Poetry Night in Pilsen on 12/19 presented by Gozamos

Poetry Night in Pilsen on 12/19 presented by Gozamos

On December 19, 2013 7:30 pm at Gozamos in Pilsen
Address: 1900 S. Carpenter., Chicago, IL | Cost: Free

Gozamos.com is proud to host a night of poetry at our new space in Pilsen. We’ve invited three Chicago poets to share their words, so come join us in celebrating local artists and their work. The night will be hosted by Hector Luis Alamo Jr. This is a free event and refreshment will be available with a donation.  Doors open at 7:30pm, the first reading will begin at 8:00pm.

About the Poets

Erika L Sánchez is a poet and writer living in Chicago. Her nonfiction has been published in Cosmopolitan for Latinas, NBCLatino, Truthout, Salon, Rolling Stone, The Guardian, Al Jazeera, and other publications. Her poems have appeared in Pleiades, Witness, Hunger Mountain, Crab Orchard Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Copper Nickel, and others. She is a CantoMundo fellow, recipient of a Fulbright Scholarship, and winner of the 2013 “Discovery”/Boston Review poetry prize.

Jacob Saenz is a CantoMundo Fellow whose poetry has been published in Poetry, Great River Review, OCHO and other journals. He has been recipient of a Letras Latinas Residency and a Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship, and he currently serves as an associate editor for RHINO.

Denise Santina Ruíz is a Puerto Rican writer, mother, designer and agitator. She was a two-time finalist for the annual Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Competition, and has featured in such events/venues as the Annual Barrio Arts Festival, the Athenaeum Theater, Batey Urbano, Ponce-at-night, Guild Complex’s Palabra Pura and Columbia College’s 2nd Story among others. Denise recently wrote and performed in the performance piece, “Unnatural Spaces,” from the Guild Complex’s Poetry-Performance Incubator. She has also taught poetry and creative writing to youth in the Humboldt Park community where she was born and raised and is the owner of “Madre de Perla Designs.” She believes in real talk, revolution and statement earrings.

Discovery Reading and Poem in Boston Review

I’m so honored to have been chosen along with such talented women for the Discovery/”Boston Review” Contest. Here are two pictures from that incredible night as well as my poem published in the Boston Review.


Julia Guez, Eileen Myles, Raena Shirali, Timothy Donnelly, Erika L Sánchez and Catherine Blauvelt



Summer boredom flutters its
sticky wings. You guzzle
cooking wine, gag on the old whiskey
you find in the pantry.
In the warmth of your bedroom,
you pierce your navel
with a safety pin, slice
the skin you hide beneath
your billowy dresses. Glitter-eyed
in the murky dance clubs,
you snort blow until the dregs
trickle down your throat and
shock your sluggish heart.
You dance in the frenetic
lights, the untz untz vibrating
your face and skull until
morning. But everywhere,
the pain suckles you. Everywhere,
you hold its lumpy head to your breast
like a saint. A fat man in a basement
tattoos a scraggly moon
on your hip, anything to smother
the soft and constant vertigo, to stitch
a spirit so riddled with leeches.
Some evenings you brim
with the sky’s quiet bruising—
colors as beautiful as the spilled
brains of a bird. Such a fucked
holiness, you think. Weeping,
you read Walt Whitman—the blow,
the quick loud word,
the tight bargain, the crafty
lure. You hold a mirror to study
your tender socket. May we eat
and drink in remembrance
of the body. Oh how the salt sings.
One morning you cut your hair
slowly then shear it altogether.
Whether that which appears
so is so, or is it all flashes
and specks? In that slurry
of August, the silence climbs you
like a man until you hear
the meaty flaps of God inside you.

“Discovery”/Boston Review Prize

Last week, I received the wonderful news that I was selected as one of the winners of the “Discovery”/Boston Review Poetry Prize. I am thrilled and honored to have been chosen.  I can’t wait to go to New York to read my work and meet the judges and other winners. This is the kind of thing I’ve been dreaming about since I was a young girl. I literally jumped up and down after I received the phone call.  I am very honored. Here is the description from the 92Y Unterberg Poetry Center:

Now in its sixth decade, the “Discovery” Poetry Contest is designed to attract large audiences to poets who have not yet published a book. For this sixth year, the 92Y Unterberg Poetry Center is proud to partner with Boston Review.

