Gabriel Ramiro Sandoval Cruz’s translation and interpretation of "I am Joaquin"

Gabriel Ramiro Sandoval Cruz’s interpretation of "I am Joaquin"

“I am Joaquín:

An Epic Poem, 1967

By Rudolfo Gonzales

"Joaquin is alive in all of our people. Joaquin is 1 of us, and all of us.” – Rudolfo Gonzales

“I am Joaquin is the spiritual and cultural revelation. I am Joaquin is about the history you never heard in school, it is about the celebration of our Hispanic and Indian culture, Mexican heroes, and American Lives" – Unknown

The epic poem, I am Joaquin means so much to me. After reading this poem, I was able to discover who I really was, and what I can accomplish in my own society. I recommend this poem to those who are not certain if they don’t know to call themselves Mexican, American, Mexican-American, Chicano, Latino, or Hispanic. I dedicate this translation for all the youth who are unfamiliar with their own cultural history and heritage. I hope it will give them pride to know who they really are, where they come from, and what they can do.

This is my own translation and interpretation of this poem, for poetry can be translated differently to different people, depending on their own experiences. If you would like to add or discuss to the translation of poem, feel free to email me [email protected]

I am Joaquín

Lost in a world of confusion,

Caught up in a whirl of a

gringo society.

Confused by the rules,

Scorned by attitudes,

Suppressed by manipulations,

And destroyed by modern society.

My fathers

have lose the economic battle

and won

the struggle of cultural survival.

Rodolfo Corky Gonzales speaks to us now, presently, as he is “Joaquín Murrieta,” who was the 19^th century “bandido” Who was Joaquín? Well according to Harlod Augenbraum and Margarite Fernandez Olmos in The Latino Reader, Murrieta was known as a “Robin Hood type who lived in California in the 1850’s” (132.) Joaquín, or Gonzales, now, feels like he would still not belong in this world, because the way he is treated. He looked down upon because of people’s attitudes and restrained by their influence. He [Gonzales] feels his ancestors before himself have lost the economic battle, but have their cultural identity, known who they are, unlike many people who came to America and losing their heritage and roots. He wants to people to understand that his ancestors have struggled, yet they still lost economic assimilation, but he knows he has retained their cultural identity and heritage.

And now!

I must choose

Gonzales/Joaquín must make a choice.

Between the paradox of

Victory of the spirit,

despite physical hunger

to exist in the grasp

of American Social neurosis,

sterilization of the soul

and a full stomach.

Should Gonzales/Joaquín sell out his roots, his culture to get ahead?

Yes,

I have come a long way to nowhere,

Unwilling dragged by that

monstrous, technical

industrial giant called

Progress

and Anglo success . . .

I look at myself.

I watch my brothers.

I shed tears of sorrow.

I sow seeds of hate.

I withdraw to the safety of within the

circle of life…

MY OWN PEOPLE

Gonzales as Joaquin says he has come from a long way to nowhere. This he means, his people were kings, heroes, and now he is being treated as 2^nd class citizen. Gonzales is sad, but he is also angry. He feels that he is safe among his own people.

I am Cuauhtémoc, (1521)

Proud and Noble

Leader of men,

King of an empire,

civilized beyond dreams

of the Gachupín Cortez.

Who is also the blood,

the image of myself.

Gonzales is both the conquered, and the conqurer.

Cuauhtémoc (or Fallen Eagle) was the final Aztec king . He succeeded Cuitláhuac. Cuahtémoc was the nephew of Moctezuma. On August 13, 1521, Cuauhtémoc’s empire ceased to exist when he was captured by the Spaniards.

The word Gachupín is a derogatory term used toward the Spaniards, which means “invaders or conqueror” Cortez is Hernando Cortez, who in 1519 arrived to Mexico from Spain. “Who is also the blood, the image of myself” means that Cortez is part of our blood. The Spaniard and the Aztec blood mixed created the Mestizo. We are descendants of not just Cuautémoc, but of Cortez as well.

I am the Maya Prince.

I am Nezahualcóyotl, (1430-1472)

Great leader of the chichimecas.

