Poetry Collection Review, Luisa in Realityland by Claribel Alegria

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Poetry Collection Review, Luisa in Realityland by Claribel Alegria

Random beats of smoothness exaggerate the beauty.  I’ve discovered Alegria from reading the 44th issue of the Birmingham Poetry Review and decided to embark on a journey, even if it means that my three years of college education in Spanish allows me to dismiss the spelling errors or typos as just mere figments of the imagination and I continue with her natural poetry on oppression, page after page, until her casual conversation is intriguing in spite of romantic madness in the lower Americas.  California is much too peaceful and private to have this type of romantic madness because our rough governing of land doesn’t allow for sudden routines of input for which Alegria implies they exist on her side of the border, although- with fate of childhood in her grasp as she handles the colorful tragedies- the Americas in general have connections with Europe since it’s a hotspot for more of that transcending madness.  When I say the name Greece, I start laughing hysterically!  Land and people kind of go hand in hand in the casual pages- volcanos, fruits, lost cookies, etc.  Maybe I’m more than a little subtle about her work, but she discovers moral truths by examining happenings, yet they may be totally real if imagination has those random beats combined into a whir for stressful relaxation.  With the phrase “stressful relaxation”, I’m talking about a kind of vibe Hispanics and Latinos give off while they socialize with complex hints over demanding beauty.  Try looking at both the horror and the comedy in her life story.  Are they really that far apart in meaning or does the demanding beauty go between all exaggerations as feelings are left in?  After all, it’s the question of how as opposed to what; expression is “how you know” as opposed to “what you know”.  New translations are more than welcome since I’m an open book to everything except confused horror, of which there’s none to be found in this book when her focus is straight and locked-on, which is absolutely all the time here.  Still, one of the most typical complaints I hear from others about poetry is that they get the idea, but don’t know what’s going on.  For sure, if a picture is worth a thousand words, then the words have to be great or else the picture is in a kind of haze; however, sometimes Americans on both continents need that haze or else the truth is going to be discovered with too much vehemence or passion without intermediacy.  We can almost feel the mountains in our souls as the book’s leaves are falling into the abyss of corruption, yet there’s passion and joy at moments, especially for one particular man who recovers a dam for a cursed body of water near the quitting spirits.  English has become an odd spectacle for me ever since I’ve picked up the pieces on foreign language classes and this poetry collection (after a guy stops being stuck in a car for an escapade, reading between the lines…) demonstrates with grossness and kindness how poetry just seems to get its bookmark on those eternal tales Claribel presents with a nice touch.  Can you feel the noise out of her lines as horror is more and more imagined of, thought of after environmental hazards give off those intrinsic effects?  Beyond all awareness and desperate hope we find her with friends, not by pictures, but by the words towards the pictures- essential matters are ringed up through her random expressions, almost to the point of viral extravagance of which a poet like this one may command of for the presenting of special events and galletas.  Perhaps if I would’ve spelled “galletas” wrong, the food would be more delicious!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0087700GC/ref=pe_1098610_137716200_cm_rv_eml_rv0_dp