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poet

Francisco Aragón

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Francisco Aragón

Francisco Aragón was born in San Francisco, California. He received BA from the University of California–Berkeley and an MA in Spanish from New York University. After spending ten years in Spain, he went on to receive an MA in English from the University of California–Davis and an MFA from the University of Notre Dame in 2003.

Aragón is the author of Glow of Our Sweat (Scapegoat Press, 2010) and Puerta del Sol (Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2005). He is also the editor of The Wind Shifts: New Latino Poetry, winner of the 2009 International Latino Book Award for poetry in English.

Of Puerta del Sol, the poet Sandra M. Gilbert writes, “These eloquent poems of mourning and memory move deftly, as in a beautiful grave sarabande, between Spain and San Francisco, past and present, enriched by what Francisco Aragón justly calls the ‘bilingual mirror’ of his ‘corazón.’”

Aragón is the recipient of a 2015 VIDO Award from VIDA and the 2010 Outstanding Latino/a Cultural Arts, Literary Arts and Publications Award from the American Association of Hispanics in Higher Education. He is the founding director of Letras Latinas, the literary program of the Institute for Latino Studies at the University of Notre Dame. He also serves as the publisher of Momotombo Press. Aragón divides his time between Notre Dame, Indiana, and Arlington, Virginia.


Bibliography

Glow of Our Sweat (Scapegoat Press, 2010)
Puerta del Sol (Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe, 2005)

by this poet

poem

after Rilke

Despite the absent head (whose eyes

were the green of apples)
the supple flesh hums
with the afterglow

of those eyes
which is why the curve
of chest shimmers which is why

the twist of loin turns
that look into a smile,

poem
She and I on a bench eating prawns:

the first day of her fiftieth year and she points
at two street performers about to juggle
fire, and a distant summer morning

surfaces, afloat on the light wind blowing
off the bay—older sisters in the dark, hiding
as big brother parades around the house

his hands
poem

Perfect disc of moon, huge
and simmering
low on the capital’s filthy horizon—¡Ay,
qué luna más hermosa! she says
pushing the stroller slowly down Atocha.
And gorgeous too the firm-thighed

boys from Lisbon
a block away, who work
Kilometer Zero’s sidewalk, the neon