lunes, 9 de noviembre de 2015



Arte desalmado

Arte binario composición difícil es:
faltan ganas, humor, imprecisión.
Jamás kamikaze logró matar naturaleza.
Ñoñerías ¿O pudiera quizás 
resultar sabia tanta uniformidad? 
Vanidad. Waterloo. Xilófono ya zurrado.

 Decretan área protegida

Arena brumosa calcinada, 
desierto era fugaz gloria húmeda. 
Impecable jardín kaki, lo mantenían nobles ñus.
Otrora pastizal, quemado, ronda solitaria tortuga.
Ucase voraz, wagneriano, xilófago. Yace zoológico. 

Miércoles de tianguis

Abalorio brillante, 
colores despliega este frutal glosario. 
Hoy incluye:
jícamas, kiwis, limas, manzanas, naranjas ñublenses.
¡Oh, peras queretanas, rojas sandías!
También uvas variedad Weisser, xocolatl y zapotes. 

Mundo Mundial

Atención: bien colocado disparo,
esquina, fulminante ¡gooool!
Histéricos individuos jubilosos: 
Mire nadamás, ¡ñáñaras, otro penalti! 
¿Quién resultará seleccionado?
¡Tendremos una victoria! 
¡whisky, Xiomara! ¡ya zumbamos!

Inmigrantes atienden en el hospital.

Amorfo, brutal cáncer diabólico
el flácido grasor humano invade: 
¡jodido karma!
Lonjas, manteca, nodos ñudosos, oprobiosos,
protuberantes quistes rotundos.
Saluda, tómate un vistazo, 
Whitney xenófoba y zafia. 

El reto de la ociosidad

Ah, bien. Consideras demasiado estéril fabular
garabatos hilándolos inteligiblemente, juntando kafkianas
líneas malabáricas. Nada ñengue: obtén párrafos 
que reúnan sin trabajos urólogo versus wolframio, 
Xalapa y Zacatecas.   

domingo, 1 de noviembre de 2015




                                                           LA TERRAZA                                                           

                                          hacia el mediodía   un retoño de luz
              entroniza su cuerpo de pan dorado   sobre la terraza que da a mi ventana  
                                  como una copa alzada   marca su silueta
                       sobre el pasto seco del deseo   ella se acuesta desnuda
                                    comienza un incendio   sabe que la miro pero no le importa
                           una campana toca a rebato   una campana toca a rebato
              sabe que la miro pero no le importa   comienza un incendio
                                ella se acuesta desnuda   sobre el pasto seco del deseo
                                             marca su silueta   como una copa alzada
             sobre la terraza que da a mi ventana   entroniza su cuerpo de pan dorado
                                              un retoño de luz   hacia el mediodía

                                                         THE TERRACE

                                                                      around noon   a sprout of light
     as she enthrones her golden-wheat body   on the terrace overlooking my window
                                          like a raised glass   her silhouette drawn
                              on the dry grass of desire   she lies naked
                                             a fire breaks out   she knows I watch her but she doesn’t mind
                                   a bell calling the alarm   a bell calling the alarm
 she knows I watch her but she doesn’t mind   a fire breaks out
                                                she lies naked   on the dry grass of desire
                                       her silhouette drawn   like a raised glass
           on the terrace overlooking my window   as she enthrones her golden-wheat body
                                               a sprout of light   around noon

Roberto Mendoza Ayala

New York, October 2015

martes, 15 de septiembre de 2015



Al vulgo y su lenguaje restaurados
exhibe una italiana fortaleza:
relata sus batallas y proezas
ejército de fórmicos soldados.

Doctores con pincel han aliviado
letargo secular de una princesa,
suturan a un abad en la cabeza,
esfuman palidez del rostro ajado.

Estrenan brillos bajo temples nuevos 
los áuricos legajos de Toscana,
su piel rezuma lavanda fragante,

la luz de Siena cruza la ventana:
relámpago vitral del medioevo
un león solar irrumpe en los estantes.

Roberto Mendoza Ayala

(A partir de una visita al antiguo 
archivo municipal de Siena)
Fotografía:  Roberto Mendoza A.
Siena-New York 2015

jueves, 6 de agosto de 2015

THE HANDMAID'S TALE. The sterility of ideologies

The Handmaid's Tale was first published in 1985, when the United States began debating on the inclusion of Christian creationism in educational programs, which was legally banned in 2005.

Margaret Atwood created a "contemporary" fiction that takes place on the border between Canada and the United States, countries included in a post-apocalyptic totalitarian nation ruled by an elite whose ideology is a mixture of the worst religious and political aberrations. In the imaginary world of Gilead, critical thought is suppressed in favor of a fanatical religiousness that permeates, corrupts, explains and justifies everything. With this literary exercise, the author is answering the question "What would happen if ...?"

Through the testimony of her female character Offred, the author reveals to the reader the inner thoughts and reflections of a woman subjected to the rule of Gilead, dominated by a male militia, —although socially it claims itself matriarcal—, where in prevails a twisted Christian religiosity.

At permanent war against an elusive enemy, —perhaps a mere instrument of propaganda and nationalist cohesion through fear—, the people of Gilead also face reproductive problems as a result of chemical and environmental abuses in the past, which almost led to the extinction of human race.

The regime has taken charge through an oppressive and hypocritical speech, and uses biblical passages to justify the abuses to which women are subjected —in the case of Offred, she is considered only as a surrogate belly—, as they are selected, used and discarded in exchange for some basic privileges and rights, including the right to life.

In a tangential and elliptical way, with successive approximations from the story of the vicissitudes of her condition —little by little we are finding out how she came to this point—, Offred describes the uses and customs of such an aggressive world not far from possible existence, since it is an excruciating reality, for example, in regions currently controlled by fundamentalist Muslim militias.

This stifling fantasy includes premonitions such as the replacement of money by electronic money (our current "bitcoin"), the 2008 global financial crisis, and the international rise of religious militias searching for their own geographical territory, claiming without blushing the regression of humankind to medieval stadiums.

Perhaps because of the latter, Margaret Atwood locates the residence of Commander Frederick —to whom Offred is assigned (“Of Fred", owned by Fred)—, in a former university campus stripped of its essence, that is, without the meaningful knowledge of its books. The books have been banned and burned. The new generations of women are not taught to read and even the shop signs are replaced by elementary graphics to avoid the use of written language. We have seen this before.

The language of the novel is introspective and poetic, full of metaphors and literary games:

"The newspaper stories were like dreams to us, bad dreams dreamt by others (...) We lived in the gaps between the stories", or:

"I threw the magazine into the flames. It riffled open in the wind of its burning; big flakes of paper came loose, sailed the air, still on fire, parts of women's bodies, turning to black ash, in the air, before my eyes. "

There is an intention of literature into literature that transpires in many places along the novel, such as when the time of the narration moves backward or forward at the protagonist’s discretion, or when suddenly she interrupts and decides that "I'm not going to keep talking about this ". Or when, at the middle of some episode, in an apparent change of decision both from the author and her character, she turns back from what is saying and tells us: “I made that up. It didn’t happen that way. Here is what happened.” And begins to tell the “true” story.

These resources complement the ironic character of the novel, since in our orderly Western civilization we are apparently far from what is described herein; but it could happen by simply changing the order of the elements we have at hand in our democracies, or by taking wrong decisions that will make us glide toward a collective disaster where our values ​​and our most lucid "liberal" convictions are going to be suddenly challenged and removed.

There are some inconsistencies of time in the novel, which have something to do with the age of the protagonist: the time she spent confined in training, the duration of the regime, the absurdly distant memories for a thirty-something —we assume that she is in full reproductive age—. But still this lack of clarity contributes to the grayness of the atmosphere of domination in which the main character moves.

More than a feminist claim, The Handmaid's Tale is a reflection about the risks of ideological and human degradation that face our current developed nations, and is also an essay which demonstrates the closeness and interchangeability between political and religious beliefs, as happened in the first half of the twentieth century in the countries under fascist and communist regimes: the author highlights the existence among us of the seeds of evil that at any time can become carnivorous plants.

In the end, in a "universitary" disquisition, Atwood gives homage to their favorite authors while mocking academic solemnities, and provides an overview of the "historical" context of the novel through an alleged archaeological and hemerographic search held 200 years later, which gives answers to most of the questions that readers have at the end of what they learn is not a diary or a manuscript, but the transcription of a series of cassette recordings found in an excavation.

As in a game, Atwood leaves for the diligent reader a last enigma to solve or discuss —perhaps the necessary clues are in the book—, in trying to find the true name of Offred.

