordless I first learned otherness-
strange words running in rivulets over
the big shiny raincoat of my mother tongue-
a lesson relearned with whiptail words,
wielded with childspite, because...I was...smart.
Oh, the shame of being foreign and smart,
of being less than and not equal to those with
bouncy blond curls.
But having lived with otherness all my life,
I think I’ve learned the truth. Audreys,
Eileens, Marys, they, too, were afraid of
being alone...only difference
...I learned all about the importance of words.
The Underside of the Melting Pot
What emerged for me from this week with the brouhaha over the Oliphant cartoon was the similarity of Cuban American experience. In his letter to the editor, Professor Carlos Eire recounts a childhood incident where a boy named Max spit in his face and called him a "Spic." A young woman writes that when her new Spanish teacher found out that she was Cuban, he raised his fist and shouted "viva Fidel." The ghost of Jose Marti is resurrected in the form of a letter to the editor from 1889 in response to a derogatory cartoon, a letter which is eerie in its similarity to our present situation. All of this on Babalublog, which has been on fire the last few days.
I, too, have those experiences. Because I moved to Staten Island in seventh grade, I was forced to attend public school where I lived in fear for a year and a half. There was no one to protect you, and you couldn't tell anyone; you learned to survive and cower. So when the time came, I applied to Catholic High School. You can imagine my joy when I was accepted into one of the best schools on the island, an ivy-covered haven for smart girls.
It was the first week of school, a Wednesday. On Wednesdays the school closed at 12:15 and sent us all to cultural, educational, and recreational venues for the afternoon. It was called the Wednesday afternoon program. I had been to the bowling alley and was on my way home in a NYC bus. The bus stopped and a crew of neighborhood hooligans got on. I sat there minding my own business. When they spotted me, they launched into a chorus of "mira, mira," which is how they had started hounding me every time our paths crossed. Then one of them, Benny, spit on me. This in full view of the other passengers and the bus driver. No one said a word.
I got off and ran to the house in tears. There was no hiding it anymore. When my father heard, he came to get me, and one by one, we went to the houses of the ringleaders. I can remember my Cuban father: "This time I came to see you," he would tell them, "but if this ever happens again, you will have to come find me." The message was that if they ever came near me again, he would personally beat the shit out of junior.
One family, our neighbors up the block, was horrified. They were Italian; they understood. But when we got to Benny's house, his father answered the door. His very drunk mother came striding out. Upon hearing the tale, she demanded of my father, what his thirteen year old daughter had done to her son that he spit on her in full public view? My father, sizing up the situation, just told her to make sure her son never bothered me again.
And they didn't, you know. I think they were afraid of Dad. I know they should have been. And that's the happy ending.
I, too, have those experiences. Because I moved to Staten Island in seventh grade, I was forced to attend public school where I lived in fear for a year and a half. There was no one to protect you, and you couldn't tell anyone; you learned to survive and cower. So when the time came, I applied to Catholic High School. You can imagine my joy when I was accepted into one of the best schools on the island, an ivy-covered haven for smart girls.
It was the first week of school, a Wednesday. On Wednesdays the school closed at 12:15 and sent us all to cultural, educational, and recreational venues for the afternoon. It was called the Wednesday afternoon program. I had been to the bowling alley and was on my way home in a NYC bus. The bus stopped and a crew of neighborhood hooligans got on. I sat there minding my own business. When they spotted me, they launched into a chorus of "mira, mira," which is how they had started hounding me every time our paths crossed. Then one of them, Benny, spit on me. This in full view of the other passengers and the bus driver. No one said a word.
I got off and ran to the house in tears. There was no hiding it anymore. When my father heard, he came to get me, and one by one, we went to the houses of the ringleaders. I can remember my Cuban father: "This time I came to see you," he would tell them, "but if this ever happens again, you will have to come find me." The message was that if they ever came near me again, he would personally beat the shit out of junior.
