Sunday, July 05, 2009

Save the date, pass the word:


THE MAJESTIC

Saturday July 18, 2009 - 8pm

at the historic Victory Grill

1104 E. 11th Street, Austin, TX

$20.00 (includes after-party)


a play about house music, that is:

dancing and loving as though your life depends on it


love groove magic



THE MAJESTIC


Written by Ana-Maurine Lara
Co-directed by Matt Richardson & Ana-Maurine Lara

Featuring:

Dino Foxx
as Mother Majestic

Her Children:

Saray Rosales
as Parker
Wura-Natasha Ogunji as Essex
Alix Chapman as Ms Opal
KT Shorb as Flash Gorgeous

Liz Westbrook & Mel Cofer as Thugs

and, of course

DJ Lynnee Denise as The DJ
http://www.myspace.com/djlynneedenise



Meta(physical) production by Sheree Ross. Choreography by Annelize Machado. Dramaturgy by Jennifer Margulies & Surabhi Kukke. Costume Design by Senalka McDonald.

With thanks to ALLGO for their support.

For more information, contact the artist at zorashorse_at_yahoo_dot_com

Monday, March 30, 2009

From the website about the film "Sugar Babies".

It is estimated that there are 280,000 ethnic Haitians living in the Dominican Republic with no form of identification. (United States Agency for International Development)
*

It is estimated that 30,000 Haitians illegally enter the Dominican Republic each year to work in the sugar industry, facilitated by the Dominican government. These live in migrant labor camps called bateys under “horrifying” conditions. (Miami Herald)
*

Currently, there are 400 bateys (migrant labor camps) in the Dominican Republic. (Amnesty International)
*

Sixteen percent of the bateys registered in the State Sugar Council do not receive any type of medical assistance. (The United Nations Development Programme)
*

Only seven percent of registered bateys have a dispensary or rural clinic. (The United Nations Development Programme)
*

Children in one third of the bateys lack access to education. (The United Nations Development Programme)
*

One third of batey inhabitants do not know how to read or write. (The United Nations Development Programme)
*

Two thirds of batey inhabitants lack access to a water filtration system and direct access to a river. (The United Nations Development Programme)
*

In the batey, the pay – instead of salary – is…insufficient to provide even one dignified meal per day, and children many times must eat the very cane cut by their parents in the sugar cane fields. Their undocumented state renders them unable to leave the batey territory, the only place where…Dominican immigration authorities do not enter to check on immigration status, nor threaten batey residents with deportation. (Miami Herald)
*

An immigration law passed in 2004 – and later upheld by the Dominican Republic’s Supreme Court – denies citizenship to children of Haitian migrants by forcing parents to fulfill a considerable number of nearly impossible requirements. (Amnesty International)
*

The lack of identity documents – leaves the children socially immobile and unable to gain access to education, unless it’s to the severely limited batey schools where studies beyond a fourth grade level are practically non-existent. (Miami Herald)
*

In the last ten years, the Dominican government has expelled tens of thousands of Haitians and dark-skinned Dominicans thought to be ethnically Haitian, rounding up in the bateys and on the streets (Amnesty International)
*

Two out of every three spoonfuls of sugar consumed in the United States was produced by the Fanjul Group, which is the majority shareholder of Domino Sugar.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Note: This is the correct version. Peace.


Praise Song for the Day

A Poem for Barack Obama’s Presidential Inauguration

Elizabeth Alexander


Each day we go about our business,

walking past each other, catching each other’s

eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.


All about us is noise. All about us is

noise and bramble, thorn and din, each

one of our ancestors on our tongues.


Someone is stitching up a hem, darning

a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,

repairing the things in need of repair.


Someone is trying to make music somewhere,

with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,

with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.


A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky.

A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.


We encounter each other in words, words

spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,

words to consider, reconsider.


We cross dirt roads and highways that mark

the will of some one and then others, who said

I need to see what’s on the other side.


I know there’s something better down the road.

We need to find a place where we are safe.