Roberto Mendoza Ayala
New York City

August 5th, 2015

martes, 4 de agosto de 2015



Una gota, una perla 
desprendida del marino abalorio
viaja montada en los corceles del aire,
encuentra a una mujer que ve
en las cambiantes volutas
la metáfora de su vida nómada.

Su cabello es catedral de vientos
que desnudan dudas y preguntas.

Las pupilas acuosas se rebelan contra los recuerdos:
en los mundos de sus ojos hay crestas y abismos,
corrientes poderosas que avisan
de inminentes naufragios.

En un destello del cielo
la tenue esfera 
vuela sobre las turbias aguas
y apunta hacia las dianas de miel oscurecida. 

La diáfana flecha yerra el blanco
y moja el rostro de Chalchiuhtlicue* provocando
el súbito desborde de un cauce
largamente contenido.

*Diosa azteca de los lagos y corrientes de agua.


A drop, a pearl
released from the marine necklace
travels riding on air steeds,
finds a woman who sees
in the changing clouds
the metaphor of her nomadic life.

Her hair is a cathedral of winds
that undress doubts and questions.

The aqueous pupils rebel against memories:
in the worlds of her eyes there are crests and abysses,
powerful currents that warn
of imminent shipwrecks.

In a flash of the sky
the tenuous sphere
flies over murky waters
and points to the targets of darkened honey.

The transparent arrow misses the mark
and wets the face of Chalchiuhtlicue * causing
the sudden overflow of a stream
restrained from long ago.
  • Aztec goddess of lakes and streams.

martes, 9 de junio de 2015


A bilingual anthology of the poetry of Mexico City and New York City

Despite the birth of cyberspace, New York City is a place where the coordinates of the global artistic community physically intersect. The city of Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs, Vasconcelos, de la Cabada and many others is still alive even with its rapid gentrification.

For example, thanks to people like Rosalind Resnick, who generously hosts in her townhouse of Greenwich Village, a poetry group named “The Poetry Table,” the literary life is nurtured within the larger setting of the City. 

Through the weekly meetings of this group I spent a year exchanging ideas, listening to, writing and reading poems, both in Spanish and English. However, with the support of my friends from years ago – magnificent poets whom I meet every time I travel to Mexico City – I have kept myself in close contact with my native language, as well as with the literary facts of the city where I grew up. Very soon from that creative interaction among poets of both cities came the idea for this anthology.

From Neza York to New York is an attempt to open a megaphone for the work of twenty-five writers from Mexico City and New York City. Twenty-five paths filled with intuitions and genuine literary findings. It honors those who preceded us in this kind of cultural calling, inspired by the geographic proximity of our countries and by our two increasingly connected cities.

This volume includes samples of many kinds of poetry. It is not generational or an anthology of one specific movement. It is a meet-up of present-day artists: incidental, random and even chaotic, if you will, but as rich as the exact words in a poem.

This book was published in Mexico City by Cofradía de Coyotes, directed by Eduardo Villegas Guevara. In the cover it shows a beautiful artwork by Jack Tricarico, and in the inside it has two magnificent digital art pieces by the Mexican artist Alonso Venegas.

In the pages of this anthology the poems are presented in their original languages with their respective translations into English or Spanish, as in a mirror. Photographs and bios of the authors are also included. 

The New York City writers included in this anthology are: Mary Askin-Jencsik, Lord Bison, Stephen Bluestone, Hannah Cerasoli, Claire Fitzpatrick, Arthur Gatti, Gordon Gilbert, Robert Givens, Evie Ivy, Rosalind Resnick, Griselda Steiner and Jack Tricarico.

From Mexico City: Félix Cardoso, Raúl Casamadrid, Leopoldo González, María Ángeles Juárez Téllez, Roberto Mendoza Ayala, Víctor M. Navarro, Alejandro Reyes Juárez, Iliana Rodríguez, Rolando Rosas Galicia, Arturo Trejo Villafuerte, Aura María Vidales, Guadalupe Vidales and Eduardo Villegas Guevara.

I want to thank my friend, poet and professor emeritus Stephen Bluestone, for the time he spent with me discussing my translations into English and reviewing the final proofs of this book. He helped me understand much about New York City and its poetry, in particular, and North America in general. 

I also want to thank the talented writers Art Gatti, Gordon Gilbert and Evie Ivy, who gave me numerous hints for the equivalences of meanings in both languages. They reviewed my English translations and made many helpful suggestions.

