This month’s guest teacher-writer is Anna J. Small Roseboro who helps us celebrate National Hispanic Heritage Month, September 15 — October 15, a time of year to pause and reflect on the rich history, heritage, and contributions of Hispanic and Latino (LatinX) Americans to the United States. However, we share resources during this 5-day writing challenge to support plans to develop an inclusive curriculum all year long.
A Salute to Hispanic Stories
Today, I invite you to craft a narrative poem retelling a story written by or about a favorite Hispanic American author. Generally, this would mean a five stanza poem that includes an exposition, rising action, climax, denouement, and resolution. But, thanks to the sacrifice and service of many of Hispanic servicemen and women, this is a free country; you may write in the format that works for you. In the introduction to your poem, please include the title and author of the book or story.
Process
Recall a Latinx author or story. If you have time to read, try one of these short stories available online to retell in poem-form:
- “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- “The Autumn of the Patriarch” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
- Get in the Halloween spirit with 8 bone-chilling stories from Carolina Sanin, Julio Cortazar, Horacio Quiroga, Carlos Fuentes, Jorge Luis Borges, Bernardo Esquinca, and Juan Rulfo
Or, perhaps you have one of these or other picture books that you can re-read and then retell in poem form:
Or, perhaps you would like to watch this short, award-winning video and re–tell it in poem form:
Anna’s Poem, “Circuits” based on The Circuit by Francisco Jimenez
“This is real,” he thought, raising a wire of steel.
To survive, his family had to steal.
No! not food. No! Steal across the border
Just to get a job. “This is real”.
Season by season he was packed up to ride
Squished between brothers, side by side
To pick cotton, strawberries, and grapes when in season.
Arriving late, leaving early, missing school. That’s the reason
They called it working the circuit.
The circuit of the sun, from sun-up to sun-down.
The circuit of the crops – up north; down south, all around.
Attending school when and where he could.
He’d work hard to succeed. Yes, he would.
At school they mostly spoke English, but why?
Spanish is easier. Who can deny?
But English is what he had to learn
And the midnight oil he had to burn.
And this he did from season to season.
And that’s the reason
He’s a professor today, showing the way,
Having learned, the what and the why.
Following the circuit, learning the lessons.
Showing that you, too, can make it if you try.
National Hispanic Heritage Month Video Bonus
All are welcome to participate in the 5-day Open Write — from one day to all days, depending on your schedule. There are no set rules for the length of a poem, and you are free to modify or reject the prompts as you wish, allowing you to write whatever is on your mind or in your heart. We firmly believe that the best writing instructors are actual writers, and this platform offers a supportive environment for you to nurture your writing journey. Just scroll down to share your poem in the comment section. For more information about the Open Writes click here.
Sitting at my desk,
Not the desk.
Is itjust a table?
is it even mine?
Glass table
frigile
functional
Cuttered
cramped…
Just like my life.
Purviben, you’ve captured just how I’m feeling right now- a little bit overwhelmed, but trying to keep my head above water, questioning everything. It’s good to know I’m not alone!
Thank you for your comment Mo. I often tell my overwhelmed students / mentees “One breath, one minute, 5 minute, and keep on going. ” Now I am eating elephant one tiny tiny bite at a time 🙂
It’s incredible the daily items we could ponder on such a deep level. On a lighter note, I will never own a glass table. Once, I was trying to capture a boy’s attention and I brought my dog over to his apartment to play with his dog and they played for like a minute before his glass table shattered. I was notified. Your poem reminded me of that memory!
I’m late to the game, but I thought I’d try a different ending for La Llorona.
La Llorona
She wanders and wails
Along the river
Wondering,
Wishing
Her children were with her.
Her calls,
Her mournful cries
Are almost enough to wake the dead.
Kids clamor inside
Terrified by her lamentations.
Her quest is interminable
Until she spies the eagle
Land on the nopal
Bearing a snake in its talons
And for the first time ever,
She feels hope.
Though there is no relation with La Lorna, your poem evoke Medea in my mind. Does it have something to do with the way both La Lorna and Medea mourning for their children?
Looking forward to reading more of your poems.
