ART BY PEDROM TANAOMI
5.56 NATO
Published 5/23/2012
(1) August 16: Morning
Luna Negra by arcadio hidalgo is playing on the kitchen radio:
Yo fui a la revolución, yo fui
Yo fui a la revolución a luchar por el derecho, pa’ sentir sobre mi pecho una gran satisfacción
Yo fui a la revolución a luchar por el derecho, pa’ sentir sobre mi pecho una gran satisfacción
mas hoy vivo en un rincón, cantándole a mi amargura
pero con la fé segura y anunciándole al destino
que es el hombre campesino nuestra esperanza futura.
pero con la fé segura y anunciándole al destino
que es el hombre campesino nuestra esperanza futura.
from the inside the dish-room is like a giant stomach/ there’s no other way to describe this/ a giant stomach/ with people in it/
like moist intestines/a tripe-noose taut/ on the neck/
like moist intestines/a tripe-noose taut/ on the neck/
sometimes jorgito/ the pizza maker/
the smile maker/
like when he says no mames guey! and I say no mames! / like right now
the smile maker/
like when he says no mames guey! and I say no mames! / like right now
jorgito is making sculptures again/ inside jorgito/
live seven sculptors and who ever heard
live seven sculptors and who ever heard
of seven sculptors/ living off the salary of/ a single cook?
Luna negra, negra luna, ¡negra! Color de tu madre
Luna negra, negra luna, ¡negra! Color de tu madre
Color de tu madre, color de tu madre
Luna negra, negra luna, ¡negra! Color de tu madre
Color de tu madre, color de tu madre
and who ever heard of chirping/ inside a mixing-bowl?
his bowl sings/ pio-pio-pio/
pio-pio all day/
his bowl sings/ pio-pio-pio/
pio-pio all day/
all night/
some pio-pio rose/ from the drains
(2)some pio-pio rose/ from the drains
mexican songs/ on kitchen radio
sweet sultry downpour
crushed hibiscus/ rainflower
sprinkled in the ear
crushed hibiscus/ rainflower
sprinkled in the ear
pio pio
pio
pio-pio-pio
pio
pio-pio-pio
(3)
August 22: Morning
the dial on the kitchen radio is clicked to a mexican station/ on plastic trays the kitchen takes to the air/
like a cannibal time-clock/
/it eats away the day
the radio leaps/ like a tiger over the flames/
becomes a tiger that roars/ sing sing
there is no other way to describe this/
our tiger/ moonbullet/ moonsong
it shoots/
/it eats away the sun
ART BY PEDROM TANAOMI
(4)
August 25: Morning
voices race through the air like fiery greyhounds:
HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! NEWS.... FROM THE NEWS WIRE:
...every 3.6 seconds....…. one ▬▬▬▬▬▬ dies of starvation....
usually it is a child under the age of 5....
the total number...the total number today
…the total number.... of children younger than five...living in france, germany, greece and italy:
10.6 million....
….the total number of children ▬▬▬▬▬▬ who died from preventable ▬▬▬▬▬▬ in 2003 before they were five:
….investigators in arizona have released a tape of the 911 call made during the deadly home invasion robbery that claimed the life of 9-year-old brisenia flores...
... you probably have never heard his ▬▬▬▬▬▬ ...but you likely know something...…about how nine-year-old ali mohammed hafedh kinani died.... he was the youngest person killed by blackwater forces at nisoor square...
these and other auschwitzs ...other exclusives... are brought to you...endowed to you
by the tv guides... the wall st journals.... the academic journals of the “poetic I”
(5)
5.56 mm nato/ bullet wounds
nine year old ali kinani died from a bullet
bite to the head
in the nisour square massacre
meanwhile the sun went red/
and the mercenaries
unfurled their fists with tenderness
or drew/ sweet/ three-legged cows/ for their children
or a little gasp or bird/ flew from ali’s little mouth like a bullet
fired at death/ that lovely lady
oh little bird that flew and ate and gouged little ali!
oh little bird that drank/ flew away/ little ali!
and this happens every day
it happens like that
the blood of children falls
like blood of children
bite to the head
in the nisour square massacre
meanwhile the sun went red/
and the mercenaries
unfurled their fists with tenderness
or drew/ sweet/ three-legged cows/ for their children
or a little gasp or bird/ flew from ali’s little mouth like a bullet
fired at death/ that lovely lady
oh little bird that flew and ate and gouged little ali!
