LA Poetry Night Includes Students, Drugs, Grit And Love

On Friday, September 16 Homeboy Industries played host to “Poesía Para La Gente,” presented by Avenue 50 Studio’s monthly La Palabra Poetry reading series. The event, sponsored by The James Irvine Foundation and curated by the poet and educator, Luivette Resto featured established Angelino poets, like Luis J. Rodriguez, alongside the current Angelino poetry vanguard: Diego Robles, Rolando Ortiz, Annette Cruz, Dennis Cruz, Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo, and Reynaldo Macias. True to its name, the crowd included irascible high schoolers, “real” social workers, ex-gang-members-cum-administrators, poetry facilitators, and lookie-loos with ID lanyards around their necks.

The jump-off for the event was an open mic; several high school students read graphic, autobiographical poems of histrionic violence or abuse coupled with gargantuan redemption and resolve — most reciting poems illuminated by the white glow of their cellphones. At one point during the open mic, a student got up to do a piece it seemed he had been rehearsing for weeks. All of a sudden, the student’s expression went blank, as the words he had spent weeks memorizing slowly started to dissipate. And right before it was to turn humiliating, the crowd started ushering affirmations of “c’mon” and “keep going.” The student seemed buoyed by the support and was able to finish the next stanza in his piece to supportive applause and praise.

Events like, “Poesía Para La Gente,” remind one of the poem “Like You/Como Tú” by Roque Dalton, the Salvadoran poet. Dalton wrote that “poetry, like bread, is for everyone.” Dalton felt that Poetry put many people off in Latin America because of its ties to the affluent and prejudiced. Dalton advocated for an everyman’s Poetry, a sort of verbal plasma that might prove that “my veins don’t end in me/ but in the unanimous blood/ of those who struggle for life.” Dalton advocated for a poetry that could sustain the people and simultaneously be created by them.  It was phenomenal to hear these high schoolers engaged with literacy, and applauding the efforts of courageous young scribes. And, this was just the open mic portion!

Dennis Cruz ‘s reading capped off the programmed portion of the event. Cruz’s poems of addiction are aggressively sincere to the point of schadenfreude — a kind of death metal confessional. Even though they depict the silent desperation of addiction, Cruz reads them fortisimo, adding overtures of semantic black lightning. Cruz’s book, No One: Poems 2009 (Black Boot Books, 2009) is a staple of the poetry scene in Highland Park and Lincoln Heights.

“the damp pillow
smashed
beneath
my restless
face.
one train
of thought
crashing
into the next.
nothing
to separate
the dreams
from the
memories.
and the old
familiar
panic…”

Then, Xochitl-Julisa Bermejo read two poems, followed by Reynaldo Macias and Diego Robles. These poets distinguished themselves with complex pieces that mixed swagger with knowledge, often sprinkling their work with words and phrases in Spanish.

Next, Annette Cruz’s segment was sonorously raucous and steeped in astute political reflection and sobering overtures. Her poetry is mysterious and seductive, almost transformative in that it utilizes personal pain to reconquer the telling of the hurt. Also, having grown up in Los Angeles, she writes often about 80s  Los Angeles and has had her poetry recorded on the anthology Media Slits (T.O.N. Records, 2009).  In one of her pieces, “Tell a Vision,” she wrote:

“show me a reporter whose story
did not come pre-emptied by
the politicians and corporations
to ensure beliefs in their theories
scheming on the shift of the present
sucking in death water that sits outside
in through the television
and out into your mind”

Luis J. Rodriguez read last. He recites with the candor of a sage that’s seen the best and worst of humanity. He read two to three quick pieces to the crowd, which hinged on his words, and rode the event out. Because Classroom A in the Homeboy Industries HQ is an active place, after the event, there was not much room for networking or lollygagging. The venue had to be returned to its original state as a classroom. There was teaching to be done; and, maybe someone had been holding the door open to the cafe, but I could swear I could smell fresh bread being made.