a publication of the Esperanza Peace & Justice Center
November 2012 | Vol. 25 Issue 9
San Antonio, Tejas
Calaveras y Ofrendas 2012
La Voz de
Esperanza
November 2012
vol. 25 issue 9
© 2012 Esperanza Peace & Justice Center
Editor
Gloria A. Ramírez
Editorial Assistance
Moreno • Dolores Zapata Murff • Adriana Netro • Elva Niebla • Ruben Olague • Caroline Rivera • Rita
Urquijo-Ruiz • Don Enrique Sánchez • Elva Pérez Treviño Literary Ofrendas: Carolyn Atkins •
Azul Barrientos • Dulce Benavides • Norma E. Cantú • Anita González • Dolores González Jarvis •
Laura I. Rendón • Dave Stokes • Mariana Vásquez • Dee Zapata Murff Artwork: Carlos Barbarena
Design Monica V. Velásquez
Cover Artwork
Marroquin • Elvia Niebla • Laura Rendón • Mary Agnes Rodríguez • Elva Pérez Treviño • Rita Urquijo-
La Voz Mail Collective
Juan Diaz, Diana Fernandez,
Gloria Hernández, Davina Kaiser, Eugene
Roy Lee, Elpidia López, Gina Lee, Ray
McDonald, María Medellin, Angie H. Merla,
Adriana Netro, Jacobed Peña, Alison
Reynolds, Mary Agnes Rodríguez, Juana
Hilda Ruiz, Eloise Simentel, Argelia Soto &
Lonnie Howard, Elva Pérez Treviño,
Lucila Vicencio y MujerArtes
Esperanza Director
Graciela I. Sánchez
Esperanza Staff
Imelda Arismendez, Itza Carbajal,
Verónica Castillo, Marisol Cortez,
Jezzika Pérez, Beto Salas,
Susana Segura, Monica V. Velásquez
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Veronica Castillo • Rocio Delgado • Julien Ekiaka • Norma Guzmán • Araceli Herrera • Nicholas R.
Alice Canestaro-Garcia,
Adriana Netro
Above: Yeska, ASARO Arts Collective
Below: Brandon Maldonado,
www.brandonmaldonado.com
2
Cuentos: Nicholas R. Moreno • Anna Marie Sánchez
Calaveristas: Francisco Alarcón • Amokimous • Doña Lucia Bolanos • Erika Gutiérrez Campos •
Conjunto de Nepantleras
-Esperanza Board of Directors-
Brenda Davis, Araceli Herrera, Rachel
Jennings, Amy Kastely, Kamala Platt, Ana
Ramírez, Gloria A. Ramírez, Rudy Rosales,
Nadine Saliba, Graciela Sánchez
• We advocate for a wide variety of social,
economic & environmental justice issues.
• Opinions expressed in La Voz are not
necessarily those of the Esperanza Center.
La Voz de Esperanza
is a publication of
Esperanza Peace & Justice Center
922 San Pedro, San Antonio, TX 78212
(on the corner of Evergreen Street)
210.228.0201 • fax 210.228.0000
www.esperanzacenter.org
Inquiries/Articles can be sent to:
lavoz@esperanzacenter.org
Articles due by the 8th of each month
Policy Statements
* We ask that articles be visionary, progressive,
instructive & thoughtful. Submissions must be
literate & critical; not sexist, racist, homophobic,
violent, or oppressive & may be edited for length.
* All letters in response to Esperanza activities
or articles in La Voz will be considered for
publication. Letters with intent to slander
individuals or groups will not be published.
Esperanza Peace & Justice Center is funded in part
by the NEA, TCA, theFund, Astraea Lesbian Fdn
for Justice, Coyote Phoenix Fund, AKR Fdn, Peggy
Meyerhoff Pearlstone Fdn, The Kerry Lobel & Marta
Drury Fund of Horizon’s Fdn, y nuestra buena gente.
• Norma
E. Cantú • Graciela G. García • Amanda Haas • Keith Haring • Brandon Maldonado • Stella
Ruiz • Remedios Varo • Yeska of ASARO Arts Collective, Oaxaca
This November 2012 issue of La Voz de
Esperanza is the 14th annual Calaveras issue
published by the Esperanza Peace & Justice
Center in San Antonio featuring satirical poems that target the living. Artwork and illustrations featuring death personified as skeletons, called “calaveras” or “calacas,” that
are engaged in mischief or ordinary doings
are also featured. This year most calaveras
are written in Spanish –but not exclusively so.
We are also continuing with a new tradition of
“literary ofrendas” writing poems and tributes
for the “dearly departed.” This issue also has
stories for the Day of the Dead. Don’t forget
to come by and celebrate that day with us on
November 1st (see page 21). And, remember
to make your voice heard, VOTE!
Esta edición de La Voz de Esperanza de noviembre, 2012, como siempre, se trata de Calaveras, la tradición mexicana de poesia satirica
que le hace burla a los seres vivientes. Con
esta edición cumplimos 14 años de calaveras.
“Calaveras” tambien significa los dibujos o
arte que representa “la muerte” en forma de
esqueletos o “calacas” que hacen travesuras
o cosas cotidianas. Otra tradición que hemos
fomentado en La Voz es la “ofrenda literaria”
que recuerda al fiel difunto con una poema o
recuerdo. Este año tambien tenemos algunos
cuentecitos para el Día de los muertos. No dejen de venir a la celebración del Dia de los
muertos el primer día de noviembre (vea pagina 21). Gozen de toda la edición y recuerden,
SU VOTO ES SU VOZ!
Calavera for Election Day
Hey, you! Que pasa?
You go to the dance, go to
the game, go the bar,
You don’t vote.
Who do you think you are?
Don’t tell her you’re too busy,
That you don’t care.
Because she is coming after you,
A horrible, very horrible affair.
It’s Election Day,
It don’t look like rain.
You don’t vote, you stay home,
They screw you,
then –don’t complain.
She’s lost her patience,
Don’t make her shout.
She’s tired that you
don’t give a damn,
You a winner, a loser
something to think about.
Don’t think that some other day,
You’ll go out to vote.
I see Lady Death is here,
And of you, she has taken note.
Mary Agnes Rodríguez
She’s right there behind you,
Be a good citizen, come on, Move!
Because after you’re dead,
your vote don’t count.
–Nicholas R. Moreno
ATTENTION VOZ READERS: If you have a correction you want to make on your mailing label please
send it in to lavoz@esperanzacenter.org. If you do not wish to continue on the mailing list for whatever reason
please notify us as well. La Voz is provided as a courtesy to people on the mailing list of the Esperanza Peace
and Justice Center. The subscription rate is $35 per year. The cost of producing and mailing La Voz has
substantially increased and we need your help to keep it afloat. To help, send in your subscriptions, sign up as a
monthly donor, or send in a donation to the Esperanza Peace and Justice Center. Thank you. -GAR
VOZ VISION STATEMENT: La Voz de Esperanza speaks for many individual, progressive voices who are
gente-based, multi-visioned and milagro-bound. We are diverse survivors of materialism, racism, misogyny,
homophobia, classism, violence, earth-damage, speciesism and cultural and political oppression. We are
recapturing the powers of alliance, activism and healthy conflict in order to achieve interdependent economic/
spiritual healing and fuerza. La Voz is a resource for peace, justice, and human rights, providing a forum for
criticism, information, education, humor and other creative works. La Voz provokes bold actions in response to
local and global problems, with the knowledge that the many risks we take for the earth, our body, and the dignity
of all people will result in profound change for the seven generations to come.
by Nicholas R. Moreno
C hulita’s great uncle, Tío
Roberto, had always told
her that there are many
beautiful things in this world. He told her that some of the most beautiful things carry
a heavy price. He said that to some of the most gorgeous things, the closer that you get,
the farther away they appear to be. Chulita loved her great uncle, but sometimes she did
not know what he was trying to say.
“Yes, they’ll come over since it’s
not raining here. We sure wouldn’t
want to cancel our barbeque cookout.
That would be a heavy price to ask.”
“Great,” she grinned, exposing
where her two front teeth had just
come in.
Lightning could be seen dropping
from the thunderclouds, as well as
arching in crooked flashes haphazardly over to adjacent clouds.The accompanying roars sounded like the fearsome explosions of cannonade from
a fast approaching army. A whirlwind
from nowhere suddenly was picking
up all the debris it encountered. The
apparition twisted and twisted like a
miniature cyclone. To Chulita, it appeared as if this tornado had stopped
and had noticed her. It began to approach her and she let out a yelp, with
goose bumps streaking across her
arms and face. She ran towards the
house, shouting, “Tío Roberto, is that thing going to hurt me?”
He replied, “It won’t hurt you, not unless it picks up a water
moccasin and throws it at you.” He grinned at her.
“Don’t say that. I don’t want to go inside now. Right, Tío, I
can stay out here with you?”
“Yes, you can stay out here with me. If it rains, you and I
will be over there under that carport. We won’t get wet. Abuelita
would run out and whack us.”
Chulita
and Tío Roberto stayed outside and shared
these moments together, talking about everything from playing,
to school, to reading, to her favorite shows, to candy, and back
to playing. They were sitting together on lawn chairs for what
seemed to be an interminably long time. In actuality, it was an
hour later when the first drops begin to fall. They heard the drops
smack on the carport’s metal roof. When she looked up, a drop
from the sky smashed across Chulita’s lips. “Tío Roberto, I’m
wet. It’s gonna rain.”