Based on the short film “Crisanto Street” (Dir. Paloma Martinez)
My life is nice,
Geovany says.
His stubby fingers
tug at the packing tape
to reveal a Sony handheld camera.
For the next 11 minutes I move behind the lens
with Geovany
to experience
trailers and trains
bubbles and kites
a mother washing dishes
a neighbor weighing advice
his worried wrinkles carving his face like a blade.
Geovany is a butterfly
flitting
alighting
along Crisanto Street,
dusting each moment he touches with
joy.
Allison, your poem does what art is designed to do: It puts us into the world of the artist. “I move behind the lens w/ Giovanni,” as do we through the images in your poem. We, too, like Giovanni, are butterflies.
Allison,
Thank you for sharing this video with us. (I am not sure why my comment section now allows images/videos, but I am glad it does.) This is a beautiful documentary, and how I wish we had this kind of access to our students’ lives and why writing is so important. Your poem brings us right into the scene to meet Geovany, and our metaphor is just perfect for how he floats through the places he lives bringing joy to everyone “dusting each moment he touches with/joy.”
One boy, one girl
A warrior, a princess
A love declared.
One tribe lords over another.
One chief has had enough.
Two tribes war.
A warrior is sent to fight
A chief promises a hand
A princess waits
One jealous girl has word
One warrior – dead
One princess grieves – to death
The warrior returns
The grief strikes
A lover builds a mountain for his love
A final resting place for his princess
A place to watch over her eternal sleep
One snow falls, then another, ages pass
A warrior’s heart beats next to
A princess, not dormant
Passion smoldering, still alive.
“Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl”
NJ – It was fascinating to read this, as it is packed like a movie trailer. So much to pull us in… action, action, action! Yet, there’s waiting and snow to counter the movement, so we can anticipate a love story that really engages. I’m going to have to check out Popo, & Iztac. Cool! Thank you, Susie
It’s the legend of two volcanoes that dates back to the Aztecs.
Thank you, NJ, for inviting me into story time with this narrative. The back and forth, the movement of life to death while the heart continues to beat and the passion continues to smolder!
Students Loco for Coco
Based on the Pixar movie Coco by Adrian Molina and Matthew Aldrich
I can’t describe how excited my students were
to see a movie about their culture and heritage.
The lines between cartoon and reality blur
to create a homage most imperative.
It starts with a small boy who loves to play music
but his parents don’t approve, so he hides it.
He destroys an ofredna, ruins it
And finds himself facing the music…
He goes into the after life with a guitar
from his idol, his hero
And finds where all his past family members are
where family is more than fame and dinero
My students journey with Miguel
into a world they rarely see on the big screen
into a world where the heart does dwell
and flights of fancy do gleam.
And once the boy finds his real father,
We see the connection to our own families
We see our grandmother and grandfather
We see our own heart breaks and agonies
We cheer for Miguel to beat the evil imposter
We cheer for Miguel to save his padre
A love for the movie is starting to foster
in our hearts as Miguel has to save the day.
The bad Ernesto gets what he deserved all along
Miguel is connected with his family
All is righted that was wrong
Even the dog gets wings for all to see
(even if it implies the dog is now dead)
Our hero returns from the Land of the undead.
Triumph shines in the eyes of the audience.
Tears are stifled or flow, obvious.
A family reunited with a repaired ofrenda
Hearts filled with swoon-worthy music
The joining of two cultures on the menda:
Disney and Hispanic together as one: fluid.
Feet tap along with the violin and guitar
Hearts are filled with the beauty of the story.
My students find themselves finally
It’s all poetry to me!
Robin, Your poem so beautifully affirms the value of culturally responsive texts. What is interesting is that the culture need not be the same for students to respond and connect and find joy in reading. Not surprising, but my favorite line is “Harts are filled with the beauty of the story. ” Thanks for sharing “Loco for Coco”.
I agree! I try to add as much diversity into my classroom as possible.
Robin, Thank you for this retelling of Coco! I love the verbs in the earlier stanza “where the heart does dwell/and flights of fancy do gleam.” This contrasts with the hiding in the former paragraph. Don’t we all want a space where we can do and be without hiding. Where we can be seen. Love that your students see themselves in this movie and here is to more films and stories and books that include students’ lives.
