Jeannine Marie Pitas
Biographic Data
| ID | 5878040 |
|---|---|
| NAME | Jeannine Marie Pitas |
| GIVEN NAMES | Jeannine Marie |
| FAMILY NAME | Pitas |
| SIGNATURE | PITAS J M |
| AFFILIATIONS | Saint Vincent College |
| VERIFIED | No |
| TOTAL WORKS | 11 |
| TOTAL CITATIONS | 0 |
| AUTHOR COUNT | 4 |
| EDITOR COUNT | 0 |
| FIRST PUBLICATION YEAR | 2021 |
| LATEST PUBLICATION YEAR | 2025 |
| H-INDEX | 0 |
From Pukutay
They say that sorrow besieges the townslike a red gale of bloodI shout to our elders I cry outfor them to come out of their homes“Follow the course of your ancestors’ blood” I admonish them.T
Madre Maíz / Mother Corn
Mama sara Mother Corn Hanaj pachaj wisñimusqanScattered from the heavensTayta mamaypa t’antanMy elders’ sustenanceÑoqapa hank’ayMy delight Hisk’usqan qokunki You lavish your kernels on usHi
I Am Made of Silences
Aya Allpa
Aya allpatachu akuraniHave I perhaps been chewingAyathe dust of the deadUpallalla chuyunyaqsealing my lipssimiyuq kanallaypaqin death’s silence?urpi ñawillaymimy dove eyeskausayta munaskhanyearn de
Against Erasure
“Know that in place of a heart I carry a tongue,” writes the unnamed poetic speaker of Mexican poet Balam Rodrigo’s Central American Book of the Dead. This documentary poetic text alternates between the voices of Central American immigrants journeying north and a subtle yet bold revision of Fray Bartolomé de las Casas’s A Brief Account of the Destruction of the Indies, with some words from the Friar’s 1552 text replaced by other words that reflec…
Devil Smell
I discovered I had a bodyat fourteen.In a theater classI danced Carmina Burana.With eyes closedblinded by the impact of the opera on my skin.Stopping one centimeter before the doorvanquished on the
Honey from Below
you lickyour wordsyou splice themyou suck on themyou smoothbitsof my mouthslowly, sharplyyou piercemy knotwith the needles of your tongueyou drink linimentsyou stealis not a roseif I grab it by the
Tutoring Hours
That girl just laughsEvery time she asks me to pronounce a word in my language.We speak hers, she speaks her own language.Not me.I know no tongue is more my ownThan the one I keep at times in my m
Wayward in Manhattan
And we, who always think of happinessrising, would feel the emotionthat almost confounds uswhen a happy thing falls.—Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Edward Snow And the embraceof an orangutan
Edinburgh Notebook
In Praise of Revithia
No prominent works on this page.
Wayward in Manhattan
And we, who always think of happinessrising, would feel the emotionthat almost confounds uswhen a happy thing falls.—Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Edward Snow And the embraceof an orangutan
Edinburgh Notebook
In Praise of Revithia
Tutoring Hours
That girl just laughsEvery time she asks me to pronounce a word in my language.We speak hers, she speaks her own language.Not me.I know no tongue is more my ownThan the one I keep at times in my m
Devil Smell
I discovered I had a bodyat fourteen.In a theater classI danced Carmina Burana.With eyes closedblinded by the impact of the opera on my skin.Stopping one centimeter before the doorvanquished on the
Honey from Below
you lickyour wordsyou splice themyou suck on themyou smoothbitsof my mouthslowly, sharplyyou piercemy knotwith the needles of your tongueyou drink linimentsyou stealis not a roseif I grab it by the
From Pukutay
They say that sorrow besieges the townslike a red gale of bloodI shout to our elders I cry outfor them to come out of their homes“Follow the course of your ancestors’ blood” I admonish them.T
Madre Maíz / Mother Corn
Mama sara Mother Corn Hanaj pachaj wisñimusqanScattered from the heavensTayta mamaypa t’antanMy elders’ sustenanceÑoqapa hank’ayMy delight Hisk’usqan qokunki You lavish your kernels on usHi
I Am Made of Silences
Aya Allpa
Aya allpatachu akuraniHave I perhaps been chewingAyathe dust of the deadUpallalla chuyunyaqsealing my lipssimiyuq kanallaypaqin death’s silence?urpi ñawillaymimy dove eyeskausayta munaskhanyearn de
Against Erasure
“Know that in place of a heart I carry a tongue,” writes the unnamed poetic speaker of Mexican poet Balam Rodrigo’s Central American Book of the Dead. This documentary poetic text alternates between the voices of Central American immigrants journeying north and a subtle yet bold revision of Fray Bartolomé de las Casas’s A Brief Account of the Destruction of the Indies, with some words from the Friar’s 1552 text replaced by other words that reflec…
Computer Science (3 works) · Anthropological Studies and Insights (2 works) · Latin American and Latino Studies (2 works) · Population (2 works) · Psychology (2 works) · Ridiculous (2 works) · Archaeology and Rock Art Studies (1 works) · Art (1 works) · Bee Products Chemical Analysis (1 works) · Caribbean and African Literature and Culture (1 works)