Flying to America:
REVOLUTION & its Discontents


I left Portugal nine days after junior officers led a coup against the semi-fascist regime that had dominated Portugal for decades.

My parents planned to work in America for two years, and save enough to mechanize the Vazao stone-cutting business. Then we would return to Portugal.

But then, the Carnation Revolution happened. And political & economic instability ensued. Thousands of refugees from the Portuguese colonies in Africa flooded into Portugal. Many had lost fortunes, and couldn't find jobs. People were desperate, and running out of patience. They wanted government assistance, and they wanted it NOW. My parents feared a Communist takeover.

My dad had initially supported the revolution, but I hadn't known that as a child. Both my parents seemed arch-conservative to me. Mostly, my mother ranted re: communists & my father said nothing, so I assumed he agreed. Yes, I was naive. But then, I was only four.

By 1976 (two years after the 25 de Abril Revolution), the Communists had gained substantial power among the ruling factions. Local communists (including some distant kin) had led the resistance in Portugal, as local communists had led the resistance against fascism in most countries in Europe. After decades, the Portuguese communists had become disciplined and well-organized compared to centrist and left-of-center factions. In the southern provinces, a few large estates had been invaded by landless peasants & Communist allies. Led by their bishops, Catholic priests preached the imminent threat of a Communist takeover.


Communist-led unions organized strikes, but much of the violence was spontaneous. The poor had been repressed for decades, and many acted recklessly. As my father said, "What does an abused and caged dog do when it escapes? It bites the Master." Given the cold war climate, my parents were terrified.

SEE: NYT Film Review re: Documentary: Scenes from the Class Struggle in Portugal (1977)

My mother's employment visa to America was sponsored by the Honeywell Corp, or some such. She was a tailor & embroidery teacher, who started her own school. More importantly, she designed wedding dresses and other custom-made garments [see: photo of one of her creations]. We were supposed to settle in Philadelphia.

Instead, we remained in Ossining where my mother had one cousin who had emigrated from Portugal to Brazil, and from Rio to the US. More important, her second cousin also lived there and was available to pick us up at Kennedy airport.

Yes, we have cousins in many cool places, including Paris & Madrid, and, at one time, Mozambique & Angola. The Portuguese are a mobile, swift-footed people. You never know what tomorrow holds. You may have to leave in the middle of the night. Literally, as did our cousins in Angola.

[To be Cont'd]

Want to see a film re: Carnation Revolution? CLICK: A funny thing happened on the way to the Revolution, re: Capitaes de Abril, or Captains of April (available on Netflix!)

STAY TUNED: I made a 10-minute video with still pictures & audio entitled, "Maria Vazao Wills a Miracle" for Oral History class @ Sarah Lawrence. Pictures will be posted. And perhaps audio too.

Poetry: Fountain of Youth


I write poetry because I need poems to vitalize everyday life, and not because I am a professional and/or "working" poet. I don't write every day. I should, but I don't. I'm a lover, alas. I'm not married to the Muse.

Perhaps, it's fear of commitment. Sometimes I go weeks w/o composing. But every single day, I envision poetry mentally & take out my five senses. Sometimes I experience a mental poem as vividly as I experience a film. A scene. Dialogue strings. A fight and/or flight. An image. A metaphor growing like a tree, with petals hue-ing & falling.

And daily, I play with words. We go running, words and I. Sometimes we take off, and fly too close to the sun. Call me spacey. Astronauts do it with more thrust.

Seriously, I don't desire publication, at this time. I have no desire to publish the Great America [fill in -------] at any point in my life. I've published exactly one poem. Which is one more than the number of stories or essays I have published. Unless you count the series of short stories I wrote for a student-organized tabloid at St. Augustine's Elementary School. That is, until we got busted for publishing w/o school authorization, and, audacious!, charging students for it, and best of all, making money :) Samizdat for the middle school set.

I want people to hear and be influenced by my poetry, and that objective won't be achieved by publishing in journals that few poets read, let alone the general public. My project is poetry performance, and getting grants to work on larger projects & craft, so that one day I will publish something meaningful. Something that spurs folks to do, to be, to vitalize their lives.

For now, I write lyrics, modern-day ballads, and psalms. Some are borderline erotic (ok, maybe I've crossed the border). Some are metaphysical, or otherwise philosophical. But all are passionate, that is embodied. Gut-sy. Incarnate or Carnal, depending on your point of view, or preferred organ of sensation. Whatever. I write what I write. What you do with my words. Well, that's up to you, isn't it?

****

Category: Psalm

Lord,

Show me mercy. I'm just
Human. Breathe me.

Break my blood-brain
Barriers. Commit me.

With your extravagant passion,
Fire me.