{"id":90314,"date":"2013-01-21T15:37:50","date_gmt":"2013-01-21T19:37:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.noticel.com\/mundo\/20130121\/cubano-fue-primer-poeta-presidencial-gay-y-el-mas-joven\/"},"modified":"2025-07-15T19:01:31","modified_gmt":"2025-07-15T19:01:31","slug":"cubano-fue-primer-poeta-presidencial-gay-y-el-mas-joven","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/noticias\/mundo\/20130121\/cubano-fue-primer-poeta-presidencial-gay-y-el-mas-joven\/","title":{"rendered":"Cubano fue primer poeta presidencial gay y el m\u00e1s joven"},"content":{"rendered":"

El poeta Richard Blanco, ingeniero de profesi\u00f3n y de ascendencia cubana, se convirti\u00f3 hoy en el primer poeta gay que participa de la juramentaci\u00f3n de un Presidente de los Estados Unidos, y el m\u00e1s joven.<\/p>\n

Blanco, quien vive con su compa\u00f1ero en Maine, se autodescribe como ‘hecho en Cuba, ensamblado en Espa\u00f1a, e importado a Estados Unidos’. Blanco tiene 44 a\u00f1os y se mantuvo el secreto de su selecci\u00f3n como poeta inaugural hasta diciembre, por lo sus vecinos en Maine no se sospechaban del honor, ni siquiera ten\u00edan conciencia de que su compueblano era un poeta reconocido.<\/p>\n

Para una entrevista con Blanco, pulse aqu\u00ed<\/a>, para una biograf\u00eda aqu\u00ed<\/a>, y a continuaci\u00f3n el texto \u00edntegro del poema ‘One Today’ que ley\u00f3 en la juramentaci\u00f3n para el segundo termino del presidente Barack Obama.<\/p>\n

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,<\/p>\n

peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces<\/p>\n

of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth<\/p>\n

across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.Read More<\/p>\n

One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story<\/p>\n

told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.<\/p>\n

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,<\/p>\n

each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:<\/p>\n

pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,<\/p>\n

fruit stands: apples, limes and oranges arrayed like rainbows<\/p>\n

begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper \u2014<\/p>\n

bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,<\/p>\n

on our way to clean tables, read ledgers or save lives \u2014<\/p>\n

to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did<\/p>\n

for 20 years, so I could write this poem.<\/p>\n

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,<\/p>\n

the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:<\/p>\n

equations to solve, history to question or atoms imagined,<\/p>\n

the ‘I have a dream’ we keep dreaming,<\/p>\n

or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain<\/p>\n

the empty desks of 20 children marked absent<\/p>\n

today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light<\/p>\n

breathing color into stained glass windows,<\/p>\n

life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth<\/p>\n

onto the steps of our museums and park benches<\/p>\n

as mothers watch children slide into the day.<\/p>\n

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk<\/p>\n

of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat<\/p>\n

and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills<\/p>\n

in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands<\/p>\n

digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands<\/p>\n

as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane<\/p>\n

so my brother and I could have books and shoes.<\/p>

\"\"<\/a><\/div>\n

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains<\/p>\n

mingled by one wind \u2014 our breath. Breathe. Hear it<\/p>\n

through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,<\/p>\n

buses launching down avenues, the symphony<\/p>\n

of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,<\/p>\n

the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.<\/p>\n

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,<\/p>\n

or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open<\/p>\n

for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,<\/p>\n

buon giorno, howdy, namaste or buenos d\u00edas<\/p>\n

in the language my mother taught me \u2014 in every language<\/p>\n

spoken into one wind carrying our lives<\/p>\n

without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.<\/p>\n

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed<\/p>\n

their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked<\/p>\n

their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:<\/p>\n

weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report<\/p>\n

for the boss on time, stitching another wound<\/p>\n

or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,<\/p>\n

or the last floor on the Freedom Tower<\/p>\n

jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.<\/p>\n

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes<\/p>\n

tired from work: some days guessing at the weather<\/p>\n

of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love<\/p>\n

that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother<\/p>\n

who knew how to give, or forgiving a father<\/p>\n

who couldn’t give what you wanted.<\/p>\n

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight<\/p>\n

of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always \u2014 home,<\/p>\n

always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon<\/p>\n

like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop<\/p>\n

and every window, of one country \u2014 all of us \u2014<\/p>\n

facing the stars<\/p>\n

hope \u2014 a new constellation<\/p>\n

waiting for us to map it,<\/p>\n

waiting for us to name it \u2014 together<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

El poeta Richard Blanco, ingeniero de profesi\u00f3n y de ascendencia cubana, se convirti\u00f3 hoy en el primer poeta gay que participa de la juramentaci\u00f3n de un Presidente de los Estados Unidos, y el m\u00e1s joven. Blanco, quien vive con su compa\u00f1ero en Maine, se autodescribe como ‘hecho en Cuba, ensamblado en Espa\u00f1a, e importado a […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":367978,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[17],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-90314","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mundo"],"acf":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/90314","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=90314"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/90314\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":367979,"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/90314\/revisions\/367979"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/367978"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=90314"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=90314"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/noticel.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=90314"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}