“Ritchie Valens” by Myrlin Hepworth

you were the child of R&B and jump Blues
flamingo guitar and Mariachi
Richard Valenzuela
they called you Ritchie said
Valenzuela was too much for a Gringo’s tongue
said it would taste bad in their mouths
if they said it so they cut your name
in half to Valens and you swallowed
that taste down stood tall like a bacho
and sign that contract
Rich was always about music
you felt it tumble inside your chest as a boy
playing a guitar with only two strings
and when your neighbor caught you
you thought he’d be angry over your racket
instead he helped you repair the
instrument and taught you how to grip it
correctly and you left-handed boy
playing a right-handed guitar repay him
by making the notes fly you could play
and sing at 17 you was signed at Del five
records of America, wanted to pass you
off as Italian, but you did not have old
blue eyes, no yours were young and brown,
brown like the dirt in the San Fernando
Valley, brown like the hands of your tias
who worked in the fields for
pennies, died inside Cantinas with broken
hearts, California’s hands were filled
with hate back then leading white and
brown master and slave and there you
were, in the midst of it all, young chicano
kid from the barrio, an American band stand
shredding guitar strings while Dick
Clark watched, I swear Ritchie, when I
listen I can hear it all
I can hear the screams from the zoot suit
riots, I can hear the young gringo
hipsters swarming you after a concert,
how you made them laugh and dance in
their ballrooms, the children sitting on
the bleachers of your middle school.
swaying to your rhythm and blues, the old
men in your neighborhoods watching you
play ranas when they shout it out
much how you made them all smile
Ritchie in a nation at war with it self, ashamed of
the blood on his hands, you were never
ashamed of who you were, took an old folk
song from B Cruz, la bamba swung that afro
Mexican rhythm into rock and roll
and sang all Spanish lyrics at a time when
speaking Spanish came with a wooden
paddle punishment, you played live at the
Apollo with Chuck Berry and rocked,
you were a legend and Rich before
that night before you boarded that plane,
before you tumbled from the sky like it
caled me in before your 19th birthday
your body frozen near that Lake in
Wisconsin the phrase what if still sits
on our tongues and America is still
trying to shape you into Hollywood still
trying to bleach the memory of your skin
wrote a movie and said you never spoke
Spanish when you understood each cadino
your mother placed in your ears as a
child chocked her death up to
Superstition and Mexican hoopla there
are myths scattered in your legacy but I
know Ritchie we know it was always about
your music and that cannot be disfigured
it plays forever in our hearts it is
trapped inside Carlos Santana’s fingertips
it drifts through alleys and walkways
plays on television during commercials
rides up elevators drifts into backyards
where there is some boy brown and dusty
desperately trying to play a guitar with
only two strings

Watch Myrlin Hepworth perform Ritchie Valens on YouTube

About the poet Myrlin Hepwroth

Myrlin Hepworth’s poem “Ritchie Valens” is a moving tribute to the young Chicano rock and roll legend Ritchie Valens—born Richard Valenzuela—who revolutionized American music before his tragic death at just 17 years old. The poem vividly recounts Valens’ meteoric rise, from his humble beginnings in the San Fernando Valley to becoming a star, all while battling the racial prejudice and cultural erasure that sought to strip him of his Mexican identity.

Hepworth crafts an evocative narrative, painting Valens as more than just a musician but as a symbol of resilience and cultural pride. The poem highlights the systemic pressures that forced Valens to change his name, downplaying his heritage to fit a white-dominated industry. However, despite the attempts to whitewash his identity, Valens’ Chicano roots remained embedded in his music, most notably in La Bamba, a Spanish-language hit that defied the mainstream aversion to bilingualism at the time.

Hepworth’s lyrical and rhythmic style mirrors the energy of Valens’ music, blending historical context with an almost spoken-word urgency. The poem seamlessly weaves together Valens’ personal story with broader themes of racial tension, cultural assimilation, and artistic defiance. It acknowledges the ways America has attempted to reshape Valens’ legacy while emphasizing the power of his music, which continues to inspire generations.

The final lines leave us with a powerful image: a young, brown-skinned boy struggling with a two-string guitar, much like Valens once did. It is a reminder that Ritchie’s influence is eternal, resonating in the lives of future musicians and dreamers.

To learn more about Myrlin Hepworth’s poetry and his contributions to spoken word and Chicano storytelling, visit his poet bio page here.