Several more big drops came, falling as if being parceled out
in liquid clusters. A cold one hit Tío Roberto on the back of the
neck. He jumped and shouted, “Let’s get under the carport. Dragging their lawn chairs, they ran and found a spot open next to their
auto.“Let’s stay here,” suggested Tío Roberto. “It’ll pass in a few
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Tío Roberto, her grandmother’s
brother, worked outdoors. He was a carpenter. Chulita loved to see him in his
work clothes, to feel his rough hands,
and to be crushed by his loving hugs. He
not only could put together buildings, but
he made Chulita some of the finest furniture, dollhouses and wooden toys. In her
child’s mind, she wondered what price
Tío Roberto would have had to pay, if
he had bought all these surprises for her.
She was sure that it would have been a
heavy price, indeed. It really didn’t matter to Chulita, because she knew that she
didn’t have to pay a penny for them.
The rain came first as a feeling.
The air had changed. One could feel
the coldness as drafts of air picked up
leaves, papers and dust, as if dancing to
mysterious, undulating Arabic rhythms.
Chulita loved rain. Sometimes, she liked
to stay inside, to get in bed and look at
it through her window. Sometimes, she
would spend so many hours looking outside, that people said that
she looked like she was waiting for something wondrous to appear before her. At other times, she would run outside and begin to run around, skipping in circles with her outstretched arms.
Within minutes, she would be soaked to the bone, with her grandmother screaming through the window, “Chiquitita, entra a la
casa, you’re going to catch your death of cold.” She would obey
and the grandmother, her abuelita, would then strip her naked and
dry her with a huge towel.
The smell had changed. One knew that it was raining somewhere. It wasn’t exactly clear where or how far away it was. The
defiant sun was trying to shine as many extra rays as possible,
before it would be usurped by a darker and more foreboding atmosphere. Chulita had noticed what appeared to be a gray, flickering sheet dropping from a bulging cloud several kilometers away.
“Tio Roberto, is that rain falling there, see it, over there from that
cloud?” She pointed her dainty finger and twisted her cherubic
face, waiting for an answer.
“Si, Chulita. That’s coming down on them, plenty hard.”
“Is that where Tía Chabela lives? Did she hang out clothes to
dry? Are they still going to come to see us and are you and Tío
Raul still going to cook outside?” She always peppered her uncle
with more questions than he could possibly answer.
3
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
4
minutes, and then we can go inside.”
“After this, can we go get an ice cream? You always said that
you saved your money for a rainy day,” her pleading eyes imagining the cherry vanilla cone that was her favorite.
“Yes, I did say that,” Tío Roberto laughed.
It was the ice balls that begin to slam on the roof, on the yard,
and onto the street that caused Tío Roberto to grimace. At first,
the ice balls fell and bounced lightly on the still dry surface of the
earth. They fell as if they were the Prelude to a symphony.
Tío Roberto looked at the little girl who loved the rain and they
stayed right where they were to watch the show. Suddenly, with a
burst of anger, the sky unleashed a shower of large, white balls that
came crashing down with a roar. The cascade blasted the houses,
seemingly perforating the area
into hundreds of battered pieces.
It increased in intensity, bouncing at the feet of the great uncle
and his niece. The abuse crashed
on the metal roof that divided
them from this assault from the
sky.
Chulita was jumping with
excitement. It was just minutes
ago that they were sitting out
there on the grass. Now, she was
witnessing a violence such like
she had never ever seen. The vehicles in the neighborhood were
undergoing a severe mauling.
The pounding was relentless.
The hail had usurped the grass
and the pavement, bouncing into
a freezing blanket of ice. The assault stopped as rapidly as it had
started, and the sky was returned
to the rain clouds, which had
now amassed, as if to prepare for
an imminent onslaught.
“You ready to go inside?
Let’s go inside,” Tío Roberto
asked Chulita.
“You want to go inside?”
Chulita responded. She thought,
“Wouldn’t it be better to stay and be under the roof of this carport?” Her question was answered by the return of the big drops.
This time the rainfall started as if it had the authority to unleash
itself on Nature below. The falling liquid began splashing around
the two stranded underneath the carport. The wetness and coldness
were sensed by Chulita, the noises and the smell of the water hitting the ground instilling pleasure into the little girl who loved rain.
She liked the way the rocks glistened, and how the little streams
appeared to flow out of nowhere. She thought of the water beads
on the plants as they swayed in the wind, and of the sogginess of
the grass everywhere being soaked to the mud and to the roots.
Chulita delighted in donning her raincoat at school, and walking home under an umbrella and feeling the spray of water and
mist on her face. She always wondered why two people who never
greeted each other always seemed to smile and nod when approaching each other under their umbrellas. She liked pretending
her grown-up ways, greeting them very cordially, “Slippery day
today, don’t you think?”
Her spirit was never dampened when the weather was dark
and overcast with rain falling continuously for day after day. She
felt that water fell on people to flush out their bad thoughts and to
cleanse them of their bad feelings. She liked to stop on the bridge
and watch the water in the brook gurgling and dribbling onto the
rocks, and see the grass and the logs that floated down beneath her
shoes. She loved to pull back from the street to barely avoid being
splashed by cars stumbling by.
The big drops now started to arrive in a fury. The downpour
had become a tumultuous outpouring. Any thought that Tío Roberto had had of rushing to the house with his little girl had to be
postponed. The rain was no longer falling down, but had changed
its direction and was now flying
sideways with gusts of wind.
“Get in the car,” yelled Tío
Roberto. Chulita stood there
jumping while Tío Roberto
covered her, and started fumbling for his keys. He clumsily
opened the door and they both
jumped in. They took stock of
themselves and laughed when
they realized that they had barely escaped a serious drenching. They were breathing hard,
when they saw the grandmother
waving desperately from the
window.
Tío Roberto signaled to
her, “We’re going to be OK out
here.” Abuelita was looking out
with her hands on the window
frame when she was almost
blinded by lightning, flashing
brilliantly, an instantaneous explosion of thunder horrifying
her out of her wits. The detonation shocked the two souls in
the car, and the little girl and
her uncle hugged each other in
terror.
“Santa Maria,” the grandmother screeched. “Dios Mio, may God have mercy.” She trembled inside the house and tears were about to rain out of her eyes.
Not knowing which way to turn, she turned back to the window.
It was now being splattered by the torrential storm so hard that it
became impossible for her to see outside. She peered through the
glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of her desesperados inside that
automobile.
For two hours the deluge raged, slamming the city with its contemptuous vengeance. Tío Roberto and his Chulita could see the
street become a river of streaming water. An assortment of debris
and tree limbs floated by, disappearing downstream. Chulita had
noticed that the water was lapping at the tires and felt that her
shoes would be soaked if they had to make an escape from there.
Inside the house, Abuelita was on the telephone with Tía Chabela.
Abuelita was being told that everyone was safe, but that a tree had
cracked and had fallen on their carport and against the side of the
house. They said that the rising water was surging at the sides of
Tío Roberto
got up and began to talk. He talked of
the severe damage that the storm had done to this sector of their
city. He talked of the damage that the hail had done to all of the
automobiles that had been caught outside in the storm. He talked
of the harm done by the fallen trees and the downed power lines.
But most of all, he saved his wrath for the severe damage caused
by the flooding of the streets and of the houses in this part of town.
He said that it was all completely and totally unnecessary. He
shouted that it was all the fault of the people who stayed home on
election days, when they were supposed to go out to vote. He paid
taxes and all of the people here paid taxes, but where did all of the
money go? He said that he knew where the money had gone. All
of the people in the other neighborhoods had gone out to vote to
elect representatives who would take his money and build perfect
drainage systems for their neighborhoods. He would defy anyone
who could show him flooding at this moment in those fancy neighborhoods. He cursed voter apathy.
He said that today they paid a heavy price for being very lazy
and staying away from the polls on Election Day. Now they were
faced with paying the heavy price for flood and mud damage with
money that they needed for food and health care for the families.
He let out a stream of obscenities at those people who never got
out to vote.
Chulita loved her great uncle, but sometimes she did not
know what he was trying to say. She had gone to the window and
was looking outside. Her mind thought of the wet wooden green
benches down at the park, and the two little old ladies who would
put down a piece of plastic to sit down and talk. She was thinking
about the people who would walk down the street with newspapers
over their heads, and those without umbrellas who would have running noses and sniffles tomorrow. She was thinking about the frogs
jumping in the brook and the bubbles caused by the water spilling
over the rocks. Only light drops were now falling. She closed her
eyes when the sunlight caught her face and she smiled and felt
good about all of Nature. When she opened them, she stood there
in awe and let out a scream.
Her uncle yelled, “What’s the matter, Chulita.” Chulita didn’t
answer, but her running footsteps could be heard coming down
the hallway. She appeared, wide-eyed, and accelerated towards the
door, opening it, disappearing outside.
“Chulita,” Abuelita screamed, now running after her.
Chulita had already made it to the yard and was standing in
the water looking at the sky. Her expression was that of enchantment. Chulita was looking away at what she thought was a gift
from God. Her heart had never seen Nature provide a sight more
resplendent, more astonishingly beautiful. What she saw made all
the moments that followed stand still. Against a very dark sky,
the sun’s rays shining brilliantly behind her, they arched across
the heavens, glowing, shimmering, all the magnificent colors from
red, orange, yellow to blue, green, indigo and violet. She marveled
at that magic beauty, those unbelievable arcs of color, the stunning
splendor of that spectacular afternoon rainbow. Tío Roberto and
Abuelita were entranced too. She knew of their presence beside
her, but had not seen them. “Increible, que hermosura,” exclaimed
Abuelita, “Increible, a more gorgeous sight I certainly have never
ever seen before.”
These spinning, dizzying moments had an effect on Chulita.
Everything that she had thought, smelled, seen and heard today
was all coming together within her soul. Her eyelids were closed.
