Ensemble

Welcome to the DeSousa-Brent Literary Magazine! The DB program is a leadership program for under represented students at SMCM. One of our goals is to promote diversity through the open discussion of what it is and how it impacts us all. Ensemble was started in 2009 as a leadership project for the program. It has been successfully passed down to two other DB groups and has come in to my possession. The DeSousa-Brent program has enlightened my life in many ways and opened my eyes to the meaning of diversity within our society. I hope that Ensemble will continue to inspire enlightenment within the SMCM community. - Allura Warden Class of 2016

[gobblechopstv]

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yo the simpsons be droppin truth bombs 

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we're all one

Seeds Sown

We're all seeds.

grasping to take root,

climbing to surface,

providing nourishment,

becoming landscape.

  We're all seeds.

Struggling through the dark,

grasping each dawn,

each bit of sun,

each drop of rain,

soaking in despair,

drowning in tears,

or swimming up stream,

we're all seeds.

  Bursting through,

breaking ground,

tasting air,

thriving,

rooting,

growing.

Seeds of trees,

Seeds of flowers,

Seeds of weeds,

all seeds of life.

-Tia

[cryptic-ivy]

So whitemanmarchprotestsigns is trending on twitter and I thought I’d share some of my favorites. Part 1 of 2.

[policyandsocialinclusion]

“One day, they will wake up to an extremely unbearable ocean of sameness.”

- Rene Yañez, San Francisco resident on the changing demographic of his city. As quoted in this NYT article on how the tech boom is altering SF. This article galvanized my interest in ICT, policy and social inclusion. (via policyandsocialinclusion)

[sinusproblems]

dark ravens are carressing my face as they drink my blackened tears black from misogyny and being bullied by ravens at school

i loathe men nearly as much as i loathe myself

my soul is bleak and i hate life because of the unjust evils of anything uncastrated

girls at my school wear maekup

[deletingthisnow]

Being black isn't tied to a nationality

It’s not an American thing. It’s global.

[symphonyofawesomeness]

All these lovely ladies weigh 154lbs. We all carry weight differently, don’t live your life by an outdated chart. Find a number that looks and feels good.

[mybodypeaceofmind]

TAKE A GOOD LOOK. WEIGHT COMES IN DIFFERENT SHAPES AND SIZES.

[notgoi-deactivated20181026]

THIS ^ OH MY GOD the amount of times i’ve tried to get through to people about this!!! LEARN IT FOR CHRIST SAKE.

[wanderingkitty-blog-blog]

This is the perfect visual.

[anytthing-and-everytthing]

this is perfect!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[humansofnewyork]

He didn’t know much English beyond: “I’m from China.” But he did pull out his iPad and showed me his brother, his toys, his drum set, and a picture of his class.

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She is . . .

A Queen once said that to exhale is to resurrect

Her true form is African-esque 

The darkness of her pigment is radiant and shines brighter than the purest halo of truth

She defines Empress

Her roots hold stories of Ethiopian queens and tribal kings

The movement of her shape replicates the bodies of our ancestral mothers, grandmothers, and great great-grandmothers

Her dark brown eyes shed the tears of past sufferings and burdens

But foretell of a time to come

When our people will get high enough to reach redemption 

She will conceive a generation of success 

A generation of brown girls and black boys 

Willing to change their world 

And they will always hold their ancestry in their hearts 

And hope is that they will never part-with it 

Because their roots hold the same stories hers did

And they will continue the cycle 

For generations to come

Because she is a Queen

and she bore me 

By: Crystal Worrell

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Visit Original Link

I interviewed Carlos Parada Ayala after a Poetry workshop focusing on bilingual poetry was held at St. Mary's College of MD river center. This is the recording of it. Carlos has recently published his first book called La Luz y La Tormenta through Prof. Jose Ballesteros' new publishing company Zozobra Publishing.

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Michael Glaser:The Economy of Days

  The Economy of Days

      To want, to have, to do‑‑

the verbs I live

in perpetual unrest.

  How difficult to be‑‑

to embrace the homely

details of my days

  to open my heart

to the flow

of this amphibious life,

  to trust in the motion toward

as a fish trusts

the river at its gills,

  to trust in this journey,

to swim,

to be still.

                                  . . . Michael S. Glaser

   *I have been given permission to post this poem.

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Michael Glaser: Weather

           Weather

  "In this kind of weather

even the birds go hungry."

  He was talking of the wind.

For days it had not let up.

  The harbor was a litter of boats

lost from their moorings

  The garden, a confusion

of tree limbs.

  She was looking for symmetry,

something to explain the ache

  of weather she felt in her joints

as she listened for bird songs

  or the sounds of vegetables

rising from the earth,

  She was thinking about the clarity

of the skin on an eggplant and

  looking out the window at something

he could not see when he put his hand

   on her shoulder and said,

"It'll stop just as suddenly as it blew in.”

  She wanted to say, "fuck you" 

but he would have misunderstood

  and having thought it, having recognized

her voice the moment she  heard it in her ears

  she did not need to say it

and she opened the front door instead

  and flew boldly into the wind.

                                                  . . .Michael S. Glaser

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Michael Glaser: Dogwood

                     Dogwood

    And then

                suddenly

                                the dogwood

  no longer in bud or unfolding bloom

but full-snow-white, dotting the woods,

lining the streets as if spring-green

and soft rain were not enough, as if

  we need this extra moment of pure white

to remind us   Yes    &     Again

to remember the light.

  Even if there were only   this     

this sharp  intake of breath

each spring,    this gasp of sudden awe, 

this glimpse of       grace,

  this astonishing reminder

of beauty's frail and fragile place

 in the still small space of our lives,

  even if there were only this,

surely, it would be enough.

                                                                              . . . . Michael S. Glaser

 *Published with permission of the poet.

