It started with the drum. The making of the drum

Hollowed tree

The goat skin.

From the drum came the rhythm

the dance    the song

the poetry.

Out of the rhythms of New York, the Big Apple as some used to call it, comes the sound of the drum beat covering all five Boroughs; Staten Island, Queens, The Bronx,. Brooklyn, and Manhattan.

From the rhythm to the sound

to the voice of the poet

you can hear and feel

the rhythm of the poem.

It is the apple which is the magnet, the magnet which draws to itself individuals from the four corners of the world. The poets in this collection, who are now entered into the rhythm of New York, are from "Elsewhere" but make their homes here.

And it is the rhythm of the streets, the crowds during rush hour, the 'others' who stand on corners in their neighborhoods getting into the latest debates, the shoppers practicing the religion of consumerism, their daily ritual, the cell phone cyborgs and I-Pod junkies, the night crawlers, the buses, the trucks, the taxis, the cars, the subways, the birds, all go to make up the rhythm of the city. In the far distance you can still hear the beating of the drum. Out of that rhythm comes the sound of these poets. New York City; it is what it is.

Selected from Matador Magazine, published in Madrid

Edited by Mireia Sentis