I am the sword and flame of Cortez

the despot.

And

Nezahualcóyotl (Hungry/Fasting Coyote) was the king of Texcoco and ruled for over 40 years starting in 1430. According to Robert Ryal Miller in his book Mexico, A History, Nezahualcóyotl was a philosopher king who visualized an “unknown god” reigning supreme over the Universe. (46-47) He was also a poet, a writer of the people and a spiritual warrior. Under Nezahualcóyotl, the empire around Texcoco flourished.

I am the Eagle and Serpent of

the Aztec Civilization.

The Eagle and Serpent could be interpreted in two ways.

First interpretation could be that this Eagle-Serpent was the Aztec God Quetzocoatl, the feathered Serpent, but it could also mean the Eagle and Serpent which was seen on the lake when the Mexikas (Aztecs) discovered their homeland of Tenochtitlan. Huitzilopochtli told the Mexikas that they should look for an eagle standing on a cactus eating a serpent and they should build their city there.

I owned the land as far as the eye

could see under the crown of Spain,

and I toiled on my earth

and gave my Indian sweat and blood

for the Spanish master,

Who ruled with tyranny over man and

beast and all that he could trample

But…..

THE GROUND WAS MINE….

I was both tyrant and slave.

Gonzales is both tyrant and slave, meaning both sides are part of his own culture, as a Mestizo, being joined by blood. His fathers, or himself both owned the land, yet he also worked on the land.

As Christian church took its place

in God’s good name,

to take and use my Virgin Strength and

Trusting faith,

The priests

both good and bad

took

But

gave a lasting truth that

Spainard,

Indio,

Mestizo

Were all God’s children

And

from these few words grew men

who prayed and fought

for

their own worth as human beings,

for

that

GOLDEN MOMENT

FREEDOM.

Men revolted and uprised, for freedom, but who were these men?

I was part in blood and spirit

of that

Courageous village priest

Hidalgo (1810)

in the year eighteen hundred and ten

who rang the bell of independence

And gave out that lasting cry:

“El Grito de Dolores, Que mueran

los Guachupines y que viva

la Virgen de Guadalupe….”

I sentenced him

who was me.

I excommunicated him in my blood.

I drove him from the pulpit to lead

a bloody revolution for him and me…

I killed him.

On the morning September 16, 1810, Father Miguel Hidalgo Y Costilla rang the bell and delivered the Grito de Dolores. He told them it was time to get rid of the Spaniards who had misgoverened them and declare an end to the Indian Tribute system that was established.

His head,

which is mine and all of those

who have come this way,

I placed on that fortress wall

to wait for independence,

Morelos!

Matamoros!

Guerrero!

These were all fighters of the revolution. José María Morelos was a mestizo priest and student of Hidalgo. Matamoros translates as “Kill Moors.”

Guerrero can be either Gonzalo De Guerro who refused to join the Spaniards because he had ‘gone native,” and was known to be the father of the first mestizos. Guerrero could also be Vicente Guerrero who was a guerilla chief who carried raids during 1816.

All Compañeros in the act,

STOOD AGAIN THAT WALL OF

INFAMY

to feel the hot gouge of lead

which my hand made.

I died with them…

I lived with them

I lived to see our country free.

Free

from Spanish rule in

eighteen-hundred-twenty-one.

Mexico was free??

Mexico cut ties with Spain on August 24^th 1821.

The crown was gone

but his parasites remained

and ruled

and taught

with gun and flame and mystic power.

I worked

I sweated,

I bled,

I prayed

And

Waited silently for life to again

commence.

I fought and died

for

Don Benito Juárez

Guardian of the Constitution.

Don Benito Juárez was known as the 1^st president of the republic of Mexico. He was a Zaptotec Indian who was a Shepard. He played an important role in drafting the new constitution for Mexico in 1857. He was known for his famous saying “El Respeto al derecho ajeno es la paz.”

I was him

on dusty roads

on barren land

as he protected his archives

as Moses did his sacraments.

He held his Mexico

in his hand

the most desolate

and remote ground

which was his country,

And this Giant

Little Zapotec

gave

not one’s palm’s breath

of his country to

Kings or Monarchs or Presidents

of foreign powers.

