Every Day is Magic: Ada Limón

In her 2015 collection, Bright Dead Things, a National Book Award finalist for poetry, Ada Limón writes of moving to Kentucky: “Confession: I did not want to live here.” It’s perhaps not a surprising sentiment coming from a coastally oriented person who was raised in Northern California, attended college in Seattle, and then spent over a decade in New York City.

 

But Limón and her husband, Lucas, have been in Lexington for seven years now and the effects of settling into this place are noticeable in her new book, The Carrying (Milkweed, Aug.). It’s a phenomenally lively and attentive collection replete with the trappings of living a little closer to nature. While Bright Dead Things is marked by a preponderance of light, such as images of fireflies and neon signs, The Carrying features numerous appearances by various trees, birds, and beetles. Limón also demonstrates a greater willingness to be explicit in naming colors, particularly green. “It’s crazy green, the whole book,” she says. “Lexington is the greenest place I’ve ever lived.” Similarly, where in Bright Dead Things, Limón tells a lot of stories and anecdotes, in The Carrying she is very present in her thoughts and experiences.

As it turns out, these shifts in focus have another, altogether unexpected source. While putting Bright Dead Things together, Limón was diagnosed with chronic vestibular neuronitis, which can cause bouts of vertigo. “If I’m really having vertigo, it’s pretty intense and I really have to focus,”
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Why don’t you look or act ‘Latino’?

Imagine having to wear a shirt for the rest of your life that labels you as someone you’re not
Now, imagine always having to check a box and identify yourself with people who are completely different from you. You never say your name or your origin, yet others readily assume who you are and where you are from.
This is what nearly 57 million Latinos in the United States have to live with, and if trends continue, by 2050, 106 million of them will have to live while wearing this shirt wherever they go.
I have never identified as a “Latino” until I came to the United States. Growing up in Venezuela and moving directly to Princeton, I have never in my life used, or even considered using, the term “Latino.” I was technically Latino whenever I filled out a box describing my race for a college application, because that is how the United States functions. We all knew we were technically Latino and brothers and sisters in the same continent, but it was more of a term that had been placed in our heads due to globalization, not because we decided to use it. We were all brothers and sisters in the South American continent, but we were not the same. At the end of the day, I was Venezuelan first, and then I was Latino…
Link to article,


  

Poem
“…And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while…”

T.S. Eliot
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Mexican American Proarchive Annual Report for 2022

The American Community Survey is an annual survey administered by the federal government to help local officials and community leaders and businesses understand the changes that take place in their communities. It includes percentages of our population’s graduate school attainment and the employment of Mexican Americans in various occupations.  These important factors influence the allocation of federal resources. Mexican American Proarchives uses the data provided by the American Community Survey to better understand how Mexican Americans compare to the general population.

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