Gelman and the politics in poetry

Argentine poet Juan Gelman (1930-2014) died last month. President Cristina Fernández proclaimed three day’s of national mourning. Argentina’s flags flew at half-mast. Yet there was no state funeral for Gelman. Instead his ashes were spread in Mexico on the slopes of Popocatépetl.

Such was Gelman’s admiration for writer/poet Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1648-95) that he had asked that his ashes be spread near her childhood home in Nepantla. His widow and friends fulfilled Gelman’s request by tossing his ashes from a railroad bridge into a fast running stream.

Gelman had been living in exile in France when his daughter, son and pregnant daughter-in-law were seized by a repressive Argentina government in 1976. His son and daughter-in-law were killed; their infant child disappeared. Gelman spent 20 years in an ultimately successful search for the child. Throughout his life, he used his poetic voice to bring attention to injustice. Gelman relocated to Mexico and for many years wrote from here for Argentina’s “Página 12.”

Each time I visit the Sor Juana Museum I take a detour to that bridge. On the way is an abandoned steam locomotive. It may be the same locomotive that broke down around the turn of the 20th century leaving Mexican poet Amado Nervo (1870-1919) and other passengers stranded in Nepantla for three star-lit hours. Nervo wrote about his delight having time to walk the same streets Sor Juana had walked as a child all the while wondering which had been her house.

Amado Nervo became the Mexican ambassador to Argentina and Uruguay. When he died in Montevideo the Uruguayan president dispatched the cruiser “Uruguay” to repatriate his remains.
I asked Digs collaborator Carol Hopkins “what is it about poets — especially Latin American poets — that earns them such acclaim?” She answered by quoting other poets.

“A good poem speaks volumes in mere words,” Indian poet Meena Alexander has said. “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. In time of violence, their task is, in some way, to reconcile us to our world and to allow us a measure of tenderness and grace with which to exist.”

A British anthology of poetry published last October, “In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights,” contains poems about slavery, indigenous human rights, massacres, genocide — even the current war in Syria. The book’s editor, Helle Abelivik-Lawson, says: “Reading and writing poetry is a therapeutic way to process some of the darker aspects of humanity. That said, it’s not all doom and gloom — there are some very empowering, fun and funny poems in this book.” 

Many of Carol’s favorite poets are singer-songwriters. Harry Chapin (1942-81) often gave three concerts a day, donating 50 percent of all proceeds to world hunger programs. When asked about his commitment on a radio program, Harry answered, “Pete Seeger was asked the same question. Pete said: ‘I don’t know whether anything I’ve done has made a difference in the world.’ This said by a man who stood up for every progressive cause of the 20th century. ‘What I do know is that my commitment to those causes has allowed me to be with the people with the live eyes, live hearts, live heads and that has been its own reward.’”

Two weeks after Juan Gelman’s death, Pete Seeger (1919-2014) died. Though they used different mediums, both spent their lives in the ether of poetry, struggling for justice while enduring heroic clashes with governments that tried to silence and imprison them. Both were fortunate to live long enough to die lionized — Gelman acclaimed throughout the Spanish-speaking world; Pete Seeger invited to sing at President Obama’s inauguration — and at Occupy Wall Street.

Last Sunday, in a long ranging conversation, I asked Minneapolis-based writer/poet Alison Morse for her view on why Latin American poets gain such acclaim. She told me: “There is a tradition in Latin American poetry of having the responsibility to be the bearer of news in poetry. It’s about giving voice to things that can’t be given voice to. There is a different view of language in Latin America — it involves turning language into art. Reading poetry in the United States isn’t as important as it is here.”

Referring to Mexican poet Javier Sicilia, who ends every speech and article with a signature paragraph that begins with “Además opino …” (“Furthermore, I am of the opinion that …) followed by a listing of the political demands of the social groups he supports, Alison said, “That’s poetry!” Adding, “If he did that in the United States he’d be a Saturday Night Live skit. On the other hand people would probably love him. Maybe poets in the United States just aren’t as brave. However, there are some U.S. poets that are really proud they’ve been banned from school libraries in Arizona. Banned because they’re too political or because they have other languages in their poems, besides English.”

Perhaps it all boils down to what Max said to Liesel in the wonderful new movie The Book Thief. “Words are life.”

