Episode #146 National Book Award Winner Martín Espada and Floaters - SPECIAL EPISODE

In this special episode, Connor and Jack discuss the 2021 National Book Awards - the long list, the finalists, and the winner "Floaters: Poems" by Martín Espada. They dig into an excerpt from the title poem "Floaters" and discuss how it brings urgent attention to issues of immigration and uses narrative to fight against the dehumanizing language often used to describe those seeking a better life in the United States. Listen to the National Book Awards Finalist Reading, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ts4YxshQK10 Learn more about Espada, here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/martin-espada Get a copy of "Floaters: Poems" here: https://wwnorton.com/books/9780393541038 Read all of "Floaters" here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/151158/floaters-5d8d0d07466b9 Excerpt from Floaters By: Martín Espada "Ok, I’m gonna go ahead and ask ... have ya’ll ever seen floaters this clean. I’m not trying to be an a$$ but I HAVE NEVER SEEN FLOATERS LIKE THIS, could this be another edited photo. We’ve all seen the dems and liberal parties do some pretty sick things." —Anonymous post, “I’m 10-15” Border Patrol Facebook group Like a beer bottle thrown into the river by a boy too drunk to cry, like the shard of a Styrofoam cup drained of coffee brown as the river, like the plank of a fishing boat broken in half by the river, the dead float. And the dead have a name: floaters, say the men of the Border Patrol, keeping watch all night by the river, hearts pumping coffee as they say the word floaters, soft as a bubble, hard as a shoe as it nudges the body, to see if it breathes, to see if it moans, to see if it sits up and speaks. And the dead have names, a feast day parade of names, names that dress all in red, names that twirl skirts, names that blow whistles, names that shake rattles, names that sing in praise of the saints: Say Óscar Alberto Martínez Ramírez. Say Angie Valeria Martínez Ávalos. See how they rise off the tongue, the calling of bird to bird somewhere in the trees above our heads,