Alejandro Mendez
Alejandro Mendez was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1965.
41 years
I will stop myself there
to make a toast with the
strange
golem
of light
Alejandro Mendez was born in Buenos Aires in 1965. He has published several books of poetry including “Medley” (2003), “Tsunami” (2005), and “Chicos índigos” (Indigo Boys) (2007). He is currently the coordinator of Las elecciones afectivas/Las afinidades electivas (Affectionate Choices/Chosen Affinities). This has been likened to a facebook type site of Latin American poetry where a network of poets are linked by their own affinities without hierarchies or censorship. All poets are united through links categorized by country as well as the relationship between poets that recommend each other. Mr. Mendez describes the site accordingly, “One post, one poet, their picture, their poetry and a list of likes and affinities that give connection to new poets and new posts; a snowball, an unstoppable train, a loop, a sand dune.” With regard to his own poetry, Mr. Mendez said the following, “I want my poetry to be a coalescence of the five senses all at the same time.” For those readers that are interested in Spanish poetry please feel free to visit the site at https://lasafinidadeselectivas.blogspot.com/
The following is a translation of a poem that appears in his book of poetry “Medley”.
“Hannelore Kohl, 68 years old, the wife of the ex-chancellor of Germany Helmut Kohl, committed suicide and was found yesterday in the apartment in which she lived in Ludwigshafen (in the west of Germany). Hannelore was sick due to an allergy she had to light, which only permitted her to leave at night. Due to her unfortunate state of health, she decided to voluntarily end her own life”, an announcement from Kohl's office stated. The couple had just celebrated their 41st anniversary.
The poems of Hannelore Kohl
I
Sleepwalking I stumble
over the doormat,
gnawed by the
Afghan
-a gift from Chirac-
outside the shouts
become deceivingly
mixed up with
the strict fragrance
of the vegetable stew
prepared by Clara,
born in the Black Forest,
“La Selva Negra”
as she likes to say
to my small bilingual
grandson.
“We have built a wall around
the house for you
Hannelore”
She repeats it to me
like that
everyday
the good in Helmut,
eaten away by the
high flown politics
of Europe and
their palatial schemes.
I wander through the
house
hassled by the
light,
or rather,
by the leaks.
The light is unpredictable,
seeping through everywhere.
Yesterday we had to
cover up the first aid cupboard
there was a small
crack
through which the
Ludwigshafen sun seeped through
a summer sun
direct and fatal
such as my
herr doktor
usually tells me.
II
Figurehead
and black glasses.
Lethal puzzle
spreads the litany
of the light's
stabbing pain.
Taking refuge in the
anti-missile shelter,
I remember past wars
and warnings of the future.
Even against the
maxim of the lucky priest.
fast
fast
more silence,
more darkness.
III
Suspended
the incessant
synesthetic
murmur,
tosses from above
the vision
clouded
by feeble conjectures.
This tunnel
that is my house,
these eyes that
investigate the
chromatic subtlety of
the night
-her only repose-
this madness,
that flashes
before the deadly
arrival
of
dawn.
IV
I expel
chromatic memories
tactile and nocturnal
that's how he likes
me.
V
41 years
I will stop myself there
to make a toast with the
strange
golem
of light
Anniversary
for the improvised
blind
I've already died
for the radiant
day,
I live on in
the night owl
cadaver
of the roses.
*Poem translated from the Spanish by Andrés Alfaro