Kei Lim

California Obscura

November 6, 2023 Essays, Farmworker, Issue 26, Issue 26 Essays

In 1976, when I was eight years old, my Korean American father, a produce wholesaler and former farmworker, decided to become a full-time farmer. My Japanese American mother, descended from a long line of farmers and farmworkers, wanted it too. They had spent their childhoods dreaming of a home on the land, so we moved from Los Angeles to a tenant farm thirty-five miles away.

The Gardener

November 6, 2023 Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry, Poetry

Winner of the 2023 DISQUIET Prize for Poetry

By JOSHUA BURTON

I’ve been negotiating my fears with speaking.
After a life of being half-heard;
after half a life of being unheard, I now think of the chaos

I avoided in this abstinence. In some stories Jesus
is not the fool, keeping himself
to himself, knowing only God knows

The Weeds

November 6, 2023 Farmworker, Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry, Poetry

By JULIÁN DAVID BAÑUELOS

“By the sweat of your brow
you will eat your food
until you return to the ground,
since from it you were taken;
for dust you are
and to dust you will return.”
Genesis 3:19

i.
In many ways we knew we had no choice.
We woke in time to tell the stars goodnight,
Returned to broken homes and heard the fights.

Poetry on Borrowed Time

November 6, 2023 Farmworker, Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry, Poetry

By GABRIELA SPEARS-RICO

I’ve always written my poems
on borrowed paper and borrowed time
In the camps, as a child, journaling
by the fire, by whatever light I could find.

What do you want for your birthday?
My mother asked, knowing she didn’t have a dime.
Notebooks, ’ama, paper, and a pen.

Ballad for the One Who Never Went to Iowa

November 6, 2023 Farmworker, Issue 26, Issue 26 Poetry, Poetry

By JULIÁN DAVID BAÑUELOS

After Rafael Alberti

I noticed the canas sprouting from her scalp, I noticed the sky,
I noticed the engines hum, I noticed my heartbeat, and the breeze.
Nunca fui a Iowa.

My mother tells me I gave her canas, and now I have my own.
Mi bisabuela worked los campos, says she was once Iowan
Nunca vi Iowa.

Translation: “The Old Song of the Blood”

November 2, 2023 Poetry, Translation

By HUMBERTO AK’ABAL

Translated from the Spanish by MICHAEL BAZZETT

Humberto Ak’abal (1952-2019) is widely known in Guatemala. His book Guardián de la caída de agua received the Golden Quetzal award in 1993, and in 2004 he declined to receive the Guatemalan National Prize in Literature because it was named for Miguel Angel Asturias, whom Ak’abal accused of encouraging racism, noting that his views on eugenics and assimilation “offend the indigenous population of Guatemala, of which I am part.”

What does it mean then to meet Ak’abal in English? What does it mean to translate an indigenous writer who spurned institutional accolades from one dominant, oppressive language into another colonial tongue?

Farmworker Poetry Feature: Rodney Gomez

October 12, 2023 Farmworker, Poetry

Poems by RODNEY GOMEZ

This feature is part of our print and online portfolio of writing from the immigrant farmworker community. Read more online or in Issue 26.

Barrioized Haiku

When it rains the water
raises the dead
street long enough
to let the wheels
find the divots of neglect.
That is why I walked
barefoot to your lintel:
everything built skews
away from us and toward
the gray light of wealth.

The Bee-Eaters

September 20, 2023 Dispatches

By GEORGINA PARFITT

Liverpool

The teeth of the excavator are wet. The cage opens, hovers, and grips a mouthful—some floor, some outer wall, some window frame, the glass disappearing with a tiny, tinkling sound.

Now, suddenly, the bedroom of the upstairs flat is revealed. A ragged cut-away, leaving just one perfect wall, wallpapered. Poppies on a purple field. The room, when it was a room, was probably small and ordinary; now, illuminated, it is the envy of all other rooms, the ultimate mezzanine. Light pours in from everywhere and the window frames blue sky.

Review: Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare

August 28, 2023 Reviews

By MEGAN KAMALEI KAKIMOTO
Reviewed by MARIAH RIGG

A mentor once told me, “you write to the places you are not,” and I think that is true for not only what I write, but also what I read. Since moving to the Southeast U.S., with its millennia-old forests and rolling thunderstorms, I’ve taken to reading about the places I’ve come from: Oregon, Southern California, and the islands upon which I was born and raised, the place where my family has lived as settlers for over three generations—Hawaiʻi.

Four Country Sonnets (with Attachments)

July 26, 2023 Dispatches

By G.G. HARROW

Eastern Kentucky

After Terrance Hayes and Wanda Coleman

Attachment 1

country music is Black — indigenous — immigrant — almost successfully paved over — i made these poems from 36 common words in top-selling country songs since the ’90s according to a concert ticket corporation

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Kei Lim

Kei Lim

California Obscura

The Gardener

The Weeds

Poetry on Borrowed Time

Ballad for the One Who Never Went to Iowa

Translation: “The Old Song of the Blood”

Farmworker Poetry Feature: Rodney Gomez

The Bee-Eaters

Review: Every Drop Is a Man’s Nightmare

Four Country Sonnets (with Attachments)

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