Cuban poet and editor Teresa Melo, born in Santiago de Cuba on October 21, 1961, died at the age of 61. Graduated in Philosophy from the University of Havana, she stood out in the 1980s.
His published books include Stephanie’s book (1990), the wine of error (1998), I did not want to be queen (2001), Daniela’s world (2002), the late hours (2003).
She was director of Ediciones Santiago; director of the magazine domes of the Instituto Superior de Arte (ISA) and also a member of the Editorial Board of the magazine Sic from Editorial Oriente. He was also a member of the Editorial Board of Bearded Caiman and of The Jiribilla.
He was part of different juries in contests and awards such as the Loynaz, the one of the Magazine Revolution and Culture, the City of Santiago Award, Seven first villas, Botti, Award of The Cuban Gazette, José María Heredia Award, El Caimán Barbudo Award, Nicolás Guillén National Award.
Likewise, throughout his life he received several awards, such as a mention in the David Award in 1988, the Critics Award in 1999 and 2004, the Nicolás Guillén National Award in 2003, the Distinction for National Culture in 2002 and the Order for the National Culture granted by the Council of State, in 2014.
His texts were collected in anthologies such as they tread the grass (1988), unfaithful poetry (1989), group portrait (1989), J.playing forbidden games (1990), the whole island (nineteen ninety five), Brothers (1997), The turn and the transition. Latin American poetry of the 21st century (1997), where the body ends (1998), woman inside (2000), The house moves (2001), incessant rumor (2002) and hurt by light (2003).
the late hours
On my father’s day he whispered in my ear:
Be careful, it’s my heart
Louis Armstrong dictated in the ear
what never sang
Another perfect man was his owner.
Singers, soldiers, they no longer live here.
Live Daniela/
The eternal return of the song that asks
take care of my heart of heights and cement.
And luckily I take care.
Very light is the luck to which I give memory.
My daughter. Be free
love with hope / with naivety.
A cup of tea I started drinking years ago
And long ago I stirred the trembling flesh
that I would have tea. …..Since that tremor
I wrote, I wrote:
now I count the words
that remain uncontaminated.
Inside of me…..the twenty-third floor…..the school
the falling heart,
You are that unfragmented body….. intact.
My daughter…..I am free
I love you with hope / with naivety.
Stay close to sunset:
who fragments and dissects it
Can’t make the sun go down for you
who dissects the word
it cannot make you vibrate with any word.
That I give you…..the sunsets that were
the about me
the ones that will disturb and calm you
and this uncontaminated word
so that you drink it with fruition
like the milk of late hours
cradle, learn and chew
and make light for you….. in the violet hour
When the sun goes down on me
oh sea oh sea
Falls in the October light
the dust that the bodies out there give off.
From the light the humidity falls to the chest
where I drink —as if I could— with feracity.
The hand falls and moves away….. slight gesture and firm
turn away bowed head / desire.
Unrepeatable lightning
diverted from the skin to the ironic mouth.
Modulates sentences…..letters that fall into the air
and only there do they gather with reluctance.
It would fall under the cracked order of Barroso
dance/ said….. in this bitter trova
dance from yesterday until the night that will fall.
You need to fall into the abyss of others
when you fall under the sniper finger.
oh sea oh sea
if you returned what falls to you
oh sea oh sea
give me back.
The poem
In my Gardens, Noel
heroes do not graze. soft animals
break down those limits
and from there they go out to eat what you see and I am
seasoned by the salty air.
The wild animal comes to eat.
The pet comes to eat.
It separates one and the other [leve] his voracity.
I don’t know what will separate me from both.
Arborescent is also the mouth with which I feed
from my own garden.
where i am solid ground
elastic bridges support my weight.
I cross those bridges grasping the idea of you:
Holding on to the idea of you I will not fall into the abyss of the trees
………………………….…… /stalking
those who will not give me their protective shadow.
Under this fixed sky I put my liquid house:
I cross his body like the body of men
path of mortality.
Under the sky that passes the trembling bridges
the double lightness: grasping the idea of you
to my gardens, Noel
where I feed the rumorous beast and take care of the dream
of the house animal/ under no sky.