A universal struggle

"Probably nowhere in the world do two countries as different as Mexico and the United States live side by side," and "probably nowhere in the world do two neighbors understand each other so little." That's what Alan Riding wrote in his book "Distant Neighbors".

I thought of that book as the Caravan for Peace started in Tijuana and concluded in Washington, D.C.  The Caravan was launched by Mexico's Movement for Peace and Justice with Dignity, and a number of U.S. organizations joined in, Global Exchange foremost among them.  The month-long journey led by poet Javier Sicilia skirted along the only border where the First World meets the Third World.  Upon reaching the Gulf of Mexico the Caravan turned northeast to Houston, on to Atlanta, and from there it went north to Chicago, east to New York and south to Baltimore and Washington.  

The Caravan had five themes: stop arms trafficking from the U.S. to Mexico, stop the drug war initiated forty years ago by President Nixon, stop the laundering of drug money, refocus U.S. foreign aid to social programs, and make U.S. immigration policy more humane. 

Two busses with the Caravan name and emblem on their sides, one in English the other in Spanish, led the procession of cars, vans, and campers on the 6,000 mile journey through twenty-six cities.  Most of the riders were people who had lost family members to the war on drugs.  Others joined in support.  Some people made the whole trip, others joined along the way for as long as they had time available.

Meetings were held in churches, in university auditoriums, on the steps of government buildings, and in public parks.  Members of the Caravan gave their testimonies. The hosts gave theirs. The effects of the war on drugs on both sides of the border were searing and evident.  Marches linked symbolic and historic places. 

I joined the Caravan at Riverside Church in uptown Manhattan across the street from Ulysses Grant's Tomb.  Javier Sicilia, a leader of the Justice and Peace Caravan, referred to Grant as a president with a strong Mexican connection. As a young U.S. Army officer he had fought in the Mexican-American War.  Yet in his memoirs Grant wrote of that war as a massive land grab.  “For myself, I was bitterly opposed to the measure, and to this day regard the war, which resulted, as one of the most unjust ever waged by a stronger against a weaker nation. It was an instance of a republic following the bad example of European monarchies, in not considering justice in their desire to acquire additional territory.”  In Mexico school children learn that Mexico lost half its territory in the "North American Invasion".  Interestingly, over the entrance of Grant's Tomb are inscribed the words "Let Us Have Peace."  

At the conclusion of the presentations, speeches, and remarks I heard at Riverside Church, hundreds of participants gathered outside for a candlelight march to St. Cecilia's Church in the heart of Harlem.  We walked past the Apollo Theater along streets with names of people who had also demanded changes: Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard, Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard, Malcom X Boulevard. 

At the City University of New York, documentary filmmaker Eugene Jarecki presented parts of his film "The House I Live In", this year's Best Documentary at the Sundance Film Festival.  With all of it set in the United States, the film's theme is to treat drug addiction as a public health issue, not a criminal issue. 

Another U.S. president stuck in my mind on the Caravan. President Dwight D. Eisenhower is credited with establishing the Interstate and Defense Highway System -- known as today's Interstates -- that the Caravan's busses drove on.  He promoted a highway network paid with Defense Department funds that would further defense and at the same time serve the people right at home.  How much commerce travels over those highways today? 

It was heartening that in Washington members of the caravan met with members of both houses of Congress, with Maria Otero, the Undersecretary of State for Human Rights, and with leaders of various churches.  Memorable to me is that at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial we met with the Council of Elders of the 20th Century Civil Rights Movement.  Bernice Johnson Reagon, founder and vocalist of the music group Sweet Honey on the Rock told us "your struggle is our struggle, your victory is our victory" and she added, "wherever you go you must sing, and you must say your name so the air will know you are there." At that event she sung for us, and then shouted, "I am Bernice!" and the Elders shouted "Yeah!"  Around the big circle we went, each shouting our name and everyone responding with "Yeah!"  To all at the rally we were no longer anonymous -- we had names -- symbolic of the Caravan on which Mexicans and USns had been embracing and sharing their stories for a month.  I think people on both sides of the border got to know each other a bit better through the Caravan. I wish Alan Riding had been there to see it.

