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Pedro Pietri: Selected Poetry
Pedro Pietri's often playfully absurd poems chronicle the joys and struggles of Nuyoricans—urban Puerto Ricans whose lives straddle the islands of Puerto Rico and Manhattan—and define the Latino experience in urban America . By turns angry, heartbreaking, and hopeful, his writings are imbued with a sense of pride and nationalism and were embraced by the generation of Latino poets that followed him. Pedro Selected Poetry gathers the most enduring and treasured work among his published books, Puerto Rican Obituary , Traffic Violations , and Out of Order , along with a generous selection of his previously unpublished works. "There was no one in this country as ferocious, as brilliant, or as necessary as Pedro Pietri. In these days of growing inequality it is to his rebel vision I turn to for hope and for strength. A towering poet, absolutely peerless, explosively talented, a pioneer, and iconoclast, and activist, to whom the entire spoken word movement owes a debt beyond calculation."— Junot Diaz "One of the great American poets of the twentieth century, a leader of the Nuyorican poetry movement that ignited at Miguel Algarín's Nuyorican Poet's Cafe. Perhaps the most progressive and at the same time funniest poet of the period."— Amiri Baraka Pedro Pietri (1944–2004) was born in Ponce, Puerto Rico, and raised in Manhattan. In the early '70s he was a featured poet at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. Juan Flores (1943-2014) was a professor and director of Latino Studies at New York University, and author of many books on Puerto Rican and Latino culture. Pedro López Adorno is a professor in the Department of Africana and Puerto Rican/Latino Studies of Hunter College since 1987, and a published poet.
254 pages, Paperback
First published August 11, 2015
10 people are currently reading
280 people want to read
About the author
Pedro Pietri
23 books24 followersFrom http://www.poets.org/
Poet and playwright Pedro Pietri was born in Ponce, Puerto Rico, on March 21, 1944. Three years later, his family moved to Harlem. He attended public schools in New York City and was drafted to serve in the Vietnam War from 1966-68.
His publications include Illusions of a Revolving Door: Plays (1992), The Masses are Asses (1984), Traffic Violations (1983), Lost in the Museum of Natural History (1980), Invisible Poetry (1979), and Puerto Rican Obituary (1973).
His work has also been included in anthologies such as The Prentice Hall Anthology of Latino Literature (ed. Eduardo del Rio, 2002); The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry (ed. Alan Kaufman, 2000), The Latino Reader (eds. Harold Augenbraum and Margarite Fernandez Olmos, 1997), Inventing a Word: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century Puerto Rican Poetry (ed. Julio Marzan, 1980), and The United States of Poetry.
His honors include several New York State Creative Arts in Public Service grants and a grant from the New York Foundation for the Arts. A resident of New York City and prominent Nuyorican poet, Pedro Pietri died on March 3, 2004.
Poet and playwright Pedro Pietri was born in Ponce, Puerto Rico, on March 21, 1944. Three years later, his family moved to Harlem. He attended public schools in New York City and was drafted to serve in the Vietnam War from 1966-68.
His publications include Illusions of a Revolving Door: Plays (1992), The Masses are Asses (1984), Traffic Violations (1983), Lost in the Museum of Natural History (1980), Invisible Poetry (1979), and Puerto Rican Obituary (1973).
His work has also been included in anthologies such as The Prentice Hall Anthology of Latino Literature (ed. Eduardo del Rio, 2002); The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry (ed. Alan Kaufman, 2000), The Latino Reader (eds. Harold Augenbraum and Margarite Fernandez Olmos, 1997), Inventing a Word: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century Puerto Rican Poetry (ed. Julio Marzan, 1980), and The United States of Poetry.
His honors include several New York State Creative Arts in Public Service grants and a grant from the New York Foundation for the Arts. A resident of New York City and prominent Nuyorican poet, Pedro Pietri died on March 3, 2004.
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
April 7, 2021
Publishers Weekly
"In this charming and powerful posthumous volume, Pietri (1944–2004), a co-founder of New York City's legendary Nuyorican Poets Café, shows off the sharp, surreal sense of humor he employs in writing on the social and political issues affecting New York City's Puerto Rican community … abundant joy and imagination that may inspire the reader to pick up a pen: 'the magic of / writing poetry,' Pietri declares, 'is not knowing / how to do it / right or wrong!'"
