Yvonne de la Vega

Recent Work By Yvonne de la Vega

I closed my eyes and I became her size

and I walked through Barbie’s Dream House.

A pink vanity, a large poodle named Prince,

A king sized bed with dust ruffles,

and outside, a pink convertible.

Pink.

Everything Pink.

Boy – blue. Girl – pink.

Everything…

Everything …

Pink.

And when I opened my eyes,

her head was torn off

and her body was…

somewhere ’round here.

Ahhh… right here, I picked her up,

she had nipples drawn on sloppily with a green marker

so her left nipple was higher than the right

and looking back, well,

that’s accurate.

They didn’t know what I knew,

they just locked me in my room

beat me first – shut the door,

and from behind it said

something about…

Equus.

I should have gouged her eyes out too

so she wouldn’t have to

suffer the sight of reality

should her pink convertible

happen to take the wrong turn through the East Side

and she realized that the Dream House

was just a waste of space and that

the hip color was not Pink,

but every shade of gray.

I shoulda given her gray nipples out of pity

but there was only green and I thought it was good,

green nipples being more real that “no” nipples.

And I hoped and I prayed, that when I grew up,

my tits would be as big as Barbie’s.

I looked at myself,

I had nipples.

They said she was expensive,

that when they bought her,

they had to have the Dream House too,

that every little girl with a Barbie,

had Barbie’s wardrobe,

pink and blue.

So, take Barbie’s clothes off,

put on her evening gown

of gold and gold lame,

gold spiked heels at the end

of the longest legs that I’ve ever seen,

and golden hair… long straight and beautiful!

This is what I’m gonna look like when I grow up.

Ken rings the doorbell, he has on his tux,

and NOW I gotta know, yeah I gotta know now

what the executives at Mattel look like

on the top floors of their executive suites

in Downtown El Segundo and

do they wear tuxes to work?

Louie Estrada he worked at Mattel,

in the assembly line,

not the high rise no- the hangar:

Building Number Nine.

Louie Lou-I was my big sister’s friend

from the borderline of the next barrio, La Raza.

Did the men who made Barbie look

kinda like Louie,

a tough and tattooed pachuco?

Or did they look like Ken?

O thought NOT, you know-

Ken did not have a penis.

Why did they do that?

I didn’t know the words

for how I felt back then,

but I do now, see

Barbie and Ken were not real,

they were thrust in our faces as The Ideal:

big tits, long legs dream house, car, money,

and now we have:

boob jobs, lyposuction, tummy tucks AND the gym,

street hustlers, corporate hustlers, fast bucks and

the shape we’re in?

32 forms of anxiety.

Barbie and Ken were the perfect Republicans:

No nipples, and no dicks.

The birth of the Capitalist Android,

they only look human.

And I sincerely doubt, you know that

billboard on Sunset Blvd. of the Barbie Twins?

one facing tits North the other one ass South?

I sincerely doubt that that pisses them off.

Barbie opens the door,

“Ken!” she says, “Do come in.”

Ken says, “You look lovely in your gown.”

and my Daddy walk by the room short ‘n brown

‘n it makes me sad…

Twenty years of Naval dedication.

His goal? To become an Officer.

In the eighteenth year, he’s given that title.

Well, not quite “Officer”

but just a tad short of it.

“Chief Petty Officer”

“Petty”

Chief “Petty” Officer??

It’s not because he wasn’t white.

Nah, it’s not because he wasn’t white….

So Ken says,

“We must go, or we’ll be late for the show”

and they go,

Ken driving Barbie’s pink convertible,

they pull into the drive-in.

Barbie’s SCREAMING because

some guy dressed up like an

ugly old woman is chopping up

a beautiful young woman in the shower.

The one in the shower looks kinda like Barbie to me,

so my NEXT game is Barbie in her pink bathtub

getting chopped to pieces by Ken

in Barbie’s gold lame gown,

this time a red marker

all over her body,

and the bathtub too.

They beat me again.

They said I should respect the doll.

It wasn’t the beating that made me cry,

beating was normal, that’s where they come from.