Small drops began to fall. A few fell on Chulita. She hugged her
uncle warmly when he lifted her gently to carry her inside.
“Please don’t let it end. My uncle said that we paid a very high
price for it,” she prayed. All that she knew was that it hadn’t cost
her a penny. u
Bio: Nicolas R. Moreno graduated from U.T.-Austin with a B.S. in
Electrical Engineering and a Masters in Architecture. He deeply
encourages everyone to start voting.
VOTE!
VOTE!
VOTE!
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
their house and that they were being trapped inside. Abuelita was
telling them that Chulita and Tío Roberto were spending the storm
in their car outside. She stated that she couldn’t understand how it
hadn’t occurred to them to come back to the house. She was telling them that the water was now starting to abate, when suddenly
she lost contact and the lamps in the room went out. She shrieked
and went to the window, and could see her two beloved in the car
below greeting her with their palms.
Tío Roberto looked at his companion and gave her one of his
smiles: “Are you ready to get out and go in the house?” he inquired.
“Yeah, let’s make a run for it. We’re going to get wet and our
shoes are going to get wet,” she expressed herself.
“We can dry ourselves after we get in the house,” he replied
to her. “Your shoes aren’t going to get wet. I’ll carry you. Come
on, let’s go.” He emerged into the dampness, placing his shoes
right into cold, gushing mud and water and turned to retrieve his
niece, who was waiting with outstretched arms. Tío Roberto was
a jolly man, very friendly and congenial. He was thoughtful and
outspoken. In that car, he had had plenty of time to think. Chulita
saw that this happy man was definitely annoyed. She understood
that something had gotten his interest and attention. She knew that
when something was on his mind for which he had great concern,
he wouldn’t hesitate to express his feelings. Chulita loved her great
uncle, but sometimes she did not know what he was trying to say.
In that car, he had had plenty of time to think.
They were being scolded by the abuelita when they entered the
house. She told him to take his shoes off and not to track mud on
her carpet. Chulita had to go and change her clothing before she
was allowed to rejoin them. When she appeared from her room,
they invited her to have some caldo with them, a hot sumptuous
soup of beef and vegetables. Delicious food was their tradition
and good traditions played a big part in their lives. They enjoyed
their dinner while the rain outside seemed to retreat into a misty
sprinkle, caressing the house as if to ask forgiveness for the merciless dousing it had unleashed.
5
Homenaje a los espiritus
que me cuidan
Mamá, Papá, Tio Nacho y Peter
Y a todos ustedes los espíritus
Que me acompañan en mi destino
Les doy las gracias
Y les mando bendiciones en su camino
Porque sé que siempre están conmigo
Los tengo siempre junto a mi
Y por eso los bendigo
Cuando un favor les pido
Siempre dicen, “si”
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Me calman mis sustos
Y con eso me ajusto
Me sostienen al caerme
y mi voz levantan
y mi espíritu abrillantan
6
En este Día de los Muertos
Mi amor por ustedes sigue abierto
De mi alma a las suyas
Su recuerdo aún me arrulla
Finalmente sé que algun día
Los encontraré
En el calor del viento.
–Laura I. Rendón
www.brandonmaldonado.com
Los Manteles (The Tablecloths)
Memorias come pouring forth
With my tears
As I sort through your manteles.
Tantos años
Of family and friends gathered
Around your cocina and dining room tables.
Laughter, fun, good homemade comida.
Lots to talk about
Good jokes, some jabs
Pero siempre reunidos.
Your famous potato salad
Banana pudding in the little gold cups
Y el arroz
Y los frijoles.
Who could forget?
Todos remember
Times that are now gone.
We smile through our tears.
And think of you, Mamá.
–Anita González
Lotus Recuerdo para Mary Stokes
1920-2011
My Mom, Mary Stokes, didn’t know it, but she was a Buddhist. In fact, she was a
Bodhisattva. She reached enlightenment, but chose to remain here on the wheel of life
as an inspiration to those of us who are still struggling with the pain of existence.
She must have considered her work on Earth finished, because she departed
for Nirvana on June 9, 2011. We who remain here on the wheel are grateful for her
guidance, acceptance, and the example of unqualified love she gave us.
Her attributes were those of the five colors of the Lotus blossom, the Buddhist
symbol of purity, spiritual awakening and faithfulness. The blue Lotus represents the
victory of spirit over wisdom. The white Lotus stands for mental purity and
spiritual perfection. The purple Lotus with its eight pedals reminds us of the
eightfold path. The pink Lotus is the Lotus of the Lord Buddha. The red Lotus
symbolizes the heart, love and compassion.
That was my Mom, the Bodhisattva.
–Dave Stokes
“Chavela” Vargas
Isabel Vargas Lozano
LA CHAMANA
se convirtió en
jaguar
–Funebre Despedida Broadsheet
Ella no se guardaba nada, se daba toda, real y completa. La dama del
espíritu intacto tuvo una vida plena. Ella no llevaba a juicios, ni se ponía
banderas. Ella llevaba su propia bandera –La Bandera de Chavela.
Los recuerdos le revoloteaban entre más llegaba la edad. Unos tristes
y otros agraciados. Radiantes y robustas carcajadas, canciones, elíxires
y hermosísimas mujeres. También dolor, denuncias y reclamos se le
escapaban del ánima, especialmente al evocar a la niña Chavela, rechazada
y sola que nació en Costa Rica.
En México, el país que la prohijó, llegó a la notoriedad, después de
combatir tantas y diferentes batallas. Aunque prontamente se desvaneció
todo. Estrangulada en el licor... Beoda, casi veinte años.
Pero un milagroso día “El último trago” llegó, su abstinencia la
resucitó. Ese brío con el que nació afortunadamente la salvó. Reencarnó
en su mismo cuerpo, y resurgió del infierno, más excelsa que nunca. Sus
queridos amigos y adoradores la protegieron, la auxiliaron, la entendieron,
la esperaron. El estupor llegó hasta España, e incluso lució un homenaje a
García Lorca.
Los años siguieron pasando entre solera, melodías y alabanzas.
Y un Domingo lluvioso La Chamana partió, se fue con secretos
acurrucados en su misericordia. Una concurrencia se
habrá fusionado para darle la bienvenida a ese lugar, al
que todos vamos: José Alfredo Jiménez, Agustín Lara,
Álvaro Carrillo, Tomás Méndez, Arturo Bribiesca, Toña
La Negra, y hasta la misma “La Macorina”, Carlos
Monsivais, su querido Diego y su adorada Frida entre
cientos más.
De su voz salían oraciones que se hincaban ante el
dolor. Hasta siempre amada Chavela.
–Azul Barrientos
Willie Champion 1933-2012
The Esperanza Peace and Justice Center staff and community express
our most profound sympathies to Teresa Champion and the Champion
family on the recent passing of reknowned San Antonio flamenco
guitarist, Willie Champion, “El Curro.” Willie and Teresa, who were
married 57 years, are San Antonio cultural icons who began a tradition
of flamenco music and dance in San Antonio that has impacted
thousands of children and families throughout our city –particularly
in the Southside and Westside. “El Curro” leaves behind his many
fans, students, two daughters, 5 grandchildren, 11 great
grandchildren, other family members and a legacy that will
continue. San Antonio will greatly miss “El Curro’s” music
and great syle. Que en paz descanse.
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Adios muchachas que amores
Me brindaban con afán
Ya no me echarán mis flores,
Ya no me enamorarán…
1919 - 2012
7
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
8
La vida ha sido muy hermosa
temiendo siempre morir
pero si has de llegar a mí
alegre me quiero ir.
lc aj
a
m
ete de m i
using fresh chile pequin from my backyard. While I was making
the salsa in the molcajete I felt something/or someone around
me. The salsa’s aroma made me think of my mother and how she
made the same salsa. I felt her presence in my kitchen and felt at
peace. I did not let Rick know how I was feeling about Rhino. I
had been telling Rick that Rhino looked old and tired and that he
needed to be prepared for his death.
The day ended and Rick carried Rhino
up the stairs laying him on our bed. Max,
our 125 lb dog, and Henry, my rescued
one-eyed cat, followed up the stairs. We all
went to sleep. Around 2ish, I felt Rhino
jump off the bed. I woke up and woke
up Rick. He carried Rhino downstairs to
go outside and do his thing. When Rhino
walked back into the living room, he collapsed. Rick picked him
up and carried him up the stairs turning on my bedside lamp. He
told me Rhino was dying. We covered him with a towel and Rick
held him like a baby. We both started to cry. Rhino died that
night in Rick’s arms as I held on to Rick…
Max and Henry were also awake and knew something had
happened. We laid Rhino next to Max in his bed and Max put his
head next to Rhino’s body. He seemed to know what had happened. Max laid his head down and moaned. Now, I think about
that day and how it ended----with my mother’s presence. She was
here to comfort me and to take our dog with her.
– Dolores González Jarvis
Epitafio
Junto a mi siempre has estado
Me acompañas al dormir
y tambien al levantar
Eres mi muerte querida.
Aquí te tengo un altar.
e
mo
dr
El
I
t sounds CRAZY—but it all goes together. Let me explain.
First, the molcajete made with natural volcanic stone
offers a grinding surface that is used with the tejolote,
or pestle. A molcajete is a must-have tool for authentic
moles, salsas and fresh guacamole. The molcajete I have
belonged to my mother who passed away in 1999. I found it
when I was cleaning my mother’s house in 2004 after both,
my father and my brother, Dennis died that year. I was going
through boxes in the garage that belonged to my mother filled
with clothes, china, jewelry, a bible that belonged to my father
and coins galore.You can imagine how I felt as I opened each
box. It was like someone did not care about what my parents
had left behind. I felt ashamed of how my mother’s house was
left, but that’s another story.
