Blockade runners
These our/are times tectonic plates of political personal collide mount each other fuse an inseparable meld. This blockade she feels in her bones walking home in Holguin she feels in her bones this blockade in hard cement under her feet standing for 40 minutes waiting to buy something that might not even be in the store when she gets there; sun burning her eyes because she can only avoid so long its course across the sky while standing here on block hard cement, waiting to buy something there might not even be in the store; politics, working our way through daily life, guided as Che said a revolutionary is, by a great feeling of love, standing here feet smarting from hard cement eyes stinging from burning sun running this blockade felt in our bones. Blockade wounds pirates attacking the island it wounds this paradise inside scarcity. Blockade runners family abroad yearning for home sending home, or rawest tourist gnaw away bore little holes of justice trickle necessities through the dike. Tubes of toothpaste rolls of toilet paper or an ambulance and antibiotics worm and winkle, weaken until crash! blast! the widening web of will bears down blockade.
After reading
El Che, mi hermano / Che, my brother by Juan Martín Guevara and Armelle Vincent, and Taking the arrow out of the heart / Sacarse la flecha del corazón by Alice Walker, trans. Manuel García Verdecia
There was a time when subversive works were censured in Argentina. This is no longer the case. Today’s method is to try to prevent us reading, pushing us to watch tv, surf the web. That’s why I’m so against these means of communication. I dislike their immediacy. Now, everything has to be instant, when we should be stopping to think, to reflect. Juan Martín Guevara, trans. Katharine Beeman
The trouble with books
In the 21st century the trouble with books, is their cost and their weight, whereas I would buy them sow them like seeds, blow them dandelion-like from one end of Our America to the other.