Robin- This poem captures so beautifully the important work art can do and does. That music, film, and this poem could all come together to show the mending of cultures and hearts is a wonderful and lovely reminder that all is not lost in a world where pain seems to be everywhere, all at once, all the time. Thanks so much for that reminder.
Awww. I haven’t seen CoCo yet, but I’m adding it to my list right now! Heritage is so very important to my students. Thank you for giving me another way to connect with them.
My daughter recently learned to walk. And that in conjunction with the prompt got me thinking. This is what came out.
Learning to Walk
The night you learned to walk
Your face outshone the moon
You smiled
Giggled
Squealed
Clapped
With excitement and pride.
You beamed with accomplishment
Even though your legs still seemed
Unsure.
Your arms, strong and
Outstretched
Were ready to catch you
Just in case.
In my heart I hoped so many things for you:
That your legs and spirit would make a mockery of
Borders.
That your strength and heart would always carry you
Even if they wobbled.
That balance would always be at your ready and
that you will catch your
fall
If no one else is there to.
This is beautiful. I appreciated your subtle nods to the strength and spirit of those attempting to push forward (across or through borders). You’ve captured the pride in accomplishment and the resilience to support oneself that is necessary. Thank you for sharing.
Chia, Your lovely poem demonstrates skillful use of space between lines to slow down the reader, causing us to wait with bated breath for what comes next. Sometimes we teachers forget to point out the ways that layout impact the way a poem is read and understood. Thanks for showing that in your poem.
Chea, that line “your legs and spirit would make a mockery of Borders” —powerful with layers of meaning, especially with the capital letter. I saw the video of your precious one walking circles around you, and it was a privilege to bear witness to the wobble and balances. Ah, that we can all witness the learning in our students and children and welcome “unsure.” Love this. Thank you.
Beautifully written, Chea! I love that you wish strength even in wobbling. So much more to this poem than just the literal hopes. You capture the pride and excitement of first steps!
Beautiful. With a capital B, just like your Borders.
SUSIE’S POEM prompted by THE BRIEF WONDROUS LIFE OF OSCAR WAO by JUNOT DIAZ
From the title
we knew it was too soon.
The de Leóns needed a magical mongoose,
a protector, to appear and speak
with tongues of strength
to unclench the steel jaws
of the Fukù curse.
Dominican families scorched in the burnt sugar stain
of Trujillato, those Dominican thugs,
that dragged Mama to the canefields
for scars;
whether on the island
or in the New Jersey outback,
the “ancient powers” of Fukù
carried a burden
like a canker;
sister Lola
came of age the unwelcomed instant
she had to “feel” Mama’s glorious breast
and confirm the knot
“just beneath her skin,
tight and secretive as a plot,”
while Oscar, kissed not once,
battled his inner suicidal nerdster
at his Catholic high school in Jersey and beyond,
where all he prayed for was to be loved and get laid;
Oscar, forever lost
in the idea of a girlfriend,
ferried between Jersey and the Dominican,
the island bringing him Ybon,
a puta, whose “smile could put out the sun”;
or was she brought by Charon
at the River Styx,
from the deadly realm
of Trujillato?
But the mongoose,
like magic, evaporates
in thin air
on the edge of those canefields,
leaving the stench, the reality
of dictators,
tortures,
gangsters —
a brief history
in a deeper
story.
by Susie Morice
Susie, I love your use of quotes and your similes (like a canker…like magic….as a plot). Your verse makes me want to read more about Oscar and his life.
Poor thing – wanted love and loving. I need to know more about him and whether his prayers ever got answered. Thank you for inspiring me – in your very Susie way of always doing just that!
Susie, your line “where all he prayed for was to be loved and get laid;” uses alliteration powerfully to show the range of feelings that roar in the hearts of so many! The sensory images. like “at the edge of those canefields,/leaving the stench, the reality” help recreate the scenes so well.
Susie, This book is not easy to retell, but, of course, you did it justice in your lines and stanzas weaving in the individual and the collective, the spatial and temporal, the personal and the political. “But the mongoose,/like magic, evaporates” and “leaving the stench, the reality of dictators.” Those sensory details juxtaposed captures the uneasiness o felt when I read that book. Brings me right back. Thank you.
