Gary+Soto-+Marco+Roca

Gary Soto Blog Post 1 March 26, 2012 Marco Roca

Mission Tire Factory By: Gary Soto All through lunch Peter pinched at his crotch, And Jesús talked about his tattoos, And I let the flies crawl my arm, undisturbed, Thinking it was wrong, a buck sixty five, The wash of rubber in our lungs, The oven we would enter, squinting ---because earlier in the day Manny fell From his machine, and when we carried him To the workshed (blood from   Under his shirt, in his pants) All he could manage, in an ignorance Outdone only by pain, was to take three dollars From his wallet, and say: "Buy some sandwiches. You guys saved my life."

In my research of Gary Soto poems, Mission Tire Factory is the first I found. Initially, the title is what caught my eye, as it instilled images of some sort of covert operation. With an interest in spy movies and the clandestine, I felt obligated to give this poem a go. The poem is told in the first person by an unknown narrator (presumably Soto himself), and it details a situation at the factory in which a Chicano by the name of Manny has an accident. For such a short poem that didn’t physically say much, an entire story could be taken away. In this way, I felt a connection reminiscent of Hemmingway and his iceberg writing style. I thought the most impressive part about the poem is the manner in which it manages to give intensity to the expression of feelings and ideas that went through the men. This was evident while the men were just being their normal, “trashy” selves (for example, Peter was pinching at his crotch) inside the run-down factory, until Manny fell and they came together to help him out. Personally, I think the intensity of this narrative poem was the strongest at the end, when Manny express his thanks to the men for saving his life. In doing so, he sacrifices the limited expendable income we can assume somebody of his socio-economic has access to by buying the men all sandwiches. Also confirming the iceberg/Hemmingway writing style within this poem is the way the reader is given insight into Manny’s situation and psychology at the end. His tone comes off as casual, implying disillusionment with the situation given the obvious implications had it gone wrong. In offering sandwiches for saving his life, it also shows that the simple snack is the greatest token of gratitude he is able to afford the men. As a narrative poem, I enjoyed how it did not just describe a past time period, but rather explained every aspect (the before, during, and aftermath) of a specific event that happened. Typical of the Soto works I have seen so far, “Mission Tire Factory” is devoid of any rhyme scheme. All in all, it’s a poem I’d recommend to others who are interested in unique ways poems can act as narratives.

The following link is of a man working in a tire factory: []

“The Map” When the sun’s whiteness closes around us Like a noose, It is noon, and Molina squats In the uneven shade of an oleander. He unfolds a map and, with a pencil, Blackens Panama Into a bruise; He dots rain over Bogotá, the city of spiders, And x’s in a mountain range that climbs Like a thermometer Above the stone fence The old never thought to look over. A fog presses over Lima. Brazil is untangled of its rivers. Where there is a smudge, Snow has stitched its cold into the field. Where the river Orinoco cuts east, A new river rises nameless From the open grasses, And Molina calls it his place of birth. Knowing Soto to be a fellow Chicano, I figured any poem titled “The Map” would be about some places I am familiar with. Thus, I was drawn to it and read it as my second poem. Content with the first poem I read, “Mission Tire Factory,” I was hoping for and even expecting much of the same. I could not have been more wrong genre wise. I believe this to be true, because I originally had the impression that this was supposed to be a narrative poem, considering that the name of the protagonist (Molina) is given along with some very basic background information on him. However, it is nowhere near the far more clear-cut narrative and story associated with “Mission Tire Factory.” I enjoyed the visual imagery begged by some of the foremost geographical details mentioned as characteristic of each individual country. Initially, I had no clue what or where the river Orinoco was located. To me, it could just as easily have been a made up mystic river of sorts made up for the sake of obscure story-telling. Inspired to research the and resolve the matter, I found that the river Orinco is probably the most important river in South America, The Amazon aside. It serves as a centerpiece of transportation and industry for both Venezuela and Colombia, leading me to believe Molina is from one of those two countries. This poem is unique in that it does take some knowledge of geography (which I clearly am not incredibly well-versed in) in order to understand. This is a stark departure from most of his poems I have encountered, as they typically deal with more universally understood themes such as abuse, poverty, misery, etc… I the change in pace seen in this poem, in that it took some deciphering to understand in full. This is a whole new world from the straight up, no frills poems I have mostly seen from him up until this point. I am pleased that Soto is a versatile writer who is able to delve into differing writing styles.

