; Some say that poets do not create, but the poetry itself chooses to sing it. Suppose the ingredients of those elected, not only sensitive, but aware of it, not only endowed with new eyes, but can not waste them and continuing to the time to clean the impurities that threaten that quality, not just a word submissive but worthy of its effects; not only responsible for the mission with which they have been mandated, but consistent so far as to make it a lifestyle.
Post to venture, visualize a how, focus on a shorter plane. A man steps on earth, because that's where you live, if you do not want to miss the pleasures that become unreachable when you wander too long in the clouds, a man who offers her entire body, every inch, to receive. Visualize that this is so it is logical that not skip any sense, let that body needs more space. Visualize that this man who treads ground, and provided all his being, synchronize your skin to your intellect and a fork that combines the poetry itself is vetoed it, hence there is a poet ...
a who and a how to later ... guess a reason, one for what might ... (When and where, at last, after all, do not pass the status of mere voyeurism). Say The most interesting poets who write for themselves, because only then can write for others, a man talking to himself is a man speaking to man. And talk to the man's deal with eternity. Hence, with the stills of these pages is distilled the essence of that from now describes a time.
Here is his weakness, that is his strength: the effort to catch the life without principle, the endless succession, placed man at the gates of the ancient heart, at the crossroads, desmarañada, gives self-knowledge self-knowledge of the capital, men with axes, although its brief existence.
"Strange then that this still remains to be those of a man in a perpetual instant, a man climbed a perennial carousel, an exotic, shipwrecked and expatriate? Is it weird that he sensed in constant progress and disturbing, since that path with or without an end is almost the least? Is it any wonder that the search of himself arrives, rather than conclusions, to the formulation of question after question, link after link, and this made it more interesting to sit comfortably on pilgrims truths? "The antonym of the word" truth "is its own plural. Is it understood as Fran Picon persevere in called "apprentice poet"? No false modesty or lack of fitness. On the contrary, is a consistent man who does not want this, poetry, life-finish ever.
Welcome to the path on which you can only take steps forward.
Mayte Guerrero
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