San Francisco Chronicle
"Like 'Howl,' [Pietri's poetry] became a cornerstone of new consciousness for a group of outsiders ready to declare their independence from the mainstream — in this case, the group Pietri himself helped name as Nuyoricans … much of his best work remained unpublished or buried in small-press magazines. Editors Juan Flores and Pedro López Adorno have thankfully gathered a substantial amount of Pietri’s uncollected work in this book"––Gerald Nicosia
"In this charming and powerful posthumous volume, Pietri (1944–2004), a co-founder of New York City's legendary Nuyorican Poets Café, shows off the sharp, surreal sense of humor he employs in writing on the social and political issues affecting New York City's Puerto Rican community … abundant joy and imagination that may inspire the reader to pick up a pen: 'the magic of / writing poetry,' Pietri declares, 'is not knowing / how to do it / right or wrong!'"
San Francisco Chronicle
"Like 'Howl,' [Pietri's poetry] became a cornerstone of new consciousness for a group of outsiders ready to declare their independence from the mainstream — in this case, the group Pietri himself helped name as Nuyoricans … much of his best work remained unpublished or buried in small-press magazines. Editors Juan Flores and Pedro López Adorno have thankfully gathered a substantial amount of Pietri’s uncollected work in this book"––Gerald Nicosia
May 26, 2016
a founding member of the nuyorican poets café (along with miguel piñero and miguel algarín), pedro pietri (1944-2004) was born in ponce, puerto rico, but raised in manhattan. selected poetry collects poems throughout his career, including his most famous, the epic "puerto rican obituary," as well as a single short story, "lost in the museum of natural history." pietri's poetry has the iconoclastic swerve, political profundity, and spirited wordplay found throughout the nuyorican canon.
though similar in both style and content to his fellow nuyroican poets (see also the wonderful aloud: voices from the nuyorican poets cafe ), pietri's writings would have worked quite well in a twin billing alongside proto-rapper gil scott-heron (or perhaps even richard fariña). covering themes of race, poverty, capitalism, culture, national identity, and life in new york city, pietri's poetry spans a wide breadth of emotions, from anger and frustration to pride and reverence. selected poetry is a solid collection, one deserving of a far wider audience than it currently enjoys.
though similar in both style and content to his fellow nuyroican poets (see also the wonderful aloud: voices from the nuyorican poets cafe ), pietri's writings would have worked quite well in a twin billing alongside proto-rapper gil scott-heron (or perhaps even richard fariña). covering themes of race, poverty, capitalism, culture, national identity, and life in new york city, pietri's poetry spans a wide breadth of emotions, from anger and frustration to pride and reverence. selected poetry is a solid collection, one deserving of a far wider audience than it currently enjoys.
telephone booth
number 158715
if you haven't had
a nervous breakdown
you haven't written
a poem – you just
interfered with A
blank page minding
its own business
(from "lost in the museum of natural history")
this is an integrated beach, there are poor people and poorer people with identical economic problems seeking oblivion from the predicament of making financial ends meet in a capitalistic society manipulated by a handful of aristocratic criminals disguised as benevolent politicians to keep the problems oppression creates from encountering a solution.
August 20, 2022
When doing a unit on poetry for my Latinx History class, I realized that I didn’t own a single book by Pietri, arguably the most influential Newyorican poet. It was not easy to find this volume, and other books by him are out of print. I am fortunate to have seen Pietri perform live. The printed page doesn’t do his work justice, but every Latinx family should own one of his books and listen to the few recordings available online.
April 12, 2018
Pedro Pietri is credited as one of the founders of the Nuyorican movement, an artistic and cultural renaissance of Puerto Rican creatives living in NYC. My favorite poem in this collection of poetry was probably his most famous, Puerto Rican Obituary. After that initial poem, I found a sprinkling of others that I enjoyed and Pedro’s sense of humor is clear throughout all of his work. Unfortunately, I found myself lost in most of the untitled poems and feeling like I had to be on whatever Pedro was on to understand what exactly he was trying to get to. Maybe he was a poet that presented his ideas better live than he did on the page. I still hold a lot of respect for this OG but gave this collection of poetry two stars for its lack of cohesiveness.
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Twitter: @_niaita
April 14, 2019
One of the funniest poetry collections I've read in a while. Pietri's absurdism is in equal parts soothing and invigorating.
September 3, 2021
By saying Free Puerto Rico
You are saying Free the Universe
You are saying Free the Universe
March 23, 2023
Puerto Rican Obituary goes off tbh
October 2, 2024
Easily readable and easily entertaining, Pedro Pietri's poetry demands to be chanted, bellowed, and sung, preferably in public spaces.
Want to read
July 17, 2025Team owns Broken English Dream, The by Pietri, Pedro digitally.
