Roque Dalton made even stones laugh. He came from a small
Central American country which he carried inside of him in every
inch of his body. There is where he fell, riddled by bullets.
The poetry of Roque was just like he himself, caring, joking, and
combative. In the face and poetry of Roque, a wink becomes a
raised fist. We need not a moment of silence to hear his clear
laughter. It sounds out high and forever, a killer of death, in
the words that he left us to celebrate the joy of being and
giving.







