City of Screams by Jael Uribe

Asked to make a contribution to an anthology of poems about capital cities in the world, she responded by introducing her poem with a short description of what was on her mind:

02.05.2014 15:36, from Mujeres Poetas Internacional (MPI) Inc.:

Hello again, Abhay!

Being in the middle of Santo Domingo's International Book Fair, I've got the idea of writing this poem about the sensations that being in the heart of the city, left me. Hope it serves your purpose for the anthology, as I said, I don't write in English, but making this one, was a wonderful experience to me. I'll be glad to be part of it.

Jael

and to which I responded:

Dear Jael,

the city of screams makes me scream. Only to be drowned out by the metro, and by the ocean no one sees any longer.

Thanks for bringing through your poem Santo Domingo closer to us.

Warmest regards

hatto

*****************************************************

City of screams

By Jael Uribe

Dominican Republic

Just me, and happy people

running wild on Santo Domingo streets.

Creating stories out of vendor’s music

calling history at the sound of squeals.

Just me, writing stories,

Just me, and the city of screams.

My voice is as big as my city.

All words travel on Metro from hope to greed.

Students rush the hours to face the future

merchants go ahead and just live it.

Yes Santo Domingo

is a Metro full of dreamers

dreaming.

The cars’ fury isolating voices,

shadows dancing on the concrete.

This city is a contemplating eye,

with mysterious buildings trembling.

Outside lives the story no one listen,

but its written on graffitists

on the red brick roads

all over the El Conde* Street.

We listen to colonials ancestors

clamming for their souls to rest in peace.

Here lies the ghost of the Caribbean.

Taíno Indian’s* souls

walking around the sidewalks
seeking to redeem.

Outside, the steps are sand

melting in the water of Boca Chica’s beach.

We are embraced by an ocean no one longer sees.

Here I am

with my warm hearted people

smiling to everyone as a distinction seal.

You can feel the laughter in your lungs

in every single drop of air you breath.

On streets, in February 27,

police sirens paint the night

constantly drilling our ears.

The city parties on a patriotic carnival.

Ringing bells of Diablos Cojuelos*

and merengue* music running wild, and loud,

on an evil parody.

How strange it’s to celebrate this circus!

laughing at our own calamity.

Here lies the Dominican glory:

we dance on the asphalt to understand,
to make love, to feel.
Although living the modern decadence

this “new society” thing brings.

This city is not asleep.
This city is a sphere

drowned in the thirst of an instant

with distressed pigeons on top of it.

Just me and the city,

just me and the lights,

and the screams.
Dwelled in memory and nostalgia,
laying here in Santo Domingo

placing my head on the city’s dream.

_*_{El Conde:}_{famous street on Colonial Zone at the historical center of Santo Domingo}

_*_Tainos_{: Indians, native of Quisqueya at the time of colonization.}

_*_{Diablos Cojuelos}_{: Colorful representation of Evil. People create different costume designs to disguise.}

_*_Merengue:_{Typical music, a very contagious rhythm.}

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City of Screams by Jael Uribe