Many winners of this contest have gone on to distinguished careers as poets, among them John Ashbery, Lucille Clifton, Nick Flynn, David St. John and Rosanna Warren.

The four winners of the 2013 contest are Catherine Blauvelt, of Iowa City, IA; Raena Shirali, of Columbus, OH; Julia Guez, of New York, NY; and Erika L. Sánchez, of Chicago, IL.

The three runners-up are Natalie Scenters-Zapico, of Albuquerque, NM; and Armand Pierrot and Danniel Schoonebeek, both of New York, NY.

Preliminary judges were Greg Pardlo and Timothy Donnelly, poetry editor at Boston Review. Final judges were Eileen Myles, Bruce Smith and Juan Felipe Herrera.

Eileen Myles is the author of eighteen collections of poetry, fiction and nonfiction including Sorry, Tree; Chelsea Girls; Inferno (A Poet’s Novel); and Snowflakes/Different Streets. She’s the recipient of a Shelley Memorial Award from the Poetry Society of America, a Warhol/Creative Capital art writing grant and a Guggenheim fellowship.

Juan Felipe Herrera is the author of Half of the World in Light: New and Selected Poems, winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award in Poetry and the PEN/Beyond Margins Award. He is currently the California Poet Laureate and a Chancellor at the Academy of American Poets.

Bruce Smith is the author of The Other Lover, a finalist for both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize, and Devotions, winner of the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America. He was selected as a winner of the 1982 “Discovery” Prize. The judges were Galway Kinnell, Paul Zweig and Mei-mei Berssenbrugge.

Poem “La Cueva” in The Southeast Review

La Cueva

    Chicago, IL


The beautiful women swing
        their hips

like eternal bells.    With pink, histrionic mouths

        they sing: Who is this

in the mirror? Why won’t you love me?  Why won’t you

        let me be?

The costumes are small eruptions—
        fabrics twisted and

impossibly stitched—

                 a geisha bride, a cowgirl princess.

In the more unforgiving lights, the synthetic

        yellow wigs startle the brown clay

of skin. Briefly, we see

the soft traces

            of their shrouded youth,

how skillfully they’ve learned


         to wipe the smeared mirrors

inside them.


In the teeth

            of their gaze,
the men with the factory hands

raise their palms

        to the hormone-softened

faces— a love

        flimsy as a wet yellow dress.

They will bend

like flowers for them.



The winter frost of eyelids

in the darkness: hands

            dig for a swelling cock

reaching skyward. The matronly breasts

        hang low and exhausted,

though there can’t be children

to suckle them.

The body
        is not a hieroglyph,
but a triumph.


In the morning, the men will rise

for mass. With their wives,
they will sing

            ¡El Señor resucitó!
And as they clap their hands aleluya,

the smell,
            that singular funk

that springs from the body,

            will weep

from their callused palms.


Interview in Rhino

I am a ruthless reviser” – Interview with Erika L. Sánchez

Associate Editor Jacob Saenz interviewed Poet and Writer Erika L. Sánchez, whose poem, “Recession Poem #3″, was published in RHINO 2012.

JS: First off, thank you for taking the time off your busy schedule to interview with us here at RHINO. We’re happy you agreed to do so and even more pleased to have your poem, “Recession Poem #3″, in RHINO 2012.

I love the use of white space in your poem, which seems to me to represent the “silence // so tentacled so deep” that seeps in throughout the entire poem. I also love that poem ends with the sound of wind chimes that seem to shatter the silence.

How many Recession poems have you written? Do they use a similar form as that of #3? Do you feel compelled to write more of them in this economic climate?

ES: It’s my pleasure! I actually had three recession poems at one point, but I am a ruthless reviser, so now I only have one. Also, this particular one has been transformed into something different. Many of the images remain, but the poem became much more emotionally violent and kind of creepy. (I can’t ever leave my poems alone. I have probably ruined a few by being so compulsive.) I originally wrote the series because I had this god awful corporate job after grad school for about two years, and I don’t think I’ve ever hated anything so much in my life. The poems reflected the deep desperation I felt during that time. While working in the Loop, I also observed jarring economic inequalities and overwhelming consumerism. I was both repulsed and fascinated… But mostly repulsed. Haha. I think I’m finished with those kinds of poems for now. Things are looking up for me.

