Response 11: Jimmy Santiago Baca

I thoroughly enjoyed Jimmy Santiago Baca's poetry, especially the selections from Martín and Meditations on the South Valley. I was surprised that this poem had such a strong narrative flow; it was like nonfiction and poetry at the same time, and not just because it was autobiographical. This poem placed me in specific scenes and places and moments and told a cohesive story – in this sense it reminded me of prose. But Baca’s language and image and metaphor certainly belong to poetry. (I’m not saying this because I feel like it’s necessary to debate whether this piece is poetry or prose; I’m just trying to get at qualities that make it unique.)

One of the first things I noticed as I read Martín and Meditations was Baca’s sparing use of articles: “Grandma Lucero at the table / smokes Prince Albert cigarette / rolled from a can, / sips black coffee from metal cup” (15). The lack of articles creates a pared-down language and evokes a more essential or elemental (as Sheryl calls it) type of language, or perhaps a language that has been translated into English. When language is translated, articles are often omitted. Leaving out articles also seems to intensify the meaning and purpose of each word, and when Baca does use an article it seems more necessary and meaningful. I think I tend to ignore articles a bit when I read, but I found myself paying attention to each of Baca’s words.

I also noticed that I read Baca’s poems very slowly. His images and ideas are so rich and emotional that I had to pause and reread to try to absorb them. He uses many words that I hadn’t heard before, Spanish words or words particular to features of the southwestern landscape. These words transmit a culture and a specific setting in ways that translations never could. As I encountered and investigated unfamiliar words, phrases and allusions, I gained a glimpse into a cultural surround that had previously been unknown to me.

Another interesting aspect of Baca’s language is his use of words that are usually nouns as verbs. For instance: “and pail windmill water to calves and pigs” (22) and “where sun hacksaws tin sheets of glistening air” (113). I found some of Baca’s constructions challenging because I first had to figure out what part of speech different words were supposed to be, and then how to understand the syntax and interpret the meaning: “whose yellow teeth tore the alfalfa out of their hearts, / and left them stubbled, / parched grounds old goats of tecatos and winos / nibbled” (21). Phrases like the ones above disoriented me and slowed me down, but in a good way. The result was that my attention became fixed on Baca’s language, and on language in general. I stopped and chewed his words.

Baca’s use of metaphor is magical. Here’s one of my favorite: “The lonely afternoon in the vast expanse of llano, / was a blue knife / sharpening its hot, silver edge on the distant / horizon of mountains, … /” (22). I read those lines again and again, trying to let the image and the feeling sink in.

I really loved reading these poems and I plan to read more of his poems in the near future. His writing is arrestingly, hauntingly beautiful. I admire the way that he weaves together personal history with dream and mythology and landscape and culture. The story of his life is incredible in and of itself, but his way of capturing and sharing his experience is even more incredible. I am so excited that he is coming to Chatham and that we will have a chance to meet with him and ask him questions.