A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008



So I have been working on Odes to major futbol players around the world. I have ones on Maradona, Pele, and Johan Cruyff, but am looking to diversify. I worked on one today for Thierry Henry who is now playing for Barce but made name with Arsenal. I started the day watching some of his youtube videos and thinking about the man, although this is exceedingly difficult because I don't know the man. But isn't that what an Ode is all about. Oh yeah, the pic is something I found on Google. I believe it's Henry with what the parlance of our times might call a ghetto blaster. And I also like the fact that he has natty hair, which of course now he doesn't.

So Far...

Goofy French kid with sniper-dreams
Makes name with Arsenal in N. England
As striker on the wing, crouching striker
Clever as rogue clover, diabolical as dander
Running roil over several defenders
Impala wings n the left lane of the airstrip
Not even a floating eye from the keeper
Nor a corner bot, nor a sweeper unit, nor plug
Can arret his goatshin bombast blowtorch

As you can tell this needs alot of work.


Monday, January 28, 2008


So this morning I had an interview...rocked. And to boot, I got to see the lower, Lower East Side in the morning, when it is loading/unloading its bevy of produce, fishstuffs, and comestibles. And if that weren't enough, I had enough time to kill before my first day of classes that I came home and heated up some rocket soup my Panda made for me.

This is the first of several moments I have had to myself today. I am thinking, how should I proceed? I need a full-time job but I do not want the drudgery that goes along with that. I could strike out and really invest in my tutoring/translation company that I have always wanted to get off the ground. The fact that I have multiple avenues to doodle with makes me feel like a shiny commodity. But do I want to give up my free time? And how much free time will it actually suck from my marrow.

Oh yeah, and the rocket soup my Panda made had ground chicken, corn, carrots, celery, and rice, Son! It was hearty, hale, and all that other good stuff. And I got to stuff some Triscuits down the gullet of my rocket soup bowl. The world is good,
and the word even better.



Friday, January 25, 2008


These are some pics of my logistics.


In these difficult times, bloggers must go above and beyond the confines of their interface. They must be ready to use the interface but jump-off in a more virtual manner, like hello-my-name-is stickers. The monopilization of venues of visibility by the Planet-States of Advertising, like ClearChannel, have made it exceedingly difficult for the common man to get his tiny message across. This most recent Campaign for Visibility on Manhattan and Brooklyn is an expression of that frustration and was started on January 25, 2008. In fact, if you are reading this then chances are you have spotted one of the advertisements. If so, please make yourself at home, and read some of my works. And if you snoop around enough, you can even find a way to get a message to me.



Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Familial Casual

Your Father, megaphones from sidelines.
Your Mother, inventor of The Whatever.
Your Sister, scrams to Lisboa
for Lisboa’s sake.
Your Uncle, shuffler in Orthopedics.
Your Aunt, speaks in miracles
of the plastic ass surgeon.
Your Auntie, eats mushrooms
in Oaxaca with French daytrippers.
Your Other Sister, services
the ancient indigent from the top
of Mt. Sinai Hospital.
Your Other Aunt, Night Nurses.
Your Other Uncle, plaster
architect, part-time flaneur.
Your Cousin, encroaches
on the Midwest—
invades Naperville.
Your Other Cousin, hoists
mausoleum reefs into Biscayne.
Your Other Cousin, brings
home strays, like Noel, in mini
skirt, tube top, and strapless pumps.
Your Godfather, throws it all away
to raise horses on the Okeechobee.
Your Other Cousin, go-fors
for a corrupt judge.
Your Other Father, former
Brown Beret, former bodyguard
to Black Elk.
Your Other Mother, ‘Rican
secretary with babies in Fallujah.
Your Other Mother, veteran marm
with cottage in Ossining.