Bread

Xavier Valcárcel de Jesús
Translated from the Spanish by Roque Raquel Salas Rivera

Last night I dreamt I’d writtenthe word bread four hundred timesand then I sang breadfour hundred times out loudlike a mantrawhile through the windowcame the first gusts of a great waveI’ve dreamt far overfour hundred timessince childhood.I think bread strives to become a recurrent dreamand I don’t understand whygiven that men don’t live off bread aloneeven though the truth is bread, according to Maraand Roque Dalton wrotepoetry is like breadand Matos Paoli said bread is collectiveand Mussolinithou shalt not waste breadhonor thy breadrespect the breadand Neruda said bread for the mouthof each manevery dayand Carême said bread, a lonely boyand Marigloria ¿Hard bread? Yesterday it was softand thus spokeGarcía Lorca and Lima and Ramos Otero and T.S. EliotEl arcipreste, the Romancero historiadomy mother, my grandmother, Patricia, my auntRubénand so many othersthat I wonder if I’ve become deliriouswith the anxiety of hungeron a long, loverless nightor if something in me, I can’t comprehendhas something it keeps trying to say. PanSoñé anoche que había escritocuatrocientas veces pany que luego canté pancuatrocientas veces en voz altacomo un mantramientras por la ventanaentraban las primeras ráfagas de la gran olacon la que he soñado mucho másde cuatrocientas vecesdesde niño.Creo que el pan quiere volverse un sueño recurrentey no lo entiendoporque no sólo del pan viven los hombresaunque la verdad es pan, según ha escrito Maray Roque Dalton haya escritola poesía es como el pany Matos Paoli el pan es para todosy Mussolinino derrochéis el panhonrad el panrespetad el pany Neruda el pan de cada bocade cada hombreen cada díay Carême el pan, un niño soloy Marigloria ¿Pan duro? Ayer fue blando y asíGarcía Lorca y Lima y Ramos Otero y T.S. EliotEl arcipreste, el Romancero historiadomi madre, mi abuela, Patricia, mi tíaRubény tanta gente másque no sé si estoy entrando en el delirioen la ansiedad del hambreen una larga noche sin amanteso si algo de mí, que no me explicoquiere decirme algo.

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Color headshot of a smiling Xavier Valcárcel de Jesús

Xavier Valcárcel de Jesús (San Juan, 1985) is a Puerto Rican writer, visual artist, and cultural activist. Along with Puerto Rican poet and translator Nicole Cecilia Delgado, he founded Atarraya Cartonera (San Juan, 2009), the first Cartonera project in the Caribbean. He has published eight books of poetry: Cama onda (2007), Anzuelos y carnadas (2009), Palo de lluvia (2010), Restos de lumbre y despedida (2012), El deber del pan (2013), Fe de calendario (2016), Helio (2022) and Quise beber morir soñando (2024); as well as the crónica Aterrizar no es regreso (2019), and the novel Los nidos (2025). His work has been translated into English, German, and Portuguese. In 2021, he became one of the inaugural recipients of the Letras Boricuas Fellowship, granted by The Mellon Foundation and the Flamboyán Foundation’s Art Fund.

Color headshot of Roque Raquel Salas Rivera
Photo:
German Ayala Vázquez

Roque Raquel Salas Rivera (Mayagüez, 1985) is a poet, editor, educator, and translator of trans experience. His honors include being named Poet Laureate of Philadelphia, the Premio Nuevas Voces, two Lambda literary awards, and the inaugural Ambroggio Prize. The Rust of History (Circumference Books, 2022), his translation of poetry by Sotero Rivera Avilés, was longlisted for ALTA’s National Translation Award. Other translation projects include Hijas de América Latina (Ed. Sandra Guzmán, HarperCollins Español, 2023), Deudas coloniales: el caso de Puerto Rico (Rocío Zambrana, Editora Educación Emergente, 2022), and animal fiero y tierno/fierce and tender animal (Ángela María Dávila, CENTRO, 2024).

A concentrated and intense serial poem, Anthem of Evaporated Tears (El deber del pan) exemplifies the poetics of the elemental that characterizes Xavier Valcárcel's work, this time focusing on the generative qualities of fire's most destructive potentialities. Inspired by Virgil's Aeneid, the collection turns to face the violence at the heart of domesticity and gender, which is reconfigured by the poetic voice and his mother. Their mutual disillusionment with men frees neither of their responsibilities, as they attempt to flee a home in flames by going on vacation to another Caribbean island. Far from their daily labors, they are forced to turn back and look at the ashes of the home they left in their wake, in order to make sense of the totalizing potential they have nurtured together. Bread, oversignified by literature and history, is a product of both care and gendered labor and, like the violence that forges it, becomes invisible through repetition. Valcárcel breaks down the base materials for its creation, adding his own grief, his mother’s, and the final ingredient: fire. This bilingual edition, translated by Roque Raquel Salas Rivera, breathes new life into a contemporary Puerto Rican classic.

"Xavier Valcárcel’s El deber del pan struck me with full force upon publication—“changed” feels far too slight. Like many, I came to read it as a testament to a life lived and a life still living and set ablaze by our own conflagrations. In the conspiracy of translation, Roque Raquel Salas Rivera kneads Valcárcel’s violence and tenderness, its intimacy and flight, extending the book’s position as an indelible landmark in our literature. It sings with generous compassion, in English as it does in Spanish—not only with fealty, but with profound care. Here is the work of our hands, which nourishes us and must continue to feed. This book is sustenance and provocation, opening our eyes to the tender, brutal realities we carry within us, and through which we are made."
—Ricardo Alberto Maldonado, author of The Life Assignment

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