Brotherhood of ink and rhythm: A chronicle of Alexéi Tellerías

I met Alexéi Tellerías through words. Before seeing his presence on a stage or feeling the cadence of his voice in a performance, it was ink that united us. In the days of Catarsis Diaria, his blog, his texts were an avalanche of raw emotions, necessary reflections, and a spark of that poetic revolution that years later would crystallize into 1ntr4g4bl3. Since then, our literary and epistolary friendship—more WhatsApp than anything else—has been a bridge of incessant dialogue, nourished by our anti-racist struggles and the constant search for new languages to narrate the Caribbean.

When Alexéi visited Puerto Rico in 2010, I had the privilege of seeing several of his live performances. His presence on stage was an extension of his poetry: vibrant, irreverent, honest. He did not limit himself to reciting verses, he embodied them, throwing them into the air like projectiles that shook consciences. In each presentation, I recognized the same indomitable spirit that I had already read in his texts, but amplified by the energy of the moment, by the complicity of an audience that understood his urgency.

In 2014, I visited the Santo Domingo International Book Fair to present my novel Violeta. It was an enriching experience, not only for the literary exchange but also for the reunion with Alexéi in his own territory. We shared conversations about literature, resistance, and the transformative power of the word. It was a time of reaffirmation of our ideals and the certainty that our letters can be a bridge between common struggles.

That same year, when the University of Puerto Rico faced one of its most significant crises, Alexéi showed his support for the campaign to rescue the UPR. From his platform, he denounced the precariousness of public education and the importance of defending spaces of knowledge and critical thinking. His words resonated beyond the island, reminding us that the struggle for education is a cause that crosses borders and that solidarity between writers and activists is fundamental for resistance. My then-partner, Zulma, brought him a shirt in defense of the UPR, and he wore it proudly.

Over the years, I have followed his trajectory, from the publication of “Cuaderno de Catarsis,” which captured the essence of that foundational blog, to works like Pixel sonoro and Desayuno de tachuelas. Each of these publications is a testament to his evolution, his eagerness to break molds, and his ability to capture the intrinsic musicality of everyday life. In his poetry, the city breathes, protest becomes a verb, and the rhythm of the Caribbean mixes with the melancholy and rage of what still remains to be transformed.

His most recent book, 1ntr4g4bl3, is the culmination of this search. In its pages, dembow, urban language, and the essence of the city are intertwined in a poetic manifesto that challenges structures and redefines what we understand by literature. It is a revolution of the word that resonates in every corner, that refuses to be domesticated and that insists that poetry can also be danced.

In his opening words to the poetry collection, he says provocatively:

My favorite text from this book is:

A modo de advertencia

esta va por los derrotados de la historia
las olvidadas de la memoria
va por la poesía que aún duerme en las cunetas
aguardando el jamaquión
que habrá de sacarla
de su amemamiento
esta va
va por los huesos
que hoy son astas de bandera
pá’ seguir haciendo revolución
después de muertos
por las fosas comunes
que aún faltan por encontrar
va
por la memoria de gritos
mancillados en dictaduras multinombres
cuando disentir era pecado mortal
por esas y esos
que pusieron el cuerpo
frente a la piedra
o frente a la bala
soñando un destino diferente

esta va por elles
pero también por nosotres
les que resistimos en futuro
a conciencia de que tal vez
no lo lleguemos a ver
pero ya lo dijo Labordeta
hay que forzarlo para que pueda ser
so, aquí estamos
resistiendo descargas atómicas silenciosas
en un abrazo con quienes estuvieron antes
ejerciendo resistencia

resistir se vuelve lauro
cuando embates el viento en desventaja
sin retroceder
sin dar un paso atrás
gritando en silencio que… ¡coño!
alguien lo tiene que hacer
esta va para todes nosotres
en inclusivo no binario
que persistimos en desenterrar
aquella poesía
que hizo casa en las alcantarillas
pero que sigue siendo
indefectiblemente
irremediablemente
insoportablemente
poesía […]

“Our shared struggles and the certainty that literature is more than an art: it is an act of resistance.” In every letter, in every message exchanged, in every book that we have recommended to each other, the idea is reinforced that the word can open cracks in the most solid walls and that poetry, when done with truth, is indigestible for those who fear change.

Tellerías calls or writes when tears become overflowing for me in moments when some racist or homophobic event hurts me to the core, here in Boriquén or there in Quisqueya. He knows what to say to me, as if he were singing me a lullaby of tranquility. He also knows what to do to provoke rebellion in me and bring back the desire for resistance.

Alexéi and I continue writing, we continue dreaming of a Caribbean that speaks in all its voices, that dances to the rhythm of its own heartbeat, and that never stops inventing new ways of telling itself.

___________________
By Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro
Puerto Rican writer and editor
https://www.hablemosescritoras.com/writers/1547
Yolanda.arroyo@gmail.com
@yolandaarroyopizarro