A prompt & a pearl: #19

An occasional writing prompt and bit of writing insight in 2024

I spent last week with writers in the ancient ponderosa pine forests of the San Jacinto Mountains of Southern California.It was beautiful in so many ways—because of the mountains, the trees, the specific smells of the forest; because this is the most I talked craft & process in a while.

There was a moment where the faculty—a group of established, longtime writers—were sitting on a deck overlooking the mountains, nerding out on all things writing—how we teach & write & navigate the page—and I threw my head back, sighed and said: God, I love this shit! Thank you! Folks chuckled because they knew exactly what I was talking about.

Today I’m thinking about a question California Poet Laureate Lee Herrick posed during his craft talk: When did you hear your first poem?

The answer came to me immediately: The first poem I heard was in my mother’s voice. I remember it like a reel.

I am in the backseat of our wood paneled station wagon leaning on my brother who is snoring lightly. We are on our way home in the wee hours of the night from a day in Long Island at Millie’s cousin’s or brother’s house in Bay Shore, where the adults played dominoes for hours—I can hear the slam of the dominoes, the loud screaming, arguing and laughing; I can smell the arroz con salchichas on the stove—while children ran amok outside, playing tag and whatever mischief we got into. I are dirty and tired.

Ma is in the passenger seat. Millie is driving. I am looking up, watching the shadows of the highway lights travel across the cream colored headliner, making the inside of the car go from light to dark back to light and again in rhythm with my mother’s voice. She is singing: “Porque se fue, porque murio, porque’l señor me la quito…” The first poem I ever heard was the song El Último in my mother’s voice.

I learned today that the song was originally in English—The Last Kiss—written and recorded by Wayne Cochran in 1961 & made famous in 1964 by Frank Wilson & the Cavaliers. According to Wikipedia:

The song has a long tradition in Latin American popular music. The most popular version was recorded in 1965 by Mexican singer Polo (ex-member of Los Apson) with the title of "El Último Beso" in Spanish, translated by Mexican TV director and tennis teacher Omero Gonzalez, this Spanish version has been covered by several bands, notably by singer Alci Acostawho had a hit in 1967 in Colombia.

I don’t know which version my mother sang, but I can hear her now, somewhere deep in me where the little girl I was still sits in that car, leaning on my first best friend, hearing the pain in my mother’s voice as she sings a song of a love lost in tragedy.

The Prompt

When did you hear your first poem? Tell me the story.

The Pearl

I worked with a small group of writers, mostly new to autobiographical writing, who were so hungry to write their stories. I took them through the journey of writing about their lives, how to focus in on the stories they revisit again and again, how to write about the people they’ve met and loved, etc. They asked questions like: How am I going to do this? How do I deal with the emotions that are stirred? How do I figure out what I want to write? How do I flesh out the story? How do I write about these vulnerable moments about trauma?

My response was: Poco a poco. Día a día. Little by little. Day by day.

We’re so often in a rush to do things, because of capitalism and this obsession with production, but these stories take time. Finding and pulling on the metaphors takes time. Getting emotionally prepared to mine your life takes time. Give yourself grace. Poco a poco. Día a día.

Write on, con mucho amor,
V