Tag Archive for: #nationalpoetrymonth

April is National Poetry Month FYI by Juliana Aragón Fatula

My first manuscript was published while I was graduating from CSU Pueblo in 2008. The publisher was Ghost Road Press in Denver, CO. My editor was the fabulous Sonya who was an angel sent from my ancestors to restore my confidence and shine a light on my poetic voice. I adore her and Caleb Seeling at Conundrum Press who along with Sonya sent me a new contract to republish my first book of poetry, Crazy Chicana in Catholic City under a new book cover and ISBN but with the same contents. I of course said, yes.

One day at dinner in Denver with my publisher, Caleb, he asked me if I had another manuscript and I whipped my second poetry collection, Red Canyon Falling on Churches, out of my briefcase sitting at my feet. He published my second book with an exquisite book cover with a photo by Tracy Harmon, the prize-winning investigative journalist and Nationally renowned photojournalist, and my bff of 35 years, since we were college mates. She also does my headshots, promotional videos, etc. She is a goddess and a good human being.

In the meantime, I’m publishing poems, essays, and non-fiction pieces in anthologies and small presses. I am a published writer with a following of fans who think I’m kinda fascinating. I write about my ancestors, my dysfunctional family, my political activism, and my spirituality, my voice is strong, honest, shocking, and hilarious. I’m not bragging, I’m explaining who I am and what I write about. I write the truth even though it hurts it also heals. I’m a healer of sorts. A Chingona Corn Mother, ordained by the Universal Church, a mentor, a mom, wife, pet parent, liberal, radical feminist, and spiritual leader of my community. My community consists of members of the LGBTQ+ and the marginalized people of color, especially the immigrants asking for our help, the writing community, the social activists and hippies, the lesbian lovers, and the Pittsburgh Heroes, the indigenous ancestors who survived and gave me their survival skills. These are my people. I’m a poet.

I’ve workshopped in San Antonio, TX with Sandra Cisneros’ Annual Macondo Writers’ Workshop, with Denise Chavez in Las Cruces, New Mexico, with Francisco Aragón in Salt Lake City, UT, for the Smithsonian Our America: the Latino Presence in American Art, and in sunny Dillon Beach, CA for the first annual Chingona Writers’ Workshop.
My performances have included libraries, universities, bookstores, coffee shops, and cultural art centers in Boulder, Colorado Springs, Denver, Pueblo, Salida, Salt Lake City, San Antonio, Alamosa, and for the Department of Defense in Los Azores, Sicily, Kuwait, Dubai, United Arab Emirates, and Diego Garcia Archipelagos Islands.
My dream of being an author in the library in my hometown came true. The Rawlings Library in Pueblo has my books on the shelf between Rudolfo Anaya and Sandra Cisneros! I almost lost my shit when I realized I am a poet.

One more braggadocio statement if you will indulge me, it is amazing and I’m proud that I’ve won awards for my poetry but also that I’ve met and befriended so many generous writers in my journeys. Some of these amazing writers are professors at universities and have asked permission to read my poems in their poetry classes with their students. And the Albuquerque Poet Laureate, Jessica Helen Lopez. asked if she could read my poem, the Hat, in a performance. I was honored of course.

My life has changed in the last three decades since I became sober and I have to give credit to my husband for sticking with me through all the craziness.

Finally, I’d like to share the story of meeting the international icon, Sandra Cisneros. She was at the Rawlings Library in Pueblo doing a speaking tour. I met her and she shook hands with me and everyone in the room. I never thought she’d come back to the cheap seats but she did with a big smile on her face. I was impressed and a huge fan. I handed her my first book of poetry, Crazy Chicana in Catholic City. She asked me to sign it. I did. I forgot to breathe and almost passed out.

The next day at her reading she mentioned my book to the audience and talked about me for five minutes! Everyone with me in the front row, my friends and professors from CSU Pueblo stared at me with their mouths open. They cheered for me when Sandra told the audience they should buy my book. She asked if I had any copies with me. I said I had a box in my trunk in the parking lot. My BFF, Leslie the librarian extraordinaire, jumped up and shouted, I’ll fetch them. And off she ran.