One family, our neighbors up the block, was horrified. They were Italian; they understood. But when we got to Benny's house, his father answered the door. His very drunk mother came striding out. Upon hearing the tale, she demanded of my father, what his thirteen year old daughter had done to her son that he spit on her in full public view? My father, sizing up the situation, just told her to make sure her son never bothered me again.
And they didn't, you know. I think they were afraid of Dad. I know they should have been. And that's the happy ending.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Hey, Wayne Smith, Christian Science Monitor, CBS
Recently an article appeared in the Christian Science Monitor touting the release of some political prisoners in Cuba and was picked up by CBS. Read it here. The releases are seen therewith as a sign of hope. Also commenting in the article is the ubiquitous Wayne Smith.
Let's put this hopeful sign to the test. I love reading Payo Libre because the news is directly from Cuba. It is in Spanish, so I took the liberty of translating and summarizing some bits of recent articles.
Dispatches for 8/31/2007
Government Threatens the Freemasons- Concerned that an "enemy of the revolution" might be elected head of the masons, the government raises the specter of their becoming an illegal organization.
Cuban Oppositon Members Detained- A group of young activists involved in the noncooperation campaign, meeting at a church, were seized, hauled off to the hoosegow, pushed around, threatened, and fined a 100.00.
Cuban Opposition Member Detained- José Ramón Cuellar Méndez reported that he was kept at the police station for 24 hours and interrogated, having been accused of posting libelous images of Fidel. He reports that there were a group of young men at the station, awaiting "trial" on charges of "dangerousness," some as young as 17 or 18.
Dispatches for 8/30/2007
Holguin Author Visited and Threatened- visited by a member of the "Political Police," he was threatened with twenty years in jail, the loss of his job. He was already expelled from university. His wife, a journalist, was suspended from her job.
Opposition Member Accosted in Park
After being taken down to the police station where a member of the political police awaited him,
he was threatened.
That is not even two days worth of dispatches. I tired of translating the same thing. Given the illegality and lack of access to means of communication, there are probably only the tip of the iceberg.
So do CBS, The Christian Science Monitor, and Wayne Smith still want to talk to me about hope?
Let's put this hopeful sign to the test. I love reading Payo Libre because the news is directly from Cuba. It is in Spanish, so I took the liberty of translating and summarizing some bits of recent articles.
Dispatches for 8/31/2007
Government Threatens the Freemasons- Concerned that an "enemy of the revolution" might be elected head of the masons, the government raises the specter of their becoming an illegal organization.
Cuban Oppositon Members Detained- A group of young activists involved in the noncooperation campaign, meeting at a church, were seized, hauled off to the hoosegow, pushed around, threatened, and fined a 100.00.
Cuban Opposition Member Detained- José Ramón Cuellar Méndez reported that he was kept at the police station for 24 hours and interrogated, having been accused of posting libelous images of Fidel. He reports that there were a group of young men at the station, awaiting "trial" on charges of "dangerousness," some as young as 17 or 18.
Dispatches for 8/30/2007
Holguin Author Visited and Threatened- visited by a member of the "Political Police," he was threatened with twenty years in jail, the loss of his job. He was already expelled from university. His wife, a journalist, was suspended from her job.
Opposition Member Accosted in Park
After being taken down to the police station where a member of the political police awaited him,
he was threatened.
That is not even two days worth of dispatches. I tired of translating the same thing. Given the illegality and lack of access to means of communication, there are probably only the tip of the iceberg.
So do CBS, The Christian Science Monitor, and Wayne Smith still want to talk to me about hope?
Words, Words, Words: The Lexicon of Struggle
Those of you who know me know I love words: little ones and big ones, plain and fancy. One of the things I particularly enjoy about words is that they can say so much more than they would seem to on the surface. For instance, using fifo for Fidel Castro. I like using this one because it diminishes him, makes him laughable, like the tin pot dictator he has been. Perhaps the greatest cruelty of what has befallen Cuba is that it has happened at the hands of a buffoon, as if some vile sentient force was having a laugh at the expense of a whole people.