I opened each box finding cherished items that my mother
loved: a green glass vase that she always had on her bedroom
dresser, several religious statues, my father’s bible with a holder,
and then I saw it –the molcajete. When I unpacked it–it felt like
my mother was in the garage with me.
The molcajete was taken back to my house in Corpus Christi.
We moved several times until we finally moved to Laredo, TX.
The molcajete and other items of my parents had been traveling
with me for 6 years. Now, my molcajete had a place in my kitchen’s blue counter. Her molcajete is used on a daily basis because I
love salsa. It is surrounded by beautiful Mexican women carrying
baskets and flowers. The green glass vase also has a place in my
dramatic red dining room along with my mother’s dining room
furniture. I see my mother’s items everyday and I think about her
daily. She was the funniest person I knew. She would make the
whole room laugh with her jokes and laughter.
Now, about our dog, Rhino. A west highland white terrier that
we purchased about 12 years ago, Rhino was my husband’s baby
boy who followed Rick everywhere, even to the bathroom. Rick
would take Rhino to his office until he started wandering away.
Rhino would always spend the night on top of our bed. On Sunday Feb 6, 2011 Rhino was breathing heavily. We knew something was not right. Rick gave him some medication and he went
to sleep. We agreed we would take him to the vet on Monday The Super Bowl game was going to start and Rick wanted
a spread of snacks, so I made some tacos, dips and fresh salsa
Con la música en el alma
un arpa, y una jarana
En mi Veracruz querido
ahi me quiero morir.
Pero si de amor muriera
en cualquier parte del mundo
No te preocupes Catrina
entierrame en el mar profundo.
–Lucia Bolanos
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA •
Nov 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
La contadora
Luz de velas
Me paso todo el año
pensando en escribir,
la sombra de Calacas me reclama,
“piensa mejor en morir”;
¡bah! desde que empecé a razonar
me he burlado de la Muerte.
Todo está en el tocadero
y gran porcentaje en la suerte.
Podemos arguir
hasta ponernos morados,
al fin y al cabo...
ya estamos todos contados.
Cuatro cirios alrededor del muertito,
centinelas del finado, antigua costumbre.
Coronas, macetas, floreros repletos de flores
y lo más indispensable, ¡una llorona!.
Cuando llegaba la calma, comenzaba lo mejor:
mucha comida, toda clase de platillos que
familiares, amistades y vecinos contribuian.
¡Gran comilona en honor de La Catrina!
Inhumación
Nadie quiere morirse hoy en día
–cuesta mucho y no te fían.
Hay que planear el suceso
–alcabo quedará nomás el hueso.
Las personas educadas pueden aguantar el costo
–a los que no tienen dónde caerse, ni siquiera el rostro.
Por lo tanto, hay que aprender y tenerlo bien sabido
que calaca siempre le cae al que anda desprevenido.
Dos mil doce
www.carlosbarberena.com
oops!
Un año muy importante para toda la ralea
por ningún motivo dejen que nos lleve la marea.
“La Catrina” anda recordando a los que no van a votar
es importante que voten, no se vayan a pasear.
–Amanda Haas
¿Prieta o Guera?
Hace tiempo me pregunto,
¿cómo era la Gran Dama?
Nos burlamos en la tierra
de la que tiene gran fama.
¿Era alta o chaparrita,
tenía curvas o era gordita?
No me atrevo a hechar piropos
a mi Chula Huesudita.”
www.brandonmaldonado.com
De la ubre federal
le gusta mamar y dar topes
no quiere los reglamentos,
mas le encantan los billones.
El becerro quiere leche,
hay que darle de beber.
¡Quiero, pienso pa’ mi vaca!,
¿Cuándo lo van a saciar?
Los trucos que usa el Gobe
para conseguir su fin.
El hombre es ufano, ubicuo
y cuando le conviene usa –oops!
Se llevó la Catrina
al que quería ser Catrín.
¡Vamos a Votar!
9
C A L AV E R i t a s
de Doña Lucia Bolanos
Un fantasma me dijo
Si no te portas bien
Te voy a dar una zumba
Y te me vas a la tumba.
Un día estaba lloviendo
Y que se viene un ciclón
Pero cuando llegue a mi casa…
No era mi casa!!
Era el panteón!!!
Cuando tienes un problema
La cabeza se te pone dura
Y si no se te compone
Te lleva a la sepultura.
–Elva Pérez Treviño
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
CA LA VE RI TA
10
Pa’ las del “Esperanza Center”
La huesuda anda buscando
alguien con quien tener “fun”;
le dijeron que allá en la Esperanza
hay chamacas de a montón.
Se quedó con el ojo cuadrado,
al mirar tanta dulce belleza
y entre tantas chicuelas, la ingrata
nunca pudo asentar cabeza.
No perdió tiempo la ingrata,
pa’ pronto y a paso veloz
se arrancó con todo y los huesos,
jorongo, guitarra y su voz.
Ahora en el panteón solita
baila al son de un huapango,
recordando que allá en la esperanza
las chicas la siguen esperando.
–Adriana Netro
“Al Muerto le dió frio” –un cuentecito
La noche muy fría, el recién enterrado dejó el cementerio y se fué a casa a pie.
Esperándolo nadie, dormió feliz en su cama de muerte.
Como su muerte fue violenta y inesperada, no se dió cuenta que había sido balaciado
por un hombre celoso y con gran rencor. Se iba a su bar favorito y tomaba solo, ningun
amigo le saludaba o platicaban con él, como si fuera invisible.
Con cada noche, la mesa llena de botellas, le entraba una tristeza y un presentimiento
ominoso y espantoso y le entraba un frío profundo, hasta los huesos.
Una noche, un buen amigo lo vió, y se sentó con él despues de un abrazo. El muerto le
contó de su tristeza y pesar. Su amigo le contó que hacian dos semanas que un hombre lo
mató cuando dormía. Hasta ese momento realizó que habia muerto.
Sonrió y dío gracias al amigo y con faz de serenidad se fué desvaneciendo y
nunca fué visto más.Y colorín, colorado, este cuento se a acabado.
–Anna Marie Sánchez
Estaba comiendo chile
Y se me atoró una raja
Pa’ cuando me di cuenta
Ya estaba yo en la mortaja.
Dice Pepita que un día
Cuando venía de la escuela.
Oyó que alguien gritaba
Y no ¡Pues que era su abuela!
La muerte la iba arrastrando
Y la metió en la cajuela.
Cuando era yo chiquita
Corria por todo el barrio
Y mi abuela me decia.
Mija llevate el Rosario
Que si te encuentra la muerte
Puede llevarte al calvario.
Si tienes una tristeza y
Te metes en un cajón
Para cuando te des cuenta
Te encuentras en el panteón.
Elva Pérez
Treviño
20
12
La Voz de Esperanza
Estaban todos los Dreamers armando un relajo
la huesuda llegó y a todos se los llevó detajo.
Todos asustados y temerosos –no se reianpero la pelona, ¡ahhh como se divertía¡.
Al poco rato el miedo se les quitó
y la Panchita se les arrimó
pero, cuando se enteraron
desde el oscuro lugar
que su sueño se realizó.
Fué tanto el desmadre que se armó
que hasta la huesuda se asustó
y a toditos los regresó
para seguir realizando su sueño.
A ella la adoro por ser tan divina
Compongo éstos mis versos
Aunque les parezcan perversos
La calaca tiene tilica la fama
A mi no me importa
la flaca fama de la dama
Vino en hora buena y se lo pilló
Ese villano se humilló
Reina de los muertos eres bella
Ahora te doy una estrella
–Elvia Niebla
–“Amokimous”
20
12
–Norma Cantú
–Laura Rendón
En San Anto se decía
Que llegó feliz la Flaca
Murmuraba, se sacudía,
Sus huesos como matracas.
–Veronica Castillo
¿Qué buscaba la Calaca?
¡A políticos honrados!
En el caos ella aplaca
A fulanos bien sentados
De pronto salió Joaquin
O a lo mejor fué Julian
“Aqui te agarro chiquitin,”
Se dijo con gran afán,
Obama and Romney were talking
about the future election
“the voters are ready to tell us;
they’re gonna make the selection”
“Ya veras que me muevo;
Espérame un ratitito,
Que primero me llevo
a uno de los Cuatitos.”
The voters were cold and undecided
They didn’t like the voter I.D.,
Didn’t like the immigration proposals,
Didn’t like the economy’s lead.
Mitt Romney se unió a la lucha
Y sonriéndose preguntó,
“¿Qué no me quieres flacucha?”
Y con el dedo apuntó.
Calaca was watching the news
when something caught her attention.
It said that Romney and Obama
would have a big confrontation.
I have my ballot, said calaca
my vote the winner will have;
No need to worry, my fellas
you’ll know my favorite one.
Everyone saw when calaca
dropped the vote in the can.
Both candidates were excited.
Both wanted to be her no. 1 fan.
This candidate is now in heaven
or maybe he is just in hell.
Truth is that calaca is enjoying him
that, everyone knows well!!
–Yeska, ASARO Arts Collective
La Señora Cegadora se encontraba con dolor
supo que estaba en San Anto un joven acupunturista.
“Con su terapia y agujas quíteme este dolor”
“no por hacerle un desaire, usted ha de comprender
le falta carnita en sus huesos para las agujas sostener”.
Llena de ira y dolor Calacas se lo llevó,
se lo llevó hasta la China y nunca jamás él volvió.
“Escucha mis dientes,
Politicos honrados,”
Dijo la Muerte sonriente,
“Buscaré por otro lados.”
–Enrique Sánchez
–Norma E. Cantú
Su destino fué plantar e ir con la naturaleza.
Lo que sale de la tierra lo aceptó como proeza.
Cultivaba toda planta que caía en su poder y con
gusto él lo hacía de mañana al atardecer,
Se topó con “La Catrina” cuando él andaba regando y
del susto la bañó cuando ella venia cantando ;
“Me arruinaste mi vestido y también mi maquillaje,
ahora me toca a mí llevarte en un largo viaje”.
–Enrique Sánchez
– adriana netro
Y que se le ocurre a Norma
este año jubilarse
la nación ya se transforma
vimos a veinte graduarse
Su cometido ha cumplido
de doctorar dos decenas
de estudiantes cometidos
a romper nuestras cadenas
¿Cómo en grande celebrar
a grandiosa profesora?
¿Cómo podemos hablar
de nuestra amiga y mentora?
Sonavera by
Rita Urquijo-Ruiz
Ya que le encantan las fiestas
un convivio organizamos
en un simposio de testas
así todo comenzamos
Sus estudiantes brillantes
abrieron el gran evento
cerró un corrido galante
todo mundo bien contento
Vinieron de todos lados
A hablar bien de su influencia
La Doctora Aída Hurtado
Hizo sentir su presencia
Norma Alarcón se lució
Hablando de las tejanas
“—Ni modo,” nos recordó,
así son nuestras hermanas
Para hacerle su homenaje
Nos reunió El Esperanza
Esa noche tal paisaje
Se llenaba de añoranza
En la fiesta que siguió
Rusty y Coquis nos cantaron
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA Nov 2012 • Vol. 25 Issue 9 • Page 14
La alegría no se extinguió
Hasta que se desvelaron
A las seis de la mañana
cuando todo estaba escueto
llegó corriendo la ufana
moviendo el gran esqueleto
“—Hora verás doctorcita
lo preparada que vengo
a llevarte a tu tumbita
solita yo te entretengo.”
“—N’ombre Catrina no puedo
ya me voy para el Mid-West
me espera mi nuevo ruedo
ay nos veremos después.”
– con mucho cariño
de parte de Rita E.
Urquijo-Ruiz
2012
La Voz de
Esperanza
Calavera Electoral
Graciela
G. García
Romney & Co.
Yo le pido a mi Diosito
que Obama y Rommy la piensen…
Que a los pobres inmigrantes–
que creen que ellos no sienten!!!
y muchos se van a la tumba
y en el camino retumban
Ojala que la conciencia
los haga recapacitar
Que llegue a la presidencia
el que mas sepa que dar
y eso los lleve a la Gloria
y el dia que los entierren
se oigan cuetes en su nombre
y le recuerden como un buen hombre.
-Lucia Bolanos
Romney y todos sus compinches
invocan a la Catrina
pa’ llevarse pobres, pinches
que no entran en su doctrina
El Rico Sabe a Chicken
Con el pan en la boca
los Ricos no saben lo que
es el hambre, ni la rata.
Los Pobres preguntan por qué.
La Muerte dice “no se”.
“Dreamers,” gays, viejos enfermos
pa’ fuera del porcentaje
que existen en los extremos
arruinando su mensaje
Llegó el día –los pobres se juntan
y se arman en una discusión.
www.carlosbarberena.com
Que dónde pone el Rico su pan
Que cómo se creen muy chingónes
Calavera Electoral
Que si siempre serán muy huevónes.
–Donde La Muerte, La Muy
Catrina, se lleva en un corcel
La Muerte escucha a la gente.
a un tal por cual.
Dice “quien esta presente”.
Escuchen la ideología
del millonario ratero
que compra las compañías
y las manda al extranjero
Despedir a los empleados
es lo que él más disfruta
invierte en otros mercados
su dinero es su batuta
Mira y ve sólo inocentes
Pero Catrina lo escucha
viendo sus contradicciones
porque ella es la más trucha,
le castiga sus acciones
Mexicanos y Chicanos
Los Morenos y los Indios.
“Ya se armó!” grita ella.
“Vamos asar “Stockbroker Steak”
“Wallstreet Beef” con mucha salsa.
A los Pobres les vamos dar “un break.”
A Los Ricos hay que asar.”
“—No vamos al extranjero,
tú y todos tus compinches
sino al puritito infierno,
Lucifer los hará chinches.”
La División
al cuartel de la campaña
electoral de Mitt Romney
y en vez de beber champaña
y decir ¡Viva Romney, honey!
este día seis de noviembre
de la elección presidencial
donde salta como liebre
el candidato excepcional
“Miren” dicen la Muerte
“Así se mata el hambre.
Cómanse a los muy Ricos.
De sus gustos aprovechen.
El Rico sabe a Chicken”.
–Elvia E. Niebla y
Rita E. Urquijo-Ruiz
agarra todas tus chivas
y tu sarta de mentiras
que hoy te vas al corralón
hecho huesos por cabrón
por negarle luz al Dream Act
y así pretender apagar
el sueño de tanto soñador
joven tan emprendedor”
La Muerte, La Muy Catrina,
la vemos arreando un buey
que dice que en esta vida
llamaban Mitt Romney honey
- © 2012 Francisco X. Alarcón
–Elva Pérez Treviño
Para Mitt Romney
Andamos requetemal, ¿acaso habrá solución?
los banqueros siempre gordos, nos metieron en cajón
y por poco son la causa de otra gran depression.
La prensa, televisión y medios de propaganda
dedican, por la avaricia, a destruir la Nación.
La solución es “la Dama Testaruda”,
ese conjunto de huesos que no presume hermosura.
Mitt Romney Ricachón
La Muerte, La Muy Catrina,
llega montando un caballo
del Averno de bambilas,
trotador de gran tamaño,
La Muerte, La Muy Catrina,
lo acorrala en un rincón,
y le dice ufana y ladina:
“hasta aquí llegaste, ricachón
El Mitt Romney estaba hablando
en uno de esos shows
cuando de sorpresa entró una calaca
y le preguntó: “¿Oyes Mitt Romeny,
qué negocios tienes tú
sobre mis ovarios?”
El Romney se asustó….
“A ver… ven conmigo”
le dijo la calaca
“Vamos a quitarte tu pene y…
te vamos a regalar tu propia vagina
para que sepas como se siente…
A ver si te da vergüenza…
de andar metiendote donde no te pertenece.
A ver cómo te gusta, ¡cuando el gobierno
se meta en la tuya!
–Enrique Sánchez
-Yeska, ASARO Arts Collective
Los mellizos
–Dolores Zapata Murff
Muy ufanos los Gemelos fueron a la gran reunión,
los escogió su partido por poseer gran tesón.
El presidente nombró al que tenemos de alcalde;
demócratas están de acuerdo y todo está bien padre.
Calacas anda chiflada y hasta se vistió con moño.
Aprovecha la ocasión, representa a San Antonio,
mas su interés son los Cuates y los quiere sin encono
–Enrique Sánchez
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA Nov 2012 • Vol. 25 Issue 9 • Page 13
A mi Santi querido
Santiaguito, Santiaguito, la muerte hiciste correr
Eres todo un diablito que a tu madre hiciste ver
Lo precioso de esta vida que jamás es aburrida
Pues la tristeza rondaba mientras yo a ti te esperaba.
Me regresaste los bríos en momentos muy sombríos
Y agradezco al infinito te mandara, mi angelito.
Eres todo mi universo, mi pequeño tan bonito
Y por eso en un ratito, te dedico este mi verso.
–Rocio Delgado
Pa’ que te cuides mi Fer!
Todo el tiempo se quejaba mi querido Don Fernando
Porque todo le dolía y achacoso siempre andaba
Hasta que por fin un día, la huesuda contrariada
Mientras mucho trabajaba, se lo llevó a la fregada.
Se quedó Fercho muy quieto, cuando llegó el esqueleto
“No te asustes Fernandito,” dijo la Parca quedito
“Que vamos al cementerio pa’que descanses en serio.”
Y derechito cargando se lo llevó al camposanto
Mientras su amada en un grito lo despedia con llanto.
–Rocio Delgado
Costumbres-
A la Mrs. Dominguez
En el rincón de mi escuela cumplo a diario mi deber
Pero ponganme una esquela pues veneno he de beber
Si no pasan mis alumnos el examen estatal
Pues entonces se suponen que soy maestra fatal
Y despues de cuestionar mi etica profesional
A la muerte han de mandar a mi distrito escolar
Morir en pena
Así que a la sepultura
Se le mandó con dulzura
Pues a la calavera no la llevan a bailar
Ella te lleva hasta tu altar
Donde le celebraremos a la flaca su hazaña
Que a nadie le daña
Primero publicaremos en La Voz éstos mis versos
A los que les he puesto muchos esfuerzos
Luego con chocolate, atole caliente y pan
Gran fiesta harán
Para darte las gracias flaquita fría
Porque le diste su pilón un buen día
El que es villano se le lleva a la fosa
Ahí lo acostamos con esa moza hermosa
Y los que quedamos vivos
Nos sentimos divos
Sabemos como moraleja lo afortunados que “semos”
Así que bien nos portaremos
– “Amokimous”
No se le fue la pista
Ella era muy lista
No necesito chaperón
para la conquista
El fue presa
De su propia cabeza
Pensando que era intocable
La flaca le dio con su sable
Hay chula huesuda
Sí que eres aguda
En la última hora
No das demora
Y nadie te engaña
Pues tienes maña
De karma vestida
Llévatelo a tu guarida
Allá en el cementerio
Te llevaré el salterio
Celebraremos tu hazaña
Hasta por la mañana –“Amokimous”
Sin embargo me pregunto,
¿qué es realmente lo importante?
¿Tener buenos resultados o una mente brillante?