According to the book, The Mexican American Heritage by Carlos M. Jiménez, “Juarez was responsible for “Ley Juárez” which began the process of separting Mexican government from the Catholic church (115).” A church could be considered a foreign power.

I am Joaquín.

I rode with Pancho Villa,

crude and warm,

A tornado at full strength

nourished and inspired

by the passion and the fire

of all his earthy people

Pancho Villa was a revolutionary who was born in 1878. Doroteo Arango was his real name. He killed an hacendado who had raped his sister, fled and changed his name.

He joined the Madero revolt.

I am Emiliano Zapata. (1911)

“This Land

This Earth

OURS”

Emiliano Zapata was another revolutionist. About spring of 1911, he led a group of peasants, mostly of Indians. He was known as “The peasant messiah,” slogan was “Tierra y Libertad!” (Land and Liberty)

The Villages

The Mountains

The Streams

Belong to the Zapatistas

Our Life

Or yours

is the only trade for soft brown earth

and maize

all of which is our reward,

A creed that formed a constitution

for all who dare live free!

“this land is ours…

Father, I give it back to you.

Mexico must be free…”

I ride with Revolutionists

against myself.

I am the Rurales

Coarse and brutal,

The Rurales were somewhat of a political group who took land from the indains. They were the vicious federal police of Porforio Díaz.

I am the mountain Indian,

superior over all.

The thundering hoof beats are my horses.

The chattering of machines gun

is death to all of me:

Yaqui

Taramura

Chamula

Zapotec

Mestizo

Español

I have been the Bloody Revolution,

The Victor,

The Vanquished,

I have killed.

I am the despots Díaz

and Huerta

and the apostle of democracy

Francisco Madero

Díaz was a dictator who ruled Mexico for over years. He was responsible for moderenizing Mexico.

I am

the black shawled

faithful women

who die with me

or live

depending on the time and place

I am

Faithful

Humble,

Juan Diego

the Virgin de Guadalupe

Tonantzin, Aztec Goddess too.

I rode as far East and North

as the Rocky Mountains

and

all men feared the guns of

Joaquín Murrieta.

I killed those men who dared

to steal my mine,

who raped and Killed

my love

my Wife

Then

I Killed to stay alive.

I was Elfego Baca, (1884-1945)

living my nine lives full.

I was the Espinosa brothers (1860’s)

of the Valle de San Luis

All

were added to the number of heads

that

in the name of civilization

were place on the wall of independence.

Elfego Baca was a deputy sheriff of Socorro, who barricaded himself in a hut and single handedly fought off a mob of cowboys.

Vivian and José Espinoza were brothers who killed Anglo men with guerilla tactics, later they were shot and beheaded by soliders.

Heads of brave men

who died for cause and principle.

Good or Bad.

Hidalgo! Zapata!

Murrieta! Espinoza!

are but a few .

They

dared to face

The force of tyranny

of men

who rule

By farce and hypocrisy

I stand here looking back,

and now I see

the present.

and still

I am the campesino

I am the fat political coyote

of the same name,

Joaquín.

In a country that has wiped out

all my history,

stifled all my pride.

In a country that has placed a

different weight of indignity upon

age

old

burdened back.

Inferitority

is the new load…

The Indian has endured and still

emerged the winner,

The Mestizo must yet overcome,

And the Gauchupín we’ll just ignore.

I look at myself

and see part of me

who rejects my father and my mother

and dissolves into the melting pot

to disappear in shame.

I sometimes

sell my brother out

and reclaim him

for my own, when society gives me

Token leadership

in society’s own name.

I am Joaquín,

who bleeds in many ways.

The altars of Moctezuma

I stained a bloody red.

My back of Indian slavery

was stripped crimson

from the whips of masters

who would lose their blood so pure

when Revolution made them pay

Standing against the walls of

Retribution.

Blood…

Has flowed from

on every battlefield

between

Campesino, Hacendado

Slave and Master

and

Revolution.

