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The magic of Poetry

I always have a header poem by hand, near me. It’s like a poem that I always want to read. According to the moment, that poem is changing. I never choose it for any specific reason, nothing has to do with the author or the subject. I find the poem unexpectedly, without planning it, and because of the sensation that it communicates to me, it is because of what I choose it. And I do not choose it with premeditation and treachery, as you might say, but I choose to read it and reread it unconsciously, without thinking, for a time I read it and reread it, and I do not realize, until after a time, after To reread it a lot, I realize that I’ve been searching for that poem for a long time, to read it and reread it, so much that I could recite it whole, just close my eyes and remember it. It happened to me with poems by Lorca, by Martí I Pol, by Baudelaire, by Verlaine … and yes, also by Neruda … Cavafis … there they are, sometimes they appear again, and I read them and smile, they are like old friends that one It is after a long time of not seeing, of not visiting. Other times they return alone, and settle in my memory for a few days, as the distant friend who comes to see you, and only remember the first words that already appear the rest of the verses.

I am a reader, and because I am a reader, I am a writer. Imperative, in both cases. I read a lot, and between book and book of narrative or technical, I want to strain some book of poetry. The same thing happens to me when writing. I write. And between text and text, I poked a poem. Unintentionally, as if words had their own wings and wanted to fly forming verses on paper. Sometimes, the creative will of the words does not allow the writer to choose format.

Both as a reader and as a writer, poetry offers me a calm and tranquility that is not found in the narrative. As if it were a slow walk in front of the daily stress, often, the poetry becomes that relaxed silence so difficult to find.

Perhaps for this reason, it seems that there is a resurgence of new voices, which give voice to the reality that surrounds them through poetry. Who communicate with their readers first through social networks, especially on Instagram, and then, later in their poems. They are poets who, thanks to their millions of followers, have attracted the attention of publishers, and have published the poems in curated editions, with an exquisite edition that increases the commercial appeal of the poems, and thus, overnight, they become in best-selling poets.

Celaya said that “poetry is a weapon loaded with the future”, simply I believe that poetry will never disappear because, in the same way that the beauty of art is necessary, the beauty of poetry is also necessary.

However, my friend’s poets, who have already published, tell me that publishing poetry is a thousand times more difficult than publishing narrative. Somebody even commented to me that if you are not an influencer, few publishers publish poetry or take chances with new poets. As if the fact of writing good poetry was at odds with the number of followers on Instagram as if the fact of good metrics on Instagram had a real conversion in sales. Sweet contemporary ignorance. If Petrarch raised his head …

I believe that poetry is magic, for all the instants of beauty that generously gives to those who read it. I would recommend reading to so many poets … classics … modernists … romantics … however, today I suggest reading one of those voices emerged from Instagram, Atticus, an anonymous poet who after his boom on Instagram, has been published in several languages, and has become a world best-seller, in Spain publishes with the Editorial Espasa es Poesia. I also recommend the poetry of Sara Búho, published by Editorial Valparaíso, it all magnifies her. And yes, of course I recommend to poets friends, to Joan Tamayo who always surprises us with his poems to all the friends, and who recently has published “Dolç esguard que crema”, or to Silviogiovanni Viola, who with his verses arrived from Italy, we delights in his column The pizza of the space of Diari Sant Quirze. Pure creative sensitivity in both cases. I would buy the poems of all of them, and reread them again and again, like that, without realizing it, enjoying the poetic moment. And that is, without doubt, the magic of poetry.

 

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