Definitely, Miguel A. Hernández Navarro, author of an important narrative work, is a man who makes literature. He himself has confessed it: the best of pleasures. With this pocket book where he subjects us to the public derision of becoming part of his imagination, we verify that as readers we are also subjects of literature. We exist to the extent that we enter fiction. And with this work we have achieved it, the readers and whoever wrote it.

Carmelo Chillida lives in three places from where the world looks. And from those perspectives he gives size to his gaze. His poetry in this book –From the balcony (Kalathos ediciones. Poetry Collection, Caracas 2013) – is an active verb: who speaks counts, who says relates from various points the outside or the outskirts that have not ceased to belong to him. That is why his collection of poems is offered to us from the reading of a “Witness”, “From the balcony” and from “The great theater of the world”. In other words, Chillida is a visual poet attracted by observation. His verses, his posture and his imposture, his relationship with subjects and objects tell us. His way of speaking from the poem. Because these are spoken poems, “critical”, to say of Eliot. In such a case, our poet reinvents a reality to translate it into tradition. It is not – again Eliot – that “Inner Voice” that unleashes the poet’s unconscious. Carmelo Chillida makes poetry from “the task of locating, combining, building, purging, correcting, examining”, as the English writer wrote.

With this entry, the reading places us next to a voice that investigates the world from a corner. It is about a subject who is a witness to his own future, to the small or great things that happen around him. It is a poetry of memory, of time accumulated in the present and that emerges raw, simple, dialogical because it speaks with the invisible other. That bears witness to what has been lived.

That is why the same author has declared that “When I am writing I do not think about poetry.” Rather, he concentrates on the sonic bricks to build the house of the poem, from which this statement springs gracefully: “… that poetic attic / where a poet could / write grandiose verses, full / of strength, vigorous? / Neither hero nor anti-hero, / neither cursed nor blessed: a person / normal, or that he intends ”. Whoever speaks has gone to the streets to clear the routine, the daily life, a custom: that of being part of a topography that defines it.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *