Carlos Pezoa Veliz was a Chilean poet who lived at the turn of 20th century and Most of his work only got to be known posthumously. He was also an educator and a journalist working for publications in Santiago and Vina del Mar.
There is in his body of work a concern for social issues and it is said influenced by the work of Gorki and Tolstoi.
There are two of his poems that I was taught in school, I don’t know actually when, that moment got lost in the hidden corners of my memory: “Tarde en el hospital” and “Nada”.
We have been working on arranging this last one. Here are the words in Spanish:

Era un pobre diablo que siempre venía
cerca de un gran pueblo donde yo vivía;
joven, rubio y flaco, sucio y mal vestido,
siempre cabizbajo… Tal vez un perdido!
Un día de invierno lo encontraron muerto,
dentro de un arroyo próximo a mi huerto,
varios cazadores que con sus lebreles
catando marchaban… Entre sus papeles
no encontraron nada… Los jueces de turno
hicieron preguntas al guardían nocturno:
éste no sabía nada del extinto;
ni el vecino Pérez, ni el vecino Pinto.
Una chica dijo que sería un loco
o algún vagabundo que comía poco,
y un chusco que oía las conversaciones
se tentó de risa… Vaya, unos simplones!
Una paletada le echó el panteonero;
luego lió un cigarro, se caló el sombrero
y emprendió la vuelta…! Tras la paletada,
nadie dijo nada, nadie dijo nada!.

In the eighties in Chile, Peñas became itinerant events where artists had an opportunity to share their work and interact with an audience hungry to establish a connection between the social movements and the arts.
Their itinerancy isn’t intrinsic to them. In fact the most iconic of them, La Peña de los Parra, was for many years an institution with a permanent location that became the epicenter of the cultural-artistic and social movement brewing in Santiago in the 60′s. Founded by Violeta Parra, it hosted the most important musical artists of that time including Victor Jara, Inti-illimani, Quilapayun, Patricio Manns, Angel e Isabel Parra among many others.
Not to say Peñas are an exclusive Chilean institution, they are not. But sure many of the Chileans forced into exile, took the idea of the Peña and founded institutions for promoting the arts all over the world. Here are some of them:
La Peña, de Berkeley, CA.
La Peña del Bronx, NY.
La Peña en Sidney, Australia.

These are the words of the original Poem by Pablo Neruda from the book “crepusculario” we now perform as a song.

Morena, la Besadora

Cabellera rubia, suelta,
corriendo como un estero,
cabellera.

Uñas duras y doradas,
flores curvas y sensuales,
uñas duras y doradas.

Comba del vientre, escondida,
y abierta como una fruta
o una herida.

Dulce rodilla desnuda
apretada en mis rodillas,
dulce rodilla desnuda.

Enredadera del pelo
entre la oferta redonda
de los senos.

Huella que dura en el lecho,
huella dormida en el alma,
palabras locas.

Perdidas palabras locas:
rematarán mis canciones,
se morirán nuestras bocas.

Morena, la Besadora,
rosal de todas las rosas
en una hora.

Besadora dulce y rubia,
me iré,
te irás, Besadora.

Pero aún tengo la aurora
enredada en cada sien.

Bésame, por eso, ahora,
bésame, Besadora,
ahora y en la hora
de nuestra muerte.
Amén.

When I was 13 years old my Tata (grandfather) bought me a brand new guitar, and after a few months I was ready for my first performance.  I remember buying a small wood cut print portraying Victor Jara that included a short quote by the singer (canto que ha sido valiente siempre será canción nueva). Armed with some carpenter’s glue I managed to stick it on my new guitar’s body - a la Woody Guthrie.  The Peña took place in the nearby town of Puerto Varas, a known tourist destination in the southern part of Chile. The occasion was a political campaign kick – off event for Humberto Lagos, the candidate then representing the left. People were excited. “Chile la Alegria ya viene“, Chile happiness is arriving a political ad of the time described. Things were changing, we could somewhat publicly manifest our opinions, gather without fear, in the eve of being able to elect parliament in Chile after 15 years of dictatorship.

I got there invited by Humberto himself.  Unlike other events I attended later on in my life, this Peña was kind of fancy; not a dark and abandoned place, but a well decorated, small hotel dining room owned by one of the organizers and located in a residential part of town. The room had been arranged with clothed tables, centerpieces and candles on them. The walls displayed the works the owner’s son, a now known and important artist in the region. The smell of empanadas and warm wine with oranges and cinnamon spread throughout the hall enhancing the festive feeling. It brought some much needed coziness to combat the cold winter hitting the windows from the outside.

And I got to open the event. I remember being so nervous, shaking as I always do. I remember singing a couple of songs, probably all of them by Victor Jara. The warm wine started pouring out, warming up not only patrons but the environment. I was followed by poets, speeches, and other bands; among them the “Amarantos”  six guys playing charangos, guitars, zamponas, quenas and singing lyrics that called on workers and “pobladores” to organize themselves giving detailed instructions on how to put together a strike or how to block a road.

It was also my first time holding a charango. Marcelino, the band leader, taught me my first chords and right then I fell in love with the sound of the little stringed-armadillo carcass.

At the end of the night Humberto gave my aunt and me a ride back to our town. Strangely, as soon as we left, a car started following us. Our driver began getting nervous. Since he wasn’t from the area, he asked us for info on alternative routes. As soon as we entered town, we lost sight of that car. I don’t know if we were actually being followed but the situation describes how unsafe many Chileans felt at that moment in our political history. Things were changing, but happiness was a fragile thing.