In memory of Dr. Herman Moreno.
Photo: Juan Rengifo / Courtesy
What can explain this departure?
When one of the gears of the Deus ex Machina stops working, the scaffolding of life stops. The literary resource is not enough to avoid a game, many games. We can only imagine the mad scientist, the poet, as that son of Apollo, slipping away to do tricks to the Charon who watches over, and thus be able to steal the verses that Lezama Lima left, by oblivion, in his boat.
I am accompanied by Mahler and his fifth symphony, the same one that perhaps will illuminate part of your new path; the continuation will be illuminated by your own glow. Brightness of man-understood of the arts and the deepest human impulses, that with elemental lightness you shared with us. Shine as a man, as a boy from Cuba, Pereira, Santa Rosa, Dosquebradas, as well as Bogotá, Plaza del Che or the hospital where you saved some ungrateful former president. Whitmanian poet and seducer, universal, New Yorker with an Arhuacan backpack and an Otavaleño hat. Master of generations who walked on the shoulders of giants, to give yourself at every step in love, knowledge and solidarity. Impatient and baroque farmer of Putumayo landscapes, clay and pre-Columbian silhouettes. Rimador of the best biophysical bucolic, of thunderous odes and of mysterious receivers, tiny channels and neuro-transmitters; under the giggling influence of a glass of Chateau Margaux in a café on the outskirts of Paris, they will say that they saw you holding a Barolo of medium hair in a square in Saint Petersburg. Sharing, without fear, like Prometheus, the fire of the intimate secrets of human nature … and of squids. It is not a figure. It’s a question of synapses.
Which of your experiments does this new discourse belong to?
Doctor, “save yourself” shouted silently those of us who enjoy your company and today, despite the insults, we miss you, insisting on meeting, without knowing about your hardships and “moving forward notebooks”; to return the shoes that were not their own or to play without cheating, a tennis match. Thank you for your generosity to the world. Greetings to our common and healthy.
There are many dictionaries missing to make your memory, some have not been written, but all the irreverence will come to celebrate you, partner. Poetry, painting, theater and suddenly a caricature of Naide will come. Make sure you carry the card of your youth cut off, in your back pocket, the one with the red scarf and the black comb, the one for congress cocktails, classes, conferences, posters, and endless shifts.
There are no longer beepers, phone prescriptions, or after-hours visits. As you used to say, you have gone ‘to another place, now that we were so good’, if such vulgarity can be affirmed. May that peace inspire you and provoke us new verses, essays, stories; I hope then, in that new space, you will come up with a new ‘grant’ to influence the changes that this species so badly needs, forgotten by the hand of its creator.
At this point you can hear the gear of the machine running its course again. I hear screams of parents looking for their children among the victims.
Man of so much honey and so little measure!
This is where Mahler’s symphony ends. From now on, we go on our own. You bastards!
Like a triumphant Orpheus, and without a tip, Herman Moreno sings with his unmistakable stake.
Here I end, out of modesty. The rest is poetry. Sorry, Herman, brother, but I didn’t know.
About the Author
Ramiro Antonio Sandoval is a playwright and theater director. He is also a peace advisor for the Nation abroad — Americas, before the National Council for Peace, Reconciliation and Coexistence of Colombia.