Somewhere Between Mexico and a River Called Home by Marian Haddad
ABOUT Marian Haddad
Marian Haddad was born and raised in the West Texas desert town of El Paso. Her first chapbook, Saturn Falling Down, was compiled at the request of Texas Public Radio in correlation with their Hands-On Poetry Workshops. Her poems and essays have appeared in many literary journals and anthologies. She has taught creative writing at Our Lady of the Lake University and Northwest Vista College as well as many other poetry workshops.
$15
ISBN: 1-931247-16-1
“This is a moving portrait of a Syrian- American family that interrupts normal, stereotypical expectations. The book turns “identity” poetry on its ear: it’s not devoutly Muslim but devoutly Christian; it’s not mournful of the past but rather is fully embracing of the new world; not so much Syrian bread and ancient flavors but more homegrown Tex/Mex American. Using soft cadences and careful phrasing, Haddad writes in an autobiographical lyric voice.” —Marilyn Chin, poet
“Marian Haddad’s unique poetic voice speaks to me personally because it captures so many elements that are very dear to me: the desert Southwest, the crucible of family, health and its absence, the mysteries of the body, and borders both metaphorical and real. This is a wonderful collection that evokes all the senses and it lingers on after you have read the last poem.”
—Abraham Verghese, author of My Own Country and The Tennis Partner
“Marian Haddad writes with earthy elegance. Her poems are honest, striking, potently alive. The richly mixed gravitational pulls—she was born of an immigrant Syrian family and raised in El Paso in the confluence of Texas, Mexico and New Mexico—create a savory brew of elements and images. ‘Take care of your body,’ an ailing relative urges his family. These tender/powerful poems urge us all, take care of your land and love for one another. They are your blessing and your pain. Here is a magnetic voice charged like a lightning sky over desert mountains.”
—Naomi Shihab Nye, poet, essayist, anthologist
Transmountain Drive
El Paso, Texas
Three moons and five suns ago, I stood on your desert mountain,
purple skin sheathing the night. I gazed downward on the multi-
lights of my city, quivering like the souls of Don Juan de Onate’s dead
and the Twelve Travelers. I lay in your seven laps of light, three
companies of angels brushing me with breeze, cool on my skin.
Like a holy man, I sat looking down on your colored clutter
of stucco and brick, crows swooping deep into your core
and out of you. I will come back to you, bulwark
from which I sprang. I will wrap my arms around your houses,
I will grind myself against your walls, stain myself in the juice
of your berries. I remember your nights, when sky came down slowly
to meet the summit of you, came down like a sheet of muslin
tucking your natives in for the night, muslin that converged colors,
color that poured out of sky like a pallet of peacock, until all citizens
within your bastion and all those across your river
in their blue and pink houses lay under a cincture of orange.
Like a fire, fervid and flashing, sun skimmed our rooftops. Like a god,
it dropped down, stamped its name on our dry land. I will come back
to three moons and five suns ago, sleep in and on your belly,
ten million stars flickering like Aztec tears in your skies.
Visit Marian Haddad's own web site at http://www.marianhaddad.com
Copyright © Pecan
Grove Press,
1997-2003
For further information contact
H. Palmer
Hall.
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Most recent revision
November 11, 2003
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