Now that I think about it, some scholar were he or she so inclined could probably link the whole homicidal clown thing to the Trickster archetype, especially by including other such notables as Idi Amin and John Wayne Gacy. Of course, all three lend themselves better to the Gnostic notion of the demi urge whom they would seem to have served.
I have settled on using Castrism to denote the melange of Marxism, totalitarianism, and opportunism that make up the ruling ethos. I like it because it sounds like a disease. I can't get those Levitra ads with their warnings of Priapism out of my mind. Poor old King Priam. It's an association I find particularly fitting, as apparently Priam was also an aged ruler with a hard on.
Castroite, which sounds unnatural, stilted, has a lot going for it. As an adjective, it has a dense, rocky, impenetrable ring to it, aside from the obvious similarity to Kryptonite. A Castroite, the noun, reminds me of those early UFO movies, like They Came From Beyond Space.
"Sir, we must do something, or the Castroites will destroy the world as we know it."
Lately, I've taken to using Raulian as a way of differentiating his policies or lack thereof. Face it Raulista doesn't have the same ring as Fidelista. And after a certain point, the use of Spanish really becomes an affectation unless you are writing for a Spanish audience.
Yes, sir, as I used to tell my students, words can be fun.
Now that I think about it, some scholar were he or she so inclined could probably link the whole homicidal clown thing to the Trickster archetype, especially by including other such notables as Idi Amin and John Wayne Gacy. Of course, all three lend themselves better to the Gnostic notion of the demi urge whom they would seem to have served.
I have settled on using Castrism to denote the melange of Marxism, totalitarianism, and opportunism that make up the ruling ethos. I like it because it sounds like a disease. I can't get those Levitra ads with their warnings of Priapism out of my mind. Poor old King Priam. It's an association I find particularly fitting, as apparently Priam was also an aged ruler with a hard on.
Castroite, which sounds unnatural, stilted, has a lot going for it. As an adjective, it has a dense, rocky, impenetrable ring to it, aside from the obvious similarity to Kryptonite. A Castroite, the noun, reminds me of those early UFO movies, like They Came From Beyond Space.
"Sir, we must do something, or the Castroites will destroy the world as we know it."
Lately, I've taken to using Raulian as a way of differentiating his policies or lack thereof. Face it Raulista doesn't have the same ring as Fidelista. And after a certain point, the use of Spanish really becomes an affectation unless you are writing for a Spanish audience.
Yes, sir, as I used to tell my students, words can be fun.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Timing is Everything
For some reason MSNBC-I don't generally watch it- is on in the background as I sit in the office. I swear they have spent two hours running and rerunning the Craig thing. First of all, there is a very prurient overtone to all these proceedings, particularly the way Matthews has been running the arrest interview over and over again. Uh, oh, I think to myself. There goes the election. Do we really need to hear what goes on in restrooms?
Something similar happened last election with the Mark Foley scandal. Despite the Democrats seeing their gains as a mandate on Iraq, etc... when voters were questioned leaving the polls, the single biggest concern was corruption. One has to question the timing on these things. The Craig incident took place months ago. Why didn't it surface until now?
So now all the talking heads are at it about how the Republicans are hypocrites and immoral, as opposed to the ostensibly more virtuous party in which anything-but-traditional-values goes. I can only imagine what they have saved up for the general election. The Republicans had better hire some very good gumshoes tout suite.
Something similar happened last election with the Mark Foley scandal. Despite the Democrats seeing their gains as a mandate on Iraq, etc... when voters were questioned leaving the polls, the single biggest concern was corruption. One has to question the timing on these things. The Craig incident took place months ago. Why didn't it surface until now?
So now all the talking heads are at it about how the Republicans are hypocrites and immoral, as opposed to the ostensibly more virtuous party in which anything-but-traditional-values goes. I can only imagine what they have saved up for the general election. The Republicans had better hire some very good gumshoes tout suite.
The Art of the Cuban Sandwich
Rafael Martel has a post touting the best Cuban sandwich as the one from Union City's Mi Tierra restaurant. The restaurant looks strikingly like the old El Artesano which also made a mean pan con lechon. It would sadden me if they went out, but nothing stays the same, including the Cuban Sandwich.
