http://odeo.com/channels/127128-Lorna-Dee-Cervantes LornaDeeCervantes no <p>Lorna Dee Cervantes reads her poetry and others.</p> Lorna Dee Cervantes reads her poetry and others. Lorna Dee Cervantes reads her poetry and others. en-us 40 Fri, 15 Dec 2006 11:52:01 -0800 Fri, 15 Dec 2006 11:52:01 -0800 http://odeo.com/episodes/3971793-Nothing-Lasts Chicana Chumash poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes reads her new poem, “Nothing Lasts” inspired by a line in Doug Peacock’s book, Walking It Off, “Nothing lasts but the land.” brTo read this and other poems, visit her at her home blog where she kicks off her spelling shoes and stops professing at LornaDice. You can also read mostly poems at her MySpace blog, “The Poems. The Whole Poem. And Nothing But the Poem.” To order her new book which is actually 5 books in one beautiful clothbound edition, DRIVE: The First Quartet directly from her click here and include order, dedication and shipping information. Thanks for listening. “Gracias a la Vida” – Violeta Parra Lorna Dee Cervantes Chicana Chumash poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes reads her new poem, “Nothing Lasts” inspired by a line in Doug Peacock’s book, Walking It Off, “Nothing lasts but the land.” brTo read this and other poems, visit her at her home blog where she kicks off her spelling shoes and stops professing at LornaDice. You can also read mostly poems at her MySpace blog, “The Poems. The Whole Poem. And Nothing But the Poem.” To order her new book which is actually 5 books in one beautiful clothbound edition, DRIVE: The First Quartet directly from her click here and include order, dedication and shipping information. Thanks for listening. “Gracias a la Vida” – Violeta Parra Lorna Dee Cervantes Chicana Chumash poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes reads her new poem, “Nothing Lasts” inspired by a line in Doug Peacock’s book, Walking It Off, “Nothing lasts but the land.” brTo read this and other poems, visit her at her home blog where she kicks off her spelling shoes and stops professing at LornaDice. You can also read mostly poems at her MySpace blog, “The Poems. The Whole Poem. And Nothing But the Poem.” To order her new book which is actually 5 books in one beautiful clothbound edition, DRIVE: The First Quartet directly from her click here and include order, dedication and shipping information. Thanks for listening. “Gracias a la Vida” – Violeta Parra Lorna Dee Cervantes tag:odeo.com,2006-12-15,3971793 Fri, 15 Dec 2006 11:52:01 -0800 no Lorna Dee Cervantes poetry, Latina, latino, poet, american indian, cervantes, native american, lorna dee, chicana, lorna, chicano, chicana poetry http://odeo.com/episodes/3667073-A-Viet-Nam-War-Poem-The-First-Draft-by-Lorna-Dee-Cervantes Poet Lorna Dee Cervantes reads a new poem, “A Viet Nam War Poem (The First Draft)” written December 6, 2006. Visit her blog at lornadice.blogspot for this and more poetry, prose and news. You can also visit her at MySpace and read the poem on her blog there. Poet Lorna Dee Cervantes reads a new poem, “A Viet Nam War Poem (The First Draft)” written December 6, 2006. Visit her blog at lornadice.blogspot for this and more poetry, prose and news. You can also visit her at MySpace and read the poem on her blog there. Poet Lorna Dee Cervantes reads a new poem, “A Viet Nam War Poem (The First Draft)” written December 6, 2006. Visit her blog at lornadice.blogspot for this and more poetry, prose and news. You can also visit her at MySpace and read the poem on her blog there. tag:odeo.com,2006-12-07,3667073 Thu, 07 Dec 2006 14:56:18 -0800 no Lorna Dee Cervantes poetry, literature, Latina, latino, Peace, 60s, poet, american indian, cervantes, native american, lorna dee, chicana, lorna, chicano, chicana poetry, viet nam, raza, war poetry, anti-war poetry, lorna cervantes http://odeo.com/episodes/2207684-To-David-Without-Goliath-From-Penny-Glass To David Without Goliath From Penny Glass” by Lorna Dee Cervantes This long narrative poem is from my new book, DRIVE: The First Quartet which is five books in one in a beautiful cloth-bound first edition of 320 pages. For more information and to order direct from the publisher go to www.wingspress.com or order direct from the poet at my home blog, http://lornadice.blogspot.com for a mere $25. This poem also appears in a