By Ciprian I. Buzila, '22 (Graduate Student)
"In this painting I play with the universal notion of beauty to transmit the delicacy of our bodies to the world.
I emphasize this idea by framing the body in the fineness of the flowers that wither quickly."
Technique: Acrylics on paper
In Spanish by Joshua Belisario Garcia '24
I decided to write a song that involves the themes of music memory work, music and gender, and perceived identity. The poem is generally about the impermanence and preservation of human memory. It alludes to those themes when I mention not remembering much about my deceased great grandfather and when my grandma reminisces about her dancing days when she was a teenager in the song. Everything in the poem is based on experiences by my great grandfather, grandmother, and me. Making the poem consisted of scribbling rough outlines and lines of poetry, interviewing my grandmother, grandfather, and mother. At first, I was nervous about asking my grandma about her youth and thought that maybe I could write the poem without doing that. I quickly realized that I did not know enough to write the poem and have it still fulfill its purpose, so I gave her a call and asked her if I could interview her. After hearing about the 1-hour interview, my mom called me, filled me on some things my grandma had left out, and told me to call my grandpa since he could give me more context (they have known each other since they were around 9 years old). The stories they said, which I scribbled notes about, made me realize that my grandma was more similar to me than I had realized. Overall, this project was eye-opening and constructive in that it gave me a way to learn more about my family and further develop my perspective on music’s role in our lives. It was interesting to see that, out of what she chose to share, the most cherished moments in my grandmother’s life involved music. The project also made me think about the moral issues historians must take into consideration when documenting a story (and seeking it out in the first place). I only included what she shared with me for her part of the poem/song out of respect for her privacy and our relationship. I ended up recording myself singing it, so it does have different meters to it.
Tall and honest, on top of a bald head he wore a big hat
Smelt like raisins, and old people but we don’t talk about that
And here I’m thinking, in the room where I was when they got the phone call
He used to live here, but that doesn’t mean I really knew him at all
And so, I wonder, with his head on these pillows what dreams would he dream?
What things did he say? What things would he do?
You’d think that your kin would say more about you
But all that I know is he liked to dance and shot himself in the thumb
I guess you can’t count on the world bearing your memory for you
But surely there is something that we can try to do…
…arrumbaba a la escoba
Con prisa me vestia
De prisa, el reloj y yo
Me ponia los zapatos
Lavaba mi carita
Esperaba por tu abuelo
Sonidos por la puerta
Ya llegaba el dia
Salia a verlo con vuelo
Llegando preguntaban
Si el era mi novio
Decia que era mi primo
Y por ahi se sentaba
En la pista yo bailaba
Disfrutando de una cancion
Desde aya el me miraba
Con otros yo bailaba
Haci eramos el y yo…
Pero llegaba la noche y los chicos se iban
A la casa tenia que ir yo
Pues se preocupaba
Apenas dejaba que yo fuera a bailar
Chonita tejia
Desde llegar el dia
Y haci la veia al llegar
Me pregunto
Que habria echo si fuera a descansar
Iria a un baile o tal ves el cine? O tal ves a ligar?
Si pesara otros 5 kilos
Y me dieran chamba en la fabrica
Tal ves lo sabria
Pero que se puede hacer ya?
I’d cast the broom aside
I’d get dressed with haste
In a hurry, the clock and I
I’d put my shoes on
Wash my (little) face
I’d be waiting for your grandpa
Sounds by the door
The day was arriving
I’d go out to see him with flight
Arriving, they would ask
If he was my boyfriend
I would say he was my cousin
And he would sit over there
While I danced on the floor
Enjoying a song
He’d watch me from afar
With others, I would dance
That’s how we were, him and I…
But the night would come and the boys would leave
I had to go home
For she would worry
And barely allow me to go dance
Chonita would sow
Since the day’s arrival
And that’s how I would see her, when I’d arrive
I ask myself
What would she have done if she got to rest?
Would she go to a dance or the movies? Or perhaps to flirt?
If I weighed another 5 kilos
And the factory had given me a job
Maybe I’d know
But what can be done now?