O'Clock Press No. 11

Everybody Suffers: The Selected Poems of Juan García Madero
trans. Matt Longabucco


56 pages
6.5" x 8.5"

Edition of 100


In 1976, Mexican-born poet Juan García Madero, aged 17, ventured into the Sonoran desert with the so-called visceral realists Ulises Lima and Arturo Belano and a young woman named Lupe who was under their accidental protection. They were all one step ahead of a savage avenger, and at the same time intent on the trail of a lost master. Their adventure is recorded in García Madero’s diary, the only document he left us—until his book of poems, written in a burst of inspiration in the few months before his departure, came to light. Here at last is the work of his youthful imagination. As its translator I have come to know it first as an object of fascination and later as a source of wonder and dread. As for my method I may only say that, in order to bring my English closer to García Madero’s Spanish, I was compelled to bring my misplaced purity closer to his soaring vulgarity, my myopia closer to his dilation, my sense of time’s irritating drip closer to his sense of time’s ultimate, not-un-glorious extinction.

Translator's Note, Matt Longabucco


A collection of savage directives from some other time, some other heterotopic helios. Half heartbroken, half ever-hopeful — for the heat of smoky nights, the hot wind of the road, the heartstrings of lyricists and lovable liars alike. The romance of the young poet, heading out for the zones exterior with libidinal cynicism, a mongrel Diogenes of the anti-Paz playa. Turns out García Madero did not go quietly into the Mexican night, but lives on in Longabucco's imaginative translations.

– David Buuck

I do not turn to these poems because they are interesting but because they are what I relate to as directly as I relate to this apricot Danish at Hot and Crusty in an in-between moment of the evening on 86th street. It really isn’t about sin. It’s just what I turn to or know how to communicate with and after I’ve eaten it, I notice there are people next to me whispering, announcing their gossip. It’s all very real but I don’t want anyone to describe it or to joke about it.

– Lizzy Crawford, reviewed at Entropy