In January of 2010 in Merida, Mexico I attended a poetry workshop for the first time. I remember being the youngest person there—just twenty-one—still an undergraduate and still trying to find my poetic voice. I was surrounded by older and more established writers and feeling a little out of place. Among the poets conducting the various workshops was Martín Espada.
I remember after the first day of workshops coming out from the hotel where I was staying and strolling into a plaza adjacent to that hotel. Martín Espada was sitting by himself on a bench, observing—just observing the comings and goings of the people in that plaza. I sat across from him and struck up a conversation. We talked about washing dishes, his work as a bouncer, about Chicano and Latino poets and an old anthology of Latin American revolutionary poetry, published a few months after the 1973 coup that ended the Chilean presidency of Salvador Allende.
What had first attracted me to Martín’s work was his steadfast belief that writing poems is a revolutionary activity, a subversive act which in some small way contributes to making the unattainable attainable; that the writing of political poems in unjust societies is practical precisely because it imagines the impossible: a more egalitarian society.
Martín’s ability to marry social consciousness to the creative consciousness of language is masterful. It is pure music—and it is a music that resounds loudest when hearing Martin read his work. It will come without saying, that this is a highly recommended reading. If you are in the greater Washington, D.C. area, this is a reading not to be missed. And if your are not in the area, but know someone who is, spread the word.
I remember after the first day of workshops coming out from the hotel where I was staying and strolling into a plaza adjacent to that hotel. Martín Espada was sitting by himself on a bench, observing—just observing the comings and goings of the people in that plaza. I sat across from him and struck up a conversation. We talked about washing dishes, his work as a bouncer, about Chicano and Latino poets and an old anthology of Latin American revolutionary poetry, published a few months after the 1973 coup that ended the Chilean presidency of Salvador Allende.
What had first attracted me to Martín’s work was his steadfast belief that writing poems is a revolutionary activity, a subversive act which in some small way contributes to making the unattainable attainable; that the writing of political poems in unjust societies is practical precisely because it imagines the impossible: a more egalitarian society.
Martín’s ability to marry social consciousness to the creative consciousness of language is masterful. It is pure music—and it is a music that resounds loudest when hearing Martin read his work. It will come without saying, that this is a highly recommended reading. If you are in the greater Washington, D.C. area, this is a reading not to be missed. And if your are not in the area, but know someone who is, spread the word.
--Lauro Vazquez
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