oh little bird that drank/ flew away/ little ali!
and this happens every day
it happens like that
the blood of children falls
like blood of children
nine year old brisenia flores died
from a vigilante’s kiss to the forehead
and her smile went red/
blood smiles from brisenia’s bullet wounds
and this happens every day
the sun goes red
the warmth of children smiles/ spills/ evaporates brisenia
your bullet wounds or little suns glow red red red
in your tender skull ali
from a vigilante’s kiss to the forehead
and her smile went red/
blood smiles from brisenia’s bullet wounds
and this happens every day
the sun goes red
the warmth of children smiles/ spills/ evaporates brisenia
your bullet wounds or little suns glow red red red
in your tender skull ali
blood of children glows/ red
little brisenia goes red/ dissolves/ falls
or is swept away/ by brooms or sand
and this happens every day
this happens every day
it happens like that
little brisenia goes red/ dissolves/ falls
or is swept away/ by brooms or sand
and this happens every day
this happens every day
it happens like that
the bullet bites/ kisses the skull
splinters the children’s sleep/ and nothing will come from there
no/no / nothing/ no little bird
no poetry or three legged cows
and this happens every day
it happens like that
splinters the children’s sleep/ and nothing will come from there
no/no / nothing/ no little bird
no poetry or three legged cows
and this happens every day
it happens like that
ART BY PEDROM TANAOMI
(6)
September 2: Morning
what they say must be true... i am smart but i have a bad attitude....
they ask me, do you want to work the food line? do you want to learn to cook? do something you like to do they tell me. life is wonderful when you like your job.
sharks and bears and eagles like their jobs i tell them
(7)
September 8: Morning
i hung a sign on the dish-room saying:
“do not disturb me when i’m at work/ dreaming
and sleeping and swimming like a shark”
and sleeping and swimming like a shark”
(8)
you finish cleaning out the dust and the ashes
doing all the errands:
mopping the restrooms/ scrubbing
the shit off the toilets
peeling the potatoes/ washing/
wiping down the tables
taking out the trash/ doing all the dishes
finish eating leftovers in a corner of the kitchen
you go and hide in the restroom
you look at yourself in a shattered mirror
and you laugh and grow ecstatic
you laugh at yourself in the mirror
and you grow ecstatic looking at yourself
you laugh through your pores and knees
and you smile from/ soon to soon
you imagine a smiling revolution
you play at being a guerrillero/ like camilo or fidel
you imagine a kitchen liberated
by a syndicate of revolutionary carrots
look dishboy you’re brave and even at times courageous
but wash your hands and stop the foolishness
they’re running out of clean plates in the kitchen!
doing all the errands:
mopping the restrooms/ scrubbing
the shit off the toilets
peeling the potatoes/ washing/
wiping down the tables
taking out the trash/ doing all the dishes
finish eating leftovers in a corner of the kitchen
you go and hide in the restroom
you look at yourself in a shattered mirror
and you laugh and grow ecstatic
you laugh at yourself in the mirror
and you grow ecstatic looking at yourself
you laugh through your pores and knees
and you smile from/ soon to soon
you imagine a smiling revolution
you play at being a guerrillero/ like camilo or fidel
you imagine a kitchen liberated
by a syndicate of revolutionary carrots
look dishboy you’re brave and even at times courageous
but wash your hands and stop the foolishness
they’re running out of clean plates in the kitchen!
Born in Cosamaloapan, Veracruz, Mexico, Lauro Vazquez, grew up in the California bay area. He is a CantoMundo fellow and an MFA student in poetry at the University of Notre Dame's Creative Writing program. He is assistant editor and contributor at Letras Latinas--the literary program at Notre Dame's institute for Latino Studies and maintains a regular blog at granmaforpoetry.blogspot.com. He lives in South Bend, Indiana, where he has taught a poetry workshop at South Bend Juvenile Correctional Facility. (Updated May 2012)
Pedrom Tanaomi was born in Tehran, Iran. He studied graphic design at Azad Art University and also studied painting with the renowned Iranian painter, Aidin Aghdashloo. He has worked as the Art Director of MUD, Art Director at Tehran Music Company, Graphic Designer at Bazi Theater Company, and Art Director of ICRC (International Committee of the Red Cross). (Updated May 2012)
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