We walk into that which we cannot yet see.


Say it plain: that many have died for this day.

Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,

who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,


picked the cotton and the lettuce, built

brick by brick the glittering edifices

they would then keep clean and work inside of.


Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.

Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,

the figuring-it- out at kitchen tables.


Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,

others by first do no harm or take no more

than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?


Love beyond marital, filial, national,

love that casts a widening pool of light,

love with no need to pre-empt grievance.


In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,

any thing can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,


praise song for walking forward in that light.


Copyright © 2009 by Elizabeth Alexander. All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota. A chapbook edition of Praise Song for the Day will be published on February 6, 2009.

Thursday, January 15, 2009


I feel sometimes that my blog has become a running obituary. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Jorge Macchi, for example, used the obituary pages from the Buenos Aires newspaper to construct a city of paper in which stars and crosses were all that remained. And loss is part of life. It’s all that strange ying/yang cycle of creation. But I am surprised by how easy it is for me to not visit this place, to forget to chronicle life’s thoughts – I’ve been so busy. I never thought I’d hear myself say that.

In any case, I’m going to stop beating around the drum. I’m very sad about the death of Ana Sisnett, tocaya, artista, poeta, activista, elder, grandmother, drummer, Scorpio.

She was to be featured in the Austin Salon this past November, but was ill. We drummed for her instead. She’s been fighting ovarian cancer since 2006, when she was diagnosed. Like most artists, she was uninsured, and like most artists, was at the mercy of her community’s goodwill. Luckily, the City of Austin provided good services for her and her community has loved her very much.

My friend K.M. first told me about Ana, and that I should meet her. That she too is an Afro-Latina artist and writer. S.B. showed me a painting she had done of two mermaids. When I was first in Austin in Spring 2006, there was a poetry reading and fundraiser for her, but I didn’t get to go. And so it was that I met her in the Fall of 2006. We met at Chango’s and had tacos together and learned about each other’s work and history. At a fundraiser for Ana later that Fall, I first heard Lourdes Perez – an extraordinary Boricua folk singer with a long history in Austin and I first saw how much Ana is dearly loved. She started freenet – an organization devoted to providing access to technology to low-income people. She believed, deeply, in the power that art has to give life. Not to save it but to give it. Her paintings and poetry alike are bright collages of color and flavors, of energy coming together in a dance of memory, place, love and body. Ana was an elder. She always made a point of showing me her daughter and her granddaughter’s paintings, of listening to their music, of understanding the importance of the generations.

When we first met, we laughed about being tocaya – connected by name, and thus by spirit. I recall how many times, J.M. has told me she was sending me a text that ended up going to Ana Sisnett instead or vice versa. That is the tocaya essence – it is easy to be confused.

Last Saturday, as I stood next to her, I said Tocaya loudly, whispered into her ear, “I love you, Ana.” and kissed her goodbye. In that moment, I realized that I was also saying goodbye to all the women ancestors in my own family with whom I did not have that opportunity. And that soon, Ana would be joining them, and maybe, just maybe she could carry some of that love to them, too. Here is a poem for Ana.

Tun-tun

Baila the rhythms of Panama and Barbados

Tun-tun

Caribbean salsa dancing in your bones

Tun-tun

as smoothly as mainland heat

taka-ta

as easily as sweet plantain

ta-ta tata ta-ta

and rice and peace

Tun-tun

Baila the rhythms of paint on canvas

Tun-tun

of pen on paper

Ta-

of hand on drum

Ta-ta

of laughter and a raised eyebrow

Tun-tun

step back, shake a shoulder

Takiti takata

shimmer and shine with that sexy groove

Tun-tun tuku-tun Tun-tun tuku-tan

Takiti Takiti ta

Tun-tun taka ta

Tun-tun tuku-tun

Takiti Takiti Takiti

Ta Ta Ta.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Today was the last day of the Art Year. Wah. It was tough. I kind of lost steam in the last quarter of the year. I was sleeping through winter or something...but we made it. We made it this far.

xo

Penz, It's Pronounced Pants

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

And I thought 40 degrees was cold. This j-setter puts me to shame!

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

She Lived Alone as an Adult until she was 118, Passes at 120 Years of Age

By: Clara McLaughlin, The Florida Star, The Georgia Star Newspapers

Pearl Gartrell was born in Tillsdale, Georgia on April 1, 1888 as
one of the youngest of 15 children. She lived in Jacksonville,
Florida
for almost seventy years. She died on Sunday, November 23,
2008.

The Baptist lady gave birth to eight children and has outlived all
but one of them. Yet, she refused to move to a facility for the
elderly and until two years ago, proved that she did not need anyone
to live with her. Actually, no one lived with her totally, but her
relatives would alternate their time with her even though her great
granddaughter, Doris King, spent much of her time with her trying to
make sure things went as her great grandmother wanted them to go.

On Tuesday, November 11, Ms. Gartrell became ill and was taken to the
hospital. She was placed in Hospice care on November 13 and died on
November 23, 2003.

Ms. Gartrell did not have a copy of her birth certificate since she
was not born in a hospital. Her birth was recorded in a family
Bible. The Florida State ID card did not show the exact year of her
birth because the computer would not activate the year, 1888.
However, the Florida Department of Elder Affairs acknowledged that she
was perhaps the oldest person living in Florida until the time of her
death.

Ms. Gartrell was very careful about her food and did not like to eat
in restaurants because she could not be guaranteed that the workers
washed their hands.

The lady did have one habit that she would not give up - her can of
sweet snuff that she kept inside of her bottom lip. At 120 years of
age, she still had most of her own teeth.

Ms. Gartrell was not a person with sickness but she did have some
bouts of illness. In fact, the doctors thought she would surely die
in 1991 when she contracted pneumonia at the age of 103 and refused to
be hospitalized. She did not like to take medication so when such was
prescribed, she would hide it under her mattress. Family members
learned to watch her closely when medicine was prescribed for her, to
make sure she followed orders.

Ms. Gartrell broke her hip and cracked her pelvis in 1998. Once her
surgery was completed and the pin in her hip had been installed, she
insisted upon going home, and she did. Within months, she was walking
again.

Pearl Gartrell raised her great granddaughter, Lolitha Hill and some
of the other relatives. When she talked about her younger days, she
talked of her mother, who was a midwife, and worked for the town's
white doctor, of their deep-cooking fireplace and the time her mother
covered the faces of all of the children with black soot and had them
to hide in the back of the fireplace when the KKK came. She also told
of the one-room school house that was attached to the Baptist church
in Tignall, Georgia, near Athens.

Pearl Gartrell married at the age of 14 but says she cannot remember
her husband's name. This memory loss may stem from the fact that her
father, brother and husband were killed in her small Georgia town.
What she also remembers of her younger days was when she was forced
to be submissive and gave birth to two children by a white man in that
town. But, she did not harbor hate, even though she was still very
shy when it came to white people.

Ms. Gartrell was filled with wisdom and love. She kept strong
belief in God and even though she had cataracts, she always wanted the
paper, and always wanted The Florida Star, from its first days.

Pearl Gartrell not only raised her children, she helped with the
others that came along and remained a God fearing woman. Of her eight
children, one died at birth, three died of heart attacks, two had
cancer, one son was murdered and found in the St. Johns River and Tom
Gartrell still lives in Jacksonville in a nursing facility.

Mrs. King and Mrs. Hill said their great grandmother was the
foundation of their family, all the days of her life, and they are
eternally grateful. She will truly be missed.

Funeral arrangements for Ms. Gartrell has been handled by Sarah
Carter Funeral Home and services will be held at 11:00 a.m., Saturday,
November 29 at The Worship Place located at 2627 Spring Glen Road,
Jacksonville.

Contact: Clara McLaughlin, (904) 766-8834, P. O. Box 40629,
Jacksonville, FL 32203