share with you the beautiful text Luciana Mello, poet dreams from the South South , envisioned as a recognition of Roberto Bolaño, who I came to share. Immensely grateful, as always, for the opportunity to re-read between the lines of your poem.
"Pierre Menard, the trans-Andean "
For Andrea Cobas Carral, who loves like me and knows this memorioso
much Which version infiltrates the memory of the bodies
surly / scrupulous / constrained?
What word does the first traces of meat oozes
when packs / when Cernea storms?
Who fuels the fire of this trust word of mouth
in the fleeting breath join us?
strange thing is that I read the pupils and I can not call your name,
night detective, already dead for me
I can never tell how your voice precipitated
the best liquor to remember and incites my vigils.
chorister of each buttock, each phallus, each wound vagina
Desfondada by the violence of a Nazi America
surviving remains
persists in schools on TV in the newspapers
buildings in public private residences
in politics and politicians
in mirrors there, behind the mountain range in
mirrors here, behind the mountains.
How I can I say without offending anyone,
that only your voice that spills out of the edges of books,
always straight angles of the leaves / of books I
the disruption of simultaneity abridged weightless
anachronies of horror experience ever tied one to one
all first or all in orsay?
only on your tongue longer blindness metaphor
trials of the hinges of a homeland sought against the glass, in the distant sky.
in your language, it is also mine, I realized that the history of peoples should not
written or run once or
because the story is longer and entangled itself. Definitely
your print is the memoirist Pierre Menard,
Pierr with two Rs migrating odd end to your name.
Luciana Mello "Pierre Menard, the trans-Andean" in Rustle speech
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