Reading Anzaldua's essay made me think of some of the poetry I have been reading for my Chicano Lit class; the way the languages are infused and juxtaposed to bond and separate two drastically different cultures. It is a unique art and burden for the Latino writer to illustrate the pressures of being trapped between two worlds. The crafting of language has always seemed to be such a powerful tool to me. Teachers in high school always lecture about the importance of being able to write out an argument in the professional world, but it is so much more than that. The way you organize your thoughts and communicate, to anyone: co-workers, family members, strangers, even yourself, structures your relationships, how you view the world and how the world views you.
As I was contemplating this I came across a poem called "Elena"by Pat Mora that I remember reading years ago:
My Spanish isn't enough.
I remember how I'd smile
listening to my little ones,
understanding every word they'd say,
their jokes,
their songs, their plots.
Vamos a pedirle dulces a mama. Vamos.
But that was in Mexico.
Now my children go to American high schools.
They speak English
. At night they sit around
the kitchen table, laugh with one another.
I stand by the stove and feel dumb, alone.
I bought a book to learn English.
My husband forwned, drank more beer.
My oldest said,
"Mama, he doesn't want you to be smarter than he is." I'm forty,
embarrassed at mispronouncing words,
embarrassed at the laughter of my children,
the grocer, the mailman. Sometimes I take my English book and lock myself in the bathroom,
say the thick words softly,
for if I stop trying, I will be deaf
when my children need my help.
Though I immediately recalled reading this before, I could not help but have the same emotional reaction. I think most people can relate in some form to feeling simultaneously caged in and locked out, trapped in our own finite bubble of understanding.
Anzaldua's essay explained the dilemna of language in a much more technical fashion, but what I grasped from her writing was the intricate and varying inclusion/exclusion that the numerous dialects carry in all her different roles. It is hard enough to figure out who we are and put it into words without the world scrutinizing every syllable.
The picture of the Altar of the Kings in the Cathedral of Mexico City from this week's lecture (below) reminded me of the gleaming gold and grandeur of the Cathedral of Toledo I visited a few years ago. This picture (left) is the retable of the High Altar in the Cathedral of Toledo. Though it was built well before the Cathedral of Mexico City, and the ornate gold decor surrounds statues, not paintings, the two seem like they would have a very similar effect on the viewer. And for good reason; Toledo was historically a region of competing religions, so, as with colonial Mexico, awe-inspiring religious art must have been a very effective form of social control... I wonder though if the similar religious art in Colonial Mexico and a different effect on its viewers because it was created by the people who were under control of the church, rather than hired Catholic artisans...
