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Poet and journalist, Julia de Burgos was a liuminous writer of innovative, yet lyrical, poetry that documented her deep love for the people and culture of Puerto Rico. Personal conflicts, a case of untreated alcoholism, and a deep sense of alienation contributed to her early decline and eventual death.
For Gladys Sotomayor and Johanny Vásquez Paz
They found Julia cradled
in the concrete embrace of a New York gutter.
It was a muggy day -- wind hot,
streets empty, sky overcast.
Her eyes mirrored the gray above,
their warmth diminishing
the same way a bolero ebbs to conclusion.
First a taxi sped by.
Then a beat cop tapped the business end
of a nightstick against a shoe -- no response.
An ambulance with one red eye
announced the world's end,
while paramedics went about their business,
they had seen her kind of death before.
The Daily News summarized:
unidentified Hispanic female
found dead on city street --
no foul play suspected.
Yet her bones clacked their protest
against the waiting earth
and the voice that had stirred a people
lost to silence its power to rejoice.
On that fatal morning,
lady of sorrows became an island,
a distant geography
far from Garment District sweatshops,
Spanish Harlem flats,
beyond even the cadence
of her poetry.
Few remember that day
when she plunged
headlong into darkness.
Only Frida Kahlo
could've painted Julia,
the way Julia died,
the way we don't want
to see her.
- Frank Varela
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