On Paros, I read alot more fiction than I do while in Rome. Luckily, my friend Connie has tons of books and has no problems lending them to me. The other day, she suggested I tried reading some poetry, too. That’s how I learned about Daisy Zamora.
Daisy is from Nicaragua and, like Bianca Jagger, is beautiful! And, also like Bianca, she is a political activist. Daisy explains that “A poet must be a witness to her time.” And for this reason, her poetry is flavoured with the sensations caused by the Nicaraguan Revolution. Her father was arrested in an attempted coup against the Somoza dictatorship when Daisy was only four years old.
Connie lent me Riverbed of Memory (City Lights, 1992) and called my attention to a poem entitled “What Hands Through My Hands” (Què Manos A Travès De Mis Manos). It describes the hands of Daisy’s grandparents and of her parents and of her own hands. And it’s this history of hands that leads her to ask:
When I caress your back,
the bony protrusione of your feet,
your long sturdy legs,
what hands through my hands caress you?
So once again, an eulogy to the hands. For without them, we can’t be touched.
ring by Doris Maninger
rings by Ingrid van de Brand
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