I jumped from the towers of Chapultepec.

into the sea of fame;

My country’s flag

My burial shroud;

With Los Niños,

whose pride and courage

could not surrender

with indignity

their country’s flag

To strangers… in their land.

Now

I bleed in some smelly cell

from club,

or gun,

or tyranny,

I bleed as the vicious gloves of hunger

Cut my face and eyes,

as I fight my way from stinking Barrios

to the glamour of the Ring

and lights of fame

or mutilated sorrow .

My blood runs pure over the ice caked

hills of the Alaskan Isles,

on the corpse strewn beach of Normandy,

the foreign land of Korea

And now

Vietnam.

Here I stand

before the court of Justice

Guilty

for all the glory of my Raza

To be sentenced to despair.

Here I stand

Poor in money

Arrogant with pride

Bold with Machismo

Rich in courage

and

Wealthy in spirit and faith.

My knees are caked with mud.

My hands calloused from the hoe.

I have made the Anglo rich

yet

Equality is but a word,

the Treaty of Hidalgo has been broken (1848)

and is but another treacherous promise.

My land is lost

and stolen,

My culture has been raped,

I lengthen

the line at the welfare door

and fill the jails with crime.

These then

are the rewards

this society has

For sons of Chiefs

and Kings

and bloody Revolutionists.

Who

gave a foreign people

all their skills and ingenuity

to pave the way with Brains and Blood

for

those hordes of Gold starved

Strangers

Who

changed our language

and plagiarized our deeds

as feats of valor

of their own.

They frowned upon our way of live

and took what they could use.

Our Art

Our Literature

Our Music, they ignored

so they left the real things of value

and grabbed at their own destruction

by their Greed and Avarice

They overlooked that cleansing fountain of

nature and brotherhood

Which is Joaquín.

The art of our great señores

Diego Rivera

Siqueiros

Orozco is but

another act of revolution for

the Salvation of mankind.

Mariachi music, the

heart and soul

of the people of the earth

the life of child,

and the happiness of love.

The Corridos tell the tales

of life and death,

of tradition,

Legends old and new,

of Joy

of passion and sorrow

of the people …who I am.

I am in the eyes of woman,

sheltered beneath

her shawl of black,

deep and sorrowful

eyes

That bear the pain of sons long buried

or dying,

Dead

on the battlefield or on the barbed wire

of social strife.

Her rosary she prays and fingers

endlessly

like the family

working down a row of beets

to turn around

and work

There is no end.

Her eyes a mirror of all the warmth

and all the love for me,

And I am her

And she is me.

We face life together in sorrow,

anger, joy, faith and wishful

thoughts.

I shed tears of anguish

as I see my children disappear

behind a shroud of mediocrity

never to look back to remember me.

I am Joaquín.

I must fight

And win this struggle

for my sons, and they

must know from me

Who I am.

Part of the blood that runs deep in me

Could not be vanquished by the Moors.

I defeated them after five hundred years,

and I endured.

The part of blood that is mine

has labored endlessly five hundred

years under the hell of lustful

Europeans

I am still here!

I have endured in the rugged mountains

of our country.

I have survived the toils and slavery

of the fields.

I have existed

in the barrios of the city,

in the suburbs of bigotry,

in the mines of social snobbery,

in the prisons of dejections,

in the muck of exploitation

and in the fierce heat of racial hatred.

And now the trumpet sounds,

The music of the people stirs the

Revolution,

Like a sleeping giant it slowly

rears its head

to the sound of

Trampering feet

Clamouring voices

Mariachi strains

Fiery tequila explosions

The smell of chile verde and

Soft brown eyes of expectation for a

better life.

And in all the fertile farm lands,

The barren plains,

The mountain villages,

smoke smeared cities

We start to MOVE.

La Raza!

Mejicano!

Español!

Latino!

Hispano!

Chicano!

or whatever I call myself,

I look the same

I feel the same

I CRY

and

Sing the same

I am the masses of my people and

I refuse to be absorbed.

I am Joaquín

The odds are great

But my spirit is strong

My faith unbreakable

My blood is pure

I am Aztec Prince and Christian Christ

I SHALL ENDURE!

I WILL ENDURE!