Fatherlands: Identities of a Cuban American

My debut book, Fatherlands: Identities of a Cuban American, is now available in print and digital formats! This memoir -- the most challenging writing project I've undertaken since first learning the English language -- is the book I was meant to write. It includes a few excerpts from my 1400 Characters blog and Facebook posts over the years. Comprised of 21 photos and 57,470 words spread over 200 pages, many English-language readers around the world will find this "memoir with a twist" interesting and informative, and perhaps more.

For more information about my book, including how to obtain a paperback copy or digital download, go to www.charleslopezbruns.com.

Seeing Clearly Now

I can see clearly now the mask has gone away 

And stopped fogging up my glasses.

I can walk down the boardwalk

While breathing in the fresh air.

I can sit down with family and friends

Close enough to clearly hear what they say.

No, the coronavirus pandemic isn’t quite over

But I can sense the end is near.

People are having fun together again

I know because I can see the smile on their faces.

We’re resuming business as usual

As more of us return to our workplaces.

The concerts have returned to the park

And the shows are coming back to Broadway.

They’re playing baseball for fans in stadiums 

And new movies in the cinema theaters.

We’re even able to see old cars along the beach

And read new poems in person for others to hear.

I can also see more clearly than ever the power of science

Applied by smart, hardworking and dedicated people.

I can also see more clearly now the value of healthcare professionals,

And the importance of those we refer to as essential workers,

Whether they have Ph.Ds or high school degrees,

Regardless of whether they are paid thousands or hundreds each week.

I can see more clearly now why we need to hug,

And why we need to be in the presence of others.

I can see more clearly the present and the now

And the gift of life we should cherish every day,

The love we should not hold back from those dear to us,

Or the care for one another we should willingly provide.

I can see clearly now the mask has gone away,

The trees seem greener, the flowers prettier,

Birds are more noticeable, the sound of the ocean louder.

People look more beautiful, simple pleasures more precious.

Can the world be a better place for us who survived

And make us more grateful than ever to be alive?

Copyright Charles A. Bruns, 2021

Song for Hire

Here are some words that

Need to be sung

Could use to be played 

Might be helped with a tune.

So if you know a singer songwriter,

Tell them this song’s for hire. 

 

He comes to this land

With little but busy hands,

Sharp mind and desire

To have a good life.

So if you want a dreamer,

This boy’s for hire.

 

Give me your tired your poor

The stiff lady in the harbor beckons.

They flock in by ship

And by planes and by feet

Doing work few others want.

This country’s for hire.

 

Look at them on your screens,

Hear what they have to say.

These messages cost lots of money,

And they’re all trying to appeal to you.

Figure out who might be telling truth,

This election’s winner is for hire.

 

He looks far and wide 

For ways to make it happen.

Nothing’s impossible 

Or too hard, too big or too small.

So if you need to get it done,

This guy’s for hire.

 

Writing something that makes sense

But sounds to others like nonsense.

It’s fact, it’s fiction, it’s poetry, it’s literature.

What difference does it make?

Just enjoy the sound and flow of the words,

This writer’s for hire.

 

Freedom of speech

For all citizens rich or poor,

In various forums and media.

But that also implies the right to be wrong

And believe what you want to believe.

This truth’s for hire.

 

Words and pictures congregate on phones and tablets

And computers with little and big screens.

Some are offensive and others reassuring

So pick the ones you like and deny the others.

Eventually you see what you want to be believe.

This newsfeed’s for hire.

 

The day’s newspapers are delivered

To the building’s varied residents.

Local papers, out-of-town papers,

Religious publications, gossip sheets.

They’re all there for anyone to read.

These eyes are for hire.

 

I think so but I’m not sure,

Maybe possibly perhaps possibly maybe.

My gut tells me so, but my head’s not sure.

It’s just a sense I have somewhere,

Something in me just tells me.

This feeling’s for hire.

 

To want and be wanted

And embrace and be cared for.

Isn’t that what’s it all about?

But often there’s a price to pay,

Compromises and sacrifices to make.

This love’s for hire.

 

So, there are some words that

Need to be sung

Could use to be played 

Might be helped with a tune.

So if you know a singer songwriter

Tell them this song’s for hire. 

Copyright 2020, Charles A. Bruns

The Queen of Corona

If me and Julio can ever find it

in the schoolyard,

we’re gonna beat the crap

out of it and be on the cover of Newsweek.

Then we’re going to make 

a basketball out of it,

and let every good college and pro player

pound it on the floor for a whole month.

And then we’re gonna turn it 

to a hard rubber disk,

and give every pro hockey player

a chance to whack it with a wooden stick.

Of course we’ll also shape it

into a soccer ball,

and make sure every futbol pro in the world

kicks it with all their might.

Eventually we’ll reduce it to a ball with strings 

wrapped tightly in cowhide,

and give every major league baseball player 

a bat to hit it hard hundreds of feet.

And then we’ll chisel it down even further

to a little ball with dimples,

and ask every golf tournament pro

to tee off on it with an iron club.

For good measure we’ll ask thoroughbred horse jockeys

and mighty race car engine drivers,

to run over it again and again and just leave it behind

in a trail of muddy dirt and dust.

But we can’t.

We can only avoid it like a plague

until it begins to whither and die.

And then me and Julio will find it 

and kill it off once and for all.

