Our first Poet of the People of 2024 is Jesus Rodondo Menendez.
Jesus is a dynamo. He immigrates to this country in his 40s, becomes a successful teacher, works on an advanced degree in school administration, navigates the waters of marriage and writes delightful poetry.
Jesús Redondo Menéndez was born and grew up in Spain, developing a love for books as tools of learning, and as open roads for his imagination. He graduated in Psychology, in his forties decided to move to the United States and started a career as an educator in South Carolina. Now, almost ten years later, he is finishing the process to become a school administrator. He deeply thanks America for this transformational change. Now and then he enjoys writing poetry and short fiction, and experiencing new places in the loving company of his wife and their four legged child, Chomsky
____
A belonging recipe: a bit of matter, time and self
I've sat on
the wooden bench
in front of the river...
Couldn't help but crying
and gasping,
overwhelmed by
the daunting sense
of belonging
to just the
intersection
of that moment,
that place,
and my most
intimate
and inner
self...
____
Bay of Dreams
There is a picture
I often like to revisit,
and truly enjoy to see,
one with my little dog
watching us
at the beach,
his defenseless back
pointing to the sea.
I called it Bay of Dreams,
because we always
pictured our hopes
somewhere overseas,
in a sort of secret place
where you could find them
guarded by him,
bathed and soothed
by the lullaby
of ocean beings.
But as it happens in every dream,
there are moments when
the bay turns into a tree,
and we, and our hopes,
are together,
embraced by its leaves.
There’s an uneasy sense
of uncertainty coloring the scene.
And we can see the cloud
that announces the storm,
and we can feel the strong
and chilly wind
as it starts shaking the tree.
And we see our hopes
falling to the ground,
as the cloud darkens,
as the wind blows,
as the leaves fly,
as our fear grows…
And we hold to each other
and to myself I keep
how much
I would like to believe
there is some purpose
above us
that is shaking
the tree.
_____
You make it easy (to Lola)
There are some days,
I have to say it,
I don’t want to leave
my bed,
‘cause there lays
everything that makes
me feel safe:
the woman that leads
my boat,
the pet that watches
my footsteps.
Life can be wonderful
you often can hear me say,
sometimes a little bitchy,
that I keep to myself,
but every morning
I walk to the mirror
tying my tie,
reminding to myself
who I am.
A person that may
stumble and fall,
but always stands up;
that may need to
try a thousand times,
but never gives up:
those and many more
are the things
that make me who I am.
And there’s no day
I don’t wonder where
you get your strength from,
how can you have
such a clear mind
to target all our goals,
I don’t mind confessing
something that I truly enjoy:
I’m still figuring you out,
because from all that breathes
in this world
you amaze me the most.
And I think to myself
that I don’t care whatever it takes,
I don’t need to know what it is,
it doesn’t matter the pain,
because you make it easy.
____
My people
My people dared me
to play kickball
so I told my people
I didn’t know the game.
My people raised eyebrows,
because, you know,
it seems that
my people know.
My people don’t know
that my people still
blame me for what
my people did
500 years ago,
while my people
celebrate
old fashioned speeches and parades.
My people know
my name when
I ask to close the check,
while my people
keep reminding me
that I am
just another guy
from 10 miles away.
My people invite me
to parties,
bridal and baby showers,
after work meetings
poetry readings,
and jazz,
while I know
about my people’s lives
on Facebook or Instagram.
My people ask me
if I want to stay,
and my contract
waits to be signed
on my desk,
while my people
keep asking me
when I’ll go back home,
how long I’m gonna
be away.
My people, one year ago,
a 30 degrees morning,
and short sleeved people
had to show
their best behavior
to come to Español,
but my people yesterday,
last class of the week,
didn’t care that much at all.
And today my people
are here in West Columbia
listening to my words.
Thank you for your patience,
my people.
____
Squeezing a verse (to Evelyn)
And there she goes,
a dynamic explosion
of creative bangs,
a swag of jeans,
and bright lemons,
squeezing verses
like demons
sliding down
the darkness
of his shirt,
feeding our hearts
with something mellow
bringing light
in the yellow shape
of delicious fruits
with citric flavor.