JS: In addition to being a talented poet, you also write articles for The Huffington Post and NBC Latino. How do you approach writing articles as opposed to poetry? Do you have a writing regimen for either form?  Do you find that your poetry and the articles you write have similar themes and/or topics?

ES: Usually, a poem begins as an image that gets stuck in my brain. I see or hear something grotesque or beautiful or both that startles me and then I become obsessed with it until it becomes a poem. Sometimes it takes me years to complete a poem. Sometimes they require me to leave them alone for months and months before I can revise them again. I know it sounds new agey and kind of mystical, but the poems tell me what they want. I also do a lot of writing exercises and free writing to make myself come up with fresh new language. Poetry feels like my brain giving birth to something painful and grotesque.

My prose, however, is mostly a reaction to anger. Honestly, most of my articles are about things I’m pissed off about. I can make myself sit down and write about domestic violence or racism, for example, but I can’t do the same with poetry. That always ends badly. I can also use humor in my prose, which I find nearly impossible to do when writing poems. Poetry is also so painstaking and image-driven for me. I find both genres liberating in completely different ways.

JS: Full disclosure: you and I both attended Morton East High School in Cicero, IL. I remember being an editor for Parchment, the school’s literary magazine, and how we had to turn down one of your poems because it had the word “cunts” in it. I remember liking the poem and feeling sad that we could not publish it but I also understood why we had to do so. I suppose it would’ve made some readers uncomfortable.

Do you enjoy that, making the reader uncomfortable or otherwise uneasy with your writing? What do you hope the reader to gain by such discomfort? In asking this question, I’m thinking of your article on The Huffington Post, “Why I Choose to be Politically Incorrect”.

ES: I love this story because it reveals how much of an asshole I was at that age. The hubris! Haha. I remember getting the response from the editor and I was all “how dare they censor me!” I remember I also got reprimanded after I read a scandalous poem at a school assembly. I suppose I haven’t completely changed because I still revel in making people uneasy sometimes. Part of it is that I think uncomfortable things need to be dissected and discussed so we can all heal both as individuals and as a society. To be perfectly honest, I enjoy joking about race, and I do it because it helps me cope and because it can make people examine their own privilege. (Or maybe they just end up thinking I’m a politically incorrect jerk. Who knows?)

I also don’t hesitate to let myself go to the weird and unsettling places of my psyche. I can’t tell you how many times I have creeped myself out with a poem. Recently, I wrote a poem about donkeys and when I was finished, I thought to myself– “did I really just write a poem about a donkey show?” I feel like readers appreciate that sort of vulnerability and honesty, though. I often get responses from other women, especially Latinas, thanking me for writing about this or that. I really appreciate being able to connect to people in that capacity. My articles have also pissed a lot of people off, particularly men, and I’ve received plenty of hate mail, but it doesn’t faze me anymore. I’m going to write about what I think is important regardless of the repercussions. I’ve always been brutally honest and it has both bitten me in the ass and served me well.

JS:  As a Latina poet, how do you feel about nature of Latino/a poetry as a whole?  Do you feel Latino/a poetry is well-represented in mainstream journals? If not, what could be done to address this?

ES: I don’t know what to say about the nature of it as a whole, because it’s comprised of so many voices and styles. I think it might take me a few months to come up with a good answer. I’m disappointed when I don’t see Latino/a poetry in mainstream journals, because there are so many talented Latino poets that I refuse to believe it’s because they don’t receive enough submissions. I think this is improving though. Latino/as have been winning big prizes and are being published by larger presses. The way that I personally address this problem is by submitting to these journals until they take my work. I’m very stubborn. I think it would also help if journals made an effort to make their editorial team more diverse.

JS: Who and what have you been reading lately that has inspired you? What books do you recommend? Do you have a go-to poet/writer?

