Jimmy Santiago Baca

(2 January 1952 / Santa Fe, New Mexico)

Jimmy Santiago Baca Poems

1. A Daily Joy To Be Alive 1/3/2003
2. Ancestor 1/3/2003
3. As Children Know 1/2/2012
4. As Life Was Five 1/3/2003
5. Choices 1/3/2003
6. Cloudy Day 1/2/2012
7. Count-Time 1/3/2003
8. El Gato 10/11/2011
9. From Violence To Peace 1/2/2012
10. Green Chile 1/3/2003
11. I Am Offering This Poem 1/3/2003
12. Immigrants In Our Own Land 1/2/2012
13. Into Death Bravely 1/2/2012
14. It Would Be Neat If With The New Year 1/2/2012
15. Ix. Part 6 1/2/2012
16. Like An Animal 1/3/2003
17. Listening To Jazz Now 1/2/2012
18. Llano Vaqueros 1/3/2003
19. Main Character 10/11/2011
20. Matanza To Welcome Spring 1/2/2012
21. Meditations On The South Valley, Part Xxiii 1/2/2012
22. Old Woman 1/3/2003
23. Oppression 1/3/2003
24. Sanctuary 1/2/2012
25. Ten 1/2/2012
26. The Blackbird 1/3/2003
27. The County Jail 1/2/2012
28. The Day Brushes It's Curtains Aside 1/3/2003
29. There Are Black 1/2/2012
30. This Day 1/2/2012
31. Tire Shop 10/11/2011
32. To My Own Self 1/3/2003
33. Too Much Of A Good Thing 1/2/2012
34. V 1/2/2012
35. What Is Broken Is What God Blesses 1/2/2012
36. When Life 1/3/2003
37. Who Understands Me But Me 1/3/2003
38. Yesterday 1/2/2012
Best Poem of Jimmy Santiago Baca

Who Understands Me But Me

They turn the water off, so I live without water,
they build walls higher, so I live without treetops,
they paint the windows black, so I live without sunshine,
they lock my cage, so I live without going anywhere,
they take each last tear I have, I live without tears,
they take my heart and rip it open, I live without heart,
they take my life and crush it, so I live without a future,
they say I am beastly and fiendish, so I have no friends,
they stop up each hope, so I have no passage out of hell,
they give me pain, so I live with pain,
they give me hate, so I ...

Read the full of Who Understands Me But Me


It was a time when they were afraid of him.
My father, a bare man, a gypsy, a horse
with broken knees no one would shoot.
Then again, he was like the orange tree,
and young women plucked from him sweet fruit.
To meet him, you must be in the right place,
even his sons and daughter, we wondered
where was papa now and what was he doing.
He held the mystique of travelers

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