Wow. I feel like I need to know Oscar. You have left me really wanting to know the deeper story.
Oh Susie! I love this so much! I read TBWLOOW several years ago and you make me want to read it again. Your opening and closing lines powerfully bookend what is a potent distillation of analysis+poetry! What a treat! I’ve scanned your poem for my favorite part and have a hard time narrowing it to one, but this might be it:
sister Lola
came of age the unwelcomed instant
she had to “feel” Mama’s glorious breast
and confirm the knot
“just beneath her skin,
tight and secretive as a plot,”
“Unwelcomed instant” and the knot/plot rhyme are enviable word combinations.
Thank you for writing this.
Susie, your diction is so tight: the use of “fuku,” the quotes, as Kim notes, the naming of characters, especially poor Oscar’s dream. He’s such a sad character in Diaz’s novel. You capture and honor the novel superbly in this poem.
I’m retirement road tripping, so am using one of my stops as inspiration for today’s prompt.
“After Seeing Diego Rivera’s Detroit Workers Murals at the DIA”
Like Diego Rivera’s baby in a pod
Rooted to & nourished by Mother Earth
Two PanAmerican women gaze upon
Workers and robots, an assembly line straddling
Two worlds: What is humanity’s use of machines?
Standing in the center, I cast my
Panopticon eye on Edsel Ford,
Who contracted both workers to build & muralist to
Paint the Detroit Workers’ story, a
Social contract between two visionaries.
“I like it.” Three words from Edsel to Rivera’s critics who questioned his
Vision called his masterpiece dirty.
“I like it” like the Rouge assembly line still Pulsates in the DIA, making all who see
Part of the tale, at one with Rivera’s duality.
—Glenda Funk
*I posted photos on my FB and IG pages. DIA is Detroit Institute of Arts.
Hey, Glenda — I like that blending of Edsel and Rivera — terrific idea to see feet in both worlds and still speaking loud and clear to this world mess we are all in right now. I’m glad you could take time out to share this one today! The whole notion of “humanity’s use of machines” certainly poses thinking we all must do. Your poem reads a bit like a mural, images that put a story before us, causing us to think with wider open eyes. Way to go! Thanks! Susie
I once visited the Rouge assembly line (when they allowed tours and people catwalked over the fiery steel slabs). It was a terrifying experience for my little soul. Your description of the assembly lines still pulsating resonates. I appreciate the marriage between Diego Rivera’s rooted baby and the workers as a straddling of two worlds.
Love how this is a retelling of your experience and a retelling of the installation with a side of critique. The images you posted are stunning, but they do leave a wanting of context, for me, and I just love how the art, the museum, your visit, this poem, and the comments are all part of the story.
Glenda, I was blessed to see his art exhibit at The High Museum in Atlanta about 5 years ago and still remember the big draw of folks coming to take in every detail. Your retirement is taking you to far more than geographic destinations – and your writing helps us share your unique experiences/ have fun!
Guilty Solitude
a body sinks into Seconds
luscious Time covers limbs
wanting Minutes embrace
floating in temporal space
Sarah,
This is a brilliant example of form reflecting content! All the s sounds make me take more time to get through and give the piece a guilty pleasure kind of vibe. That last couplet reads a little faster, too, signaling the moment is over. Genius. Thanks for gifting us that moment.
Sarah, you’ve phrased this in such a provocative way. I find myself sinking into my own moments and being awakened to letting minutes wash over me with a sort of cadence. “Temporal space” is so right! Very masterful reckoning of time and it’s wily ways of taunting us. I always want more “luscious” time! Beautiful! Thank you, Susie
This is a poem about a character in the historical novel TREE GIRL, set in 1980s genocide in Guatemala.
Gabi leans into an avocado tree,
weaving her huipil* with
signs and symbols of her people,
dreaming of her quinceañera,
imagining her becoming,
believing in a future
for the Quiche.
Gabi runs from soldiers
holding hands of little ones.
The future has arrived:
machines making wind,
clouds raining bullets,
fires scorching Earth.