Así en lugar de estresarme por un número sacar
Con la calaca yo bailo y me enfoco en enseñar.
Revisemos prioridades y hagamonos recordar
Que es nuestro objetivo ver a los niños triunfar.
–Rocio Delgado
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • Nov 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
¿Quién niega que’l menudo no es bueno pa’ la cruda?
¿que el olor y el sabor de una tortilla recién
salida del comal no tiene comparación?.
Con tuétano en la tortilla ¿quién rehusa ese taco?
gorditas rellenas de lo que gusten; chicharrones,
carnitas, frijoles de la olla, un altero de tortillas
acompañados de su salsa picante. Y pa’ cerrar
con broche de oro, un chocolate espumoso con pan
de dulce y también reposteria ¿por qué no?
así me quiero ir y, si viene por mi “La Catrina”,
estoy dispuesto a compartir con ella.
–Enrique Sánchez
Fué su condena
15
TAMUK Calaveras
Texas A&M University @ Kingsville
Kingsville
La Calaca Flaca
Entre San Anto y el Valle
Cerca de Corpus Christi,
- el cuerpo de Cristo / Body of Christ?
Un área que tal vez causa temor
Un área conocida
Por lo que ha sucedido
Los que tienen poder
Opresores de la gente
Bandidos
La tierra robada
La cultura y la lengua
Por pronto se acaba.
–Norma Guzmán
La calaca flaca a dieta
nunca engordará
porque aunque le traigan
comida frita
sus arterias no se taparán.
¡Calaca anoréxica!
¡Calaca de hueso eres!
¡Quién fuera tú
que flaca se queda
aunque tu carne muera!
–Erika Gutiérrez Campos
www.brandonmaldonado.com
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
“Tenure Track”
16
Cada año, tratando de continuar
Parece que el trabajo nunca va acabar.
Hasta que el día llega Parece que ya no se puede aguantar a
Cada año tener que presentar,
Investigar y reportar,
Siguiendo a enseñar
Los alumnos llenan los SRIs
Los profesores se ponen a revisar
Los portafolios se tienen que entregar
Tal vez podremos avanzar
Otro año mas…
–Norma Guzmán
Ah! Bendita mamacita
A veces contenta
Y a todas, mortal
¿Por qué me persigues tanto
Si ni siquiera fuí aval?
Ya sé que andas tras de mí
Pero seguiré corriendo
Y no por el miedo, entiende
Tengo todavía quehacer
De buenas me das un beso
de malas con un tropiezo
en el corazón y rezo
que no me quiebres los huesos
sobre un charco o un panal
Si me llegas a alcanzar
por el oscio que te invade
Me llevarás no sin antes
Llevarte un moquete fuerte
y hasta un puñal en la frente
‘pa que sepas qué se siente.
Ruben Olague
A.D.O.B.E.
A Doctorate Organization in Bilingual Education
Bonito nombre que llama la atención de la Huesuda
“Qué es eso?” pregunta con duda
“Sal de aquí”, Mónica ordena con voz aguda.
“A mí no me hables así, muchachita
Mejor quiero, de este grupón, ver al Presidente
Este nombre, Adobe es mío, dijo ella, repelente:
“Asociación de Diablitos Ordenados por la Batalla Eterna”
“No, señora Hueso, sálgase de aquí”, dice Armando!
La Calaca y la Muerte, por ahí pasaban con la Catrina
Y al Presidente se llevaron al otro mundo
En Huesuda convirtieron a Mónica
–Julien Ekiaka
Guzman y su T.A. a Harlingen
Día soleado, en un coche rentado
La Profesora Guzmán me lleva sentado
De Kingsville a Harlingen, camino embrujado.
Los alumnos –y nosotros como en un ataúd cerrado–
Preguntones y enojados por la tarea, caminaron descalzos.
Alertada, la Calaca apareció y les dió chanclazos
La profesora defendió a sus alumnos con zapatazos,
Pero pasó la muerte y a todos nos dió riflazos.
“Por revoltosos e inquietos”, dijo la Muerte
Al panteón, llevó aún al más fuerte
Nadie sobrevive ni por suerte:
Eso es el destino de la gente”
–Julien Ekiaka
Tatiana de la Tierra
We remember our dear friend
and fierce voice who moved
amongst us for too short a
time. She touched all who
knew her; my own life is
better for having known her
smile and her generous heart.
This poem is dedicated to her
memory. –Norma Cantú
Fierce fighter, amiga,
Your marvelous presence like the mountains
Of your home in the heart of Colombia
Came to me in spurts amidst the conference
Chaos of el Mundo Zurdo, MALCS. NACCS. And I
Seek only to be at peace with who you were,
who you are,
To know the whole of life at the core of your
Woman-loving heart;
You labored in the fields of books
Of words, of stories, of an indefatigable
Search for peace,
And tranquility,
An equipoise like no other.
In your presence and in your deep gaze
A sea navigable only in your raft of love,
Those who loved you live embraced
In your absence
By the totality of life
The totality of death.
Jim Isaman
Stella Marroquin
Jim Isaman
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
In 1986, I was a freshman in colle ge when I met Jim Isaman. He was the first
gay person I had ever met and the first person I came out to. I was an insecure 17
year old, struggling with multiple identities. When I finally got the guts to come
out, I came to him with excitement as well as trepidation. I worried that he didn’t
believe me; that he was going to tell me that it was a phase. When I told him that I
was gay, he let out an excited yell and he gave
me the biggest hug telling me, “welcome to
the family!”
Keith Haring
A kind and sweet man, he was very
active in the burgeoning LGBT community in San Antonio. I was immediately attracted to his
sense of community, his vision of a united “queerdom” (his word) and his belief that love and
humor can make a difference. He influenced me to get active in the LGBT community and
accompanied me as I started becoming an activist. He joined me in organizing the first gay
group on campus. He was there as I became more active in city and state-wide groups. He was
a mentor, a roommate, and my brother. Jim went to school to be an architect but left before his
last semester when he found out he had AIDS. That was in 1989, during in the height of AIDS
fear, discrimination and hysteria. He was afraid to tell me he had AIDS, although I knew he was
sick. With fear in his eyes, he told me he had AIDS. I hugged him and said, “You are family,
remember!” We cried and laughed that evening. It was one of the best moments of my life.
He tackled his new life with AIDS with hope, creativity and love. He called himself a
“professional guinea pig” since he was one of the first people to be put on AZT. It took an
hour every morning, noon and evening for him to take his medications, supplements and
concoctions. In 1990, the odds of Jim dying from AIDS within a year of diagnosis was almost
a given. But his full-time job was to beat AIDS. Although he was very sick and in the hospital
many times, he outlived his parents, and most friends with AIDS. He outlived Reagan, which
was a source of pride. He died in 2009 but he beat AIDS –with an infectious laughter, with
passion for truth and justice, with strength and he beat AIDS with love.
– Dulce Benavides (originally published in the theatlantic.tumblr.com)
17
Para Franco Ontiveros. QEPD
Aquí te escribo una calavera
–que te mando de esta dimensión,
entre la risa y el miedo, el agua,
el viento, el sol y el fuego
te recuerdo a ti.
Juntos fuimos embajadores del arte,
en tu querido San Anto.
Te estacionabas en un sitio y
te despedías: “Thank you for coming”...
En cada fiesta y evento cargabas
tu encendedor y fumabas.
A mi me pegaba el patatús y
me decías, “Tu dale manita, tu dale,
¡Y si no quieren, pos no les des!”
Es cierto, Franco, la amistad
es para siempre como los recuerdos.
Como tú te fuiste, también
se fue el gran club de Saluté.
Entré y te vi, todavía allí
–en el altar con otros amigos,
que viven contigo en el más allá…
Esteban cantando – Randy y sus blues
–Los huevos rancheros de Manny
y Chuck Ramírez, too!
Nos nombraste “la raza sin casa”–
tú y yo siempre juntos.
Aquel tiempo que nos fuimos a “los tracks”
manejaste de reversa y aún
nos empujaron los fantasmas
y la risa nos atacaba.
Como dice el chant,
“Aquí estamos y no nos vamos”
“La raza sin casa” –arriba en el cielo.
– Mariana Vásquez
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Ofrenda to my Father: Ernesto T. Zapata
18
Ernie, that’s what I called my dad. –I WON, daddy! I WON…
the right to honor you and myself with our name. You once told
me: “Mija, when it comes down to it…all you really have in the
end is your name and your honor.”
When I was told by Texas A&M officials at San Antonio,
“NO, you cannot use your maiden name on your diploma” it was
like another blow in my gut. “No, they said, because Zapata is not
on your driver’s license. And, therefore, not your legal name...” I
took them my birth certificate and explained to them that –if they
wanted to go that route…neither was my
first name, Maria!
Back and forth we went
–seems like it never ends. I
told them about my past,
being from the generation
that got our mouths washed
out with soap if we dared to
speak Spanish. I told them
about the kid on the bus
who spit out the window as I
exited and called me a greasy
Mexican. I told them how
our gringa teachers changed
our names. I told them I
had been discriminated against all my life, for being of Mexican
descent and now for being a woman. I told them I would NOT
allow them to continue to discriminate against me. I told them I
paid the tuition, I earned the degree and for that matter the diploma
and that I would have my maiden name on it even if I had to file a
lawsuit. “But our policy….” they said. I told them that it sounded
to me like they were closing ranks when they told me it was in the
best interests of the University to not allow me to use my name. I
told them their policy reeked of cultural discrimination and gender
bias. In the end they agreed to allow it. I got it in writing from the
VP and CFO of Admissions. Conmigo no chingan…¡no con esta
mujer! Soy fuerte y estoy bien educada.
