Rosa Lentini, originaria de Barcelona y nacida en 1957, se ha desempeñado en la traducción, en la crítica, en la edición, pero su faceta fundamental es la de ser poeta, y en este estudio me centraré en su evolución poética, sin omitir referencias a sus otras actividades.
Jaime Parra, en su excelente análisis Rosa Lentini: El origen y el fin*, destaca que la autora mencionó en “Poética” (1998), que su inclinación hacia la poesía podría haberse originado en la asignatura “Recitation” del Liceo Francés de Barcelona, donde memorizó “Las Fábulas” de La Fontaine y otros clásicos franceses. Las instituciones educativas francesas le ofrecieron un refugio ante la homogeneización cultural durante la época franquista. Junto a su pareja, Ricardo Cano Gaviria, fundó las revistas: Asimetría (1986-88) y Hora de Poesía (1979-95), en esta última, realizando traducciones de destacados autores como Pierre Reverdy, Guillaume Apollinaire, Max Jacob Y Gabriel Ferrater, así como de poetas contemporáneos como Hugues Labrusse, Gerard Macé Y Lou Dubois. Más adelante, Lentini mostró interés por la poesía en inglés, traduciendo a autoras norteamericanas como Elizabeth Bishop Y Sylvia Plath, y colaborando en la traducción de May Swenson Y Adrienne Rich, in "Siete poetas norteamericanas". Posteriormente, continuará traduciendo y publicando a poetas norteamericanas en su propia editorial. Las poetas norteamericanas, como se verá más adelante, tendrán gran influencia en su poesía.
Para analizar su obra poética, utilizaré la “Poesía Reunida (1994-2014)” por dos motivos: en primer lugar, la dificultad para localizar sus primeros libros, y en segundo lugar, y más importante, el hecho de que la poeta revisó toda su producción anterior a 2014, modificando algunos poemas y eliminando o incorporando palabras o versos. Esta revisión se originó tras la creación de "We had" (2013), momento en el que la autora se percató de que los poemas surgían casi de forma espontánea, impulsados por su necesidad de explorar temas que habían permanecido ocultos durante largo tiempo, lo que la llevó a reevaluar los poemas de sus obras anteriores y a reconocer la necesidad de realizar ciertos ajustes al volver a leerlos. En la Nota introductoria de la "Poetry gathered", Rosa Lentini escribe: “Puede afirmarse que la presente Poesía reunida ha nacido bajo el signo de la reescritura. Al terminar de escribir Tuvimos los libros anteriores quedaron iluminados por éste, hasta el punto de sentir la necesidad de reescribirlos”.
En el mismo sentido, en la revista Turia, Esther Peñas interpela a Pink:
- La reescritura (y, por tanto, la relectura) es uno de los ejes de su trabajo. El poema, ¿nos habla o nos escucha?
- Cuando Juan Pablo Roa me propuso reunir toda mi poesía para iniciar su futura editorial Animal Sospechoso, yo estaba a punto de publicar en Bartleby el libro que daría un giro fundamental, casi fundacional, a mi poesía. Digo fundacional porque, al revisarla para el volumen de la poesía reunida, mis libros anteriores quedaron iluminados por este. De ahí también que el tomo de la poesía reunida empiece por el último libro publicado por entonces hasta remontarse al primero. De esa forma rastreaba mejor lo que, aun siendo intuido desde el inicio, no había sido capaz de nombrar completamente. Así, los poemas revisados se reescribieron casi solos, como si no estuviera reelaborando, sino traduciendo a una poeta que había trazado su obra paralelamente a la mía. Clarificada la visión del pasado, los propios poemas me indicaban lo que debía modificar o dejar más explícito. Podría decirse que el poema nos escucha, si le das suficiente recorrido, antes de que seamos capaces de escucharlo a él, como si dándole vida pudiera acabar contándonos lo que de otro modo no somos capaces de explicarnos a nosotros mismos, es el misterio de la poesía. (Turia Digital, Esther Peñas interview with Rosa Lentini).
