One of the most vibrant Caribbean/South Florida poets, Adrian Castro's work scintillates with tonality, bilingualism, clarity of image and spirit. On the publication of his first collection, Cantos to Blood & Honey, Victor Hernandez Cruz wrote, “Reading [Castro]...is like ritual itself, like ceremony. Castro's criollo bipolarity and polyrhythmic versing approximate chant. The poems are clear maps of migrations, from the indigenous Orinoco and island hopping, to the Spanish sailors who vanished into Siboney maracas. The sounds of the Yorubas upon wooden vessels crossing the Atlantic, singing the first salsa into the stars. History is organized burglary. Adrian Castro has realized his geophysical position in the spider web of Caribbean history as an individual and as a larger portion of blue space.” Adrian’s work has been widely anthologized in publications such as Paper Dance: 55 Latino Poets, One Century of Cuban Writers in Florida, and Little Havana Blues. His most recent collection, Wise Fish, was published by Coffee House Press. He lives in Miami, Florida.
Prayer for Naming Ceremony
for my daughter Ajibolà
Today we wake to touch forehead on Earth
Today we wake with brow burrowed into the richness of hope
Today early when dew feet
spread through the theater of daylight
we pray that
at the night of our lives you will
witness our last ritual
She is three days old today
& steps thrice on the dust of the world
Can we differ the foot of madman
from the print of prince?
(We have assembled herb bundles—
Odundun here called siempre viva
Tètè called bledo/wild spinach which
sprouts despite the pounce of man
Atèpe/Gbegi the grass that twines
through contorting obstacles
We have bundled on clay dish what you will taste:
kola nuts, bitter kola, sugarcane, honey, pepper,
dried fish, water, gin, red African-Grey feather as spoon)
Today we begin to sketch the verses
you will sing through life
Verses that you chose in the language of deities
when you kneeled in the other world
when I exhaled liquid fatherhood
& your mother embraced my breath
We pray that we may plant a flag
so you know where is home
even after the pounce of madmen
We pray that you are careful where to alight
that you fly forward while
looking back
That your verses do not scatter if
a storm tears your memory
That you understand the songs you will sing
And you remember the language you once spoke
Today is the opening chapter
of a crystallized prayer
***
Throughout the month of April, National Poetry Month, poets from the Caribbean and South Florida will be featured on this blog.
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