"Tatuado con la tinta imborrable del sonámbulo"

In some of the outdoor covered hallways between buildings at the Universidad Central de Venezuela, you'll find stretches of book and CD vendors at portable stalls. My father says they've been in that spot at least since he studied at UCV in the early 1960s. Among the books I've found there, these two were the most thrilling:

Juan Sánchez Peláez, Poesía 1951-1981 (Monte Ávila Editores, 1984).
Rosamel del Valle, Antología (Monte Ávila Editores, 1976).

The 1984 edition of Sánchez Peláez's collected poems has a deep brown paperback cover and, next to the title page, a photo of the author in oversized 1970s glasses and a wide tie, looking down at something on his desk. This edition also has a great introduction by Adriano González León, who writes:

"Se trata de una brusca irrupción de precisiones, de texturas desdeñosas, elocuentes en el freno y el cincel, a veces frías por el mucho cernir las palabras; por fortuna hay un tono, una obsesión que siempre se abre paso. Vuelve la constante herida de la muerte y el amor, regresan las visiones, se hace presente el descarrío verbal, porque las palabras, según dice espectacularmente el poeta, 'suenan como animales de oro.' "

A story I've heard from a friend about Sánchez Peláez is that he was trying to find as many copies as he could of this edition of his collected poems so he could destroy them. Supposedly, after the 1994 edition had come out, he'd noticed various mistakes in the earlier edition and wanted to ensure those didn't remain archived. I don't know how many copies of that edition (3,000 were printed) he was able to destroy. But this one was saved and ended up at one of the bookstalls, where I was lucky enough to find it.

The second book was edited by Sánchez Peláez the year I arrived in Venezuela from the US. The same year my brother was born in Caracas. The copy I have is in excellent condition and includes a great selection from the Chilean poet, ranging from his early book Mirador (1926) to poems he wrote in New York City and back in Chile before his death in 1965.

I hadn't read his work before finding this edition, though I'd heard of him through reading Sánchez Peláez, who uses two of his lines as an epigraph to his third book Filiación oscura (1966). I rarely see Rosamel del Valle mentioned in relation to Chilean poetry. Overshadowed by the often dull Neruda, I suppose. But the secret poets are so much better anyways.

Here's part III of his poem "Cánticos," from El corazón escrito (1960):

"Luz del verano dormida entre mis dedos
Viva en mí y muerta en mí
Y rosario del santo temeroso del milagro
Un pájaro en vigilia en el nido de este cuerpo
Tatuado con la tinta imborrable del sonámbulo
Deshecho en cada sueño mas despierto en tu oído
Como el amor que lleva en un cesto las catástrofes
Porque tu sonrisa es la sonriente cicatriz que te hizo el ángel
Y arrojada estás en mi pequeña eternidad
Por una hora y otra hora y un siglo y otro siglo
Cada día recibida y amada cada día
Por el fuego de mi palabra ardiente y sin origen"