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Muluberhan Bahre: My Mother

My Mother

At the dry land without food and water

When life become rough and hope is futile

When I felt that I am dying for ever

You fly to save my life as fast as the shuttle.

The struggle you suffered during my birth

I got everything form you, amazing mother

Even though death is every one’s faith,

I want you to live with me mom forever.

  Your beautiful smile as the morning sundew

You are my backbone mom the land of happiness.

I heard your dream voice saying, ”I love you”.

I can’t find enough words to describe your greatness.

  Your taste as sweet as the best flavor,

Nothing will separate as, I will say never.

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Xanath Caraza: Sihuatl

Sihuatl

  Tlatoli, tlen mo nenemilia ipan to tenshipal

Ti kamatics campa ne kuatinijic tlayeyekapa miyotia

Huan tlaejekapa tlamasi kama ki totomosa no tonal

Ni sasilia to teko tlen ki ajamatij no lalamikilis

  Ti tlachamailtia uan yolik tihuika monemilis

Iteki, uan axkema tlamij kuasasi ken kuatitlanchichi

Xi texmaka ne tlaltipaktli tlen ne temiktlij tlapalij

Totonik uan sesek tlatlapayo

  Sahuantli tlen ne tonati tlen pano ipanej kuauitl

Tlen ti tlachilia totome tlen pano ipan ne ajko

Nemilistli yeyekapa tlen ki ajaxilia no tonal

Ojtli tlen tejme tlen kiuika atl

  Ne kuatitla koneme panotinemi ipan tlakayaual tlatomoni

Chikauak ipan to yolo

Tlakuapiltili tlamasij se tlakatl ipiseltisi

Ajkomolitl tlen kixikoua tlamalini achi tetik

  Sahuantli tlen messtli

Sihuayo tlamantiketl tlen tlapasulmana uan texmaka tonenlis

Sihuatl tlen uesi ika ne meestli

Majtli tlen tshiljuia, majtli tlen tlaikxitia, majtli tlen tlapopoua

  Tlatoli tlamajtsi tlen kixikoa

Lalamikilistli kichiua lalamikilistli kaajokui

  Tlaekauia kampa mo pasoloua

Sihuayo ueyi uan tetik

Tlayoua tlen tlapetlani

Itlakoya motlauelneki sihuatl mohuiuiita

Ki masolohua ika estli masolua ajkopa

  Majtli tlen tech alaxohua achi kimati uan texmaka pakilistli

Uan tech manauia

Tetla chiuiketl tlen mochichiua

Totiosi tlen miktojka

  Tetlakakuiliketl tonana, kitlastla, tekokoliketl

Tlanauatiketl, tlatekipanoketl mamatli, tlaneltoka

Tlayoua uan tonaya

Nama uan nochipa sihuatl

  From Conjuro (Mammoth Publications, 2012)

*This poem is the Nahuatl version of Mujer, Mujer that Xanath Caraza wrote for International Women's Day around 2010.  Nahuatl is a Mexican indigenous language.

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Xanath Caraza: Mujer, Mujer

Mujer

  Word that dissolves between lips

Enchantment from the forest with the most exquisite aromas

Soft wind that touches the soul

Whispering from gods that charms my reason

  Endless fertility, carrier of life

Never-ending strength, roar of the lion

Exotic silk from the land of my dreams

Colors warm, cold, combined

  Ray of the sun that traverses the tree

Bird that poses on the top of the willow tree

Inaudible steps that reach my soul

Path of stones that leads to the river

  Flight of duendes crossing the night

Thunder of strength that splits hearts

Response that calms the loneliest man

Shoulders that bear the heaviest loads

  Ray of the moon

Fertile womb that devours and brings life

Leaf that falls in autumn

Hands that comb, hands that bake, hands that clean

  Silent voice that tolerates

Creative thought, deviant thought, stored thought

  Shadow of the brothel

Protruding stomach, strong

Stormy night

Aggressive hips, sex that hypnotizes

  Bloody fist, raised fist

Hand of the most expert caress

Giver of pleasure

  Being who fights to be listened to

Warrior witch

Goddess, mortal

Lover, mother; friend, enemy

Owner, slave

Fear, faith; night and day

Today and always, mujer

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Xanath Caraza: Yanga, Yanga en inglés

Yanga

For Louis Reyes Rivera

By Xánath Caraza

  Yanga, Yanga, Yanga

Yanga, Yanga, Yanga

Today, your spirit I invoke

Here, in this place

  This, this is my poem for Yanga

Mandinga, malanga, bamba

Rumba, mambo, samba.

Words having arrived from Africa

  This, this is my answer for Yanga

Candomble, mocambo, mambo

Candomble, mocambo, mambo

Free man of Veracruz

  In 1570

You arrived at the Port of Veracruz

In chains as many

You escaped slavery

  Palenque, rumba, samba

Yanga, Yanga, Yanga

Unconquerable spirit

Noble man from Africa

  In 1609

You fought for freedom

At your doors, they arrived and

They couldn’t come in

    Mandinga, malanga, bamba

Palenque, rumba, samba

Palenque, rumba, samba

Pride, rhythm and freedom

  By 1630

San Lorenzo de los negros

Was established

Today, the town of Yanga

      Candomble, mocambo, mambo

Yanga, Yanga, Yanga

Today, your spirit I invoke

Here, in this place

  Yanga, Yanga, Yanga

Palenque, rumba, samba

Mandinga, malanga, bamba

Candomble, mocambo, mambo

  Condomble, mocambo, mambo

Mandinga, malanga, bamba

Palenque, rumba, samba

Yanga, Yanga, Yanga

    From Conjuro (Mammoth Publications, 2012)

     *Professor Caraza has given permission for the publication of this poem on Ensemble.