I met my father when I was six, he died when I was eleven, and I only saw him about 12 times in my life. Without knowing him well as a child, I seemed to have inherited his love for words. I did not know his story or that he was a poet until my thirties.
My parents met in Spain fighting the fascists. Ramon, my father, was a soldier and Becky, my mother, was a nurse. My father broke his leg crossing the Pyrenees, and ended up in the hospital, which is how they met. They were both Communists - true revolutionaries. Expatriates who found a home in Cuernavaca, Mexico. After the war he stepped deeply into his African American hueritage and began to speak a radical position on racism. His poetry was born from the unique perspective of being black but looking white.
My Father's Statement: