Raffi Joe Wartanian: California Poets Part 6, Five Poems
Raffi Joe Wartanian (photo by Anastasia Italyanskaya)
October 18th, 2023
California Poets: Part VI
Raffi Joe Wartanian
Five Poems
Mama’s Dream
My mother told my grandmother and me
About a dream she had
Last night.
Her deceased father
Visited
And said,
“Have you forgotten me?”
“No, I didn’t,”
My mother protested,
In her dream.
My mother is silent.
“What happened next,” I ask.
“That’s it,” she says with a shrug.
Then my grandmother inquires, “Did he ask about me?”
Every Day
Every day
I paint you more
I play you more
I fix you more
Because I love you,
Mi Amor
Every day
You inspire me
And sometimes you disgust me
Because I know
Within you rests
This incomprehensible, beautiful you
For which I have toiled for years to extract
Only to scratch the surface
Every day
I play your melody
And search for harmony
I find a way
To (try to) add beauty to you
And come closer
To your purest, simplest
Essence
But there are days
Of thankless toil
And utter devotion
Peering through bleary eyes
Fending off exquisite dreams
Only to be met by resistance
Devastating resistance
Until I return to you
Seconds, Hours, or Days
Later
Seconds, Hours, or Days
And I am wooed again
By your enchantment
Manzanar
Cranes
Dovetail, ascend
To snow-capped improbabilities
Peering above expanses
Of shadows and secrets
And bygone communities
One
That thrived
And one
That survived.
The survivors,
They crossed an ocean
Swearing themselves to the pursuit
Of consumption cloaked in production.
They cultivated progeny
And launched enterprises;
Opened eyes and palettes,
Hearts and ears.
But the enemy struck
And waves of never again
And they’re among us
Obscured brothers for foes,
Mothers for martyrs
And with the stroke of a pen
The clench of a fist
The squint of an eye
The simultaneous rigidity and malleability of justice,
They were assembled before these peaks
To start anew
In one square mile.
In one square mile
They defecated and prayed
For the nightmare to end,
They felt the wind Slice
Orange Trees
Orange trees can grow in cities
And litter the streets with tantalizing, wormy juices
Leaves peppered with
Citric music bursting into forbidden songs
We dance here
For what else is left to do
Under the shadow of
Towering steeples
Once minarets
Once stones
Once earth
Once
That transports us back through centuries?
The Trumpets of Sevilla
I searched for brass
Triumphantly sounding from the Guadalquivir
I cycled over bridges and cobblestones
Seeking a glimpse
Into love’s divine flavors
Hidden inside the peel of every orange in this city
High, piercing, pleasing, inviting
The trumpets – or bugles were they? –
Blared and told stories
Of bullfights
lightning fingers
civilizations intertwined
On Calle Betis I zeroed in on them
And quickly crossed the Puente de Triana
And sure enough
There they were
Down by the bank
Five of them in a circle by the rio
Oblivious to me
And just yards away
Thundering drums
From a packed hall of men
Contemplating and celebrating and
Rehearsing rhythms
For a march
For fellowship
For life
For the sake of Sevilla’s citrus love
The trumpets found me
Author Bio:
Raffi Joe Wartanian is a writer, musician, and educator who teaches writing at UCLA and serves as the inaugural Poet Laureate in the City of Glendale, California. His essays have appeared in The New York Times, Los Angeles Review of Books, University of Texas Press, Miami Herald, The Baltimore Sun, Lapham’s Quarterly, Outside Magazine, and elsewhere; and his poetry has appeared in The Los Angeles Press, No Dear Magazine, Armenian Poetry Project, Ararat Magazine, and beyond. Raffi has taught writing to veterans at the Manhattan VA, incarcerated writers at Rikers Island, youth in Armenia, and undergraduates at Columbia University, where he earned an MFA in Writing. He is the recipient of grants and fellowships from The Fulbright Program, Eurasia Partnership Foundation, and Humanity in Action. As a musician, Raffi has released two albums of original compositions: Critical Distance (2019) and Pushkin Street (2013).
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