Copyright Charles A. Bruns, 2020

Concerts: hits and misses

A friend and former high school and college classmate recently shared some of her most memorable concert experiences on Facebook. It was very interesting to read, and got me thinking of some of my concert experiences:

First Concert(s) - When we lived in New York City, my mother would bring my brother and me to theaters where Spanish-language singers would perform in between movies. I don't recall any of their names, but they were good! In 1967, my stepfather and I saw Herb Alpert perform in a Central Park bandshell on a rainy night. My first rock 'n' roll show was The Rolling Stones concert during their six-night stand in June 1975 at Madison Square Garden in New York City. I'll always remember hearing the first chords of "Honky Tonk Women" as a five-pointed star containing individual members of the band opened up on stage.

Last Concert - Bob Dylan at the Beacon Theatre in New York the day after this past Thanksgiving, on November 29, 2019. At 78 years of age, he put on a great show for his fans, many of whom chanted "Let's go, Dylan!" before his encore, like New York Rangers fans at a Madison Square Garden hockey game.

Best Concert - David Byrne at Monmouth University in West Long Branch, New Jersey on September 7, 2018. I heard he put on a great show, but was simply blown away by the quality of the music and choreography. For weeks, I described the concert to family and friends as being like a Broadway show. Of course, it was: Less than 15 months later, David Byrne's American Utopia -- very similar to the show my wife and I saw at Monmouth -- had a four-month engagement at the Hudson Theatre on Broadway. You can see it until February 16!

Worst Concert - REM at the Capitol Theatre in Passaic, New Jersey, October 12, 1984. I liked the songs I heard on the radio from this up-and-coming band, who I read were on the verge of becoming rock 'n' roll geniuses. And they did indeed go on to great things. But they were a huge disappointment the only time I saw them in concert! Michael Stipe sang with his back to the audience much of the night and there was little energy coming from the band during the concert. Years later, I heard Stipe was very shy at that stage of his career.

Loudest Concert - THE RAMONES, HANDS DOWN! They were so loud at the Capitol Theatre in Passaic on February 10, 1979, that my girlfriend and I left before the concert ended because our ears were hurting. Seriously! I had a ringing sound in my ears for days, and it's a minor miracle I did not suffer permanent hearing damage because of that show. For years afterward, however, I did wear cotton in my ears to shows at the Capitol Theatre.

Seen The Most — I've seen Bob Dylan 19 times. Amazingly, I've seen him in 18 different venues, starting at the Hartford Coliseum on November 24, 1975. The only place I've seen Dylan twice in is the Beacon Theatre in New York City. And, if he returns there for another series of concerts around this Thanksgiving Day, I will see him a third time at the Beacon Theatre.

Next Concert - Probably one of the many free concerts in Long Branch's West End Park on a Sunday night or Pier Village on a Thursday night shortly after Memorial Day. My wife and I enjoy seeing as many of these shows as possible each summer and are fortunate we can just walk to them.

Most Fun Concert — This is the hardest of all to pinpoint. But I don't think the fun I had at a concert headlined by Yes in Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey City on July 25, 1975, was ever topped. It was one of the few shows in which the opening act, Ace (of "How Long Has This Been Going On" fame), was actually better than the main act. Of course, being able to enter the venue with friends carrying a spiked watermelon contributed to the fun! Tomorrow, however, I may remember a different concert that was even more fun.

Regret Not Seeing — Missing James Brown, Tito Puente, and Celia Cruz are my biggest regrets. My wife did get to see Celia in concert at the Tropicana Casino and Resort in Atlantic City on June 1, 2002, though, and told me all about it. And then there's Woodstock. I was working at a summer camp in upstate New York in August 1969 and signed up to go to the concert for a day with some camp counselors and other staff. They blew me off and went without me, however, because I was 5-10 years younger than most of them. We didn't see them back at the camp for days!

Thank you, Patrice Keegan, for inspiring me to share some of my concert hits and misses. I will always remember our trek to Hartford, Connecticut with friends in my Ford Thunderbird to see the Rolling Thunder Revue show with Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and cast that November night in 1975!

Moving To The "Country"

Clockwise from top left: Charley's first communion portrait; wearing his Little League uniform; in front of former childhood home. 

a poem by Marshall S. Harth

Moving to Bloomfield, to the "Country"
Was like entering another country
Everything was not the same
I even had to change my name!
Why was that, because of shame?
Who's responsible, who to blame?
I missed my friends, my neighborhood
I had to lie, do what I could
Not my choice, only what I should
But, being me, I held my own
I recognized how I had grown
New vistas opened up to me
I saw, eventually, who I could be,
And that's the tale of my "Identity"!

Copyright Marshall S. Harth 18 October 2019

After reading my autobiographical account about moving from New York City to Bloomfield for a book project, my friend Marshall wrote this poem for me. A Jewish German/Lithuanian-American who was more fortunate than some of his family members who perished during the Holocaust, I am grateful to Marshall for understanding the twisting and turning journey of people's identities through immigration, separation, condemnation, and assimilation.

Morning Commuters

1.   The car commuter 

Start the new day with a quick coffee and bite.

Weather and traffic reports seem okay,

drive out of the neighborhood and to the highway.

From the car radio sounds “King of the Road.” 

The blank face smiles and then frowns,

wheels roll ever slowly and stop the commuter.

2.   The train commuter

The alarm sounds, the body rolls and rises.

The day’s preparations begin in a trance;

head to the station in a numb state.

A seat on the train, the voice of a conductor.

The whistle blows as the train rolls forward,

and back to sleep goes the commuter.

Copyright 2019, Charles A. Bruns