Bishop Sergio Mendez Arceo

Thirty-one years ago April 17 fell on Friday of Holy Week.  Bishop Sergio Mendez Arceo led the Good Friday Mass.  Sitting in a pew in Cuernavaca’s cathedral that day I couldn't foresee the long lasting effect his words would have.

Don Sergio, as he was affectionately known, was comfortable in his setting, a sanctuary he had designed. And he was comfortable with his congregation; he had been their bishop for almost thirty years. 

Though the cathedral building had been completed in 1552, Mendez Arceo led the remodeling of the sanctuary with tasteful mid-twentieth century modernity.  He often said that without "clutter" the church could get down to the basics of what Christian life is all about in a simple and austere cathedral. His thinking was very much in tune with the cathedral’s original Franciscan design.  With changes to the interior, Mendez Arceo transformed the old sanctuary into a liturgically correct cathedral for contemporary needs. 

Likewise he was in tune with contemporary social needs. 

He was a leader in Latin America's contribution to world-wide Christianity, the Theology of Liberation.  It's a theological model based heavily on the books of the Old Testament in which the prophets so frequently tell their kings that what they were doing was evil and offensive to God.  

Mendez Arceo, like other theologians of liberation, believed that it is the role of the Church to speak out on behalf of those whose voice is rarely heard -- especially the poor and the oppressed. 

For his followers and admirers he was a Bishop of the Poor. For his detractors he was the Red Bishop of Cuernavaca. Yet all knew that he always treated liturgy with utmost respect and followed cannon law to the letter. 

Detractors and admirers alike were stunned by what he did thirty-one years ago today at that Good Friday Mass.  Before walking the aisle to the altar area Don Sergio took the microphone, welcomed the congregation, and then told us that he expected the ceremony would last much longer than we had expected -- perhaps three or four hours!  He asked anyone who did not have three or four hours to spend with him to please leave because all exits would soon be closed.  He told us where the restrooms were located but added that going to the restroom was not going to be a way to slip out of the church building.  All access to the outside would be locked.  Some people did get up and leave.

Only after the massive doors were bolted shut did he tell us he was going to carry out an excommunication ceremony.  I'd never been to one before and have never been to one since.  He described the severity of the ceremony, what those to be excommunicated would have to do to return to communion with the Church, and what would befall them if they participated in the sacrament of communion while excommunicated.  

He proceeded to excommunicate anyone who tortured another human being in the Diocese of Cuernavaca, the only area over which he held jurisdiction, whether in a government building, the back set of a police car, or in a family home. He mentioned no names and to me his decree seemed to have no teeth -- but that lasted only a few moments. 

Then he issued a decree that reverberated throughout Mexico and was heard in Christian circles worldwide.  He went on to excommunicate all people in government who knew torturing was occurring, who could stop it, but who chose to do nothing. 

The Don Sergio Mendez Arceo Foundation which carries his name honors similar courage in speaking out against abuses and injustices by giving out two human rights prizes each year close to April 17.  The 2012 awards will be presented this Friday.  This year marks the twentieth anniversary of Don Sergio's death as well as the twentieth awarding of the prize.

The group prize will be awarded to Citizens in Support of Human Rights (CADHAC) of Monterrey which offers effective legal assistance to victims of human rights violations.     

The individual prize will be given to Javier Sicilia for his work since 1980 on behalf of human rights and being a bridge between social classes.   Through poetry, news analysis and theological commentary his voice is heard by sectors of society that normally don't interact with each other. 

Friday’s events will start with a Human Rights Forum in the Federal District's Human Rights Commission headquarters at 9:30 a.m.   The keynote speaker will be The Reverend José Luis César Pérez Guzmán of the Mexican Methodist Church.  The awards themselves will be given out at 4 p.m. at the San Pedro Martir church in Tlalpan, D.F. where Bishop Raul Vera of Saltillo, Coahuila will be one of the speakers.  I will be at both the forum and the awards ceremony and will be glad to translate for those needing it.  I hope to see you there.

Further details are available at <http://www.fundaciondonsergio.org/esp/inicio/inicio.html>.  Round trip transportation from Cuernavaca is available through the Don Sergio Foundation. 

Cruising the Castle's interior

Last Tuesday was the anniversary of the heroic defense of Chapultepec Castle by the Niños Heroes on September 13, 1847.  Though an important event which has shaped Mexico's thought, there are many more reasons to visit that historic place.  

