Recitation of poetry is deeply regarded for expressing your true feelings. It has been observed that Urdu poets in the past used to say poetry that depicts the social, cultural surroundings of their era. Last Updated on Sunday, October 14 2018 ... Read more

Tire Shop - Poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca | Urdu Poetry

Poet : jimmy-santiago-baca
Tire Shop - Poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
I went down yesterday
to fix a leak in my tire. Off Bridge street
there's a place 95 cents
flats fixed,
smeary black paint on warped wood plank
between two bald tires.
I go in, an old Black man
with a Jackie Gleason hat greasy soft
with a mashed cigar stub in mouth
and another old Chicano man
working the other
pneumatic hissing tire changer. The walls are black with rubber
soot blown black dust everywhere
and rows of worn tires on gnawed board racks for sale,
air hoses snaking and looped over the floor.
I greet the two old men
'Yeah, how's it going!'
No response.
They look up at me as if I just gave them a week to live.
'I got a tire needs a tube.'
Rudy, a young Chicano emerges from the black part of the room
pony tailed and plump
walks me out to my truck and looks at the tire.
'It'll cost you five bucks to take off and change.'
I nod.
He tells the old Chicano, who pulls the roller jack
with a long steel handle outside,
and I wait in the middle of the grunting oval tire
changing machines,
while the old guy goes out and returns with my tire.
He looks at me like a disgruntled Carny
handling the ferriswheel
for the millionth time
and I'm just another ache in the arm,
a spoiled kid.
I watch the two old men work the tire machines
step on the foot levers that send the bars around
flipping the tire from the rim
and I wonder what brought these two old men to work here
on this gray evening in February –
are they ex-cons?
Drunks or addicts?
He whips the tube out,' Rudy ' he yells
and I see a gaping hole in the tube,
'Can't patch that,' Rudy says
Then in Spanish Slang says, 'no podemos pachiarlo,'
'we got a pile of old tubes over there, we'll do it for ten
dollars.'
At first I think he might be taking me
but I hedge away from that thought
and I watch the machines work
the spleesh of air
the final begrudging phoof! of rubber popped loose
then the holy clank of steel bar
against steel
and every gently the old Chicano man, instead of throwing the bar
on the floor,
takes the iron bar and wipes it clean of rubber bits
and oil
and slides it gently into his waist belt,
in such a way
I've only seen mother wipe their infant's mouth.
And I wonder where they live these two old guys
I turn and watch MASH on a tv suspended from the ceiling
six '0 clock news comes on
Hunnington beach blackened with oil.
Rudy comes behind me and says,
'Fucking shame they do that to our shores.'
I suddenly realize how I love these working men
working in half dark with bald tires
like medieval hunchbacks in a dungeon.
They eat soup and scrape along in their lives –
how can they live I wonder on 95 cents a tire change
in today's world?
I am pleased to be with them
and feel how barrio Chicanos love this too –
how some give up nice jobs
in foreign places
to live by friends working in these places
and out of these men revolutions have started.
The old Chicano is mumbling at me
how cheap I am
when he learns my four tires are bald
and spare flat,
shaking his head as he works the tube into the tirewell.
I notice his heels are chewed to the nails
his fingernails black
his face a weary room and board stairwell
of a downtown motel
given over to drunks and derelicts, his face hand worn
by drunks leaning their full weight on it
wooden steps grooved by hard soled men just out
of prison, a face condemned by life to live out more days
in futility.
I bid goodbye to the Black man chomping his ancient cigar
the Chicano man with his head down
and I feel ashamed, somehow, that I cannot live
their lives a while for them.
Grateful they are here, I respect such men, who have stories
that will never be told, who bring back to me
my simple boyish days, when men
in oily pants and grubby hands talked in rough tones
and worked at simply work, getting three meals a day
on the table the hard way.
They live in an imperfect world,
unlike men with money who have places
to put their shame
these men have none,
other put their shame on planes or Las Vegas
these have no place
but to put their shame on their endurance
their mothers
their kids
themselves
unlike men who put their shame
on new cars
condos
bank accounts
so they never have to face their shame
these men in the tire shop
have become more human with shame.
And I thought of the time my brother betrayed
me leaving me at 14
when we vowed we'd always be together
he left to live with some rich folks
and I was taken to the Detention Center for kids
with no place to live –
I became a juvenile
filled with anger at my brother who left me alone.
These tire shop men made choices
never to leave their brothers,
in them I saw shame with no place to go
but in a man's face, hands, work and silence.
And as I drove away, nearing my farm
I saw a water sprinkler shooting an arc of water
far over the fence and grass
it was intended to water --
the fountain of water hitting a weedy stickered spot
that grew the only single flower anywhere around
in the midst of rubble brush and stones
the water hit
and touched a dormant seed that blossomed all itself
into what it was
despite the surroundings.
Something made sense to me then
and I'm not quite sure what --
an unconditional love of being and living,
and taking what came one's way
with dignity.
That night in my dream
I cried for my brother as he was leaving,
all the words I used against myself
rotten, no good, shitty, failure,
dissolved in my tears,
my tears poured out of me in my dream and I wept
for my brother and wept when I turned after he left
and I reached for my sister and she was having coffee
with a friend --
I wept in my dream because she was not available for me
when I needed her,
and all my tears flowed, and how I wept, my feeling my pain
of abandonment,
all my tears became that arc of water
and I became the flower, by sheer accident in the middle
of nowhere, blossoming.... 
Jimmy Santiago Baca