I sold books beside Sandra. I had a shorter line. Afterward, she told me I want to give you an author blurb to sell more books. She said, your writing makes me want to write poetry. She also asked me to apply to her Macondo Foundation writer’s workshop. She said it’s competitive so keep applying until you get in. I applied twice and the second year was accepted.

My life has never been the same since I met Sandra. She is my angel on earth who lifts me when doubting my skills. She has introduced me to editors who have helped me improve my writing.

Denise Chavez won my heart at the Rawlings Library. I met her and she drew me into her magical world of literature. I’ve become an improved writer and human being because of my friendship with these writers. Linda Rodriguez introduced herself to me at AWP one year in Denver and invited me to join the Stiletto Gang after a few years of being friends on Facebook and emailing. She saved me hundreds of times because she had faith in me, I began to believe I could be a writer and not just a poet but a mystery writer.

I’m still revising my completed manuscript, The Colorado Sisters, but because I don’t want to write a good book, I want to write a great book, I haven’t sent it out to be published yet. It needs a good tweaking or two and then when my editor tells me it’s ready I’ll submit but not till it’s ready.

It’s not easy writing a great murder mystery. I might end up publishing it as a short story or screenplay. But wouldn’t it be great to have my first novel be a prize winner? Oohwee! I’d have a hootenanny and celebrate because I’ll have finished my first mystery and it can sit on the shelf with Rudolfo Anaya, Linda Rodriguez, Maria Melendez Kelson, Lucha Corpi, Katherine, Manuel Ramos, Mario Acevedo, and Stephen King!

The Wild City–A Poem for National Poetry Month in a pandemic

 by Linda Rodriguez

As we move beyond the one-year anniversary of our pandemic lockdown and the beginning of National Poetry Month, I’m posting a poem to remind us all that, even if we’re isolated from our social circles, we have companions if we can get outside–even in large cities.



THE WILD CITY

Sprawling across the Kansas and Missouri
River confluence, network of tributaries
woven around bluffs and glaciated hills,
crow-blue in the distance but green, green
as the hearts of trees in the walking,
even today, Kansas City has still-wild parks,
large, well-treed lots, and wooded streams,
homes for foxes, wild turkey, deer, coyote,
interrupting traffic patterns with flight
paths of herons, hawks, and eagles,
a metropolis of small towns linked
by the scent of water and new growth.

Smaller rivers fill out the web
of water that holds the landscape
together, leaf veins feeding surfaces
of green—Blue River, Platte River,
Little Blue River, Little Platte River,
Marais des Cygnes River.
Creeks like Indian Creek, Brush Creek,
Line Creek, First Creek, Second Creek,
Shoal Creek, Willow Creek,
Mill Creek fan out, capillaries
for the breathing system that is the city.

Once, driving along the Little Blue,
I startled at the sudden appearance,
slow flap of huge white wings
banded with black, bright red cap
leading the way ahead of stretched-out
snake neck, legs trailing behind, a legend
rising next to me and taking flight,
whooping crane on migration,
resting and feeding a day or two
in the heart of the city.

When we humans go at last,
by bomb, virus, famine,
disaster, natural or otherwise,
the wild will reclaim Kansas City
in short order, never having completely
released its original hold.

(Published in Cutthroat, a Journal of the Arts, 2016)

National Poetry Month

By Shari Randall
Spring arrives slowly in New England, with frustrating fits and starts. There are usually a few unnaturally warm days in March when the optimistic splash through the melting snow in shorts and t-shirts. April’s saturated sunlight has me wondering if it’s time to put away the wool sweaters and bring out the cotton sweaters, pack away the grays and navy blues and bring out the pink and yellow. I’ve been fooled before.
Then Nature reminds us who’s in charge and it snows.
Still, the blue crocus push up through the dark earth and the forsythia isn’t far behind.
The forsythia always brings to mind these lines of poetry from
William Wordsworth’s “Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”:
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.
Does the change in season bring to mind any favorite poetry? April is National Poetry Month. Feel free to share a bit of your favorite poem in the comments. Happy spring!