José Emilio Pacheco

It was before and regardless of that sweet and sad poem by Julio Florez which stated: "glory, that nymph of fortune/only dances over ancient graves", that we noticed how the death of artists is somehow balanced by a renovated interest on their work. In fact, it is so obvious that there´s no one left to point it out, not to say someone who opposes to such a trend. Not even this blog makes a difference by publishing living and poor poets.

But there are some other blogs and institutions that may have been involved in a much worse case of necrophilia. La Grulla de Hermes, for instance, seems to be fully devoted to produce a zombie crisis, since it shakes its wings almost exclusively to promote recently dead writers. Furthermore, it has just landed on José Emilio´s shoulder like an ominous bird, while he´s sick, who knows if seriously.

Now, if I was him, I would be in panic.

Well, lets translate one or two of his poems. Just in case. (Born in Mexico in 1939)