ES: Love, an Index by Rebecca Lindberg is stunning– poignant and beautifully crafted. Wow. I love creepy poems so I really enjoyed A Larger Country by Tomás Q. Morín. Everyone and their mother, grandmother, and cat have been talking about Slow Lightning by Eduardo C. Corral, and I will be no different. It’s undoubtedly one of the best books of poetry I’ve ever read. Larry Levis is one of my favorite poets. I can read his poems over and over. They are so good they make my heart hurt. I’ve been into Emily Dickinson ever since I was an awkward and solitary teenager and she still makes me feel “as if the top of my head were taken off.”

JS: What’s next for you? Any projects/books/plans for world domination?

ES: I would like to get my poetry manuscript published soon. I feel like it’s finished now and would like to see it in the world. Recently, I also started writing a memoir and then realized that I actually need to write a novel instead. I hope to one day have time to complete it. The ideas are bubbling inside me, but freelancing sucks up all of my time. I’ve also been approached to come up with some ideas for other kinds of media. I’m eager to tell the whole world more about it but I think it’s too soon to tell what’s going to happen with all that. I’m very excited about the possibilities on the horizon. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something.

Poem “Portrait of a Wetback” in Copper Nickel

Portrait of a Wetback

You cross the viridian scum
of river—
                wispy-tongued. The sun

whisking your deepest marrow.

A walk to the horizon
                    with the bleakness
                on your shoulders:

                    place of the fleshless,
electric-wired fences.

            Helicopters circle and circle
above you like buzzards.

            The desert thirst?
                    A lit branch
in your throat.

                Jaguar, devourer
                of the sun.

You want to preserve this

in a jar of vinegar: the bright skull
                of the moon,

            the cloud white as a mistake.

When the guttural
                    desert song begins,

when the bats descend,

                Xolotl, dog-headed man, god
of fire,

                drags you through the ragged

hole of a wire fence.

Look, the gods wait for you

                on their haunches.

The lights flash white
                    and the sirens begin

as your brittle gaze
                            still skins the beauty

from this paradise.

Copper Nickel, No. 18, 2012

Interview with American Public Media

The American Now

“Erika L. Sánchez, 27, of Chicago, reads her poem, “Crossing,” about her parents who entered the United States in the trunk of a Cadillac in 1979. She also talks about what it means to be a hard working poet, and how her definition of success differs from that of her parents. You can also hear Sánchez read her poem, “The Loop,” here. You can also read her blog posts at News Taco, where she goes by Oh Hells Nah — also her Twitter handle.” (1.31.2012. Interviewed by Jeff Severns Guntzel)

“Kindness” in Drunken Boat (includes audio recording)

Nicaragua 2008

The barefoot boys are little men—
sticky children wielding machetes, slicing weeds.

Dogs in gaunt elegance
bow their heads and follow—

scabs and bubble gum on their matted fur.

We say if there were ever animals
to kill themselves, it would be these dogs.

The girls we never see. I imagine
they are grinding corn
or rubbing their hands raw
on soap and slabs of concrete in the morning fog.


In my dream last night,
I was pregnant and didn’t want it,
so I used nails.

That’s all I remember: nails
and a birth not celebrated.

How easily we protest discomfort: the heat making nests
in the thickets of our bodies, the insects
like scissors on our ankles, the shit and static water.

How we learn to praise
a grain of rice
when we hear the slight gurgle
of hunger in the flute of the body.

How we learn to love
an egg.

We can eat until we are shamefaced and swollen
with happiness and light and the neverending.


What can milk say?
Victorious milk,
milk like mucous
in your throat— a pearl.
Cruel milk with a hair in it

The kindness of milk.


Granada: a British man with bleached hair
walks barefoot in the street
in his imagined bohemia. Among glass
scattered like confetti.

Two backpackers
with sores like tropical flowers,
iridescent sores,
sores like opal.

A young boy kisses his fingers
and presses them to our cab window.


In Estelí
a rattle of history, a photograph—

Miliciana de Waswalito: Matagalpa, Nicaragua.

A radiant Sandinista breastfeeding,
a rifle on her back.


In the morning my period comes
like a hot and languid Sunday afternoon.

My breasts still remembering
the milk the body can brew.