new 158 page manuscript of new and selected love poems, Una poca de gracia/ Bit of Grace, currently being auctioned off on her blog as a benefit for poet, Alfred Arteaga’s experimental stem cell heart treatment. To David Without Goliath From Penny Glass” by Lorna Dee Cervantes This long narrative poem is from my new book, DRIVE: The First Quartet which is five books in one in a beautiful cloth-bound first edition of 320 pages. For more information and to order direct from the publisher go to www.wingspress.com or order direct from the poet at my home blog, http://lornadice.blogspot.com for a mere $25. This poem also appears in a new 158 page manuscript of new and selected love poems, Una poca de gracia/ Bit of Grace, currently being auctioned off on her blog as a benefit for poet, Alfred Arteaga’s experimental stem cell heart treatment. To David Without Goliath From Penny Glass” by Lorna Dee Cervantes This long narrative poem is from my new book, DRIVE: The First Quartet which is five books in one in a beautiful cloth-bound first edition of 320 pages. For more information and to order direct from the publisher go to www.wingspress.com or order direct from the poet at my home blog, http://lornadice.blogspot.com for a mere $25. This poem also appears in a new 158 page manuscript of new and selected love poems, Una poca de gracia/ Bit of Grace, currently being auctioned off on her blog as a benefit for poet, Alfred Arteaga’s experimental stem cell heart treatment. tag:odeo.com,2006-10-20,2207684 Fri, 20 Oct 2006 15:43:36 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes poetry, poet, cervantes, lorna dee, chicana poetry, lorna cervantes, anti-war poems, the '60's http://odeo.com/episodes/2207625-He-Was-Far-More-Complicated-Than-That “He Was Far More Complicated Than That” He was the hugest heart in a helmet, grinning into his future, a purple sunset over Michigan’s former majesty—a full boy. a hunter and a camper—good thoughts all around. On his father’s Harley, with a grandfather’s Bible tucked in his war shirt, heaven on his sleeve, a sleek passage into duty—choice was an inheritance in the hours of ironing and polishing the buttons. His poetry on the lips of the survivors, lines about sacrifice and the selfless, believing conditions were improving—an expedition into history. He was indestructible. A winning force, a signature on the passing of time, a camouflage and ramrod boy, a fighter—he preferred peace, a lakefront home, the walls of collages introducing the chapters: posing Dragons, wrestling circles, a wedding day, the sun busting through the senseless trees—something like an animal huddled beyond the field—a trained sniper. “This is who I am.” Love. A misfire. “A Marine to the very end.” Endlessly. Co... “He Was Far More Complicated Than That” He was the hugest heart in a helmet, grinning into his future, a purple sunset over Michigan’s former majesty—a full boy. a hunter and a camper—good thoughts all around. On his father’s Harley, with a grandfather’s Bible tucked in his war shirt, heaven on his sleeve, a sleek passage into duty—choice was an inheritance in the hours of ironing and polishing the buttons. His poetry on the lips of the survivors, lines about sacrifice and the selfless, believing conditions were improving—an expedition into history. He was indestructible. A winning force, a signature on the passing of time, a camouflage and ramrod boy, a fighter—he preferred peace, a lakefront home, the walls of collages introducing the chapters: posing Dragons, wrestling circles, a wedding day, the sun busting through the senseless trees—something like an animal huddled beyond the field—a trained sniper. “This is who I am.” Love. A misfire. “A Marine to the very end.” Endlessly. Copyright 2006 Lorna Dee Cervantes “He Was Far More Complicated Than That” He was the hugest heart in a helmet, grinning into his future, a purple sunset over Michigan’s former majesty—a full boy. a hunter and a camper—good thoughts all around. On his father’s Harley, with a grandfather’s Bible tucked in his war shirt, heaven on his sleeve, a sleek passage into duty—choice was an inheritance in the hours of ironing and polishing the buttons. His poetry on the lips of the survivors, lines about sacrifice and the selfless, believing conditions were improving—an expedition into history. He was