Según lo mencionado por Pink en la entrevista, la "Poetry gathered" comienza con su obra más reciente en ese momento, "We had", y avanza hacia sus creaciones anteriores hasta alcanzar su primera obra. Sin embargo, en esta ocasión, optaré por un orden cronológico que abarque desde sus comienzos hasta la actualidad.
Lentini incluye en esta recopilación los dos primeros poemarios bajo el título El origen y el fin: “La noche es una voz soñada” (1994) y “Cuaderno de Egipto” (2000). Se caracterizan por ser poemas en prosa influenciados por la literatura francesa. En la Poesía reunida los ha modificado, el primero retocándolo y ampliando y el segundo reduciéndolo.
“La noche es una voz soñada” (1994) incluye poemas de diversos años, algunos de la adolescencia. Está influenciado por la lectura del poemario “Del movimiento y la inmovilidad de Douve” (1953), de Yves Bonnefoy. Bonnefoy (de hecho unos versos suyos introducen el poemario). En su libro, Yves tenía en mente a poetas como Baudelaire, Mallarmé o Valéry, junto a la influencia del surrealismo. En este sentido, los poemas de Lentini remiten a un universo soñador, muy propio del surrealismo, y de sus lecturas de “Poética de la ensoñación” Y “El derecho a soñar”, ambos ensayos de Gaston Bachelard. En algunos poemas el agua es un elemento recurrente (que ya anunciara Bachelard) y también la noche, as in the poem Noches insomnes… El insomnio y el deseo en la noche, se hacen presentes.
NOCHES insomnes como horas desasidas
se llenan con tus formas,
con tu frente herida por el aire
tu espalda que el aire explora
con tu boca entreabierta y tus manos huecas
oreadas en la densidad de la noche
Te siento arder en largos gestos desvelados
mientras tus muslos tensos guardan para sí
su propio deseo;
siempre me quedan tus ojos
cerrados al misterio del aire
De: La noche es una voz soñada (1994)
El agua y la noche tienen lugar en el poema Voces que os unís… que nos recita la propia poeta.
VOCES que os unís como hilos ciegos a la noche,
acercaos a nuestra mano que surge desde la tierra hacia esa
historia zurcida en las tinieblas, donde nuestra piel
abraza el nombre del día como lo hizo antes con el del
agua y reconoce esta llamada vuestra cubierta de polvo
y cieno de sueño; decidme si una manera de arraigar
son estas palabras que insisten en coser nuestras voces,
responded si una manera de nombrarnos es este
lenguaje de signos rotos en el recuerdo
De: La noche es una voz soñada (1994)
Su padre, Javier Lentini, médico, coleccionista de arte, poeta, editor y traductor, sería su principal referencia en el principio, además de impulsor de su actividad poética. Javier, editaba la revista Hora de poesía, pasando por ella autores como Celan, Mandelstam Y Klebnikov. Falleció en 1995 y Pink publicó en la editorial Ígitur, en 2005, dos libros en honor a él: “La sal y otros poemas (Antología poética 1973-1995)” Y "Poemas en homenaje”.
En 1997, Pink And his partner Ricardo Cano Gaviria (escritor, traductor, editor y crítico), fundan la editorial Ígitur. La faceta de editora tiene gran importancia dando a conocer a un buen número de escritoras y poetas, muchas traducidos por ellos mismos. De esta manera, Pink traduce a Bishop, Sharon Olds, Adrienne Rich Y Djuna Barnes. La lectura y traducción de estas poetas norteamericanas le abrió un horizonte nuevo, lejos del encorsetado panorama español femenino. Resultarían igualmente enriquecedoras en el futuro, la lectura y traducción de otras autoras como Anne Michaels, Tess Gallagher Y Anne Carson.
