Richard+Blanco

Richard Blanco is an Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize winner. He was born in Madrid, Spain on February 15th, 1968 to Cuban exile parents. Forty five days later they migrated once again to New York City, and eventually settled in Miami. He earned an engineering degree from the Florida International University in 1991, but when he was in his mid-twenties he went back and earned a masters in creative writing. He then took a break from his engineering career to travel and work on his poetry. He eventually returned to engineering in 2004, but continued to write on his free time. In 2012 Blanco was selected by President Obama to be the inaugural poet, making him the fifth poet in United States history to do this, and the first immigrant, Latino, and gay person to receive such an honor.
 * Biography: **


 * “The Name I Wanted” **

Not Ricardo but Richard, because I felt

like Richard Burton—a true Anglo-Saxon

in tights reciting lines from Othello, because

I wanted to be as handsome as Richard Gere

in a white tuxedo, because I had a pinky ring

just like Richard Dawson on //Family Feud//,

because I knew I could be just as wholesome

as Richie Cunningham, just as American

as my father’s favorite president, Nixon.

Richard—not Ricardo, not my nicknames:

//El Negrito //—Little Black Boy—for my skin

the color of dry tobacco when I was born,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">or //El Gallegito//—the Little Galician, because

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">that’s what Tía Noelia called anyone like me

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">born in Spain, not a hundred percent Cuban.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Not //Rico//, the name Lupe wrote on my desk

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">branding me as Barry Manilow’s Latin lover

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">in ruffled sleeves dancing conga at the //Copa,//

//<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Copa Cabana //<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;"> all of eighth grade. And definitely

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">not //Ricardito//—Little Ricky—worse than Dick.

//<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Richard //<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">—descendant of British royals, not

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">the shepherds of my mother’s family, not

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">the plantain farmers on my father’s side.

//<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Richard //<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">—name of German composers, not

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">the swish of machetes, rapping of bongos.

//<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Richard //<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">—more elegant than my grandfather

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">in his polyester suit, Chiclets in his pocket,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">more refined than my grandmother gnawing

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">mangos, passing gas at the kitchen sink.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ricardo De Jesús Blanco, I dub thee myself

//<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sir Richard Jesus White //

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">defender of my own country, protector

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">of my wishes, conqueror of mirrors, sovereign

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">of my imagination—a name for my name.



<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">I loved this poem so much! His real name is Ricardo, which is my grandpa’s name, my dad’s name, and my little brother’s name. It is a family name that is passed down generation after generation, yet none of them go by it! They each have their different nick name, and it is just weird to call them by their real name at this point. But what I loved the most about this poem was not that he is named the same as my family members; it is that through changing his name he is analyzing that he is not fully Cuban, nor Spaniard, nor American. He has grown up in a society where he is all of those at once. I relate to this because, like him, I am of Cuban heritage, but I have been raised in America, so I have grown up to be part of both cultures. I do not identify with just one side of them, but with both of them, and I understand that he is his own person. He is not just Cuban because his whole family is Cuban. He is not just American because he was raised in America. He is somewhere in the middle, and that is okay! I noticed that to develop the theme of complex identity he first gave reasons why he liked “Richard”, then he gave reasons why he did not like any of his other nicknames, then he went back to giving more reasons he liked “Richard”, and concluded with stating that he is his own person and that was the name he had chosen for himself. One of the main literary devices that Blanco used in this poem was onomatopoeia to describe the “swish of the machetes” and the “rapping of the bongos.” This stood out to me because it reminded me of a Cuban commercial from when I was little, and I had a vivid picture in my head when I read that line. I also noticed that whenever he was talking about “Richard” he would use solely English words, but when referencing his nicknames he would use certain Spanish words, which made the two contrast. Doing this added to the theme of how complex the identity of person growing up in two different cultures simultaneously is. Overall, my thoughts while reading this poem can be summarized with one word, “Me!” because it is literally how I feel all the time.


 * <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Habla Cuba Speaking” **

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Aquí ere el otro nieto, no se te olvida

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">el nombre de tu abuelo, ni sus cuentos entre

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">los naranjales, el perfume de las gardenias

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">en el jardín de tu abuela, sus ojos claros

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">como ópalos que ves en el oscuro de tus ojos. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">Here you are the other grandson, you don’t forget

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">your grandfather’s name nor his stories among

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">the orange groves, the perfume of the gardenias

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">in your grandmother’s garden, her hazel eyes

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">like opals you see in the dark of your eyes. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Aquí eres el otro hijo, conoces tu madre

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">como niña barriendo su piso de tierra,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">y tu padre cortando caña, bañándose

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">en las zanjas del valle, eres monte

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">entre los montes, una décima entre guajiros,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">ola entre olas que nunca llegó a otra orilla. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">Here you are the other son, you know your mother

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">as a girl sweeping the dirt floor of her home