indestructible. A winning force, a signature on the passing of time, a camouflage and ramrod boy, a fighter—he preferred peace, a lakefront home, the walls of collages introducing the chapters: posing Dragons, wrestling circles, a wedding day, the sun busting through the senseless trees—something like an animal huddled beyond the field—a trained sniper. “This is who I am.” Love. A misfire. “A Marine to the very end.” Endlessly. Copyright 2006 Lorna Dee Cervantes tag:odeo.com,2006-10-20,2207625 Fri, 20 Oct 2006 15:10:11 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes poetry, poet, cervantes, lorna dee, chicana poetry, lorna cervantes, war poems http://odeo.com/episodes/1980080-My-father-moved-through-dooms-of-love-ee-cummings-read-by-Lorna-Dee-Cervantes “My father moved through dooms of love” by ee cummings Read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes — because I want to Go to www.poets.org to find complete text of poem “My father moved through dooms of love” by ee cummings Read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes — because I want to Go to www.poets.org to find complete text of poem “My father moved through dooms of love” by ee cummings Read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes — because I want to Go to www.poets.org to find complete text of poem tag:odeo.com,2006-09-25,1980080 Mon, 25 Sep 2006 10:23:06 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes cummings http://odeo.com/episodes/1979917-Anyone-lived-in-a-pretty-how-town-ee-cummings-read-by-Lorna-Dee-Cervantes “Anyone lived in a pretty how town” by ee cummings Read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes because I want to “Anyone lived in a pretty how town” by ee cummings Read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes because I want to “Anyone lived in a pretty how town” by ee cummings Read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes because I want to tag:odeo.com,2006-09-25,1979917 Mon, 25 Sep 2006 10:04:53 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes cummings http://odeo.com/episodes/1979882-I-Sing-of-Olaf-Glad-and-Big-ee-cummings-read-by-Lorna-Dee-Cervantes “I Sing of Olaf Glad and Big” read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes because I want to try http://www.poets.org for copy of poem “I Sing of Olaf Glad and Big” read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes because I want to try http://www.poets.org for copy of poem “I Sing of Olaf Glad and Big” read by Chicana poet, Lorna Dee Cervantes because I want to try http://www.poets.org for copy of poem tag:odeo.com,2006-09-25,1979882 Mon, 25 Sep 2006 09:55:33 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes cummings http://odeo.com/episodes/1979647-Thy-To-%E2%80%94-And-Fro-after-Keats Thy To — And Fro ~ After Keats . . Sea Hours creep Beauty’s tangled ebb — . Snared Hand — I, Ungloving time’s since. . Every Eclipse, sweet Grief — Darling, bring . Delight Remembering joys, My thy unto. . Fancy Harkening devour, Wrong ear; my . Sense For love-sound Sweets, my thy. . It’s Been, was, Long and web, . Five Slow years Since I was. . . Lorna Dee Cervantes 9/22/06 Thy To — And Fro ~ After Keats . . Sea Hours creep Beauty’s tangled ebb — . Snared Hand — I, Ungloving time’s since. . Every Eclipse, sweet Grief — Darling, bring . Delight Remembering joys, My thy unto. . Fancy Harkening devour, Wrong ear; my . Sense For love-sound Sweets, my thy. . It’s Been, was, Long and web, . Five Slow years Since I was. . . Lorna Dee Cervantes 9/22/06 Thy To — And Fro ~ After Keats . . Sea Hours creep Beauty’s tangled ebb — . Snared Hand — I, Ungloving time’s since. . Every Eclipse, sweet Grief — Darling, bring . Delight Remembering joys, My thy unto. . Fancy Harkening devour, Wrong ear; my . Sense For love-sound Sweets, my thy. . It’s Been, was, Long and web, . Five Slow years Since I was. . . Lorna Dee Cervantes 9/22/06 tag:odeo.com,2006-09-25,1979647 Mon, 25 Sep 2006 09:11:54 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes http://odeo.com/episodes/1959476-Shelling-the-Pecans-solo-reading Shelling the Pecans for A.A. I knew what a woman’s hand could do: shred the husk into threads, weave lips together at the seam. Rock to hard body, empire to thrust into knave—the native touch tocando música up the spine of the violin, some song of silk and