After countless vicissitudes unworthy of the treaty of free transit of goods between Mexico and the United States, copies of this edition -which is already circulating in some bookstores in Mexico City-, have finally arrived to New York City. From this same week they can be requested from the authors themselves, and soon in local bookstores, or can be requested directly by e-mail:


Una antología bilingüe de poesía de la Ciudad de México y la Ciudad de Nueva York

No obstante el surgimiento del ciberespacio, Nueva York sigue siendo el lugar donde se intersectan físicamente las coordenadas de la comunidad artística global. La Ciudad de Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs, Vasconcelos, de la Cabada y muchos otros, aún subsiste a pesar del acelerado fenómeno de la “gentrificación”. 

Gracias a personas como la periodista Rosalind Resnick, quien cada semana generosamente acoge en su casa de Greenwich Village a un grupo denominado “The Poetry Table” (Mesa de Poesía), la vida literaria se nutre en el grandioso entorno de esta Ciudad. 

En estos encuentros semanales, pasé este último año intercambiando ideas, escuchando, leyendo y escribiendo poemas tanto en inglés como en español. Sin embargo, gracias a mis amigos de hace años – magníficos poetas con quienes me reúno cada vez que viajo a la Ciudad de México – he podido mantener el contacto con mi lengua nativa y con el quehacer literario del lugar donde me formé. Muy pronto, de la interacción creativa entre poetas de ambas ciudades fue que surgió la idea de esta antología.

De Neza York a Nueva York es un intento por abrir un megáfono para la poesía de veinticinco escritores de la Ciudad de México y la Ciudad de Nueva York. Veinticinco rutas plenas de intuición y de hallazgos literarios genuinos. Hace honor a aquellos que nos precedieron en esta clase de vocación cultural, inspirados por la cercanía geográfica de nuestros países y por nuestras cada vez mejor conectadas ciudades.

Este volumen presenta una muestra de varias clases de poesía. No es generacional, ni tampoco es la antología de un movimiento específico. Es un encuentro de artistas contemporáneos: casual, azaroso y hasta caótico si se quiere, pero afortunado como las palabras exactas de un poema.

El libro, publicado en la Ciudad de México por la Editorial Cofradía de Coyotes a cargo de Eduardo Villegas Guevara, presenta en la portada una hermosa ilustración del artista norteamericano Jack Tricarico, así como en el interior dos magníficas ilustraciones del artista mexicano Alonso Venegas.

En sus páginas los poemas se presentan en su idioma original con la correspondiente traducción al inglés o al español, en versión de espejo. Se incluyen asimismo, fotografía y una semblanza biográfica de cada uno de los escritores.

Los escritores de la Ciudad de Nueva York participantes en esta antología son: Mary Askin-Jencsik, Lord Bison, Stephen Bluestone, Hannah Cerasoli, Claire Fitzpatrick, Arthur Gatti, Gordon Gilbert, Robert Givens, Evie Ivy, Rosalind Resnick, Griselda Steiner y Jack Tricarico.

De la Ciudad de México: Félix Cardoso, Raúl Casamadrid, Leopoldo González, María Ángeles Juárez Téllez, Roberto Mendoza Ayala, Víctor M. Navarro, Alejandro Reyes Juárez, Iliana Rodríguez, Rolando Rosas Galicia, Arturo Trejo Villafuerte, Aura María Vidales, Guadalupe Vidales y Eduardo Villegas Guevara.

Quiero agradecer a mi amigo el poeta y profesor emérito Stephen Bluestone, por el tiempo que invirtió conmigo discutiendo mis traducciones al inglés y revisando minuciosamente las pruebas finales. Él me ayudó a entender mucho de la poesía de Nueva York en particular, y de Norteamérica en general. 

También quiero dar las gracias a los talentosos escritores Art Gatti, Gordon Gilbert e Evie Ivy, quienes me dieron numerosos indicios para las equivalencias de significados en ambos idiomas. Ellos revisaron mis traducciones al inglés, y me hicieron muchas valiosas sugerencias.

Luego de incontables vicisitudes aduanales no dignas del supuesto libre tránsito de mercancías entre México y los Estados Unidos de Norteamérica, ejemplares de esta edición -que ya circula en algunas librerías de la Ciudad de México- llegan por fin a la Ciudad de Nueva York, donde a partir de esta semana podrán ser conseguidos a través de los propios autores, próximamente también en librerías locales, o bien pueden ser solicitados directamente al correo electrónico: