Calle Ocho
Draft 1The aura of the island embraces you,
In the form of a one-way street. As the smell of café flirts with the air And your heart is one with the bongo’s beat. A friendly face from a distant place Who has spaced across the spectrum of smiles and tears, Tells tales of his Caribbean paradise, Before it was flooded by terror and fear. Natives navigate the street under the shining sun Where souls who have salsa’d with struggle, Find their corner of Cuba in Florida As a royal palm, refusing to crumble. Where avocados occupy street vendors’ lot And the language is more than what’s spoken. Where Cuban pride seeps through every street crack, And lifts to the sky like the smoke of an authentic cigar. Where the feet that touch the street are stronger than every other And every hand is extended, reaching for one another Calle Ocho, South West Eighth Street, Miami, FL. Draft 2The heat of the island embraces you,
In the form of a one-way street. As the smell of café flirts with the air And your heart is one with the bongo’s beat A friendly face from a distant place, Where a smile replaces where there once were tears, Tells tales of his Caribbean paradise Before becoming flooded with terror and fear. Cuba natives navigate the busy street Where souls who have salsa’d with struggle Find their corner of Cuba in Florida. With a will strong like a palm, refusing to crumble. Where avocados occupy street vendors’ lot And the language is more than what’s spoken Where Cuban pride seeps through every street crack, And raises like a smoke cloud from an authentic cigar, unbroken. Where the feet that walk the street stomp stronger And every hand extends, reaching for one another. A road where stories roam day in and out Connecting “la familia”, every sister and brother. Draft 3Where avocados occupy street vendors’ lot
And the language is more than what’s spoken. Where Cuban pride seeps through every street crack And lifts to the sky like the smoke of an authentic Cuban cigar. The warmth from the Caribbean island embraces you In the form of a one-way street. Where a bite of home lies behind every dive And the smell of café flirts with the air. Your heart becomes one with the bongos beat, Souls who have salsa’d with struggle, dance on The feet that roam the street stomp the weakness of the past And like a royal palm, stand tall and strong Draft 4Where avocados occupy street vendors’ lot
And the language is more than what’s spoken. Where Cuban pride seeps through every street crack And lifts to the sky like the smoke of an authentic Cuban cigar. The warmth from the Caribbean island embraces you In the form of a one-way street. Where a bite of home lies behind every dive And the smell of café flirts with the air. The sun illuminates the multicolored murals that cover street walls And the wind whisks every Cuban flag hanging from windows While sunset brings honking horns and grid lock traffic Leading to nightfall’s torch-lit, music filled festivals. Your heart becomes one with the bongos beat, Souls who have salsa’d with struggle, dance on The feet that roam this street stomp on the weakness of the past And like a royal palm, stand tall and strong. And gripping the hands of mama and papa We walk the path others have slaved to pave. A journey that brought tears and smiles alike And now lives in every “Cuba Libre” sign that hangs. |
ERN In the process of writing Calle Ocho, I went through many ideas of kinds of poems I wanted to write, and different subjects I wanted to write about. When it came down to deciding on one, I found it easiest to describe places that I knew as opposed to concepts such as love or happiness that weren’t concrete. It was also fun to write about my Cuban culture, because it is something I take great pride and joy in. After writing the first draft, I honestly thought I was going to get more critique than praise during workshop. One of my main worries before going into any workshop is that I’ll sound like a complete idiot in my work. But lucky for me, this round of workshop, most of my peers really liked my poem, and I got some great suggestions for revision.
For my first revision, I just decided to tackle the basic and logistical problems with my poem. I got multiple comments about some of my word choice, not keeping a consistent beat or rhyme scheme, and improper use of punctuation. I found this revision to be difficult, because while I knew it was necessary to change these things, I knew that’s not where I needed to take the poem. Changing words such as “aura” and phrases that were too vague was a good exercise for choosing better words. But I was not satisfied with the end product. When I looked at it after finishing it, I knew that this was just a dead draft. The language was specific, I kept a consistent rhyme scheme, and I used punctuation properly, but the meaning and emotion behind it all escaped. I wrote the third draft immediately upon completing this second one, because I knew something was severely lacking. This next revision, I took a suggestion given to me in workshop, to make the fourth stanza of my poem, the first one. Many mentioned that this stanza was very image driven, so I just put it first and let my fingers float across the keyboard trying to make sense of it. I found that getting rid of the rhyme scheme added more to the poem than I thought it would, by making the images the central focus, rather than the sound. I liked this because for this poem specifically, I want the reader to actually feel like they are on this street. I found with this draft, it was so easy to imagine everything that I wanted to say, but hard to write it out and describe it. So I left this draft shorter than the last two, with a plan of attack for further revision. Coming back to this previous draft, I came to really like it. I liked starting the poem with the line “Where avocados occupy street vendors’ lot”. Therefore, I wanted to expand. It took me a few days, I had to walk away from this poem, to see if I really liked it. In this revision, I popped in two more stanzas just about my personal experience living a few blocks away from Calle Ocho. I am very pleased with this as a final draft, because I think I honed in enough on describing the location, and putting in my personal experience, especially with the last stanza, where I describe “gripping the hands of my mama and papa”. |