gut. I knew race was a matter of degree, that inch in the face, that notice of dismissal. How to work all day at a posture, at a stance, at attention paying attention to none but the awl . I put my hole into you, this notch between the breasts, this discovery and treason. Hembra a macho. Fixed. O defined in the still shell of history, a destiny written in the charts and lost. Lost in the unnoticed memories of you, a flicker of change, some small scrimp of light. Tu luz. Ahí allá—a la ala and the scoop. Your aguila eyes sweeping up the dawn’s desire. This night. I remember . shelling the pecans. Nothing but a bucket. No ride exceptional. Nothing but a dream to entertain us. I dreamed this moment— all the sweet meats in... Shelling the Pecans for A.A. I knew what a woman’s hand could do: shred the husk into threads, weave lips together at the seam. Rock to hard body, empire to thrust into knave—the native touch tocando música up the spine of the violin, some song of silk and gut. I knew race was a matter of degree, that inch in the face, that notice of dismissal. How to work all day at a posture, at a stance, at attention paying attention to none but the awl . I put my hole into you, this notch between the breasts, this discovery and treason. Hembra a macho. Fixed. O defined in the still shell of history, a destiny written in the charts and lost. Lost in the unnoticed memories of you, a flicker of change, some small scrimp of light. Tu luz. Ahí allá—a la ala and the scoop. Your aguila eyes sweeping up the dawn’s desire. This night. I remember . shelling the pecans. Nothing but a bucket. No ride exceptional. Nothing but a dream to entertain us. I dreamed this moment— all the sweet meats in a risen weight going higher to the rim. The price and the pricing. I could eat what I missed or messed. Outside, the birds bending to it on a summer day. The great age of my grandmother’s banded hand weighing me down. The paper of tutelage blasting me away . at that age. Now, I still remember how to shuck, how to fetch it, how to step it. Stepping up to you, I ask. The point enters the ventricle without shattering the meat. How a woman on a good day can rip out the heart whole. Lorna Dee Cervantes 8/25/06 Shelling the Pecans for A.A. I knew what a woman’s hand could do: shred the husk into threads, weave lips together at the seam. Rock to hard body, empire to thrust into knave—the native touch tocando música up the spine of the violin, some song of silk and gut. I knew race was a matter of degree, that inch in the face, that notice of dismissal. How to work all day at a posture, at a stance, at attention paying attention to none but the awl . I put my hole into you, this notch between the breasts, this discovery and treason. Hembra a macho. Fixed. O defined in the still shell of history, a destiny written in the charts and lost. Lost in the unnoticed memories of you, a flicker of change, some small scrimp of light. Tu luz. Ahí allá—a la ala and the scoop. Your aguila eyes sweeping up the dawn’s desire. This night. I remember . shelling the pecans. Nothing but a bucket. No ride exceptional. Nothing but a dream to entertain us. I dreamed this moment— all the sweet meats in a risen weight going higher to the rim. The price and the pricing. I could eat what I missed or messed. Outside, the birds bending to it on a summer day. The great age of my grandmother’s banded hand weighing me down. The paper of tutelage blasting me away . at that age. Now, I still remember how to shuck, how to fetch it, how to step it. Stepping up to you, I ask. The point enters the ventricle without shattering the meat. How a woman on a good day can rip out the heart whole. Lorna Dee Cervantes 8/25/06 tag:odeo.com,2006-09-22,1959476 Fri, 22 Sep 2006 14:49:10 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes http://odeo.com/episodes/1953458-Shelling-the-Pecans Shelling the Pecans for A.A. I knew what a woman’s hand could do: shred the husk into threads, weave lips together at the seam. Rock to hard body, empire to thrust into knave—the native touch tocando música up the spine of the violin, some song of silk and gut. I knew race was a matter of degree, that inch in the face, that notice of dismissal. How to work all day at a posture, at a stance, at attention paying attention to none but the awl. . I put my hole into you, this