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

When Life

Is cut close, blades and bones,
And the stench of sewers is everywhere,
Blood-sloshed floors,
And guards count the dead
With the blink of an eyelid, then hurry home
To supper and love, what saves us
From going mad is to carry a vacant stare
And a quiet half-dead dream.

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