September 24, 2025
Nice selection of poems from a Nuyorican poet. The best poems have the same vibe as a night at a spoken word club.
April 14, 2016
Overall I really didn't feel this collection, for some reason I couldn't follow along with what he was trying to convey. I'm not sure if it was coded or something. I'm going to give it another chance before writing him off. His reputation is legendary. A Puerto Rican obituary alone is classic.
In What was the dream about? a poem to a dying compañero he says that the dream was about being strong and competing without fear or doubt.
In What was the dream about? a poem to a dying compañero he says that the dream was about being strong and competing without fear or doubt.
November 30, 2015
Interesante antología del poeta neorricano que contiene varios momentos de genialidad poética. Enfatizo lo anterior en todo lo que se desprende del " Puerto Rican Obituary", donde nos narra la infame realidad del migrante latino con un humor negro comparable al de Celine o Bukowski.
April 26, 2016
Great book by a great poet! Poems that describe the joys and struggles of Nuyoricans. The writing is hopeful. Glad I picked it up.
Read
February 9, 2016Not I.
Read
March 10, 2016I regret purchasing this book. I realize poetry is unique and personal, but Pedro Pietri is a disconnected soul looking to vent.
March 30, 2017
Dear Pedro,
John Dean interrupted my
regularly scheduled Sesame Street
when you were getting turned on to grass
i was watching Vietnam on TV
when you met Agent Orange
and he stuck to you like glue
i didn’t know i just heard
it was the word
later i got turned on to Jazz
ran away from college
searched for uncommon knowledge
didn't know i could be Puerto Rican
dreaming in New York i never left
you never arrived at
didn’t know what was Taino
never missed My Island
didn’t know i could get a visa
from El Puerto Rican Embassy
didn't know who was Miguel or Lois or Steve
just knew what i knew
putting words on pages too
i heard it was the place to go
a man dressed in black appeared
carrying freedom from misery in a briefcase
thinking radically under his hatRead more…
today they still argue in the capitol of capital
about the final arrangements of the funeral
for tomorrow
when they will sell back what was taken
but i know that El Puerto Rican Embassy
is at a secret location
where you can’t book a vacation
you have to bare your soles instead
get with the Manifesto seal the deal with grass
sit on your ass look at the sky
see what was is what will be was
i’ve been reading your book
looking at your picture on the cover
sitting at a table
(so dutifly holding your Selected Poetry)
writing on a blank sheet of paper
a letter for you to pick up on Mars
well honestly it's a blank screen
with a desktop picture of a chunk of cheese
well honestly i made that part up about the cheese
you took the stage
read from your page
we laughed
i didn’t know what was your degree
in poetry that you were royalty
except like Lord Buckley
i thought everyone was a Lord or Lady
i didn’t know what was slam
Bob explained the rules
but i must not have been listening
maybe that night they were all there
Tracie Edwin Willie Paul Reg Suheir
i don’t know cuz i didn’t know any of them
the crowd booed me off the stage
before i got to the end of the page
but the man in black who made everyone laugh
said to me i dig your originality
i nodded and left cuz i had to pay the babysitter
you know this story but maybe you forgot
down here in Greenville i have a family
i water my vegetables with words
and serve my poetry on dinner plates
i walked into a coffee shop a little while ago
and there was a young man at the register
a sticker on his laptop said
City Lights
i said
that’s far away from here
he told me
it was the name of his church not far away
i told him
about a famous bookstore he never heard of
he told me
he was studying to be a religious musician
i asked him
had he ever heard of Pharaoh and Leon
and The Creator Has a Master Plan
he stared
at a 52 year old lady with wild hair
he didn’t know
i drank coffee and checked e-mails
and there was a message from Mars
that your poetry that i searched for
and found out that your poetry is hard to find
and i was looking for those telephone poems
at the time
cuz i had heard that you had a book party
but i didn’t get there yet
the message from Mars said that City Lights Books
was publishing your poetry and Lord Buckley
who i listened to on an LP when i left home young
who inspired me ten years later
to tell that Cinderella story at Nuyorican
that was not welcome by anyone but Pedro
who i didn’t know who you was
messages from Mars don’t come often
i don’t know what it means
but it means something
these were no ordinary co-incidents
and there’s more to the stories
you have appeared again
that’s the way it was too
you were the first only person on line
at the table that was holding up
my first limited limited edition book
off the restaurant floor
you asked me to sign it
i don’t know what it means
but it means something
in this same year that City Lights
has published your Selected Poetry
and Hiparama of the Classics
is also the print on demanding
of the limited, limited second edition
of my first book that you took the first copy
the Pedro Pietri Bought My First Book Prize
but i have to confess how to utilize i wasn't wise
