The bad do not win—not finally,
No matter how loud they are.
We simply would not be here
If that were so.
You are made, fundamentally, from the good.
~Alberto Rios
Happy Poetry Friday! I am posting this Alberto Ríos poem on Nov. 2nd.
November 2: Día de los muertos
by
Alberto Ríos
1
It is not simply the Day of the Dead—loud, and parties.
More quietly, it is the day of my dead. The day of your dead.
These days, the neon of it all, the big-teeth, laughing skulls,
The posed calacas and Catrinas and happy dead people doing funny things—
It’s all in good humor, and sometimes I can’t help myself: I laugh out loud, too.
But I miss my father. My grandmother has been gone
Almost so long I can’t grab hold of her voice with my ears anymore,
Not easily. My mother-in-law, she’s still here, still in things packed
In boxes, her laughter on videotape, and in conversations.
Our dog died several years ago and I try to say his name
Whenever I leave the house—You take care of this house now,
I say to him, the way I always have, the way he knows.
I grew up with the trips to the cemetery and pan de muerto,
The prayers and the favorite foods, the carne asada, the beer.
But that was in the small town where my memory still lives.
Today, I’m in the big city, and that small town feels far away...
read the rest here
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Buffy Silverman has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Buffy!
The quote at the top is from A House Called Tomorrow. Read the rest of the poem (and see classroom activities) here.
11 comments:
Oh wow. Thank you for sharing this. This year my beloved dead have been very close to my thoughts, and I appreciate the nuance of shared grief Alberto Ríos presented here.
Ah, that Rios faith and inspiration makes me smile this morning. Thank you, Tab. xo
Tabetha, I was reading aloud, and this stopped me:
Whenever I leave the house—You take care of this house now,
I say to him, the way I always have, the way he knows.
I had to shed a couple tears before I could get back to it. Thank you for the moment of pause to remember lost loved ones both human and canine.
Love that hopeful line, "You are made, fundamentally, from the good"--trying to believe that now. And also, the recollections of where memory still lives.
Tabatha, thank you for sharing the poem. I learned so much. I shared it with my husband because we were just wondering about Dia de los Muertos, or should I say Dias... I love the first stanza from "loud and parties" to "More quietly, it is the day of my dead. The day of your dead." You always find such gems to share.
It's odd because I didn't grow up with Tia de los Muertos yet when we moved to Colorado, it was celebrated by many, not only the Latino community. I love this, nearly a paean to this special time, although Rios doesn't always appear to like what happens. I do love his work, have saved more than one poem by him. Thanks for the extra, too, love it but especially the title! Here's one I've saved! https://poets.org/poem/mars-arizona?mc_cid=8d629128d2&mc_eid=367b90a598
Tabatha, thank you for this poem.When I went to San Antonio for the NCTE conference, a group of us went to an authentic Mexican Restaurant. The entire outdoors of the restaurant was covered in artifacts of the Day of the Dead. I was intrigued by the amazing art and content for our to feast our eyes on.
I really like the closing of Rios' poem,
"The loud is to
help us not think,
To make us confuse the day and our feelings with
happiness.
Because, you know, if we do think about our dead,
Wherever they are, we’ll get sad, and begin to look
across at each other."
Thanks for both poems Tabatha, and for the hope in
"a house called tomorrow."
Thank you for Albert Rios and for this much-needed infusion of hope.
Thank you, Tabatha. An intriguing poem, for sure.
I was lucky enough to got to one of Albert Rios' poetry readings when I was in AZ. His words transcend cultures and cut to the core of us as humans. From his quote to the last line of his poem, a perfect post, T. Thank you.
(I miss my dad so much.)
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