In the early 1960's when there were few Cubans to be found in the NYC area, and no one knew what a Cuban sandwich was, my father would take us to the Broadway Sandwich Shop in Union City which made absolutely the best I've ever had. There was the taste of the garlicky pork in combination with the ham, the counterpoint of the pickles, the thin, crunchy Cuban bread, the crust of which shattered with the first bite. Ah, those were the days.
Over time, even their sandwich changed. As it became more readily available, the pork began to disappear. In fact, it's became a glorified ham sandwich. When I moved to Florida years ago, I was shocked that you could find the Cuban Sandwich everywhere, even the supermarket, the local convenience store, etc... Something was lost in the translation to America.
I was fortunate that my late father was a master at the art of culinary construction. He used to put a substantial amount of pork, some ham, cappaciolo (or salami, if we didn't have the first), Swiss cheese and sour pickles. And they absolutely had to be sour pickles. I swear he put butter, which he said was important, mayo and mustard. I still can't figure out how he slathered all three on two sides of bread, but who knows. Since we didn't have a press, he would toast them on the stove, using two black cast iron skillets. Dad loved to cook, and he loved to eat, and it showed in his food and his girth.
The memories.
In the early 1960's when there were few Cubans to be found in the NYC area, and no one knew what a Cuban sandwich was, my father would take us to the Broadway Sandwich Shop in Union City which made absolutely the best I've ever had. There was the taste of the garlicky pork in combination with the ham, the counterpoint of the pickles, the thin, crunchy Cuban bread, the crust of which shattered with the first bite. Ah, those were the days.
Over time, even their sandwich changed. As it became more readily available, the pork began to disappear. In fact, it's became a glorified ham sandwich. When I moved to Florida years ago, I was shocked that you could find the Cuban Sandwich everywhere, even the supermarket, the local convenience store, etc... Something was lost in the translation to America.
I was fortunate that my late father was a master at the art of culinary construction. He used to put a substantial amount of pork, some ham, cappaciolo (or salami, if we didn't have the first), Swiss cheese and sour pickles. And they absolutely had to be sour pickles. I swear he put butter, which he said was important, mayo and mustard. I still can't figure out how he slathered all three on two sides of bread, but who knows. Since we didn't have a press, he would toast them on the stove, using two black cast iron skillets. Dad loved to cook, and he loved to eat, and it showed in his food and his girth.
The memories.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Correction
Earlier I suggested that before Mr. Oliphant places me in a rowboat, he should take the Mayflower our of mothballs. It gets better. Apparently Oli the Elephant in the WP's room is from Australia, an immigrant, unlike many of those he would send to Cuba. Displaying the same mastery of history he has (see Batista in the offending scribble), I had better amend my directive to the "convict ship" out of mothballs.
Shorts
CANF, the Cuban American National Foundation, responds to the scurrilous Oliphant cartoon in The Washington Post in a letter to the editor. Care to take bets whether they'll publish that our the excellent De La Cova letter? Nah. So where are our Cuban American politicians? They could at least comment from Europe. And Senator Martinez, I don't even want to go there. They also have a direct email form to the WP so you can express your opinion.
Cartoon Double Standard discussed on Hannity and Colmes last night and the Today Show today. Unfortunately in discussing the Opus cartoons pulled from papers on Muslim sensibilities concerns; no one mentioned the Oliphant rant.
Moving article in Diario Las Americas via Yahoo explains part of why Cubans can't let go.
In the "At Least They're Doing Something" department, since they've done nothing in the case of the Washington Post's blood libel against Cuban Americans, some of our representatives are in Eastern Europe to thank some of our only allies in the battle against Castrism. Read here
Cartoon Double Standard discussed on Hannity and Colmes last night and the Today Show today. Unfortunately in discussing the Opus cartoons pulled from papers on Muslim sensibilities concerns; no one mentioned the Oliphant rant.
Moving article in Diario Las Americas via Yahoo explains part of why Cubans can't let go.
