La Abuela Española

It’s not every day that a person reads a poem about their great-great-great-grandmother, but that’s what’s going on here. Through the power of word, I am treated to aspects of a relative that was probably alive in the mid-1800’s. I’ll be sure to learn more about her once I read Evaristo’s autobiography…

Spanish Pride!

 
THE SPANISH GRANDMOTHER (1938)

Evaristo Ribera Chevremont
 
 
     My grandmother is from Spain. I remember her presence.
A telltale presence of noble lineage.
A presence with the lustrous timber of heritage.
Ostentatious medallions of a bright bygone era.
 
     My grandmother was like one of those carvings
that Iberians sculpt in stones and metals.
She had in her pupils the glare of battle.
Thinking on her, I hear the sound of drums.
 
     In my childhood, in the days of inflammatory suns,
my grandmother recited to me, with passionate tone,
the most incendiary of Spanish ballads;
expressive romances with the nerve of a soldier. 
 
     She served me her hardened temperament.
I followed in her consistently radiant profile.
in her grave profile of rectitude and zeal.
My grandmother was from Spain, land of the valiant.