Eileen R. Tabios « Thread Started on Oct 10, 2008, 4:01pm »
Bio
Eileen R. Tabios has released 15 print, four electronic and 1 CD poetry collections, an art essay collection, a poetry essay/interview anthology, and a short story colleciton. Forthcoming in 2009 will be her ROSARY OF THORNS: SELECTED PROSE POEMS 1998-2008, edited by poet-critic-painter Thomas Fink. She most recently released two innovative ways of disrupting the form of biography through experimental poetry: THE LIGHT SANG AS IT LEFT YOUR EYES: OUR AUTOBIOGRAPHY (Marsh Hawk Press, 2007) and THE BLIND CHATELAINE'S KEYS; HER BIOGRAPHY THROUGH YOUR POETICS (BlazeVOX Books, 2008). In her poetry, she has crafted a body of work that is unique for melding ekphrasis with transcolonialism. Her poems have been translated into Spanish, Italian, Tagalog, Japanese, Portuguese, Paintings, Video, Drawings, Visual Poetry, Mixed Media Collages, Kali Martial Arts, Modern Dance and Sculpture. She blogs as the "Chatelaine" at http://angelicpoker.blogspot.com and edits GALATEA RESURRECTS, a popular poetry review journal at http://galatearesurrects.blogspot.com
Three Flamenco Poems --
"Grace Reddens" (after Christian Hawkey’s “Thistles for Finches”)
In the passage of a blink a howl descended as grace bubbled up—
A trash can kicked down the stairs: music and laughter
because el cubo de la basura was painted as red as your lipstick as red as flamenco
I recognize the helplessness of those who must dance and those who can only witness—
Flounces transcended the polyester reality of her skirt As well, oh pale limbs
revealing a ziggurat tattooed on an inner thigh on an area where inscription must have been desperate with hurt
*
"The Singer" (after The Flamenco Academy by Sarah Bird)
When they heard him, they heard
the whips over his ancestors as
they were forced out from India.
They heard a man thrown into
jail for stealing a small bunch
of grapes, then the ugly grunts
of his starving wife and children.
When they heard him, “they heard
a shivering woman with no defense
as the solders came to do
what they did with her and
her still too-young daughters.” They heard
the stars fall into bleak silence.
When they heard him, they heard
his cante come from him like
a rusty nail being pulled from
an old board. La voz afilla—
sandpaper voice. Good Gitano voice: Muy
rajo, very rough. Do you know
the worst thing one can say
about someone in flamenco? No me
dice nada. He didn’t say anything
to me. He didn’t speak something
I realized I feared but needed
to hear. Ay! All these stanzas
are rough! Or worse, too gentle.
They fumble. Earnest as cows and
they fumble. Do you know what
would be the worst thing said
about my poetry? I created nothing
that moved you. Made you cry
as if pain was the only
proof possible for being alive. So
who among you listening will be
the wild dog I am calling?
Show me your snarl. Reveal your
fangs. How can I sing blood
if I don’t bleed? Show me
yourself as the one for whom
I will rip my own skin.
Show yourself before you bore me
with your patient stalking. Show yourself
darkened further by my orders. My
people trained me. There is no
shame in begging for what will
part my lips— what will trade
caresses with my tongue—what will
battle my teeth and make me
sweat. My people trained me. I
learned knives are sharp by being
cut. I learned fires are hot
by being burned. I learned to
stamp my heels to sound like
a machine-gun blast because…because… Show
yourself—I have a song to
turn you into ice, then shatter!
Ole! Verdad! Show yourself—do you
think I’m begging for a crust
of bread already half-eaten by cockroaches?!
*
"Dark Freedom" (after The Flamenco Academy by Sarah Bird)
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