In the "At Least They're Doing Something" department, since they've done nothing in the case of the Washington Post's blood libel against Cuban Americans, some of our representatives are in Eastern Europe to thank some of our only allies in the battle against Castrism. Read here
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
He's Not Cuban, But:
I remember my parents crowding around the black and white just to here what he was saying. He reminds me of Liberace.
Read and Reel: Lone Survivor and Perfect Stranger
Gave up on the Disraeli book. Summer is no time for macaroni. Couldn't resist. Deeply into Lone Survivor, but took some time off from finishing it to watch Perfect Stranger with friends. What a contrast. Both also indicate what has become of our society.
Perfect Strangers is not a bad little movie. It's got an interesting twist at the end. I was put off by the obligatory liberal propaganda thrown in: you know, the stereotypical pro-family, anti-gay politician who cavorts with male interns and complaints about the pictures the press can't show. I immediately think, oh, the people falling to their deaths on 9/11, but no they're pictures of the dead coming back from Iraq. Fortunately these distractions come at the beginning. I mean, if I wanted to watch left-leaning political proganda, I don't need to rent a Bruce Willis movie. All I have to do is turn the TV set on to Keith Olberrman.
On the other side of the coin is Marcus Luttrell, Texas boy, Navy SEAL, and patriot. I always find it difficult to read a book where I know the people I am reading about will die. That's why I never read The Lovely Bones in which the narrator is dead. Suffice to say that men like Luttrell and the SEALS to whom we are introduced make us feel good about being Americans. It is a gut wrenching story of an operation in Afghanistan which goes bad and results in the deaths of just about an entire SEAL team, in part because of state of our society. I'm gonna devote a bit of space to just one quote that says it all for me.
Thus we have an extra element of fear and danger when we go into combat against the Taliban and al Queda- the fear of our own, the fear of what out own navy judge advocate general might rule against us, the fear of the American media and their unfortunate effect on American politicians. We all harbor fears about untrained, half-educated journalists who only want a good story to justify their salaries and expense accounts. Don't think it's just me. We all detest them, partly for their lack of judgement, mostly because of their ignorance, and toe-curling opportunism. The first minute an armed conflict turns into a media war, the news becomes someone's opinion, not hard truths. When the media gets involved, in the Unites States, that's a war you've got a damned good chance of losing...
Perfect Strangers is not a bad little movie. It's got an interesting twist at the end. I was put off by the obligatory liberal propaganda thrown in: you know, the stereotypical pro-family, anti-gay politician who cavorts with male interns and complaints about the pictures the press can't show. I immediately think, oh, the people falling to their deaths on 9/11, but no they're pictures of the dead coming back from Iraq. Fortunately these distractions come at the beginning. I mean, if I wanted to watch left-leaning political proganda, I don't need to rent a Bruce Willis movie. All I have to do is turn the TV set on to Keith Olberrman.
On the other side of the coin is Marcus Luttrell, Texas boy, Navy SEAL, and patriot. I always find it difficult to read a book where I know the people I am reading about will die. That's why I never read The Lovely Bones in which the narrator is dead. Suffice to say that men like Luttrell and the SEALS to whom we are introduced make us feel good about being Americans. It is a gut wrenching story of an operation in Afghanistan which goes bad and results in the deaths of just about an entire SEAL team, in part because of state of our society. I'm gonna devote a bit of space to just one quote that says it all for me.
Thus we have an extra element of fear and danger when we go into combat against the Taliban and al Queda- the fear of our own, the fear of what out own navy judge advocate general might rule against us, the fear of the American media and their unfortunate effect on American politicians. We all harbor fears about untrained, half-educated journalists who only want a good story to justify their salaries and expense accounts. Don't think it's just me. We all detest them, partly for their lack of judgement, mostly because of their ignorance, and toe-curling opportunism. The first minute an armed conflict turns into a media war, the news becomes someone's opinion, not hard truths. When the media gets involved, in the Unites States, that's a war you've got a damned good chance of losing...
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