The poem I decided to go with was “Dancing in Buses,” of course, by Javier Zamora. The poem was very intriguing to me due to a matter of factors – first of all, it’s almost musical. The entire poem itself is structured in a rhyming-rap structure. It’s consistent, it doesn’t stop, and it’s almost sung with a ‘jing’ to it, or a somewhat golly tune. However, once looked over, the poem is the complete opposite.
The starting lines start off with the poet talking about music being blasted from a speaker and telling everyone to raise their hands when playing the music, nothing more. He tells us to twist our arms in the air, and look around like so, before bending over and doing the Rump. So far, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing strange. The speaker then tells us to do the ‘rake,’ before sweeping and doing the Pupusa Clap – so on. All in all, a myriad of dance moves. However, by the near end, the poet suddenly tells us to duck underneath the seat, because someone’s shooting. After that, he instructs the reader to put their hand behind their back, look at the ground, roll over, and face the barrel.
After a brief skim, I decided to read closer. When the poet talks about doing a dance, he mentions something called a “pupusa clap”, with “finger dough clumps.” After doing some research about this, Pupusa is a sort of flatbread made through cornmeal or rice flour, which requires the chef in question to kneed and clap at it roughly to give it its texture. This specific food is Salvadoran, the origin of the poet in mind, and definitely as a result something that’s related to his hometown. Same with Horchata, a rice-based item as well, just a drink in this case. He’s correlating actions you would do when eating these specific foods into a personal dance, perhaps this is some sort of remembrance of his hometown? Right after this, we’re immediately once again, thrust into a life-or-death situation, with the poet suddenly telling everyone to drop down, roll over, face the mouth of a barrel (A gun, most likely), and don’t scream. From what I’ve gathered, this could be one of the experiences many of the immigrants attempting to cross the border face. Like all the previous poems, border patrol plays a big part, with them consistently brandishing their guns, and said to shoot on sight without any sort of repercussion. This huge juxtaposition of happy dancing upon a bus to the sudden possibility of death just feels immense, I believe Javier wanted this exact notion as well. To suddenly move from happy dancing and the such to sudden near-death experiences.
I suppose the poet here was trying to convey the immigrants trying to brighten up the terrible times they have while trying to cross the border by trying to enjoy themselves with activities that remind them of their hometown, such as the scooping of Horchata incorporated into their dances, alongside the kneading of Pupusa as well. Yet even then, they’re still caught by their terrible fate at the end of the poem, forced to turn around to face the barrel of a (Unestablished, but hinted at) gun. I’m not quite sure exactly if this is the case, and the one question I have right now is just who exactly are they rolling over for? In a lot of the previous poems, Border Patrol isn’t the only ‘evil’ thing out there. There’s the metaphorical coyotes, and so on. It makes me wonder, just what exactly are they cowering under?
Edmund F-