Robinson Jeffers' poem, "New Mexico Mountain"

Like D.H. Lawrence, the well-known American poet Robinson Jeffers was invited to Taos, NM, by the wealthy ex-socialite, Mabel Dodge Luhan. She wanted him to write the "spirit of place" of New Mexico. Jeffers, however, only wrote one poem about New Mexico, which also happens to be the only one he wrote about living Native Americans. As this poem indicates, his response to New Mexico and its Indians was not exactly what Mabel Dodge Luhan was hoping for.

"New Mexico Mountain"

I watch the Indians dancing to help the young corn at Taos pueblo. The old men squat in a ring
And make the song. The young women with fat bare arms, and a few shame-faced young men, shuffle the dance.

The lean-muscled young men are naked to the narrow loins, their breasts and backs daubed with white clay,
Two eagle-feathers plume the black heads. They dance with reluctance, they are growing civilized; the old men persuade them.

Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed; the beating heart, the simplest of rhythms,
It thinks the world has not changed at all; it is only a dreamer, a brainless heart, the drum has no eyes.

These tourists have eyes, the hundred watching the dance, white Americans, hungrily too, with reverence, not laughter;
Pilgrims from civilization, anxiously seeking beauty, religion, poetry; pilgrims from the vacuum.

People from cities, anxious to be human again. Poor show how they suck you empty! The Indians are emptied,
And certainly there was never religion enough, nor beauty nor poetry here... to fill Americans.

Only the drum is confident, it thinks the world has not changed. Apparently only myself and the strong
Tribal drum, and that rockhead of Taos mountain, remember that civilization is a transient sickness.

This is a corrido of Joaquín Murieta, as performed by the legendary Lydia Mendoza.  Enjoy! 

Joaquín Zihuatanejo: "This is a Suit"

Our next assignmnet: the narrative of Joaquín Murieta, as told by John Rollin Ridge (Cherokee).  Stories about Murieta abound, and continue to be told to this day.  Here is a pretty good version of the story by slam poet/ spoken word artist/ teacher/ Chicano hero, Joaquín Zihuatanejo.  He honors his grandfather in its telling. Thanks Candice W. for bringing it to my attention!

Gloria Anzaldúa, "To live in the Borderlands means you"

     are neither hispana india negra española 
     ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
     caught in the crossfire between camps
     while carrying all five races on your back
     not knowing which side to turn to, run from;

To live in the Borderlands means knowing
     that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,
     is no longer speaking to you,
     that mexicanas call you rajetas,
     that denying the Anglo inside you
     is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;

Cuando vives in la frontera
     people walk through you, the wind steals your voice,
     you’re a burra, buey, scapegoat,
     forerunner of a new race,
     half and half—both woman and man, neither—
     a new gender;

To live in the Borderlands means to
     put chile in the borscht,
     eat whole wheat tortillas,
     speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
     be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints;

Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to
     resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle,
     the pull of the gun barrel,
     the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;


In the Borderlands
     you are the battleground
     where enemies are kin to each other;
     you are at home, a stranger,
     the border disputes have been settled
     the volley of shots have shattered the truce
     you are wounded, lost in action
     dead, fighting back;


To live in the Borderlands means
     the mill with the razor white teeth wants to shred off
     your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart
     pound you pinch you roll you out
     smelling like white bread but dead;

To survive the Borderlands
     you must live sin fronteras
     be a crossroads.



gabacha: a Chicano term for a white woman
rajetas: literally, “split,” that is, having betrayed your word
burra: donkey
buey: oxen
sin fronteras: without borders

Guillermo Gómez-Peña: Border Interrogation: La Pocha Nostra

This week we will be discussing different conceptions of (and differences between) the borderlands and the border.  Are the borderlands a dystopic or utopian site?  Do they have the potential, as Mike Davis suggests, to promote-- even demand-- transnational collaboration and cooperation between the U.S. and Mexico?  Might the borderlands cultivate a kind of psychic nepantilism among its inhabitants and the world, as Gloria Anzaldúa hopes, bringing "an end of rape, of violence, of war?"  And what do we make of la linea, the borderline itself?  Is it a symbolic and somewhat arbitrary line that divides two fairly indistinct cultures to its immediate north and south, or does this "line" itself seem to wield the power of life and death in the real world?  To get you thinking, take a look at this video clip by Guillermo Gómez-Peña, la pocha nostra.