Gabi waits
for water from a truck,
for tarps to cover the dead,
for smiles from the little ones,
for the words to tell her story.
Gabi climbs an avocado tree,
watching the little one
dangle her legs and hum
the time has come
to go home,
to weave new signs,
to be the future
for the Quiche.
*pronounced weepeel, a woven top
Oh, Sarah — I want to read this book. The Guatemala stories are close to home to me, as I have a friend working hard in Guatemala to help women and children there with a literacy project and a women’s collaborative. She goes to Guatemala every month and has set up schools, a literacy program, and now a women’s collaborative… all just because it’s work that needs doing. My friend was a superintendent here, and she continues to do amazing work worldwide. To capture those godawful images in just the few lines you have here is very powerful. Girls dreaming of their quinceñera and then the image of running and holding little hands (even the word “holding” is strategic …oh gosh, just breaks my heart. The simplicity of “the quiche” — so effective up against the horrors of soldiers and bullets. You’ve inspired me to grab another book. Thank you! Susie
It’s been awhile since I read this book, but you’ve brought Gabi back to me. Her story is all the more powerful in today’s circumstances. We see her hope, the brutality she faces, and the strength she found to face her future in your piece.
I have this book on my shelves but haven’t read it. Thank you for reminding me. I like . how you have used the verbs: leans, runs, waits, climbs not only to show the action, but to move the reader through the narrative arc: Gabi leans (exposition), then runs (rising action), then waits (suspense as we move to the climax), and finally climbs (the denouement). Am I totally off base? (I’ll find out when I read the book!)
Sarah, your poem honors Gabbi and reminds us stories give hope, even in time of war. I can see Gabbi in the tree through your words and sense her longing for words.
Anna, thank you for a tremendous prompt today. This past Thursday, we kicked off National Hispanic Heritage Month in my middle school media center with the book Turning Pages: My Life Story by Sonia Sotomayor. Here is a link to a YouTube video that I used, in conjunction with her book, to create an acrostic poem using her name:
https://www.facebook.com/penguinkidsbooks/videos/488518314990443/?v=488518314990443
SONIA SOTOMAYOR
Supreme Court Justice
Of stories – of poems, of comics, of law and mystery
New York’s Bronx her stomping ground
Influenced heavily through reading and books
Advocates for literacy
Security and comfort and adventure through books
Of science and science fiction in English and Spanish
Turning Pages: My Life Story is her picture book
Of her place in the world, books provided a sense
“My Life Story” built on hugs from grandma and turning pages of books
A foundation of who she could become was realized on pages
Yesterday’s journey through books forged today’s walk of life
Of love of diversity – of people, of genre, of language
Reading was her guiding light, her understanding of the world
-Kim Johnson
I love the line “yesterday’s journey through books forged today’s walk of life” as we see and benefit from her literacy life. I want our leaders to be brilliant but, perhaps more importantly, to have listen to and read many stories
Kim! Waaaay cool choice! I love Sonya S! I particularly like that you captured “built on hugs from grandma and turning pages of books.” The “who she could become” really hit me, as I got to hear SS speak not long ago just as she published this one…she was AMAZING. Even with all the security guys in dark sunglasses, she was all over in the audience and hugging little kids and asking them questions…she was blow-your-socks-off cool! She laid open her whole life and growing up for the kids in the room, and the kids just opened up to her like a grandma. Thank you for sharing this one! Susie
Reading was her guiding light, her understanding of the world. What a message to send us off with! Thank you for choosing such a powerful person. I also loved the line that Sarah pointed out. All of our past learning forges our past and our future. It’s a beautiful line.
Kim- Those last lines really spoke Freire to me – the idea that first we learn to read the world, then we learn to read the word, and then continue to read the world through the word and vice versa. What an important thing to consider is our leadership. Thanks for sharing!
Kim, I’ve thought about your poem all day. It means so much to have Justice Sotomayor on the SCOTUS. These days I think of her as a Cassandra figure sounding warnings about what’s happened to our justice system. I’m sure you know what I mean. I particularly like the way you’ve captured Justice Sotomayor’s love of books. ThAnk you.