I wrote El Mando a couple of months ago and recently I had the opportunity to read it to some poor unsuspecting riders of the red line of the Los Angeles Metro. On purpose, this version has way more Spanglish and there is a absolute zero point reached where the poem is neither in English nor in Spanish but somewhere in the middle. You be the judge.
by Yago S. Cura
He who wields el mando es el que manda;
conversely, without mando, uno no manda,
Uno no sostiene su mandate—ni man do, ni man da.
He who wieldeth mando es el que manda?
No, el que no wields mando are the mando-less,
nickel and dimed, hoodwinked and periwinkled
misbegotten and desarriesgados.
Tu y yo somos vics of el mando despite wielding
el mando in our respective jurisdictions, ademas
she who holds the remote control controls
the command console on the programming.
She commands channels of things to come,
strong premonitions and Scooby clues, vapor trails
para que channels reprochen su servidumbre?
She who holds the structure of the relay of el mando
manda astonishing cleavages of anthems, stirs my tine
of all its tenor, embellishes where it importas.
He who wields el mando es el que no contiene el no
o cero subset, which is like a submanda. Entonces: She
holds el mando, manda, holds a turbo just outside threshold
of a prosthetic stylus, holds el task manager for ransom.
He who wield el mando holds silenciosos a index technicians,
holds binary repose. She who has command nears command mas
without possessing el mando. Pity el wielder de submanda.
Para most, el mando es simplemente su arch-enemy.
Solamente, en algunos, el mando son ojos infra-rojos.
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.