The hill on which the Castle is built was known as Grasshopper Hill, sacred to the Aztecs, a favorite retreat of their emperors; its spring a source of water for Tenochtitlan, later to be Mexico City. Mexicans use the Nahuatl derived word for grasshoppers -- chapulin; hence Chapultepec -- rather than the Spanish saltamontes -- hill jumper.  

In 1785 Viceroy Bernardo de Galvez built what was to be the first component of a sprawling Castle that has grown as it has gone through different uses.  During two extended periods it housed the Military Academy; for more than 50 years the Presidential residence, and since 1944 the National History Museum.  

Despite the Castle’s extensive history, it has become identified with French imposed Emperor Maximilian and Empress Carlotta even though Maximilian did not build the Castle and only lived there a brief two years. Chapultepec is the only Royal Castle in North America used to actually house sovereigns.

In keeping with Mexico's museumography the displays are excellent and follow a theme.  Once inside the building you'll choose a route to follow.   One area contains National History exhibits.  As to be expected there are swords and military uniforms, but exhibits of historical periods also go into surprising depth. Murals by O’Gorman, Orozco, and Siquieros are history lessons in themselves.  Another route takes you through the living quarters portion of the Castle looking northeast along Paseo de la Reforma.  As palatial as any European castle, and kept in excellent condition, the rooms are decorated as they were by different occupants.  Some are as Maximilian and Carlotta may have used them, others furnished as they were when Porfirio Diaz lived in them; the last room is furnished as it was under President Lazaro Cardenas.  Cardenas felt it inappropriate for a revolutionary president to be living in such opulence and moved the official residence to Los Pinos, also located in Chapultepec Park.   

Over the years The Castle has gained prestige as a setting for dialog.  Is the open feeling of the glass enclosed space with the buffering effect of the forest and the secure feeling at the top of the promontory conducive to understanding?  The 1992 Chapultepec Peace Accord put an end to the civil war in El Salvador.  This year meetings have been hosted in the Castle for dialog between the movement headed by Javier Sicilia and the highest ranking members of both the executive and legislative branches of the federal government. 

Most visitors walk a wide path that spirals around the hill and soon has them above tree level looking out over Chapultepec forest, the largest urban park in Latin America.   A few visitors with special needs or VIP status are allowed to ride the elevator from the base of the hill and step out inside the Castle at the top. 

I rode that elevator once -- in the company of a U.S. high-school student with extensive knowledge of the 1846-47 war and a desire to see the parapet where Juan Escutia jumped to his death.  Remembering my previous visit on a windy day, when the French doors in the residential palace area were banging between the walls and the ends of chains attached to their doorknobs, we took forty rubber doorstoppers purchased from a street vendor on Tacuba street.  Once inside the building I asked to see the director of the museum.  "Not available," we were told, "perhaps later."  Upon finishing our visit I asked again and got the same reply.  I told the security guard I'd try another day, and that the reason for my query was to make a gift to the museum. 

Benjamin Weems, his aunt and I proceeded to walk down the long exit path.  Just as we reached the bottom a guard came running down the walkway calling after us.  In the absence of the Director, the Administrator would see us!  We were hustled, like dignitaries, through a tunnel, to the elevator, escorted by two guards to the Administrative Offices.  Perhaps they thought I had a valuable artifact to contribute.  I suddenly was struck by the possibility the administrator might think my doorstops irreverent or worse, irrelevant and a waste of his time.   With some trepidation we were ushered into the presence of the Administrator where I had to finally open my bag and present my matching rubber doorstops.  I was afraid that what had seemed like such a wonderful idea would appear to be mere silliness.  

The Administrator betrayed neither amusement nor annoyance.  He expressed appreciation and charmingly explained that rubber doorstops, made in China, would not be in keeping with 19^th century doors; he agreed that something along their lines was necessary and graciously accepted our gift. 

Benjamin maintained perfect decorum until we were once again descending the walkway and were out of earshot of the guards.  The three of us broke into relieved and sustained laughter.  Since then we have referred to this visit as the Doorstop Caper.

I highly recommend a visit to this enchanting Castle.  If you go, please let me know if rubber doorstoppers are in place, or even better a 19^th century rendition.

