Visit With Willie Perdomo
Yesterday I had the wonderful opportunity to meet and to learn from poet and creative writer Willie Perdomo. As one of her students, I am grateful to Professor Ulen for inviting him to read his collection of poems Where a Nickel Costs a Dime to our class at Hunter College. He had everyone’s rapt attention as he delved into the different themes he developed in his work. He discussed everything a poet could. And should. He talked about love. And hate. He talked about life and mortality. He shared with us his family and friends as they materialized and rose from the printed ink.
He also touched on identity and the colonized mind. Not only does he face challenges living as Boricua in America, he faces being an American when he travels abroad, even to Puerto Rico where he like many other American-born Boricuas aren’t as easily welcomed . In “Nigger-Reecan Blues” he spells out his plight with identity as society tells him who he is. Everyone tells him that he’s a moreno, that he’s black. That he’s “Ghandi-Indian” or an “Arab brother”. Because he’s reppin’ from East Harlem, he’s branded as Black. But Brother Willie said something very powerful that hit me hard: “I am Puerto Rican. I am Latino. I am Black too. And that’s okay”.
I especially relate to Brother Willie’s struggle with identity. For as long as I can remember, people’s perceptions of my ethnicity have bounced me around from every Latin American country and every Caribbean country and even through Middle Eastern countries and back. And those who are just too lazy to make an educated guess or just plain ignorant gawk at my caramel colored skin, my curly hair and my almond shaped eyes and go, “Why do you look like that?” Why?? Uh, besides the fact I came out my momma, I am Black and Cherokee Indian. Like Brother Willie, I am able to accept that duality of identity. And that’s okay.
I learned a lot from Brother Willie’s visit. He taught me and all the other students to think and feel globally. Not to limit ourselves, our poetry and our message to convey a concrete meaning. Poetry is NOT about what it means. But about how it makes you feel. Our job as writers and poets is to live in our world(s) and to observe. We then must use our pens to absorb these images and create works that are thought-provoking and deep.
Seradin Engram
Comment(s)
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 blood?
-But who said you was a Porta Reecan?
-Tu eres Puerto Riqueno, brother.
-Maybe Indian like Gandhi Indian.
-I thought you was a Black man.
-Is one of your parents white?
-You sure you ain’t a mix of something like
-Portuguese and Chinese?
-Naaaahhh. . .You ain’t no Porta Reecan.
-I keep telling you: The boy is a Black man with an accent.
If you look closely you will see that your spirits are standing right next to
our songs. You soy Boricua! You soy Africano! I ain’t lyin’. Pero mi pelo es
kinky y kurly y mi skin no es negra pero it can pass. ..
-Hey, yo. I don’t care what you say – you Black.
I ain’t Black! Everytime I go downtown la madam blankeeta de madesson
avenue sees that I’m standing right next to her and she holds her purse just
a bit tighter. I can’t even catch a taxi late at night and the newspapers say
that if I’m not in front of a gun, chances are that I’ll be behind one. I wonder
why. . .
-Cuz you Black, nigger.
I ain’t Black, man. I had a conversation with my professor. Went like this:
-Where are you from, Willie?
-I’m from Harlem.
-Ohh! Are you Black?
-No, but-
-Do you play much basketball?
Te lo estoy diciendo, brother. Ese hombre es un moreno!
Miralo!
Mira yo no soy moreno! I just come out of Jerry’s Den and the
coconut
spray off my new shape-up sails around the corner, up to the Harlem
River and off to New Jersey. I’m lookin’ slim and I’m lookin’ trim
and when my homeboy Davi saw me, he said: “Como, Papo. Te
parece como
un moreno, brother. Word up, bro. You look like a stone black
kid.”
-I told you – you was Black.
Damn! I ain’t even Black and here I am sufferin’ from the young
Black man’s plight/the old whtie man’s burden/and I ain’t even
Black, man/a Black man/I am not/Boricua I am/ain’t never really
was/Black/like me. . .
-Leave that boy alone. He got the Nigger-Reecan Blues
I’m a Spic!
I’m a Nigger!
Spic! Spic! No different than a Nigger!
Neglected, rejected, oppressed and depressed
From banana boats to tenements
Street gangs to regiments. . .
Spic! Spic! I ain’t nooooo different than a Nigger.
Comment(s)
I guess its just interesting to note what kind of world we truly do live. I remember a point you made in class one day…that everyone is concerned about race in one way or another. Not every living soul on this planet is racist, but we’ve been conditioned that way, so that if we see someone whose facial features are ambiguous…we wrack our brains trying to categorize them.
Its not really a bad thing, but when you start telling people where they are from or who and “what” they are, then it becomes a problem.
Again, I wanted to thank you Professor Ulen for inviting Brother Willie to read at our class that day. He put a lot in perspective for me…and even better….threw some others things out of place.