It wasn’t the beating that made me cry.

It was the accusation of not liking the gift they gave me.

“Every little girl had a Barbie”, they said.

I did like Barbie. I loved her.

And now, I felt so sorry.

She was now to be confined to her Dream House,

where she would never step out and see my world.

She couldn’t really come out to play… she was different.

She was a woman that had never had a childhood.

I knew, that when you’re a kid,

you don’t live all by yourself

in a huge pink fucking house,

you share one room with your four brothers and sisters.

You don’t sleep alone in a king size bed with a pink canopy,

you sleep two in a twin size under a mosquito net.

Poor Barbie, she didn’t have a clue.

There was one bright light for Barbie…

a little boy down the street,

little black boy, he was sweet, he said,

“When I grow up, I’m gonna marry a girl

that look just like Barbie!”

and that made me happy…

So let’s raise a toast to those guys at Mattel,

that promise our children that life won’t be hell,

not gray, but pink, everything pink

boy – blue , girl – pink.

Everything…

Everything Pink.

Please see above for audio of the poem, read by the author.

Are you related to the 16th Century Renaissance poet, Garcilaso de la Vega?

Probably, but who knows?

What’s in a name?

Well, there is history in every name. The name de la Vega is almost synonymous to poetry according to most of the research I’ve done. You know, lineage is becoming more and more of a relative topic these days since the New Age spawned spin-offs like alien acceptance, tarot awareness, divination, and fairies, you know…

Are you an alien?

No.

Why did your WORDBEAT Co-host Milo Martin nickname you “Yvonne of The Blue Star”?

Because of my name. There is a star in the blue spectrum of the universe called “Vega” and it’s blue, sometimes referred to as “The Blue Star”. In Espan—l, “de la” means “of the”. Thus, “Yvonne of the Blue Star”. But no, I am not an alien.

What’s going on with WORDBEAT?

We’ll be back LIVE in April, for National Poetry Month, for now we’re on an unofficial hiatus due to priorities. You can still enjoy the archived segments at www.blogtalkradio.com/wordbeat

If you like poetry and jazz go check it out. You can also find it on iTunes under “Podcasts”.

That was shameless plug wasn’t it?

If you say so.

Who are your favorite poets?

My favorite writer of all time would be Robert Graves. He said two things that never left me. “Poets are born, and not made” and the other is, “There is no money in poetry, but then there is no poetry in money either.” I’m a fan of Lord Byron and what he represents in history as a poet, a revolutionary and a lover. For, where would we be without the Age of Enlightenment?

I recently, believe it or not, fell in love with Jim Morrison, how he knew the truth and had a warrior’s spirit. I love Bukowski’s realist raunch in The Fuck Machine, and Anne Sexton’s courage to live as long as she did. Bob Dylan’s Writings and Drawings by Bob Dylan, and Joni Mitchell’s songbook. There are so many more, and many amongst my own peers, to name just a few isn’t fair so, next?

What are your plans for the future?

I really plan to stop flying by the skin of my teeth, but I’m afraid that if that happens, I would have to sacrifice inspiration. On a more concrete note, I’m just finishing up a screenplay, an animated film that I started writing three years ago. I’m looking forward to the publishing of my new book, Tomorrow, Yvonne-Poetry & Prose for Suicidal Egotists, and there’s a new idea being tossed around: Ray Manzarek of The Doors just emailed me and brought up an idea we’d come up with the last time I saw him, and that was to go to the White House with a sextet that would consist of three poets and a jazz trio. That would be him on piano, Karl Vincent on bass and a drummer. We want to perform at Obama’s night of poetry at The White House.

What is a suicidal egotist?

Someone who would like to kill themselves but is far too vain to be caught dead after actually having done it.

Are you happy?

I’m hopeful. Times are changing for the better I think, and I’m looking forward to the improvement of the quality of life for everyone. I want everyone on the planet to be happy.

Is there anything else you’d like to tell everyone?

Not really. I’m surprised you got me to say this much, but thank you and everyone for the opportunity of having to talk about myself. I understand it’s important, and I am grateful. Oh, and…I like turtles.