notch between the breasts, this discovery and treason. Hembra a macho. Fixed. O defined in the still shell of history, a destiny written in the charts and lost. Lost in the unnoticed memories of you, a flicker of change, some small scrimp of light. Tu luz. Ahí allá—a la ala and the scoop. Your aguila eyes sweeping up the dawn’s desire. This night. I remember . shelling the pecans. Nothing but a bucket. No ride exceptional. Nothing but a dream to entertain us. I dreamed this moment— all the sweet meats in a risen wei... Shelling the Pecans for A.A. I knew what a woman’s hand could do: shred the husk into threads, weave lips together at the seam. Rock to hard body, empire to thrust into knave—the native touch tocando música up the spine of the violin, some song of silk and gut. I knew race was a matter of degree, that inch in the face, that notice of dismissal. How to work all day at a posture, at a stance, at attention paying attention to none but the awl. . I put my hole into you, this notch between the breasts, this discovery and treason. Hembra a macho. Fixed. O defined in the still shell of history, a destiny written in the charts and lost. Lost in the unnoticed memories of you, a flicker of change, some small scrimp of light. Tu luz. Ahí allá—a la ala and the scoop. Your aguila eyes sweeping up the dawn’s desire. This night. I remember . shelling the pecans. Nothing but a bucket. No ride exceptional. Nothing but a dream to entertain us. I dreamed this moment— all the sweet meats in a risen weight going higher to the rim. The price and the pricing. I could eat what I missed or messed. Outside, the birds bending to it on a summer day. The great age of my grandmother’s banded hand weighing me down. The paper of tutelage blasting me away . at that age. Now, I still remember how to shuck, how to fetch it, how to step it. Stepping up to you, I ask. The point enters the ventricle without shattering the meat. How a woman on a good day can rip out the heart whole. . Lorna Dee Cervantes 8/25/06 music by Mana’ from “Amar es Combatir” “Bendita tu Luz” – lyrics by Fher Shelling the Pecans for A.A. I knew what a woman’s hand could do: shred the husk into threads, weave lips together at the seam. Rock to hard body, empire to thrust into knave—the native touch tocando música up the spine of the violin, some song of silk and gut. I knew race was a matter of degree, that inch in the face, that notice of dismissal. How to work all day at a posture, at a stance, at attention paying attention to none but the awl. . I put my hole into you, this notch between the breasts, this discovery and treason. Hembra a macho. Fixed. O defined in the still shell of history, a destiny written in the charts and lost. Lost in the unnoticed memories of you, a flicker of change, some small scrimp of light. Tu luz. Ahí allá—a la ala and the scoop. Your aguila eyes sweeping up the dawn’s desire. This night. I remember . shelling the pecans. Nothing but a bucket. No ride exceptional. Nothing but a dream to entertain us. I dreamed this moment— all the sweet meats in a risen weight going higher to the rim. The price and the pricing. I could eat what I missed or messed. Outside, the birds bending to it on a summer day. The great age of my grandmother’s banded hand weighing me down. The paper of tutelage blasting me away . at that age. Now, I still remember how to shuck, how to fetch it, how to step it. Stepping up to you, I ask. The point enters the ventricle without shattering the meat. How a woman on a good day can rip out the heart whole. . Lorna Dee Cervantes 8/25/06 music by Mana’ from “Amar es Combatir” “Bendita tu Luz” – lyrics by Fher tag:odeo.com,2006-09-21,1953458 Thu, 21 Sep 2006 21:37:54 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes Arts, Poems, poetry, Latina, latino, mana, poet, mexicano, american indian, cervantes, lorna dee, chicana, chicano, lorna cervantes, xicana, xicano, mexicana, love poems, mexican american http://odeo.com/episodes/1952953-Groovy-Mortimer-y-su-Lepista-Nuda Groovy Mortimer y Su Lepista Nuda It was a black beans summer night, the squash was kid long in the grass and you could smell the tamale pie in the avenues coming from the curtained backs of the bodegas. Lucky Cienfuegos was on the ancient phonograph, black nylon no longer slick, the tar-voiced maestro still snappin’ his hat on the wrist, stiff kinky creases in the cuff, double turned and out of fashion. But in his prime, never: cha cha ritmos of rhymes between the bolero eyes, Caye Coco all the way to the heavenway of poetry, Mayan waves chucking bonito in the aqua spray. In a heyday of rites and rituals, this shred left on the trunk of cultura like candlesnuff clumps on a stump, the indigenous xlaria hypoxylon, common and otherworldly as a woman named Kosumi, Miwok for She Who Fishes For Salmon With A Spear who goes into the forest padlocked in pine and searches the Aspen floor for the populus tremula, the aspen flower for fears—to stop the fear and trembling of an age. This black... Groovy Mortimer y Su Lepista Nuda It was a black beans summer night, the squash was kid long in the grass and you could smell the tamale pie in the avenues coming from the curtained backs of the bodegas. Lucky Cienfuegos was on the ancient phonograph, black nylon no longer slick, the tar-voiced maestro still snappin’ his hat on the wrist, stiff kinky creases in the cuff, double turned and out of fashion. But in his prime, never: cha cha ritmos of rhymes between the bolero eyes, Caye Coco all the way to the heavenway of poetry, Mayan waves chucking bonito in the aqua spray. In a heyday of rites and rituals, this shred left on the trunk of cultura like candlesnuff clumps on a stump, the indigenous xlaria hypoxylon, common and otherworldly as a woman named Kosumi, Miwok for She Who Fishes For Salmon With A Spear who goes into the forest padlocked in pine and searches the Aspen floor for the populus tremula, the aspen flower for fears—to stop the fear and trembling of an age. This black bean soup. This herbal blossom. “How to Speak, And How to Listen.” The blue foot, pink cap lepista nuda sunning herself among the needle beds—purple fleshed in the vulva, a hundred fires in the stem. And somewhere sweet Seymour turns in his dream of beaches and pies, spies the black pitcher of night dawning into sap, the well-fed soul stalling on the stove, a single salmon stunned in the wake and scooped up by hand en un camino antiguo, un camino real. And Mortimer grooves, his lucky capitalist nickel heaving up the tunes on a lonely juke box on a flaxen fleshy night; the groovy night, a wood blewit blue cap erect, edible and delicious. Lorna Dee Cervantes 9/11/06 (This poem was written and submitted to September’s challenge on the CafeCafe group poetry blog and aired on MiPo radio, 9/22/06) Groovy Mortimer y Su Lepista Nuda It was a black beans summer night, the squash was kid long in the grass and you could smell the tamale pie in the avenues coming from the curtained backs of the bodegas. Lucky Cienfuegos was on the ancient phonograph, black nylon no longer slick, the tar-voiced maestro still snappin’ his hat on the wrist, stiff kinky creases in the cuff, double turned and out of fashion. But in his prime, never: cha cha ritmos of rhymes between the bolero eyes, Caye Coco all the way to the heavenway of poetry, Mayan waves chucking bonito in the aqua spray. In a heyday of rites and rituals, this shred left on the trunk of cultura like candlesnuff clumps on a stump, the indigenous xlaria hypoxylon, common and otherworldly as a woman named Kosumi, Miwok for She Who Fishes For Salmon With A Spear who goes into the forest padlocked in pine and searches the Aspen floor for the populus tremula, the aspen flower for fears—to stop the fear and trembling of an age. This black bean soup. This herbal blossom. “How to Speak, And How to Listen.” The blue foot, pink cap lepista nuda sunning herself among the needle beds—purple fleshed in the vulva, a hundred fires in the stem. And somewhere sweet Seymour turns in his dream of beaches and pies, spies the black pitcher of night dawning into sap, the well-fed soul stalling on the stove, a single salmon stunned in the wake and scooped up by hand en un camino antiguo, un camino real. And Mortimer grooves, his lucky capitalist nickel heaving up the tunes on a lonely juke box on a flaxen fleshy night; the groovy night, a wood blewit blue cap erect, edible and delicious. Lorna Dee Cervantes 9/11/06 (This poem was written and submitted to September’s challenge on the CafeCafe group poetry blog and aired on MiPo radio, 9/22/06) tag:odeo.com,2006-09-21,1952953 Thu, 21 Sep 2006 20:16:21 -0700 no Lorna Dee Cervantes