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">and your father cutting sugarcane, swimming

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">in the valley swales, you are a mountain

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">among the mountains, décima among guajiros,

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">a wave among waves that never reached another shore. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Aquí eres el aburrido de los chismes

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">de la lluvia, acostumbrado a los gritos

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">de los cañaverales en llamas, cansado

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">del cielo vestido de estrellas como lentejuelas

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">aquí, donde eres el que nunca fuiste,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">el otro, nunca traducido, invisible. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">Here you are the one bored with gossip

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">from the rain, accustomed to the screams

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">of sugarcane fields set ablaze, tired

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">of the sky dressed in stars like sequins

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">here, where you are who you never were,

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">the other, never translated, invisible. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Aquí eres nativo, andando, nunca perdido

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">entre estos trillitos de tierra hasta el ayer,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">dejado huellas que no levanta ni borra

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">el viento entre tus dedos, entre las palmas,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">siguiendo el susurro con los ojos cerrados. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">Here you are native, wandering, never lost

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">through these dirt paths reaching yesterdays

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">leaving footprints not lifted or erased

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">by the wind through your fingers, the palms,

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: center;">following their rustle with eyes closed. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;">media type="youtube" key="FzZTSuFP-1w" width="420" height="315" <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">This is a beautiful poem. It is not only written in a very creative way, but it is also full of literary devices. This poem is as the title implies, Cuba speaking. The title is the first interesting part of this poem; here Blanco managed to express the bilingual nature of the poem by combining both of the possible titles, “Habla Cuba” and “Cuba Speaking”, which translate to one another, into one. When I first saw it I thought it was just a weird title for the poem, but once I read and understood the poem I saw the pun intended. The poem is also in two languages, only in the body every other stanza translates the previous one. This helps personify Cuba, because over there everyone speaks Spanish, so it would only make sense if the country itself spoke Spanish. More than anything this poem speaks to anyone who has Cuban roots but has grown outside of the island, like me. In a way it echoes what it feels like to go back there and realizing that nothing has really changed, that I am still “La Rusita”, the little Russian Girl, and my family is still there. Blanco, although only Cuban by heritage, is really connected to his roots, and he expresses in this poem how going there felt like he was “native”. He also talks about how he gets to know his family and what their older life was like when he mentions his mother and father. One of my favorite lines is when he says, “… where you are who you never were, the other, never translated, invisible.” This line really stood out to me not because it contains a paradox, but because it explains what it feels like to be Cuban, but not growing up in Cuba. Blanco expresses here that when he goes back he is the Cuban he never was because he was not born there, and he is not living in a bilingual and bicultural world like in America; he is just another person in Cuba. This poem paints the perfect picture of Cuba to any Cuban who did not grow up there. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;">


 * <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">"Love Poem According to Quantum Theory" **

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">According to theory, there’s another

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">in an equal and opposite world who

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">dreams into words all I’ve never

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">captured in a handful of rain, a feather,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">or palms swaying under a tarnished moon.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">According to theory, there’s another

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">who’s growing younger as I grow older,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">who’ll remember what I’ll forget soon:

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">every word, every poem, every letter

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve written—memories will wither

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">and disappear into that dark vacuum

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">where according to theory another

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">keeps embracing, kissing all the lovers

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve unembraced, unkissed, except you

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">with me in this world of words I’ll never

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">find for us, yet always reaching further

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">than Orion to where the stars all bloom,

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">and according to theory there’s another

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">for you whose words are far more clever.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 0px; overflow: hidden;"> <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">In this poem Blanco speaks of a relationship that is just not destined to be. At first it appears that he is thinking of his other half, his opposite who is meant to “complete” him, but in line 14 we see that tthis is a “break up” poem. He cannot picture himself with the person he is currently with and believes that there is someone else for his current significant other who is “far more clever” (line 19) than he is. The title of this poem relates love to science, which are two ideas that have never coincided, which explains why the relationship he describes is destined to fail. More specifically, the part of the quantum theory Blanco speaks of is the quantum multiverse, which is the idea that multiple universes exist. The name of this poem suggests that according to this theory somewhere in another universe there might be love, but according to the poem Blanco does not believe it exists in this universe. The first two stanzas symbolized that he believes that there is someone out there in a parallel universe who is able do much more than he could ever dream of doing. The whole poem contrasts this being from another universe to him, and he describes this being as being better than he is, from this we can conclude that Blanco feels that he is the reason his relationship did not survive. When I first read this poem I thought of one of my favorite movies, __The Theory of Everything__, which follows the difficult journey of one of the most recognized physicists in history, Stephen Hawking, and his struggle to balance a family life, which includes his love for his wife Jane, and his journey to find the one formula that explains everything, hence the title. In this movie Hawking relates almost everything to physics and while his condition only worsens, his wife is left to be his nurse, rather than his companion. I can see Jane relating to this poem because although her focus of studies was on world languages, she was forced to understand everything about physics so that she could help her husband. She also towards the end separates from him because she does not feel like his wife anymore. This poem captures this because she dedicated more than twenty years of her life to Hawking and then realized they were not meant to be, which is mirrored when Blanco says, “another keeps embracing, kissing all the lovers I’ve unembraced, unkissed, except you with me in this world of words I’ll never find for us” (lines 12-16). This poem’s main message is that the author believes that he is the total opposite of the person who his current partner is looking for, which is a very common situation in society. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;">