The pioneer of Spanish grammar

Queen Isabella’s explorations started a process of conquering this hemisphere with the sword; Antonio de Nebrija (1441-1522) solidified that victory with the word.  Little is known about a fascinating man who was probably essential to the consolidation of the Spanish Empire and the homogenization of the Spanish language.  

Queen Isabella (1451-1504) was born at the renaissance of writing, science and exploration -- a time of an explosion of new ideas. 1492 was certainly the most tumultuous year of her reign with the unification of Spain, through the completion of the Reconquista over the Moors, in January the expulsion of the Jews in March, Columbus sailing west in August.    

Europe was emerging from the Dark Ages into a new world of enlightenment. Lost knowledge in the areas of philosophy, mathematics, science and medicine were being rediscovered; Gutenberg’s printing press, invented in the very year of Isabella’s birth, assured that it was no longer just monks who had access to ancient knowledge.  Imagine the proliferation of printed material!  With printing presses popping up all over the place anyone with a minimum of resources could have their ideas printed on a broadsheet and distributed.  

On another front, by the late 1300's, Spanish and Portuguese seafarers understood that the invention of the compass -- shrouded in mystery with both the Chinese and Arabs claiming its origin -- was a valuable tool for navigation and went on to develop shipbuilding and mapmaking abilities superior to other European countries.  The confluence of these three developments, essential for seagoing exploration, profoundly changed western civilization and led to first Spanish and then European economic dominance of the world.  

The allegorical tale of the Tower of Babylon is instructive of the importance of language and the ability to communicate.  Spaniards came from many different areas, each with its own dialect.  When Spanish exploration began a common language was needed to allow sailors and crew, clergy, military commanders to communicate. 

I thought about this three Sundays ago as I walked in the march led by Javier Sicilia along Paseo de la Reforma and had the opportunity to talk with Jean Robert (yes, Robert is his surname), a disciple of Ivan Illich.  I took advantage of the fact that I had a recorder in my pocket, we had time on our hands, no other place to go, and as participants in a silent march, no slogans to shout.  I asked Robert to refresh my memory about Antonio de Nebrija.    

Robert reminded me that Illich, with an interest in the vernacular, had written about Nebrija, defined as the creator of the Spanish language or the first mother tongue that had to be learned.  What follows is some of Nebrija’s story as told to me on August 14 by Jean Robert.

“Nebrija gave rules to Spanish.  In his youth he had watched the explosion of printing.  Each town had a printing press that printed the strangest of things in the most disorderly manner with no uniformity of language, spelling or grammar.  Nebrija thought, ‘This chaos can not continue.’  So, he came up with the idea of instituting a small manual of linguistic engineering; this kind of book is called a grammar.

“But in those times nobody would have thought of using a grammar book to learn the language that they spoke.  They would say, ‘I speak.  I am the master of my language.  I speak as we do in my house.’  

“A grammar book was something used to study a language that is no longer spoken…  like Hebrew, ancient Greek and Latin.  Using this model, Nebrija wrote a Spanish grammar. He even included proper pronunciation and guides to the chaste use of language.  

“Nebrija wanted Queen Isabella to finance this ambitious project.  He requested an audience and said, ‘Majesty, I have something extraordinary to present to you. We can apply it in all your dominions.  It is a grammar like you used to learn Latin but it is to teach Spaniards how to speak correct Spanish.”  The queen laughed uproariously.  ‘I am the queen of this country.  But with the regard to language spoken at home each subject is king in his own house.’   Nebrija went away saddened.   

“A few years later he learned that Christopher Columbus had obtained financing for an even crazier project.  He returned for a second audience with Queen Isabella. 'Majesty, now that you are preparing to civilize half the world, China, Japan, India (or so they thought) you must understand the importance of a unified language.  A country is conquered with a sword but you maintain power with the tongue.'   She agreed and financed the printing of his grammar.

“It is supposed that those aboard ships sent to colonize New Spain were trained to speak Spanish, according to Nebrija’s grammar.  There is no place in Latin America where a Spanish language other than Castillian Spanish is spoken.  In Spain the various dialects have survived. Though early settlers certainly came from all areas of Spain, boarding  ships speaking Catalan, Gallego, and even Basque they disembarked as subjects of the Viceroy of New Spain speaking Spanish.  It was Nebrija’s grand achievement.”