you sat for a little while at a little table
that held your drink steadily
and then you disappeared
like an angel i didn’t know was an angel
i thought you probably drank too much
when we saw each other early in the mornings
walking our daughters to the same school
hungover maybe you was
me out of order
was rats in my kitchen
compromising positions personal conditions
when we smiled and waved from across the street
while we held their hands
and led them away a little more each day
i have to confess that i forget
when i try to piece together the order of things
which came first what happened next
you told me you taught my book in your class
and i went to your new years eve party
up there in that tower just for people like you
who write unforgettable obituary
that i couldn’t remember when you
wished me happy b’day inside the cover
yesterday when i handed it to my oldest son
to bring to his poetry class
but even though i won
the Pedro Pietri Bought My First Book Prize
i still got evicted before that boy could talk or walk
i left New York that never leaves me
after you never arrived
i have to confess i don't remember even
where was the poetry reading before leaving
that got started after it ended
when you opened the pages of a telephone book
you know this story but maybe you forgot
i have to pause here to drink some rum
in your honor
well honestly it’s not rum it’s honey whiskey
but tonight it tastes like rum on Mars
i have to say that you were surrounded
by poets who listened and laughed and cried
there were no dry eyes
El Reverend sermonized
i could never forget
i heard
you had a telephone book party
i heard
Agent Orange told a dirty joke
left his tab on your table
it was the word
now it’s later than later
i’ve gotten to the so True short story at the end
which wasn't the end of your Selected Poetry
i laugh and cry and nod my head
i’m looking at your face that remains unchanged
on your book resting on my table
i hear your voice clear as a bell
tell it like it is like it was like it's always
here is not New York
Dizzy was born in South Carolina
but he didn’t give it a song
at all times i keep my visa with no expiration
from El Puerto Rican Embassy
anyway anywhere is everywhere
asses of the masses grow large on sugary lies
we have the right to work 9 2 5
numbers games with no claims to
organ eyes or brains with imaginations
no one i know down here knows your name
but some of them would wannabe Puerto Ricans too
if they only knew
now i have read the very last words
at the end of your Selected Poetry
written by your true friends who kept their promise to you
they say that your 3 thousand poem telephone book
was a limited limited photocopied edition
now i am writing a Dear Pedro letter
there's another book party to come
it will be just like i'm writing it
unless you want to rewrite it
there won't be any politicians just
live muse ishans and poets and lovers
and rum and grass
i don't think you'll get this on a computer
or in a glossy magazine selling things
so i'll send it to a blank page
take it to the stage
read it under bright lights
just like you in your picture
on your book on my table
i'll say your name loud
you'll have a dream about your Big Book party
at El Puerto Rican Embassy on Mars
it will be so
see you when i get there
yours in Poetry
martha
John Dean interrupted my
regularly scheduled Sesame Street
when you were getting turned on to grass
i was watching Vietnam on TV
when you met Agent Orange
and he stuck to you like glue
i didn’t know i just heard
it was the word
later i got turned on to Jazz
ran away from college
searched for uncommon knowledge
didn't know i could be Puerto Rican
dreaming in New York i never left
you never arrived at
didn’t know what was Taino
never missed My Island
didn’t know i could get a visa
from El Puerto Rican Embassy
didn't know who was Miguel or Lois or Steve
just knew what i knew
putting words on pages too
i heard it was the place to go
a man dressed in black appeared
carrying freedom from misery in a briefcase
thinking radically under his hatRead more…
today they still argue in the capitol of capital
about the final arrangements of the funeral
for tomorrow
when they will sell back what was taken
but i know that El Puerto Rican Embassy
is at a secret location
where you can’t book a vacation
you have to bare your soles instead
get with the Manifesto seal the deal with grass
sit on your ass look at the sky
see what was is what will be was
i’ve been reading your book
looking at your picture on the cover
sitting at a table
(so dutifly holding your Selected Poetry)
writing on a blank sheet of paper
a letter for you to pick up on Mars
well honestly it's a blank screen
with a desktop picture of a chunk of cheese
well honestly i made that part up about the cheese
you took the stage
read from your page
we laughed
i didn’t know what was your degree
in poetry that you were royalty
except like Lord Buckley
i thought everyone was a Lord or Lady
i didn’t know what was slam
Bob explained the rules
but i must not have been listening
maybe that night they were all there
Tracie Edwin Willie Paul Reg Suheir
i don’t know cuz i didn’t know any of them
the crowd booed me off the stage
before i got to the end of the page
but the man in black who made everyone laugh
said to me i dig your originality
