poemas - perdomo

7/23/2019 poemas - Perdomo

1/10

Willie Perdomo reads

Poet in Harlem

That night he went looking for

a poem

he left his electric typewriter humming

on the kitchen table

and ran out to the wide

sidewalks of Lenox Avenue

Aunties sat on their stoop box seats

mixing cheers and gossip

beers on the down low

With arms thrown to the sky

I celebrate a touchdown

A poet must look at the whole picture

One mans victory is stalked by another mans loss

The voice inside my head began to whisper

Damn

One of them youngbloods might grow to

be a poet in Harlem

Or the little brother who caught the

game-winning touchdown might have to

sleep in the street one day

That night he went looking for

a poemhe found two colors of love

A teenage couple embrace

by a bus!stop

I read his lips as they whisper

a sweet something into her smile

and that voice that never goes for a walk

comes to visit again

I hope

their dreams

come true

In one ear and it stood

as the poet turned the corner

"e bumped into an ancient argument

Two fallen angels with scratched throats

pull and push each other

Aint enough for both of them to

get high tonight

#se to be

he would serenade her

under a clear moonlight

and that voice meets

him in front of the li$uor store

Aint no room for kissin and huggin

In the middle of the night

hen luck is hard to find

The poet came back to his

kitchen table with the last


2/10

voice that sounded like the blues

so he turned the electric hum into

this poem

!how me a woman

who is strung out on love

I want to support

her habit

Crazy Bunch Barbecue

Jefferson Park, Summer 1999

This is definitelyfor the brotherswho ain't herewho woulda said

I had to write a poemabout this get together

like a list of nameson a memorial

to celebrateour own old-timers dayfor those of uswho age in hood years

where one nightcan equal the rest of your life

and surviving the trade offwas worth writing on the wall

and telling the worldthat we were here forever

The day started with snapson good-livin' pot belliesreceding hair linesand new roles as Mr. MomsJerry had the best oke of the daywhen he said that my family was so poorthat on Thanksgiving

they had to buy turkey-flavored !ow " #atersthe laughter needed no help

when we e$posed the stretch marksof our growing pains

%hil had barbecue on the grill&e slapped my hand whenI tried to brush e$tra sauceon a leg

(o) go find something to do

write a poem

write somethingdo somethingI got this


3/10

I'm the chef(ou the poetTalk about how you glad to be heredo somethinglook at that little boyon the baseball diamondrunning circles around second base

today is his birthdaylook at himbeat the wind

with his balloon.*

It used to take a few drinks beforewe could cry and say I love youwe have always known how to curseand bless the deadbut now we know how to talk in silenceas we walk into the sun

like the little boy's sneakers

we disappear in a cloud of dirtand we go homegrown up

and full

This is definitelyfor the brotherswho ain't herewho woulda said

I had to write a poemabout this get together

like a list of nameson a memorial

to celebrateour own old-timers dayfor those of uswho age in hood yearswhere one nightcan equal the rest of your lifeand surviving the trade offwas worth writing on the wall

and telling the worldthat we were here forever

Nigger-Reecan Blues

Willie Perdomo (for Piri Thomas)

Hey, Willie. What are you, man?

No, silly. You know what I mean: What are you?

I am you. You are me. We the same. Can't you feel our veins drinking the

same lood?

!"ut who said you was a #orta $ee%an?

!&u eres #uerto $iueno, rother.

!(aye Indian like )andhi Indian.!I thought you was a "la%k man.

!Is one of your *arents white?


4/10

!You sure you ain't a mi+ of something like

!#ortuguese and Chinese?

!Naaaahhh. . .You ain't no #orta $ee%an.

!I kee* telling you: &he oy is a "la%k man with an a%%ent.

If you look %losely you will see that your s*irits are standing right ne+t to

our songs. You soy "ori%ua You soy -fri%ano I ain't lyin'. #ero mi *elo es

kinky y kurly y mi skin no es negra *ero it %an *ass. ..!Hey, yo. I don't %are what you say ! you "la%k.

I ain't "la%k verytime I go downtown la madam lankeeta de madesson

avenue sees that I'm standing right ne+t to her and she holds her *urse /ust

a it tighter. I %an't even %at%h a ta+i late at night and the news*a*ers say

that if I'm not in front of a gun, %han%es are that I'll e ehind one. I wonder

why. . .

!Cu0 you "la%k, nigger.

I ain't "la%k, man. I had a %onversation with my *rofessor. Went like this:

!Where are you from, Willie?

!I'm from Harlem.

!1hh -re you "la%k?!No, ut!

!2o you *lay mu%h asketall?