Dad– I will have my name and I have had your wise words and
guidance to thank. In December I will have Dolores Zapata Murff
on the diploma from Texas A & M even if it is NOT on my license.
And, I know you paid me a visit. I felt your presence when I heard
a duet “Somos Novios” on the ALMA awards –you sang that song
on my wedding day in 1974. La lucha continues, dad.
Note: Maria Dolores Baray Zapata Murff, formerly a board member of
the Esperanza and the MujerArtes cooperative, will graduate with an
M.A. in Counseling and will work towards licensure as a Psychotherapist
focusing on the LBGTQ population and people with severe mental illness.
Her parents, Amelia Baray Zapata and Ernesto T. Zapata raised her in
San Antonio.
During the 1990s and early
2000s, Ann Atwell delighted in
occasional Elder Hostel travel on
November 9, 1921 – July 24, 2012
three continents – easily making
friends, some of whom came to
visit her in S.A. She kept up lively correspondence and advocacy through countless
letters to legislators, presidents and on behalf of prisoners of conscience.
Her maternal ancestors migrated from New England to Eagle Pass, Texas, in
the late 19th century. The matriarch of the family’s stately many-galleried house on
a bluff overlooking the Rio Grande was Ann’s grandmother. [picture the scenery
and the era of Like Water for Chocolate] Ann passed much of her childhood on the
frontera. Her mother, briefly married to a military officer stationed nearby, worked
as a dietician in distant cities, earning a living and saving for Ann who was mostly raised by aunts in Alamo Heights/San
Antonio. Dr. Edith Bonnet was a respected physician and Esther Bonnet was a social worker who was founding director of
the Family Service Association of San Antonio. Ann loved to tell stories of camping adventures and driving across the U.S.
and Mexico with her aunt Esther and her life-long partner, Bert. In the late 1980s, Ann became willing caregiver for her.
By her early 20s, Ann had moved away and had started wearing many hats of her own. From the requisite gloves and
dainty, dressy hats of the 50s, Ann’s style became what was simple and functional. Her practical headgear ranged from
colorful indigenous knit caps to broad-brimmed straw hats she wore as she marched in protests and peace vigils –a constant
presence on behalf of nonviolence, human rights and environmental/social justice.
She trained at the pioneering settlement house for immigrants and working poor folk, Chicago’s Hull House and
developed skills in Spanish for service in rural Paraguay and Aguascalientes, Mexico, under a Protestant church’s
sponsorship. Upon returning to Texas––she worked as staff director for the Girl Scouts and in Appalachia she continued
her commitment to voluntary simplicity and living in community on a small stipend. She was assigned by Volunteers in
Education and Social Services to Catholic inner city parishes in Houston and San Antonio assisting the elderly, children and
economically disadvantaged with necessities and access to greater participation as community members and citizens.
Now back to those interchangeable “hats” Ann wore daily from the early 80s until Alzheimer’s brought her activist days
to a close and she entered nursing care. Among the many groups she worked with were: Amnesty International, Audubon
Society, League of Women Voters, Refugee Aid Project, Nature Conservancy, NE Bexar Co. Democrats, Catholic Worker
House, Inner City Development, Visitation House for Women and Children, Esperanza Peace and Justice Center, Bread
for the World, CROP, Church Women United, NE Senior Assistance Coop and many more. As a
committed non-consumerist and a competent, compassionate social worker and activist for social
change –Ann’s holiday shopping was always done at alternative markets––a great-niece remembers
“receiving” a goat sent to a family in Guatemala–– and yearly shopping at Esperanza’s Peace Market.
Ann is survived by an extended family of cousins and their descendants. Her distinctive living legacy
belongs to a multitude of gente who loved and respected and gained from her. Neighbor, Amiga,
Hermana! ¡Vaya con Dios, Compañera Ana! – Carloyn Atkins, August 13, 2012
Ann E. Atwell – ¡Presente!
Condolences from the
Esperanza Peace and Justice
Center staff and buena gente
to our friend and ally, Steve
Bailey, on the recent passing of
his mother, Nancy Lee Owens
Bailey, who was a founding
member of Jump-Start
Performance Co. She leaves
behind her beloved husband of
55 years, Col. Jerry T. Bailey,
USAF Ret. three children, their spouses and grandchildren.
Nancy was a teacher teaching levels from kinder through
high school and volunteered numeous hours in community
service. May she rest in peace.
Duane Albert Poole
Our deepest sympathy to former
boardmember and friend of the
Esperanza Peace and Justice
Center, Gary Poole and his
family on the recent loss of his
father, Duane Albert Poole,
who served in the Navy during
World War II and went on to
start his own small business
that grew into a huge success,
because of his dedication, integrity and hard work. His
generation represents the heyday of America. Duane
leaves behind his beloved wife, Hattie, four children, their
spouses, and grandchildren. Our thoughts are with you in
this time of transition. R.I.P.
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Nancy Lee Owens Bailey
19
La leyenda de la Hielera
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
H
20
abía una casita cerca de un monte donde vivían tres hermanitas y tres
hermanitos. El papá quedó viudo y los niños huérfanos de mamá. El padre con
un dolor en el alma tenia que dejar a los niños solitos cuando iba a trabajar. El
padre se iba a trabajar duro todos los días, viendose obligado a dejar lo niños
solitos sin bañarles o darles de comer. Los niños se entretenían jugando para
apaciguar el hambre y la ausencia de su madre a quien extrañaban con cuerpo y alma.
Un día llegó el papá del trabajo cansado y hambriento. Se sorprendió cuando entró
a la casita para encontrar que todo estaba limpio; los niños bañados y que había sabrosa
comida calientita sobre la mesa. Al abrir la hielera encontró que había leche y alimentos
para todos. El sorprendido señor muy agradecido y feliz, preguntó a los niños que quién
era responsible por la milagrosa transformación. Los niños encogieron los hombros y no
dijeron nada. El papá muy cansado y bien cenado besó a los niños y se fué a dormir.
Los niños se amontonaron en su propia cama como lo hacían cada noche y se durmieron
también.
Asi pasaron muchos meses mientras los niños crecian saludables. Cada día para cuando
Remedios Varo
llegaba el papá, los niños habían aprendido algo nuevo de números, de letras y de rezos. Le
contaban al papá de cuentos de hadas, historias de angelitos, de milagros tras milagros y
cuentos muy bonitos. La hielera siempre estaba llena. Un día regresó el papá del trabajo y
Anna Marie Sanchez, author of
encontró frente a su casita un jardín lleno de flores y verduras. Alrededor de la casita había
La Leyenda de la Hielera, was born
crisantemos de todos colores y rosas blancas y rojas y amarillas en plena floración. Nada
de esto estaba allí cuando el padre salió para el trabajo.
on the West Side of San Antonio
Pasaron tres años y en el día de los muertos, los niños cortaron flores de todas la clases
during the last century. She loves
y
colores.
Al cortar la flores, nuevas flores brotaban en las plantas. La familia llevó las
words, loves to paint, and is the
flores al cementerio y allí las arreglaron sobre la tumba de la madre. Luego le hablaron y
mother of three grown children
rezaron por ella.
and abuelita of six.
Al siguiente día el padre besó a sus hijos y partió al trabajo. Más bien eso era que él
quería que los niños creyeran, pues en realidad se escondió tras un arbusto para espiar la
casita. Dentro de la casita se oían risas y conversaciones alegres. Poco antes que cayera la
noche se abrió la puerta, los niños salieron y en el antejardín formaron un círculo. Alguien
estaba en el centro del círculo. Esta persona y los niños fueron rodedos de bellos colores
vibrantes. El papá no puedo aguantar su curiosidad; salió del escondite y se acercó al
círculo. En este él vió a su esposa en carne viva. Se miraron a los ojos en los cuales se
reflejaba el amor. Con mucho cariño
la mamá abrazó y besó a cada niño.
Luego abrazó a su marido y les
Late, pero sin ese ritmo interno
dijo a todos: “les quiero con toda el
–causa de la música de tu amor.
alma y corazón pero ya me voy a
Me sostiene, por el momento
descansar en paz. Síganse amando
dándome vida –el motor de mi cuerpo.
y portandose bien. Cuiden a su papá
a quien quise y sigo queriendo aún
En su espacio –completamente vacío
después de la muerte. El me dió el
corren mis tristes lágrimas
regalo de su amor y unos hermosos
–color rojo, llenas de dolor.
hijos”. Poco a poco su imagen se
fué desvaneciendo hasta no verse
Su alma –se largó…
más. Al fin le contaron los niños
por culpa de la decepción.
al padre el motivo por el cual no le
habían dado una explicación de los
Corriendo con lo más mínimo de energía,
milagros en la casa. Le dijeron que
–me lo arrancó y te lo entregó.
su mamá les advirtió que el día en
¿Para qué me sirve este corazón calavera?
que su esposo la viera ya no iba a
Tal vez sí…, tal vez no…
poder regresar. Aún así, les dejaba
los recuerdos de todos aquellos
Todo es cuestión de otro amor!
momentos que pasaron juntos. Y
–Caroline Rivera
colorín colorado este cuento se ha
acabado. v
Corazón Calavera
Esperanza Peace and Justice Center’s
Thursday,
November 1, 2012,
6-9 pm @ Casa de Cuentos,
816 S. Colorado
*To reserve a space for an ofrenda
honoring loved ones who
have passed, call Esperanza at
210.228.0201 before Nov. 1st
• Community Ofrendas Exhibit*
• Pan de muerto • Ponche de muerto
• Reading of calaveras • Literary
ofrendas • y musica en vivo
¡La chancluda no paraba, en mucho entierro andaba!
De aquí pa’ allá, dándole duro a la chamba
Su guadaña: ¡zip, zap!, ¡sus huesos le bamboleaban!
