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Riverbed of Memory

Daisy Zamora,

Barbara Paschke (Translator)

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Mar 21, 2015 Aimee rated it really liked it

Poetry of witness by a writer who was in the thick of it. Her poems about everyday women, family and inheritance, and, of course, the memories of people and events of the Nicaraguan revolution dialogue with one another to become something truly universal.

My favorite may be "Que manos a traves de mis manos" in which she contemplates the hands of her ancestors and what her own hands have inherited through them. There's the sense of both the physical and the spiritual; what responsibilities has sh Poetry of witness by a writer who was in the thick of it. Her poems about everyday women, family and inheritance, and, of course, the memories of people and events of the Nicaraguan revolution dialogue with one another to become something truly universal.

My favorite may be "Que manos a traves de mis manos" in which she contemplates the hands of her ancestors and what her own hands have inherited through them. There's the sense of both the physical and the spiritual; what responsibilities has she inherited. In the second to last stanza, she concludes, "De tantas manos que se han venido juntando/ saque estas manos." (From so many hands coming together/ I ended up with these.) Then, in the final stanza, the speaker takes another leap, asking: "Cuando acaricio tu espalda/ [...] Que manos a traves de mis manos te acarician?" (When I caress your back,/ [...] what hands through my hands caress you?") Now it's about how we connect with others, how our ancestors speak through our bodies as we interact in the present.

In another poem, it's through the face that an ancestor makes an appearance when the speaker recognizes her grandmother in the mirror "ocupando este rostro/ cada vez mas suyo/ y menos mio." (occupying this face/ more and more hers/ and less mine." There's another poem of reflection on the speaker's feet, as well as one on pregnancy. The physicality of all of these poems helps to ground the larger message of legacy and connection. To speak of a relationship no longer viable, Zamora again returns to the body: "tu mano ya no busca mi mano bajo la mesa." (your hand no longer seeks mine under the table)

Many of these poems are about other women, laborers and revolutionaries. Some of these women are defined by their jobs: the seamstress, the housewife, the waitress. Says the seamstress, who's lost her youth to her labor: "y ya no se como hubiera sido/ de haber sido yo mismo" (and I have no idea how it would have been / to have been myself.)

And then there are the poems remembering fellow revolutionaries, the protests, the camaraderie that was shared in the face of life-threatening and horrific situations. One arresting, heartbreaking image is in the final poem of the collection, "El vendedor de cocos" (The coconut vendor): "Desde lejos, la blancura de los cocos brilla/ comos los craneos de los setenta y cinco ninos miskitos/ muertos por la guardia somocista en Ayapal" (From afar, the whiteness of the coconuts shines/ like the skulls of the seventy-five Miskito children/ killed by Somoza's guard in Ayapal")

Very thankful for yet another gem of a used bookstore find. Looking forward to looking up more of Daisy Zamora's work. ...more

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