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">A bearded shepherd in a gray wool vest, a beret lowered to his brow, that's how my blood has always imagined the man who was my great-grandfather, his eyes hazel, I was told once. But I'll never see
 * <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Of Consequence, Inconsequently” **

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">what he saw of his life in the cold rivers of Asturias. I can only imagine the fog caressing the hills of his village and him watching from the window of the train he took to Sevilla—//for love//, my mother explained to me once, holding a ghost

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">of him in a photo on his wedding day with an ascot tie and buttoned shoes standing in a room filled with mahogany and red roses. //Were// they red? What color were the tiers of Spanish lace cascading from my great-grandmother's dress?

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Nothing can speak for them now, tell me what they saw in their eyes that morning they left for love or war or both, crossing the sea to Cuban palms and cane fields quietly sweetening under the quite sun. But what if they'd never met, what color

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">would my eyes be? Who would I be now had they gone to Johannesburg instead, or Maracaibo, or not left Sevilla at all? Into what seas would I have cast thoughts, what other cities would I've drowned in?

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">The countries I would've lost, or betrayed, the languages I would speak or not speak, the names that would've been my names— I'd like to believe I've willed every detail of my life, but I'm a consequence, a drop of rain, a seed fallen by chance, here

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">in the middle of a story I don't know, having to finish it and call it my own.

<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">

<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Another great identity poem by Blanco. “Of Consequence, Inconsequently” explores his origins, and who he would be had his great-grandparents not fled from Spain during the war. Although his mother claims it was for love, Blanco admits no one truly knows because during this time male Spaniards were migrating to Cuba as an attempt to avoid the draft. I can relate to this because my great-great-grandfather did the same. In this poem Blanco wonders how different his life would be had this not happened, for he is just a “consequence” (line 33) of his great-grandparents actions, and really anyone can relate to this question. We do not ask to come to this world; our ancestors do. Yet, we are expected to write our own destiny to a life we did not ask to have. Blanco asks multiple rhetorical questions that add to the theme of unknown identity such as “what other cities would I’ve drowned in?” (line 28). Because of decisions that were out of his control, he has lived a life that was written by his family, not him. This also hints to the fact that we suffer without wanting to. We do not ask for the life we get, but we are expected to accept it. After we come into this world we are forced to write our new story, which includes the stories of our future offspring. But Blanco not only focuses on the thoughts and intensions of his ancestors, which affected him, but also focuses on the small details like the color of the “tiers of Spanish lace from [his] great grand-mother’s dress” (line 16) he day of her wedding. He sees every little detail as essential to his origin. He addresses the fact that he likes to think he has built his own life, but really he knows it was his ancestors that did. Every family member leading up to him, and every detail of their lives paves the way for our lives, we just happen by fate. One important literary technique Blanco uses is when he says that his mother was “holding a ghost of [his great-grandfather] in a photo” (lines 11-12). This adds to the idea that the past generations are the ones who build our lives. A ghost haunts around, and our ancestor’s actions haunt us. This comparison is essential to the meaning of the poem because this is where the idea that previous generations are the reason we are who we are is first introduced. Overall this is another great poem that examines how complex our identity can be. It makes us question who we could be had our ancestors not made the decisions they made. Like Blanco, I could still be in Spain, or I might not have ever learned English. We can never know what could have been, but he does make clear that although our past is unknown, the future is even more puzzling, for we are expected to finish the story that we did not write ourselves.

<span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;">
 * <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">Works Cited: **

"Made in Cuba, Assembled in Spain, Imported to the USA." //Richard Blanco//. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 Jan. 2016. <http://richard-blanco.com/bio/>.

Blanco, Richard. //Looking for the Gulf Motel//. Pittsburgh, PA: U of Pittsburgh, 2012. Print

N.p., n.d. Web. <https://c1.staticflickr.com/>. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 12pt;">"The Theory of Everything." //IMDb//. IMDb.com, 13 Nov. 2014. Web. 02 Feb. 2016. <http://www.imdb.com/>. <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> <span style="display: block; font-family: 'Times New Roman',Times,serif; font-size: 120%; text-align: left;"> Peppers, Margot. "How Much Would You Spend on Your Bridal Dress?" //Mail Online//. Associated Newspapers, 03 July 2014. Web. 05 Feb. 2016. <http://www.dailymail.co.uk/>.