Here is a picture of South America, including the Orinoco river: []

Blog Post 2

Red Palm

Gary Soto

You're in this dream of cotton plants. You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds Fall with a sigh. You take another step, Chop, and the sigh comes again, Until you yourself are breathing that way With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town. That's hours later. The sun is a red blister Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong, Young, not yet the broken chair In an abandoned school of dry spiders. Dust settles on your forehead, dirt Smiles under each fingernail. You chop, step, and by the end of the first row, You can buy one splendid fish for wife And three sons. Another row, another fish, Until you have enough and move on to milk, Bread, meat. Ten hours and the cupboards creak. You can rest in the back yard under a tree. Your hands twitch on your lap, Not unlike the fish on a pier or the bottom Of a boat. You drink iced tea. The minutes jerk Like flies. It's dusk, now night, And the lights in your home are on. That costs money, yellow light In the kitchen. That's thirty steps, You say to your hands, Now shaped into binoculars. You could raise them to your eyes: You were a fool in school, now look at you. You're a giant among cotton plants. Now you see your oldest boy, also running. Papa, he says, it's time to come in. You pull him into your lap And ask, What's forty times nine? He knows as well as you, and you smile. The wind makes peace with the trees, The stars strike themselves in the dark. You get up and walk with the sigh of cotton plants. You go to sleep with a red sun on your palm, The sore light you see when you first stir in bed.

In Red Palm, an unknown narrator breaks down how life as a Mexican day laborer works, and the motivation driving it. Red Palm goes into detail about how a Mexican worker would quantify the intangible sentiment of hoeing row after row of crops. Evidently, our hero has his priorities in line, as he chooses to picture every step taken and every row hoed as another food item (fish, bread, meat, etc…) that he could bring home to his family that evening. In keeping with Soto’s often cited theme of poor Chicano labor conditions, Soto makes sure to emphasize the pain and monotony experienced by Chicano laborers. Not only is this goal achieved by elaborately detailing the physical pain the protagonist experiences, but it is more subtly and perhaps more emotionally evoking when the man speaks with his oldest son. In Hispanic families, the oldest son holds a very important position in the family as the “man in the house to be.” He is drawn on for leadership by all members of his family except the father to whom he looks to for guidance and example. In order to ensure security and prosperity for his family after his own death, Hispanic fathers often feel the compulsion to pay special attention to their oldest sons. For this reason, the main character of Red Palm quizzes his son’s intelligence and academic progress so far. When his son is able to answer the question, the father is filled with joy that the son may very well be on his way towards being an academic and later economic success. With that, the father gains the drive he needs to continue his pain staking work. He knows that if he can continue to inspire his own children to work hard, they may pull themselves out of the impoverished state they currently occupy. There is most likely some autobiographical aspect to this poem, as much of Soto’s work indeed contains. In this case, it is known that Soto’s father was a day laborer (a job Soto occupied alongside his father for sometime to help support the family). It is also known that Soto went on to become an academic all-star, and obviously a renowned poet. In more ways than one, Soto dedicates this poem as a tribute to his roots and upbringing.

Saturday at the Canal

Gary Soto

I was hoping to be happy by seventeen.

School was a sharp check mark in the roll book,

An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team

Was going to win at night. The teachers were

Too close to dying to understand. The hallways

Stank of poor grades and unwashed hair. Thus,

A friend and I sat watching the water on Saturday,

Neither of us talking much, just warming ourselves

By hurling large rocks at the dusty ground

And feeling awful because San Francisco was a postcard

On a bedroom wall. We wanted to go there,

Hitchhike under the last migrating birds

And be with people who knew more than three chords

On a guitar. We didn't drink or smoke,

But our hair was shoulder length, wild when

The wind picked up and the shadows of

This loneliness gripped loose dirt. By bus or car,

By the sway of train over a long bridge,

We wanted to get out. The years froze

As we sat on the bank. Our eyes followed the water,

White-tipped but dark underneath, racing out of town.

“Saturday At The Canal” is a yet another example of how Soto presents the suffering of Latin Americans. However, this time the welcomed twist is that it represents the plight of Mexicans in Mexico, as opposed to the typical Soto Chicano working to meet ends meet in the United States. This poem describes a teenage Hispanic male who negatively refers to every aspect of life within his country. More than anything, the teen describes his dissatisfaction with going to school. He uses dark and vivid imagery, and details himself “going through the motions” as all around him fail and further perpetuate a life of misery and emptiness. While many teens in the twenty first century may look to drowning themselves in music or driving around with friends, the teen in this poem instead walks down to the canal to watch the river flow. Along with his friend, the two are so entranced with the possibilities available to them if they could just float up the canal to San Francisco, that they don’t even say anything to each other. For once in their unhappy lives, fantasizing about the prospect of America seems to bring them peaceful bliss too wonderful to ruin by talking. I applaud Soto for using a minor plot detail like the silence of the moment to fully communicate and commemorate the boys’ position and displeasure with their country. To dig even deeper, one needs to look to what the boys are trying to escape to. They know that life in the States would be hard and often grueling work. Nonetheless, they still dream of risking their lives to travel there and live as second class citizens. At school, it seems that the boys are most frustrated with the fact that they aren’t gaining anything from the experience. Therefore, one may deduce that the urge to flee to the United States really comes from a call of duty in the boys to be productive and provide for their families in a manner that they don’t feel their school would be equipped to do. While this may seem like ignorance to an average American reader, Soto wants his readers to accept that this hard fact very well may be the truth. It is a lot for some to swallow, and that is exactly what Soto wishes to accomplish. “Saturday at the Canal” is a poem which Soto clearly uses to advocate for sympathy towards Mexican immigrants.