We're California's broken heart.

Dont sweat it man, dont sweat it,
Lay out on the pavement and feel your skin sizzle.
We're too tired to think of prettier words,
we're too tired to try and talk at all.

Lethargy is the Desert's gift,
its our excuse for harsh looks,
harsh words,
harsh lives,
harsh deaths.

La Valle, La Valle, (The Valley, The Valley)
Por Que usted no habla Vida? (Why Dont you speak life?)

Porque usted no me enseña. (Because you dont teach me)

Watch my hands bleed from callous and burn,
watch the sky bleed from morning and dusk.

I've walked every road, My valley, my valley,
and from each the land seems sad.
Irrigators wave hello to mirages,
and I just wave back.

Norte Americano, the trees laugh, Norte Americano,
your skin is like earth and your tongue is from across the sea,
why do you speak such funny words?

I watch each sunset, like some retreating beast,
and the land still labors in it's apathy;
the cattle forget freedom,
the Campesinos eat their tortillas con nada, (Campesinos=Farm, Field worker.)
the children dream of a tomorrow without you,
my Valley,
my poison,
my fate,
my earth.

My grandparents know of you like the broken Eden.
Origional sin and the first temptations,
birth of a son and death of a father,
God is in your nostrils,
all you smell is Asparagus.

Your children carve veins of tar upon your flesh,
they dig great crowsfeet of canals across your flesh,
they raise homes of wood and plaster up from your flesh,
and all you do is surrender.

Out of love, out of forelorn hope,
out of utter defeat,
My Valley, My Valley,
you let us call you home.

Dont sweat it man, dont sweat it.
We're all drowning in our sweat.
Dawn is when the desert holds it's breath,
and that is when you remember you love her.

Hey,

I truly loved it. I even liked repetition which I usually hate. You gave us themes, some subtle, some not. You mixed languages together, it flowed really nice. It was a riveting read. Thank you for posting it, I will surely remember it.

PM for anything.

~Retro Disco666

"Dont sweat it man, dont sweat it.We're all drowning in our sweat.Dawn is when the desert holds it's breath,and that is when you remember you love her."

Amazingly written, although you may need to focus on the words more and their strength.
The stronger the words, the better the poem would look. The better it will be read.
Always make sure to not confuse the writer.
Other than that, you're heading there!

Typo!

Dawn is when the desert holds it's breath, <-- should be "its", not "it's."

As far as this goes... I don't know. You have all the elements for a wonderful poem, but I think some of the stanzas need to be reordered and I think that there is far too much repetition. Try taking out the repetitious parts and rearrange the stanzas... I think that will help you greatly!

I adored this. In fact, it's one of my favorites on the site so far. So, that said, I'm just going to run through and clip at your punctuation a bit.

Don't sweat it man, don't sweat it;
lay out on the pavement and feel your skin sizzle.
We're too tired to think of prettier words;
we're too tired to try and talk at all.

Lethargy is the Desert's gift,
it's our excuse for harsh looks,
harsh words,
harsh lives,
harsh deaths.

La Valle, La Valle, (The Valley, The Valley)
Por Que usted no habla Vida? (Why Dont you speak life?)

Porque usted no me enseña. (Because you dont teach me)

Watch my hands bleed from callous and burn;
watch the sky bleed from morning and dusk.

I've walked every road, my valley, my valley, <--consistency.
and from each the land seems sad.
Irrigators wave hello to mirages,
and I just wave back.

Norte Americano, the trees laugh, Norte Americano,
your skin is like earth and your tongue is from across the sea;
why do you speak such funny words?

I watch each sunset, like some retreating beast,
and the land still labors in it's apathy;
the cattle forget freedom,
the Campesinos eat their tortillas con nada,
the children dream of a tomorrow without you,
My Valley,
Mi Valle,
my poison,
my fate,
my earth.

My grandparents know of you like the broken Eden.
All they are, and all they will be, comes to rest,
in your thirsty soil.
Their children toil in the new poverty,
not a thought to the day past,
and that is all you have ever known.

Your children carve veins of tar upon your flesh,
they dig great crow's feet of canals across your flesh,
they raise homes of wood and plaster up from your flesh,
and all you do is surrender.

Out of love, out of forlorn hope,
out of utter defeat,
My Valley, My Valley,
you let us call you home.

Don't sweat it man, don't sweat it.
We're all drowning in our sweat.
Dawn is when the desert holds its breath,
and that is when you remember you love her.

Like I said, I absolutely loved this. I'm now following you and I wish you the best in all you do! Message me when you post a new masterpiece!

-Lumiface

Eraqio --

Love the title. Also, I love the topic. It's a topic I've written about on many occasions. There is nothing more inherently poetic or noteworthy than the immigrant. I live just across the California/Oregon border, and I live in a valley full of orchards, where many seasonal workers come to pick.

The poem itself is good. You've chosen an interesting way to portray the Mexican immigrant. But, I think I'm with Snoink. There's something missing. Or at least, this could be considerably more. I agree with what she said about the repetition. This reads almost like a set of lyrics. In fact, when you first switched over to Spanish, I had to back track a little bit, check to see if you were rhyming for lyrical purposes. Because this reads quite a bit like a song -- the plentiful repetition adds to that illusion. Now, this may have been your intention, but I think that through your use of repetition, structuring, and the lack of a strong central voice, you've left this poem fairly emotionally empty. A pretty shell.

I question your use of Spanish words throughout. I heard a great quote on a New Yorker podcast. The interviewer was asking an author why he chose sprinkle foreign words so liberally in his prose. Now, I'm just paraphrasing, but he said that he utilizes multiple languages because he's trying to describe ten dimensions with a two dimensional tool (writing), and that he has to use every trick he can to give us depth and feeling. He also said that we no longer live in Nabokov's monolinguistic world. We are a culture constantly surrounded and shaped by foreign languages -- especially Spanish, in the US's case.

Having said that, I still question your usage. It seems thrown in there only to make a point, to make things blatantly obvious, instead of adding an extra dimension. It seems tossed in so that we as readers know that you're talking about Mexican immigrants. And that would be fine if you masked it a little more. Unfortunately, it feels like your hitting me over the heads with many of the Spanish words you chose. "HEY THIS IS A POEM ABOUT MEXICANS. WE EAT THINGS LIKE TORTILLAS CON NADA." Same with your initial digression into Spanish near the beginning of the poem. It's all well and good. But what are you adding? It feels like your trying to force a certain feeling, and by doing so you strip your poem of the very dimension you're attempting to add.

Anyway, I'd also consider cutting this down. It's pretty loosely structured right now. It kind of meanders down the page. See if you can't weed out some of the unnecessary words or spacing, and make this a tighter(looking) piece. Heh, I almost like the title better than the poem. The title is a poem in itself. It speaks a lot.

-Kylan