Pedro Pietri composed poems that illustrated the lives of Puerto Rican New Yorkers. His work served as an inspiration to many young Latino poets who patronized the Nuyorican Poets Café, a Lower East Side establishment Pietri co-founded.
Born in Puerto Rico and raised in Harlem, Pietri began writing poetry in high school. He was drafted into the Army after graduation and served with a light infantry brigade in Vietnam. He returned home fiercely opposed to the war.
In 1973, he published “Puerto Rican Obituary,” his signature poem about the lives of five people who came to the United States and never managed to attain the American dream. Its message resonated with young Puerto Ricans living in New York who called themselves Nuyoricans. When Pietri was diagnosed with inoperable cancer last year, his friends and fans donated $30,000 for his care.
Pietri wrote 20 books of spoken word pieces, poems and songs, including “El Puerto Rican Embassy” and “The Spanglish National Anthem.” He also produced two albums with Folkway Records and worked as an AIDS activist.
Pietri died on Feb. 3 from renal failure. He was 59.
• Listen to a Tribute to Pietri From NPR
March 10, 2004 by
Pedro Pietri
Categories: Military, Writers/Editors
I dedcated the following poem to a fallen stalwart.
for the dead reverend
Your mystical sermons haunt
my infected mind,
lines constructed with anger and rage.
Your poetry refused to be zombied
at the feet of your coffin.
Even in the cold grave
your lines defy,
they shoot straight into the heart
of a colonized mind.
They haunt even maverick power-lines
of the United aSses of America.
Your poetry is not to be quoted
in fake speeches of political mafias,
it stands to decolonize of people
the consciousness.
Sadly, your grave torments us Pedro Pietri.
Horns that sang peace at a distance
have suddenly turned mute.
Your hands have finally retired
to the worm supremacy
beneath the pregnant soils,
foul of a freedom aborted.
But, we dare not forget
a mind that refused to be colonized.
O HWILE
O hwile monna
o hwile hwi hwi
o ile
o kodumetse
o e ragile
o a kgonamisitse
o meditswe ke mohlaethupa
Jonna Joo!
o hwile…
Pedro Pietri
The grain
was sawn
The rain
will fall (Pleads)
The pain
shall grave
To my uncle a vision
u layed upon me
of a soldier wandering threw
a uncharted land
lost beyond belief
wounded yet he standz
a city shadowing a waving flag
scared of fate dealin cards
keepin players underclassed
seeing a path
that is hidden under
the long grass
legs move with no control
upon a path that glows
mind raceing
lost in da crowd
a ricans thoughts
scream loud
for no one to hear
a million words for a tear
u spoke and through the smoke
blurry visions went clear
a sequel to a story
many have read
poverty,struggle,love
and a vision of us breed
to thrive
not just exist
para el rey de la isla mas bonita
que bonita bandera
let your ancestors where it proud
because of you
a king de el sol
Soy boricua…….
rest in piece Pedro.
you set the tone for the greats.
shine your wisdom upon the rest of us from the heavens above.
REspECt!!!!!!!
O ILE KWATANKA MONNA SEEMAKAMAOTO
THEELETSA NNA MORETIMOGOLO WA AFRIKA
O BE A EME ,A METSA DIEMADIRILE JESU A GOELETSA
MOKGOSI WA PHAALA ,MONNA A BITSWA
KE A LEBOGA
May Day
it is worker’s day
i still dig diamond
to impregnate their pockets,
and the voice of pietri
talks to my inmost,
double pay
double pay
honest i have to be,
i can’t celebrate
with a groaning belly,
leaders of our unions
our honorable madishas and vavis
are getting paid
to celebrate these days,
and i, an ordinary man
see nothing but opportunity
in days like these,
double pay
double pay.
i heard our leaders are common men,
they know our pain
yet they drive flying car
living like the motsepes,
what pain do they know?
i can’t apologize
for working on may day,
as long as our pockets weight different,
as long as the truth is still the sun
we look at it wearing spectacles,
as long as political power
is not tied to economic power.
the truth is all i grope for
when cosatu and other unions
remain silent on burning issues of workers,
mma sebola is not yet buried
boere van waterpoort vat nie kak
a homeless farm worker can not be buried
in their land,
where are our leaders
maybe at the boarder gate to mugabe’s land
if not to king moswati’s land,
no breast to feed native children
these nineteen seventy-or-eighty-something
written constitution
amended in nineteen ninety-three
doesn’t talk of pre-jan van reiberk ownership
those who went to varsities can explain these better,
i is an ordinary mine worker
all i know is to dig
dig, dig, dig and dig glittering stone
but i see no guilty in me
working on this day
and so does pedro pietri
i see him raising high his fist
saying: to wa maahlamela; amanda!