When Jose Montoya moved to California, he eventually became an art teacher at Sacramento State. In his remarks in New Mexico the other night he said he relished his role as an educator. One of his projects involved asking his Chicano/a students--this would have been in the late 60s/early 70s--to bring in photographs of their parents. A photography exhibit was curated, one which displayed photographs of Mexican Americans in the 40s, photographs that foregrounded and celebrated the pachuco aesthetic. Montoya shared with us that the response to the exhibit was mixed--that there were some on the academic and cultural left who lamented that he was perpetuating certain stereotypes. But his position, as he articulated it, was well thought out.
As I was listening to him deliver his remarks, it occurred to me that I had never heard "El Louie" read/performed by anyone, let alone its author. I had IN FORMATION with me so I could read along as he performed his poem. I was not disappointed. His style was deliberate, measured, not too fast, seemed to honor his line breaks; all the while he varied his voice when direct speech entered. It was the performance of a master. If I had permission I'd reprint the whole poem here, but I'll share a few stanzas where the speaker describes the main character, first towards the end of his life, and then recalling better days:
Kind of slim and drawn,
There toward the end
Aging fast from too much
Booze y la vida dura. But
Class to the end.
In Sanjo you'd see him
Spotting a dark topcoat
Playing in his fantasy
The role of Bogart, Cagney
and Raft.
I mentioned "direct speech." "El Louie" is a poem that is brilliant in the way it incorporates it. Here is a passage that leads to a briefer passage of it (idiomatic direct speech), but also ilustrates why Jose Montoya is a master code-switcher, and with this I'll end [apologies for not knowing how to reproduce the inverted exclamation point, and an accent mark]:
But we had Louie, and the
Palomar, el boogie, los
Mambos y cuatro suspiros
Del alma y nunca faltaba
That familiar, gut-shrinking,
Love-splitting, asshole-up-
Tight, bad news--
Trucha, esos! Va 'ver
Pedo!
Abusao, ese!
Get Louie!
Showing posts with label Jose Montoya. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jose Montoya. Show all posts
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Escuchando a Jose Montoya (1)
I do not recall when the poem "El Louie" entered my consciousness.
But somehow it did. It my own private pantheon, the poem came to occupy a place that seemed to announce: This is a seminal poem in the history of Chicano/Latino poetry. It's a poem I have read perhaps half a dozen times over the years from Chusma House's IN FORMATION: 20 Years Of Joda. It has always seemed a masterpiece to me, but it's a claim I make from a visceral place, which may have to do with my relationship to the Spanish language. The New York Times, in a blurb on the back of IN FORMATION, said this:
"When Latino writers like Jose Montoya overcome the need to explain themselves to people who do not understand Spanish or use code-switching to energize and enrich their work , the result can be electrifying."
I read that and wonder who wrote it, what book is being reviewed and what year. In any case, it's remarkable to me that The New York Times would give the time of day to a poet like Jose Montoya. But there you have it.
One of the things that I liked about last night's event is that Jose Montoya and his person and his story and his work were being honored before a sizable audience that included, from my unscientific observations, many people who I suspect don't read much poetry. This particular writers conference (which I'll comment on another time soon) privileges, in my view, prose. And yet the keynote speaker of the whole affair was a poet.
Jose Montoya gave this wonderful informal chronicle of a talk laced with anecdote and humor that contextualized how his poetry came to be, and then he read two poems: "El Louie" (from 1969) and "Portfolio Pachuco" (from 1990).
I write these lines as I prepare to leave Albuquerque. I will continue later. I'll end by saying that anyone who has aspirations of getting a grasp of the history and breadth of Chicano/Latino poetry must own (it's still in print; I bought another copy) IN FORMATION (Chusma House, 1992).
But somehow it did. It my own private pantheon, the poem came to occupy a place that seemed to announce: This is a seminal poem in the history of Chicano/Latino poetry. It's a poem I have read perhaps half a dozen times over the years from Chusma House's IN FORMATION: 20 Years Of Joda. It has always seemed a masterpiece to me, but it's a claim I make from a visceral place, which may have to do with my relationship to the Spanish language. The New York Times, in a blurb on the back of IN FORMATION, said this:
"When Latino writers like Jose Montoya overcome the need to explain themselves to people who do not understand Spanish or use code-switching to energize and enrich their work , the result can be electrifying."
I read that and wonder who wrote it, what book is being reviewed and what year. In any case, it's remarkable to me that The New York Times would give the time of day to a poet like Jose Montoya. But there you have it.
One of the things that I liked about last night's event is that Jose Montoya and his person and his story and his work were being honored before a sizable audience that included, from my unscientific observations, many people who I suspect don't read much poetry. This particular writers conference (which I'll comment on another time soon) privileges, in my view, prose. And yet the keynote speaker of the whole affair was a poet.
Jose Montoya gave this wonderful informal chronicle of a talk laced with anecdote and humor that contextualized how his poetry came to be, and then he read two poems: "El Louie" (from 1969) and "Portfolio Pachuco" (from 1990).
I write these lines as I prepare to leave Albuquerque. I will continue later. I'll end by saying that anyone who has aspirations of getting a grasp of the history and breadth of Chicano/Latino poetry must own (it's still in print; I bought another copy) IN FORMATION (Chusma House, 1992).
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