Related Poetry....

Urdu Poetry

Urdu Poetry – Poetry is the language of heart. Emotions and feelings take the shape of words and are delivered in a poetic manner. Urdu poetry draws its existence from past 18th and 19th century which are rich in tradition and composed in various forms. Most of the Urdu poetry derives from Arabic and Persian origin. From time immemorial, Urdu poetry has been written and narrated by renowned poets of all times. Urdu poetry is enriched with such true emotions and feelings. It has been observed that Urdu poets in the past used to say poetry that depicts and highlights the social, cultural issues of their era.

The poets used Urdu poetry as a medium of expression to put their thoughts forward for the readers. The Urdu poets are known for reviving romance, culture, social & political issues in the form of Urdu poetry collections. Urdu poetry is considered as an integral part of Pakistani culture. Our history is rich with numerous poetry collections from renowned poets like Mirza Ghalib, Allama Iqbal, Mir Dard, Mir Taqi Mir, and the list goes on. Allama Iqbal and Mirza Ghalib are considered to be the flag barrier of Urdu poetry. Iqbal Urdu poetry is based on philosophy, love, and for encouraging Muslims of India. Mirza Ghalib is regarded as the greatest Urdu poets of all times. They have contributed incredibly in the form of Ghazal, Hamd, Nazm, Ruba’i, Shayari and much more. Apart from them, Mir Taqi Mir and Mir Dard are known for romantic and sad Urdu poetry. Several other maestros of Urdu Poetry have been passed who added some valuable pearls and gems to the poetic collections from time to time.

Urdu poetry has evolved and revolutionized from time to time. Previously tough Persian and Arabic words are used for narrating the Urdu poetry. Later use of simpler Urdu words have taken over and are used more oftenly. Poets like Ahmed Faraz, Parveen Shakir, Faiz Ahmed Faiz have added some valuable Urdu poetry collection that are loved and praised by masses to date. New subject matter, themes are used by new poets that has modernized Urdu Poetry. The various forms of Urdu Poetry available for the readers includes Ghazal, Hamd, Marsiya, Naat, Nazm, Qasida, Masnavi, Naat, Qawalli, Ruba’i, Shayari and much more. The poetry lovers can stock their libraries and houses with the enormous treasure of Urdu poetry. The collection of Urdu Poems in the form of Dewan and Kuliyat are preferred by those who have a taste for traditional poetry. Allama Iqbal and Mirza Ghalib have immense contribution to the Urdu poetry.

The Urdu poetry collection of Ghalib and Iqbal are researched, read and shared by masses worldwide.The modern Urdu poets possess a progressive and practical state of mind that is far from the narration of female beauty and romance. Urdu Ghazals has been associated with emotions earlier, but now the trends are changing to give it a completely new domain of expression. Many Urdu poets become popular because of their Romantic poetry include Ghazal Ahmed Faraz, Habib Jalib, Sagar Siddiqui, Muneer Niazi, Mohsin Naqvi, Farhat Abbas Shah and many others.

The archive of HamariWeb provides the evergreen Urdu poetry collection for the viewers. Some of the finest gems of Urdu Shayari are Munir Niazi, Allama Iqbal, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Ahmed Faraz, Mirza Ghalib, Habib Jalib, Parveen Shakir, John Elia, Syed Wasi Shah to name a few. You can even search, post, read, and share the Urdu poetry based on various genres that includes Eid poetry, sad poetry, patriotic poetry, love poetry, rain poetry, mother poetry, Islamic poetry etc. People with great taste in poetry are glued to this page. Find some of the finest and latest collection of Urdu poetry on HamariWeb.