The last letter of Rolando Cárdenas red & Postal letter by Jorge Teillier to Ramón Díaz Eterovic

The last letter of Rolando Cardinal red
BITTER IT IS MY WINE, OLD JORGE

The 21 of October of 1990, Rolando poet Cardinal red died sad and solitary in his small department of the street Flag. Its affective and material situation had touched bottom and while it drank its bitterer wine wrote the one that would be its last letter, directed to Jorge Aravena Llanca, writer, photographer and singer with residence in Berlin. To them it united a past of strong friendship, next to Jorge Teillier and Juan Guzmán Walls, among other poets and writers who occurred to know in the Sixties.
The letter, dated in October of 1990, and that arrived at its destiny after the death from Cardinal red, reunites to the pain and the hope of Cardinal red. Pain by its broken health, the recent death of its companion of a whole life and by the dark horizon that watched it. Hope in which it was his greater strength, the poetry, and in a last book "Vast Empires" that did not get to see published in life and only years later "Complete Work" was gathered in the Publishing book published by Mosquito.

The last letter of Rolando Cardinal red comprises of a book prepared by Jorge Aravena and this is the first time that is published, constituting a heartrendering testimony of life and poetic consequence.

Dear buddy Jorge:

After as much time, I hope that these lines are not strange to you much, because it is always the memory for the absent friends, and first who I hope it is that you are in company of your family and other faces for you well, and these good news and of the others find the destiny of your direction if it is that she has not changed. I will begin by good notes. I finish giving by these days a last poetry text and that can be soon circulating in one dupla with your compadre Jorge. The titles would be Vast Empires, mine, and Hotel Cloud, the one of vate and that could constitute a good adventure for both, because the time finishes to us and always they pass things. It lives in the field, near Santiago, it comes by days and it returns to the Ligua. Its health, like mine, with low stops and, because we are like monkeys of porfiados for copetes. I was (I am) enough patient almost of year beginnings, without being able to work and with the caresses of the sparing one, although slowly I have been recovered with the arrival of the good time and seemed that step another winter, and now that I am single, because darte is inevitable not the news of the death of my dear Eliana companion, recently more of a month, after a very sudden and painful disease, of stomach type, between a day Saturday and a Sunday, before my impotence by not being able to make nothing both, and single. He was terrible for me, and he is more terrible to still forget this. Incinerated, their ashes are in Temuco. We did not wait for this so ferocious outcome.

And here you have to me, delivering attacks to superpose to me of my mood, of my health, more shaking by all this and full of debts by the mantención of the department, and the others, that arrive in these circumstances. A not at all placentero panorama. For that reason, these lines, to resort to your generous aid of always and with this same intention, I am writing to Gabriel Bar, reason why it is possible to be done meanwhile changes the situation. I trust and I know that it is possible to trust you, like other times. It did not do it if not outside by these emergencies, but I dare by the old friendship that unites to us. I know of your affection reason why it was the Nana and by me, and considering this it is that I expose all the previous one with all its sad reality. I know, in addition that you will say "to force canejo to me" and is what one is due to do, in my case. The grace is in removing that force from some side, and if no, it will be necessary to invent it. Bitter it is my wine, old Jorge, but we are exposed to this. Bitter and everything, I will remember to you and I will remember it in this glass. I wait for your news and your words that always have been reconfortantes, like your friendship. It embraces to you like always, Rolando.

P.D. Greetings of both kittens that I have left and that eat more than I. That way, it will arrive to you exemplary from announced publications.

October, 1990.

POSTAL LETTER SENT BY JORGE TEILLIER To RAMON DIAZ ETEROVIC

Mill of the Talent, February, I create, of 1893 (I am safe).

Considered seeking of Cofre of That Dead:

As contralor of the Small Union Steamer of the P.S.N.C. I must communicate my excuses by the inasistencia to navigations and returns to him of the crew. I have been left in this inhospitable place by the Sarolímido and its spacecraft.
The bar of the Ligua is called "Ex- - Radical". In Town hall the brothels are called pension. There is one each average block. Trains do not arrive nowhere. The inhabitants of this planet never read the "Stage".
Greetings to the cabin boy Ruiz, tenebrous doctor Stern, Toti "Coipo" Spain, to the Imbunche, Rojas-Bobo or Lobo, to Must and to the Salary.

Jorge.

PS: If they call to me of Ercilla or Annie, that I wrote, I am alive, I hope to return. Thanks.