&e lo estoy di%iendo, rother. se homre es un moreno

(iralo

(ira yo no soy moreno I /ust %ome out of 3erry's 2en and the

%o%onut

s*ray off my new sha*e!u* sails around the %orner, u* to the Harlem

$iver and off to New 3ersey. I'm lookin' slim and I'm lookin' trim

and when my homeoy 2avi saw me, he said: 4Como, #a*o. &e

*are%e %omo

un moreno, rother. Word u*, ro. You look like a stone la%k

kid.4

!I told you ! you was "la%k.

2amn I ain't even "la%k and here I am sufferin' from the young

"la%k man's *light5the old whtie man's urden5and I ain't even

"la%k, man5a "la%k man5I am not5"ori%ua I am5ain't never really

was5"la%k5like me. . .

!6eave that oy alone. He got the Nigger!$ee%an "lues

I'm a 7*i%

I'm a Nigger

7*i% 7*i% No different than a NiggerNegle%ted, re/e%ted, o**ressed and de*ressed

8rom anana oats to tenements

7treet gangs to regiments. . .

7*i% 7*i% I ain't nooooo different than a Nigger.

For Reverend Pedro Pietri's Hat

&hrow in some oituary s*ray for

the living if you're roke.

1r if you got!some

tomstones that reathe anti!

free0e e*i%s


5/10

n mi vie/o no in my

new healing I learned that

we are all si%k.

Yerayerayerayera

yerauena.

$u this shit on your

stoma%h and tell the Holy)host that you are usy.

Come a%k from the

dead like a ree0e of

first drafts.

"urn all the

%elerity s%arves.

#ut a %ondom on the

mi% so we %an read hard,

u*side down even.#ut wa+ from a Chango

%andle in our ears

so we %an memori0e

*oems in our slee*.

Your god!ody name

would e

$everend #edro $eorn,

again and again.

8irst down there

then over herea%k over there

and now over here!

again.

Come with your

welfare *oets, your

utterflies, your

%hu*a%ara da%tyls,

and always %ome dressed

in la%k like you doing a

*romesa for yourgrandmother who sees

etter in the dark.

Willie #erdomo

NYC, 3une 9;

Forty-One Bullets Off-Broadway

- s*e%ial team

shot a dream last night

1ff!"roadway

1ff!"roadway

7treams of lood


6/10

flood the "ron+ tonight

1ff "roadway

1ff "roadway

Is this what -fri%a

means to me?

1h hell no1h hell no

It

four glo%k %li*s went ah%hoo

and smoked you into s*irit

and y the time a s*e%ial street unit

de%ided what was enough

another dream sumitted an a**li%ation

for deferralit was la vida de la sur*resa

sur*resa de la vida


7/10

and you *roaly thought

I was gonna say lo%a

ut e you *rin%e

e you *au*er

your %olor

makes you a usual sus*e%t

around here

"y the time you hit the floor

*rotest *oets %ame to your res%ue

legal eagles were ready to fly into dream teams

your mother was on t.v. looking sus*i%ious

at the defense

she knew that /usti%e will kee* one eye o*en

for the right *ri%e

"y the time you hit the floor

they said they forgot everything they learned

at the a%ademyand the mayor told them

go and eat u* a million la%k kids

who try to %elerate themselves

while your s*irit see*ed through the tiles

in the loy of your eual o**ortunity

through l "arrio

through the "ron+

there were enough shots

to go around

Willie #erdomo

SONG FOR LANGSTON

I sang all night

And cried all day

%een wait& for a

'torm to come my way

(rown the tears

)ake soft the pain

I hope my prayers

Are not in vain

REVOLUTION

One night

%rother Lo told

Officer *ooney

)uthafucka

take off your


8/10

badge and gun

and see if I don&t

bust your ass all

the way back to

the precinct+

Co*yright @ Willie #erdomo, from When a Nickel osts a !ime, New York: W. W. Norton, In%.,ABB

Where "#m From

"y Willie #erdomo

"e%ause she liked the =kind of musi% that I listened to and she liked the way I walked as well as

the way I talked, she always wanted to know where I was from.

If I said that I was from AAth7treet and 6e+ington -venue, right in the heart of atrans*orted #uerto $i%an town, where the hodedores live and night turns to day without slee*, do

you think then she might know where I was from?

Where I


9/10

123rd Street Rap- Willie Perdomo

- day on

A9Grd 7treet

)oes a little

7omething like this:

-utomati% ullets oun%e

1ff stoo* ste*s

It's aout time to *ay

-ll my dets

Chur%h ells ong for

2runken mourners

"ay men growing on-ll the %orners

(oney that

-in't mine

7un that

2on't shine

&rees that

2on't grow

Wind that

Won't low

2rug *osses

$eady to rumle

Ceilings starting

&o %rumle

-uelas %lose theiryes and *ray

While they wat%h

&he %hildren *lay

Not mu%h

I %an say

+%e*t day turns

&o night

-nd I %an't tell what's

Wrong from what's right


10/10

1n A9Grd 7treet

poemas - perdomo

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