A.L. Garcia's Poetic Collection 'My Split Tongue' Offers Dual-Language Descent Into Darkness

Across the ages, many have tried to answer that fundamental question: What mysteries lurk within the human heart? Innumerable creative minds have attempted to satisfy the inquiry through literature, song, theater and film, but none more so than the humble poet. Oft-misunderstood, derided by some as scribes of pretty, meaningless verse, poets have long examined the innermost truths of the collective human spirit, our desires and hurts, our joys and triumphs and, sometimes, our blackest, basest impulses.

One poet unafraid to plumb those shadowy recesses is A. L. Garcia, whose new book, My Split Tongue arrives February 21st from Quill & Crow Publishing House. Subtitled A Bilingual Collection, My Split Tongue (translated as Mi Lengua Dividida) offers audiences a dual-language descent into the darkest corners of the soul.

The volume kicks off with an impressive trio of short horror stories. An old woman tells her grandchildren about a wasting plague that spread during her youth and the local witch others hoped could cure the disease in the unnerving opener, ‘Give Me Back My Tongue (Mariangula)’. Arguably the best among the prose efforts in terms of sheer visceral impact, ‘Lula And The Girl With No Name (Alma)’ recounts the terrifying tale of a ravenous beast from the creature’s perspective in vivid, unflinching detail. With its Frankenstein vibes and inventive narrative, the longest entry is ‘Fly Me To The Moon (Amber)’, about an insect with aspirations of being human longing for a female mad scientist intent on assembling the perfect man.

Following these stories, the majority of the book comprises twenty-six poetic compositions exploring recurrent themes of time, family, love, loss, feminine strength and reverence for nature. A restless spirit roused by the desecration of her grave features in ‘Mariangula (give me back my tongue)’. ‘Libre (Yo Soy, I be)’ is a declaration of personal freedom, while ‘——, Antes’ is about connecting with one’s ancestors. In ‘Trenza (braiding the night)’, two content lovers bask in the comfort of each other’s presence. ‘La Amistad (friend——ship)’ lyrically recounts in less than 100 words the famous mutiny onboard a 19th-century slave ship. A child’s nostalgic memories turn nightmarish in ‘A-La-Ru-Ru-Gata (a lullaby)’. ‘Root (diente de león)’ is a list of random facts, some worldly, others deeply personal, while ‘Shoot (punteria)’ is a reflection on the aim of a poet.

‘Canto de Llorona (a weeping woman’s song)’ is a conversation with a ghostly presence, and the brilliant ‘Matador (I’m going to conjure you)’ is a spell cast for revenge. Those are followed by the evocative ‘Hazme Poesia (make poetry of me)’, ‘Merced (beg)’, and ‘Dancando Lambada Ae (red)’, all of which paint violent, long-lasting imagery. ‘Déshabillée (discover me)’ demonstrates with its lusty French that My Split Tongue is actually a tri-lingual collection. ‘A (tattoo)’ draws a direct line between the sea, sexuality, and myth, while ‘De Marmol (for the angel in the stone)’ is a revelation about creation and loyalty. The connection of a creator to their inspirations are highlighted in ‘Musa (of the poet and the muse)’, and some deaths prove sweet in ‘Lindor (bon-bon de fresa)’. ‘Obrigada (at your service) utilizes faintly vampiric imagery made explicit in the volume’s triumphant sanguine climax, ‘Pandemonio (for the vampire queen)’.

If there is one word to describe Garcia’s work, it is intense. Others would be raw, passionate, lurid, sensual, ferocious, intelligent, unrestrained; her expressions are drawn deep from the primal essence which all humanity shares, untainted and unencumbered by pretense or conscious stylistic impositions. True to its title, many of the poems in My Split Tongue are presented with alternating English and Spanish iterations of each poem. While it isn’t required to be bilingual to enjoy the book, it would be a mistake for anyone to simply skip one section in favor of their native language. Reading both the English and Spanish versions of every composition is ideal, as both offer translated lines its counterpart does not, providing a complimentary mirror image that compounds the nuances in Garcia’s intended meaning. The visual shape of each poem, too, is integral to its comprehending; the way Garcia purposefully scoots words around the page lends emphasis to certain passages. And while every verse is worth savoring, five compositions deserve special attention for their overall effect.

‘Rey (and lo——behold)’ is a short, beautifully drawn piece about the connectivity of all things, while ‘Pandora (since before I was born)’ is a moving medication on memory and grief. ‘The Story of the Sun, the Moon and the Rainbow’ is a sweet fable of how the cosmos created love. A short statement about karmic desserts arises in ‘Cosecha (a reaping)’.

‘…there are bullet holes in the marrow of my bones…’ reads a line in ‘Machine Gun Rose (Rosa Ametralladora)’, the volume’s coolest, sleekest selection. Inspired by the 1995 Robert Rodriguez film Desperado, it’s an enthusiastic shot of sex, desire, and death that lingers long after the last line.

Despite its boldness, My Split Tongue will not be for everyone. The complex, sinfully seductive nature of Garcia’s work ensures that mainstream bores content with spoon-fed mass-market offerings will likely find themselves woefully lost. For those eager for something deeper, however, the primal power in this slim volume earns it a well-deserved 4.5 (out of 5) on my Fang Scale. Nos vemos, poeta (see you around, poet).