Sunday 29 September 2013

21st Century Nursery Rhymes (1st Installment)



Bang
 
Bang goes the bullet
Johnny's got a gun
Shoots up the school and
Everybody runs


Andy

Andy plays his video games
Til three o'clock in the morning
Lost his girl, dropped out of school,
But his stats are always soaring.


Miley

Miley, Miley
Young and gay
The girl next door,
Who sings and plays
Miley, Miley,
Young and gay
Someone took
Your clothes away.

Sunday 15 September 2013

You Stare, I'll stare back until you see me...

Today I wore my red and yellow striped shirt down the
Main street of Bishkek.
People stared with knowing looks:  foreigner, stranger,
Non-conformist.  Football fan.  Madrid.
I bought it because it was 2 litas at a thrift shop in Lithuania.
I like the colors, I like the way they scream life.
I know who I am.  Do you?  

Today I wore some tight thrift store khakis and my purse
Down the street in Atlantic City.
Some men yelled gay slurs out their car windows.
The purse was a gift from my sister, a memory of Guatemala, a place that
Changed my soul.  The khakis were the only ones that fit that day.
And I thought to myself, "how strange that you think you know my sexual behavior
patterns on the basis of my clothes."  I can't say that I can rightly say I'm
sexual.  I like girls.  I'd like to have sex someday.  But really ya'll?
I know who I am.  Do you?

Today I sat down on a curb outside the Hilton in downtown New Orleans.
I was so starved I couldn't wait to eat my styrofoam-tray dinner, and I wasn't about to
get the insulation and paint from my beard all over their pretty Hilton beds.
And ya'll stared at me with pointed looks saying "what are you doing here?"
"You don't belong here."  I had spent the day volunteering, cleaning up hurricane-wrecked houses.
When I finished my dinner, I stood up, walked through the Hilton to my room that I never would
Have purchased for myself, for shame of being such a casual consumer.
I know who I am.  Do you?

And you know what, it pisses me off that you ask me about Americans and
Where I'm gonna live and when I'm going home.  Like you know everything belongs
somewhere and you know where I belong.  But I am an American--I am a fifth-generation
immigrant, I mean, the last five generations of my family have migrated West and now
we've come full-circle back, I know who I am.  Do you?  And you know, it's not that
You notice I'm foreign, that's fine, it's not that you see that I'm a different kind. 
I've moved at least 15 times, I've never been normal in all my life.

But you get so caught up on what you think you know,
You don't look me in the eye.
 
And there's not a face that you meet,
famous or forgettable,
that's mundane, normal, or trite. 
Each one is human,
We all have our reasons,
We all have our faces and lies.

But man, look at a brother, when he's standing before you,
Cuz you know, he ain't a Jew or a Christian, a Muslim, a black man,
He ain't a man or a woman, a president or a preacher, a bum or a
Soldier or a kid with mental disabilities,
She's a human just the same as I am
He's a person worth looking in the eye.
A grandma worth hearing, just cuz God made her.
A boy with a light in his eyes.   

Monday 9 September 2013

Dani

You were never long for this world.
You weren't even supposed to stick around this long,
The boy with the blue face, breathing heavy,
Every day was a gift, and I often wondered if
Today would be the day you wouldn't wake up;
It finally happened.

And you know, there's no questions of fairness,
We always knew you were a miracle,
That you were living on a prayer in
Extra time.   Your sisters spoiled you well;
Forgive me for trying to teach instead of holding you,
For pulling away when you would run your fingers through
My beard.

Little prophet, why were you sent to us?
How were we ever worthy of your presence,
When clearly you were meant for another world?
I imagine you yelling amen at your passing,
With the fervor you would shout out at that signal
That it was time to start eating.
  
I should've carried you on my shoulders a few more times,
That English word that you knew better than all the others, 
"Shoulders" because it wasn't enough for you to just ride piggy back,
You wanted to see everything.
I imagine that Peter, showing you to the throne, will
Smile in dismay as you ask the Father for the same,
Reaching out your arms "que me cargas."
And the Father will spin you, free from the worry that you
Might pass out, and your heart will be a great treasure that
He will show off to all of his dinner guests.

My shoes seemed like battle tanks on your little feet;
Now you will never grow into them,
On the contrary, it is I who hope to grow into yours,
To live with your joy and tenderheartedness,  to learn
To cry when I fall,
To smile with my whole self,
To ask for a hug when I need one,
And to lift my hands to the sky
And let my Father carry me home.



En español (Traducción con Adriana Polanco):  

Nunca estabas aquí para largo
Siempre estabas como el chico milagro
El chico con cara azul, soplando
Cada día un regalo, cada día estabámos pensando
Que es posible que este seá tu último...
Al final, sucedió.

No hay preguntas sobre la justicia aquí
Siempre supimos que eras un milagro
Respirando por oraciones estos últimos años
Tus hermanas te consintieron bien,
Perdoname por intentar enseñarte en lugar de levantarte
En mis brazos, Perdoname por enojarme cuando
Tú pasaste tus dedos por mi barba.

Profecito, ¿por qué veniste a nosotros?
No merecíamos tu presencia,
Claro, pues tú estabas creado
Para un mundo más allá.
Imagino que saliste de la vida con tu grito de "Amen"
Que siempre significaba "ahora vamos a comer."

¡Debí cargarte sobre mis hombros, mil veces más!
Sobre mis "shoulders", palabra que recordaste mejor
que las otras en ingles, porque caballito no era
Suficiente para ti, tú querías ver todo el panorama,
Imagino que Pedro, mostrandote el trono va a
Sonreír con un poco de vergüenza cuando te acerques al Padre,
Y digas lo mismo, estrechando tus brazos al cielo y preguntando
¿Qué me cargas?
Y el Padre te dará vueltas, sin miedo a que te desmayes
Y tu corazón será un tesoro que Él va a mostrar a todos sus invitados

Mis zapatos parecían carros de combate sobre tus pies pequeñitos
Ahora tus pies no crecerán más.
Pero yo espero algun día, poder ser de tu tamaño
Quiero vivir con tu gozo y gracía, aprender
Llorar cuando me caigo,
Sonreír de todo corazón,
Pedir un abrazo cuando lo necesito
Y levantar mis brazos al cielo
Y dejar a mi Papá cargarme a casa.

Sunday 8 September 2013

Formalities

It's all a matter of seeing.
In my world,
I could never ask a student to use a formal title that
I wasn't prepared to use with him in return,
that would be
hypocrisy.  I see value
in showing some formal respect to children;
they need to know that they are human, equals,
capable of anything I am capable of.
They need to know, that
I am looking them in the eye, and I am not blinking. 

With adults, using formalities separates rather than unifies,
the words are walls or air;
respect and authority are only ever earned...through professionalism,
openness, grace, and knowledge.  And
if you have those qualities,
you don't need a title to tell you who you are. 
I'm looking you in the eye, and I'm not blinking.

You can't teach,
learn from,
or love a man
who is unwilling to look you in the eye. 

My name is James. 
Not Mr. James, not American James, not musician James, not teacher James. 

I know who I am.  Do you?