De hospital al cementerio, por todo el país no paraba.
¿Quién me está dando tanta chamba?
Se preguntó la dientona.
La esquelética fue con los vivos
a averiguar que pasaba,
pues era la falta de empleos, pocos salarios,
recortes a programas y despidos masivos ,
y pocos alimentos en los hogares.
Además esta contienda de Obama y Romney,
jugando con la vida del pueblo.
Sus cuencas vacías pero pispiretas los observaba,
los perseguía y los oía, su osamenta cascabeleaba.
Los acompañó por todo el país.
Ya no le hagan más al cuento,
la mera neta ya no prometan,
por que los dos valen pa’ pura... corneta,
mejor en pleno debate, ¡yo les daré con el bate!
Stella Marroquin
–Araceli Herrera
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
La campaña de Obama y Romney
21
* community meetings *
Amnesty International #127
meets at various sites during the
year. Contact Arthur Dawes at 210213-5919 for details.
Anti-War Peace Vigil every Thursday (since 9/11/2001) from 4-5pm
@ Flores & Commerce Contact Tim
Duda at 210.822.4525 or timduda@aol.com
Bexar Co. Green Party info@bexargreens.org or call 210.471.1791.
Celebration Circle meets Sundays,
11am @ JumpStart at Blue Star Arts
Complex. Meditation, Weds @ 7:30
pm @ Quaker Meeting House, 7052
Vandiver. 210.533-6767
DIGNITY S.A. mass at 5:30 pm,
Sun. @ Beacon Hill Presbyterian
Church, 1101 W. Woodlawn. Call
210.735.7191.
Energia Mia meets every 3rd Sunday, 4 - 5:30pm @ Oblate School
of Theology, 285 Oblate Dr. Call
210.849.8121
Fuerza Unida, 710 New Laredo,
Hwy. 210.927.2297, www.lafuerzaunida.org
Habitat for Humanity meets 1st
Tues. for volunteer orientation, 6pm,
HFHSA Office @ 311 Probandt.
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
S.A. International Woman’s Day
March & Rally planning meetings
are underway! Check www.sawomenwillmarch.org or 210.533.2729
22
LGBT Youth Group meets at MCC
Church, 611 E. Myrtle on Sundays
at 10:30am. 210.472.3597
Metropolitan
Community
Church in San Antonio (MCCSA)
611 East Myrtle, has services &
Sunday school @ 10:30am. Call
210.599.9289.
Be Part of a
PFLAG, meets 1st Thurs @ 7pm, 1st
Unitarian Universalist Church, Gill
Rd/Beryl Dr. Call 210.655.2383.
Progressive Movement
PFLAG Español meets 1st Tuesdays @ 2802 W. Salinas, 7pm. Call
210.849.6315
Proyecto Hospitalidad Liturgy
each Thursday at 7 pm at 325
Courtland. Call 210.736.3579.
in San Antonio
¡Todos Somos Esperanza!
Start your 2012
monthly donations now!
The Rape Crisis Center, 7500
US Hwy 90 W. Hotline @ 210.3497273. 210.521.7273 or email Drominishi@rapecrisis.com
The Religious Society of Friends
meets Sundays @ 10 am @ The
Friends Meeting House, 7052 N.
Vandiver. 210.945.8456.
San Antonio’s Communist Party
USA holds open meetings 3-5 pm
2nd Sundays at Bazan Public Library
Meeting Room, 2200 W. Commerce. Contact: juanchostanford@
yahoo.com
S.A. Gender Association meets
1st & 3rd Thursdays, 6-9pm @ 611
E. Myrtle, Metropolitan Community
Church, downstairs. www.sagender.org
Shambhala Buddhist Meditation
Center classes are on Tuesdays at
7pm, & Sun. at 11:30 am. at 1114
So. St. Mary’s. Call 210.222.9303.
The Society of Latino and Hispanic Writers SA meets 2nd Mondays, 7 pm @ Barnes & Noble, San
Pedro Crossing.
S.N.A.P. (Survivors Network of
those Abused by Priests). Contact Barbara at 210.725.8329.
Voice for Animals Contact
210.737.3138 or www.voiceforanimals.org for meeting times
Esperanza works to bring awareness and action
on issues relevant to our communities. With our
vision for social, environmental, economic and
gender justice, Esperanza centers the voices and
experiences of the poor & working class, women,
queer people and people of color. We hold pláticas
and workshops; organize political actions; present
exhibits and performances and document and
preserve our cultural histories. We consistently
challenge City Council and the corporate powers of
the city on issues of development, low-wage jobs,
gentrification, clean energy and more.
It takes all of us to keep the Esperanza going. When
you contribute monthly to the Esperanza you are
making a long-term commitment to the movement
for progressive change in San Antonio, allowing
Esperanza to sustain and expand our programs.
Monthly donors can give as little as $5 and as much
as $500 a month or more.
What would it take for YOU to become a monthly
donor? Call or come by the Esperanza to learn how.
¡Esperanza vive! ¡La lucha sigue!
Call 210.228.0201 or email
esperanza@esperanzacenter.org for more info
Make a tax-deductible
donation.
$35 La Voz subscription
for more info call 210.228.0201
Please use my donation for the
Rinconcito de Esperanza
Notas Y Más
November 2012
The Dean’s Distinguished Lecture Series
of the The UTSA College of Pubic Policy presents Defending the Right to Vote:
Today’s Challenges with John Tanner,
former Chief of the Voting Section of the
Justice Dept’s Civil Rights Division,Nov.
1st from 5:30-7 pm at UTSA’s Aula Canaria Auditorium in the Buena Vista
Building at UTSA downtown. Contact
copp@utsa.edu or 210.458.2530.
The Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center is
proud to present an Atta Girl Production
of Detained in the Desert by Josefina Lopez October 6 through November 4at the
Guadalupe Theater, 1301 Guadalupe St.
Call 210.535.4641 or visit www.detained.
brownpapertickets.com for tickets.
Brief news items on upcoming community events.
Send info for Notas y Más to: lavoz@esperanzacenter.org
or mail to: 922 San Pedro, San Antonio, TX 78212.
The deadline is the 8th of each month.
The film documentary, Things We Don’t
Talk About: Women’s stories from the
Red Tent, by award winning filmmaker
Isadora Gabrielle Leidenfrost, PhD. will
screen at 1pm Saturday, Nov. 11th at
the San Antonio Central Library, 600
Soledad. Call Cynthia at 210.207.2500 or
check www.redtentmovie.com
The National Association of Chicana
and Chicano Scholars (NACCS)-Tejas
Poetry Prize Committee is seeking nominations for an outstanding poetry collection published in 2012 by a Tejan@ poet.
Send copies of the nominated work postmarked no later than November 15th locally to: Norma E. Cantú Dept. of English
at UTSA, One UTSA Circle, San Antonio, TX 78249.
Community Based Pedagogies, Scholarship and Activism is on Feb. 21-23, 2013.
Proposals due Dec. 1st to mas@utpa.edu.
See:www.naccs.org/naccs/Tejas.asp
Native Texan, Rudy Ch. Garcia, has a
new novel out –The Closet of Discarded
Dreams that author, Ernest Hogan, says
demonstrates how Chicano is a scientific
fiction state of being. García is a foundercontributor to www.LaBloga.blogspot.
com, the Chicano literary website. More
info on García can be found at: www.
discarded-dreams.com
Now available! A bilingual picture book
“Manuela’s
Bread
Doll”
by
María
Sevilla for Día de los
muertos. Hardcover is
$14.95 and is available
from buildingbridgesbooks@gmail.com
The S.A. Communist Party USA will
meet Sunday, Nov. 11, 3-5 pm @ the Ba- The Tejas Foco of NACCS (National
zan Library to discuss The Path Ahead Association for Chicana and Chicano
after the November Elections. (see p. 22) Studies), Chican@ Studies, ¡Ahora! on
Join us for our monthly concert series with acclaimed singer/songwriter Azul at
Saturday, Nov 17th 8pm
$5 más o menos @ Esperanza
Hays St.
Bridge
Calavera
“Calacas,” the purveyor of death
Surveyed her world of the dead.
“I need more cadavers,” she said
As she slowly drew a deep breath.
A bridge gifted to San Anto, our city
Paid for with our people’s money
With land for a park given for free!
But for the public it’s not to be.
A bridge to the underworld, she thought
Would certainly increase the population
And beautify this god awful infernal nation
Whose byways with obstacles are fraught.
Our city council in all of its wisdom
Is turning it over for a micro-brewry
Inspite of protests, petitions and fury
They’re giving it all to a high roller bum.
by Zomb-one Lady Death looked for un puente–
Something historic, sturdy and old.
There was one close by she was told
That no longer was to serve la gente.
La Katrina declared, “It’s perfect!”
–A bridge and council cadavers, to boot!
She took them off to the kingdom of soot
–A consequence of a lack of respect.
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
canciones de José Alfredo Jimenez
Special thanks to Mario
Rodríguez of Sugar Rush
for contributing catering
services at recent Noche
Azul concerts. Contact him
@ 210-863-0132.
23
LA VOZ de ESPERANZA • November 2012 Vol. 25 Issue 9•
Saturday, November 10th 7 pm
Book Premiere & Celebration of Women:
Rebozos, Poesia y Performance
with the author, San Antonio Poet Laureate,
Carmen Tafolla & special guests
Painting by Catalina Gárate García
@ Esperanza Peace & Justice Center
Esperanza
Peace and Justice
Center presents
23rd Annual
International
La Voz de Esperanza
922 San Pedro San Antonio TX 78212
210.228.0201 • fax: 210.228.0000
www.esperanzacenter.org
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