I have a job to do. It's about learning to speak Spanish better, including the sort of Spanish the people in our country, south of our country, in and out of our country do.
I'm starting with this song, which I remember from a tape I think I have somewhere still, that was recorded by people who worked with refugees from El Salvordor in the early 80's.
I haven't found it on the net, but the lyrics I remember are as thus:
"Vuela, Vuela, Pajarita,
Vuela, a tu palomar,
Mira, que la vida es triste,
Con tu cantar, me allegre corazon
Con tu trinar, con tu cantar.
La mal noche, y se va."
All these songs were recorded in refugee camps, where El Salvadorean refugees sang them. It is a beautiful recording.
My first boyfriend, who is long lost, disappeared; loved this tape. He worked hard on translating it. He wrote new versions of the songs.
He translated this directly, though, best as he could find it in himself, as an artist, to do so:
"Fly, fly away little bird
Leaving your nest
See how sad life is
With your song, you bring joy into my heart
With you to trill, and you to sing.
The evil night will pass."
I've always been so sad I lost touch with him. We didn't work romantically, but he was a wonderful, heartful spiritual person. And he sure cared about the oppressed in a way that still awes me, looking back upon what he wrote, what he used to say, back then 25 years ago.
So this is my Independence Day piece, for Zeke Sputnik. Not his given name, but he wanted to be Zeke, because Zeke was the guy into the childhood readers who was bad...lazy Zeke. And Sputnik because that was around when I was born, when the Russians launched Sputnik.
He gave his name to me, he gave a lot else to me. I am sorry I could not have given more to him. The least I can do is write tributes, and think about what he said, about what he cared about.
And he cared about music, and he cared about brown skinned people, and he hated the corporations, way back then before it was quite so trendy to do so.
So here's to you, Zeke Sputnik. Thank you for being part of my life, and I am so sorry that I didn't see when you needed help, well enough. I am sorry that I was not a better friend to you. I am sorry that I was too young to have figured it out, for me.
But here, too, is my tribute to your love for music, and the Chicano peoples, even though you were not one. And here is my promise to keep this up, to remember you. Because it is a good job, it is good work, like you always were trying to tell me, but I was just not old enough, not evolved enough, to quite hear that it was much more important a project, than any of our issues about each other.
I am so sorry. You always have stayed in my heart.
Miep