i nodded and left cuz i had to pay the babysitter
you know this story but maybe you forgot
down here in Greenville i have a family
i water my vegetables with words
and serve my poetry on dinner plates
i walked into a coffee shop a little while ago
and there was a young man at the register
a sticker on his laptop said
City Lights
i said
that’s far away from here
he told me
it was the name of his church not far away
i told him
about a famous bookstore he never heard of
he told me
he was studying to be a religious musician
i asked him
had he ever heard of Pharaoh and Leon
and The Creator Has a Master Plan
he stared
at a 52 year old lady with wild hair
he didn’t know
i drank coffee and checked e-mails
and there was a message from Mars
that your poetry that i searched for
and found out that your poetry is hard to find
and i was looking for those telephone poems
at the time
cuz i had heard that you had a book party
but i didn’t get there yet
the message from Mars said that City Lights Books
was publishing your poetry and Lord Buckley
who i listened to on an LP when i left home young
who inspired me ten years later
to tell that Cinderella story at Nuyorican
that was not welcome by anyone but Pedro
who i didn’t know who you was
messages from Mars don’t come often
i don’t know what it means
but it means something
these were no ordinary co-incidents
and there’s more to the stories
you have appeared again
that’s the way it was too
you were the first only person on line
at the table that was holding up
my first limited limited edition book
off the restaurant floor
you asked me to sign it
i don’t know what it means
but it means something
in this same year that City Lights
has published your Selected Poetry
and Hiparama of the Classics
is also the print on demanding
of the limited, limited second edition
of my first book that you took the first copy
the Pedro Pietri Bought My First Book Prize
but i have to confess how to utilize i wasn't wise
you sat for a little while at a little table
that held your drink steadily
and then you disappeared
like an angel i didn’t know was an angel
i thought you probably drank too much
when we saw each other early in the mornings
walking our daughters to the same school
hungover maybe you was
me out of order
was rats in my kitchen
compromising positions personal conditions
when we smiled and waved from across the street
while we held their hands
and led them away a little more each day
i have to confess that i forget
when i try to piece together the order of things
which came first what happened next
you told me you taught my book in your class
and i went to your new years eve party
up there in that tower just for people like you
who write unforgettable obituary
that i couldn’t remember when you
wished me happy b’day inside the cover
yesterday when i handed it to my oldest son
to bring to his poetry class
but even though i won
the Pedro Pietri Bought My First Book Prize
i still got evicted before that boy could talk or walk
i left New York that never leaves me
after you never arrived
i have to confess i don't remember even
where was the poetry reading before leaving
that got started after it ended
when you opened the pages of a telephone book
you know this story but maybe you forgot
i have to pause here to drink some rum
in your honor
well honestly it’s not rum it’s honey whiskey
but tonight it tastes like rum on Mars
i have to say that you were surrounded
by poets who listened and laughed and cried
there were no dry eyes
El Reverend sermonized
i could never forget
i heard
you had a telephone book party
i heard
Agent Orange told a dirty joke
left his tab on your table
it was the word
now it’s later than later
i’ve gotten to the so True short story at the end
which wasn't the end of your Selected Poetry
i laugh and cry and nod my head
i’m looking at your face that remains unchanged
on your book resting on my table
i hear your voice clear as a bell
tell it like it is like it was like it's always
here is not New York
Dizzy was born in South Carolina
but he didn’t give it a song
at all times i keep my visa with no expiration
from El Puerto Rican Embassy
anyway anywhere is everywhere
asses of the masses grow large on sugary lies
we have the right to work 9 2 5
numbers games with no claims to
organ eyes or brains with imaginations
no one i know down here knows your name
but some of them would wannabe Puerto Ricans too
if they only knew
now i have read the very last words
at the end of your Selected Poetry
written by your true friends who kept their promise to you
they say that your 3 thousand poem telephone book
was a limited limited photocopied edition
now i am writing a Dear Pedro letter
there's another book party to come
it will be just like i'm writing it
unless you want to rewrite it
there won't be any politicians just
live muse ishans and poets and lovers
and rum and grass
i don't think you'll get this on a computer
or in a glossy magazine selling things
so i'll send it to a blank page
take it to the stage
read it under bright lights
just like you in your picture
on your book on my table
i'll say your name loud
you'll have a dream about your Big Book party
at El Puerto Rican Embassy on Mars
it will be so
see you when i get there
yours in Poetry
martha
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews