To: New Mexico

From: Hakim Bellamy

100 Years of Corridos: A song for the New Mexico Centennial

In the 1st chapter

Of the Gospel

According to Anaya

Rudolfo writes

“All of the older people spoke only Spanish,

And I myself understood only Spanish.”

In English

Bienvenidos Albuquerque

I myself

Understand only English

In Dine

We speak many languages

But mean the same thing

And manana

Will be more of the same

Familia

Food

Fiesta

Forever

Come on and sing along

We’re going to

Familia

Comida

Fiesta

Forever

For 100 years B.C.

Before the Commodores

Before Lionel Ritchie

And for a 100 years more

We’ve farmed

Feasted and fixed cars

We’ve moved people

And mixed razas

We’ve got an appointment

With the curandera

As soon as we leave the doctors

A lust for livestock

Like chupacabras

Afraid of God

And the inexplicable

Dinosaur fossils

So in love with space

And the people who live there

That we speak Chewbacca

The 47th state

Admitted to the Union

We might as well have been The Moon

…of Endor

To our forefathers

With the oldest

And highest

State capital in the country

People on both coasts

Should look up to us

Instead of wondering

If they have to exchange their money

Before coming

Yes,

Dollars is our official currency too

And though

We don’t have much of it

Money can’t buy cultura

Our History Book

The King Alfonso Version

Is a canon

Of wars and peace

A Bible

Of you and me

That was written in Madrid

By missionaries and mestizos

We are men of magic

And women of wizardry

Who speak in spell and song

Wing words

And fly them like a flag

All yellow

Between red and green

Like a traffic light

Like the state question is

Hurry up

Or slow down

Never stop

All of the older people sung only corridos

However,

In those corridos…

Me?

I only heard gospel

Maybe it’s me

Maybe it’s a stage

But every time

I hear the clap of thunder

It sounds like a blessing

Every time

I hear the pitter, patter

Of the rain

It sounds

Like a round

Of applause

And even the monsoon roars

“Encore”

And the flash bloods

Flood

Our hearts

With love

One hundred

New Year’s Eves

Of trying to puncture precipitation

Where the sky never dies

And the clouds wear bulletproof vests

Where we perpetually live

In the shadow of a hot air balloon eclipse

We are not a city

That speaks “Good Morning”

We are a city that speaks

Mass Ascension

Like Grandpa

Only spoke Spanish

While he was drinking

Buenos Dias

Like Grandma

Only spoke Latin

When she was praying

Buenas Noches

Where water

Is so sacred and scarce

That we pot it

In puddles

On our flat roofs

Pool it

In vestibule stoups

Of steepled temples

Where pigeons swirl and roost

Pond it

In mountaintops

On our not-so-flat horizons

We bottle it

In our bodies

And set fire to it

In our forests

Where it sounds like

Acequias babble “amen”

And bosques

Smell like baptisms

Where the rain

Doesn’t speak any language

It only understands dance

And sometimes

We miss it so much

We need TWO rainbows

To promise us

It is coming back

After thousands of years

Of owners

For this little piece of hacienda

It’s been us as tenants

Together

Roommates for the past hundred

Call it a trust

Call it a Zia-shaped symbol for eternity

Over our right ring finger

Call it the interconnectedness of cultures

Call it married to each other

Speak now or forever hold your “chisme”

We are

Actions speak louder than wordsmiths

Storytelling rituals

We don’t speak Project Runway

We Cowboy Cosmopolitan

Urban Traditional

Where our children

Dare not say or see

Cucui or La llorona

But are lucky

Santa speaks Spanglish

And has a sweet tooth

For leche y biscochitos

Where birthdays

Are miracles

And each one

Has a spirit

Holy Spirit

Or patron saint

Where we celebrate

100

Today

In the beginning

The Greatest Spirit

Created America

And the earth

And it was

Bueno

I don’t speak perfect English

Barely even speak passable Spanish

But it’s okay

Because there is no such thing

As “perfect English”

Except for the word

Nuevo Mexico

© Hakim Bellamy June 12, 2012

Inaugural Poet Laureate of Albuquerque’s Acceptance “Thanks”

“I don’t think I ever wanted to be a writer,” said June Jordan, by many accounts the most published African American writer in history. “I thought I was a poet, very early on. And I thought I probably stayed a poet. In other words, the writing I’ve done other than poetry came much later, and I’ve never thought about myself other than a poet really. No matter whether I was writing libretto or a political essay or even the one novel that I put out here…I was a poet doing these things. Rather than now I am a journalist or now I’ve become a librettist. No, I was just a poet doing these things.”

In a history of marginalizing achievement by people of color, years of saying Langston Hughes or June Jordan are Great American “Black” Writers…rather than just Great AMERICAN writers…I commend Albuquerque and just want to acknowledge the moment in that context. Deeply honored to be able to tell my grandchildren that I wasn’t just the 1st BLACK poet laureate of Albuquerque…I was the first poet laureate of Albuquerque.

And I’m fortunate, not because I am 33 years young and have been given this recognition of Laureate that some people write their entire lives for. Phillis Wheatley became the first African American poet published in 1767 at age 13 for her poem “On Messrs. Hussey and Coffin.” That, is young. THAT’s an accomplishment.

I am humbled, by Albuquerque’s ability to see me as a musician, an actor, a scholar, a journalist, a playwright and an organizer, but at the and of the day, like June…I’m just a poet doing all these things. And that is what makes this particular appointment so special to me. The root of everything I do in this community grew from planting my shifty, shaking legs on stages at poetry slams. Sitting my butt in seats at readings by some of the best poets in the world, two whose company I share today (Mary Oishi and Damien Flores). I’ve been allowed to share the stage with some of the biggest New Mexico legacies, poets recognized by the literary canon and the ivory tower, and that opportunity, privilege, and mentorship has put me in the position to fill these shoes of unfathomable size.

I am blessed to be here with you this morning, while my youngest brother, Tyler, kicks off his third season as a professional soccer player in Los Angeles and my only son, Kaylem, kicks a soccer ball at his 3rd soccer game ever in the Northeast Heights. My middle brother, Rasheed, who shares my love of poetry and Kaylem. My surrogate blood brothers of dream and ink, Carlos Contreras and Colin Hazelbaker. And of course God and My parents Rick and Carlease, who are wholly responsible for what Albuquerque has had to put up with for the past seven years. To my other son, Tobey, who I’ve forced to sit through way too many a long poetry reading. And to the mother of my boys, Tracey, who literally gave me to Albuquerque.

This is not an acceptance speech, as much as it is a thank you. When my Fairy Slam Father, Don McIver presented me with the news. I wasn’t my usual, annoyingly animated self. I was relieved. Joyed, like I had left my all on track, given everything to the steeple chase and I was finally crossing the finish line. And though this appointment is just the beginning, the launch of an opportunity to serve. I had the ecstatic relief, like that of my Mother calling me and telling me that her plane has landed safely. The opportunity to deflate a bit. To bask in THIS moment of thanks that my City has extended me. All the time away from my son, my partner, my studies and myself, have not gone unnoticed. So I’m extremely humbled and thankful, for the “thank you.”

But by accepting this position, I have a job to do. Sure, there’s the ambassadorship of this position that tasks me with representing all you. From form poets to freestylists, first poem to fifth book, real loud to real quiet, real long to real short. White, Black, Brown, Red, Yellow, Other, LGBTQ, “I & U.” And I do. That’s the vow I exchange with you. However, my larger duty is less about OUR poetry, more about theirs…more about how we make poetry matter in the lives of people it doesn’t already matter to. Because we already know that poetry doesn’t just help us value each other and the world around us, it helps us value ourselves. And every person, every voice, in our city, is valuable. I think the Laureate’s job is to remind us of that, and I can’t do it alone…never could…so I’m going to need your help.

“Pour dire tout, il faudrait savoir toutes les langues,” says Ranier Maria Rilke. To say everything, one would need to know every language. And I confess, I do not. My Spanish is horrible, and my English ain’t too good neither. However, I will do my best to solicit poetry from every willing tongue. I’m less concerned with how the poetry sounds or looks or what it wins or loses, I’m more concerned with how it makes us feel. To me, good poetry makes us feel. Some think it foolish to think we can better our world with poetry, however when you consider poetry simply as a way of sharing each other. It doesn’t seem too farfetched to believe that we can at least make our community better by knowing each other better. So Mr. Mayor, Centennial Poet, current and former Santa Fe laureate, esteemed selection committee, founding sponsors, family and friends. Thank you for recognizing that I’ve given up a lot to get here…and I accept, with no reservations, the challenge of giving up more. I love you Kaylem Mikah Bellamy and I love you Albuquerque.

Thank You.