la poesía de otros

I've spent a pretty big chunk of my life reading, listening to, watching, reciting, memorizing, and thinking about the poetry of others: the poetry of Rubén Darío in my father's declamaciones, the ballads of early 1990s Jewel albums, my mother's reservoir of questions, my father's garden, Pablo Neruda's Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada, the soft and dappled verses of Naomi Shihab Nye, the flamenco performances of my teachers. Yesterday the rich voice of Robin Thicke, today the new sounds of Arabic.

Sometimes, I think I am too caught up in theory, ten-page papers about 18th century literature, all-nighters, this assignment of 'critical analysis.' I remember the people who have told me that I try too hard, that I need to relax. But fortunately, I eventually remember that I'm caught up in all of this analysis because I do love la poesía de otros, because I want my own words to soothe and bite and bloom, and because to make strings of words that will do so, I have to explain the poetry of others first.

So here's to la poesía de otros. See my brief piece on the death of the wonderful human being Facundo Cabral here. See my (academic) analysis of W.H. Auden's poem "Spain 1937", which won second prize in the Emory Elliott Memorial Prize competition, here.