El siguiente libro de Pink es un cuadernillo de poemas llamado “Cuaderno de Egipto” (2000). Es el resultado de la fascinación de un viaje a Egipto. Introducen el poemario unas palabras de Ismaíl Kadaré. El agua del río Nilo, la arquitectura egipcia, death, la eternidad o el recuerdo al poeta de Alejandría, Kavafis (Monographic), son algunos de sus temas.
El poeta de Alejandría
Un poema ocre como un atardecer de playa en la costa del delta bordea el mediterráneo. Poema quemado por el sol del mediodía y por el viento del norte. Poema que huele a yodo y a salina. Un blanco entre los versos acerca el dedo sobre los labios del poeta de Alejandría. Él se tragó las sílabas finales de todas las estrofas. Las lanzó a la hora en que el reflujo de la marea las hundió en lo profundo de la arena, bajo el vaivén de las olas…
Algún día, estas mismas dunas marinas serán la única presencia sobre el suelo de Egipto. Y entonces, erosionados por el paso del tiempo cuya acción combinada de sal y agua pulió sus cantos, los finales de estrofa volverán a nacer. Romos, se encaminarán a su muerte natural, como estos granos de sueño sobre los que apoyamos la cabeza en estas playas, estas tempestades rojizas en el sueño…
Buenas noches arena, sin un poeta que termine tu canción
De: El Cuaderno de Egipto (2000)
Bajo el ciclo Linaje Río Abajo (de nuevo la importancia del agua), la autora engloba los libros de poemas: “El sur hacia mí” (2001 y 2013), la plaquette “Las cuatro rosas” (2002) y “El veneno y la piedra” (2005). En esta nueva etapa, Rosa Lentini abandona la ciudad de Barcelona para ir a vivir a Montblanc, un pueblo relativamente pequeño de Tarragona.
Los poemas de “El sur hacia mí” (2001 y 2013) poseen un carácter simbólico, destacando especialmente el elemento del agua en su contenido. El libro a su vez, se encuentra dividido en tres partes: Tsunami, Intermedio Y Leyendo a Alejandra Pizarnik.
Sobre el elemento del agua en la poeta, recojo un fragmento del artículo realizado por el compañero de Pink, Ricardo Cano Gaviria, en su artículo La cólera del mar en la poesía de Rosa Lentini *: “Como el lector podrá apreciar, el agua de Rosa Lentini discurre no a través de la anécdota, sino del discurso fragmentario, en una especie de rastreo bajo la superficie del texto en el que van aflorando fragmentos verbales que son como los restos de un naufragio. Con el sueño, ese segundo escenario, siempre al acecho en la poesía de la autora: muchos pasajes de Tsunami parecen salidos de una pesadilla: las palabras deambulan por esos escenarios como almas en pena que piden ser prohijadas, apadrinadas, pronunciadas. Pues sólo al serlo se redimen; sólo al ser incluidas en el poema alcanzan la plenitud de su significado”.
El caso de Tsunami y la serie de poemas que lo acompañan es curioso. Pink recuerda haber visto un documental sobre tsunamis y sus efectos, en ese periodo. Influenciada por esta experiencia, compuso una colección de poemas relacionados con este fenómeno natural. Posteriormente, tras el devastador tsunami en Japón en 2011, amigos y conocidos se sorprendieron al pensar que Pink había previsto el evento, aunque ella aclaró el origen casual de los mismos. Presento la recitación de Pink de la versión original del poema y añado la nueva versión que se encuentra en la Poesía Reunida.
Tsunami
1
Basta el temor a la fuerza del agua
XXXXXXXdoblegando a las ciudades
XXXXXXXXXXXque erigen muros de contención
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxy diseñan puentes colgantes
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXcomo avisos
para hacer de un lugar la elegía
Como un arco hacia mí
el sur-a-mí
(que es del azul intenso
de un ópalo)
XXXXXXXXXXXaleja el sosiego
y diez metros de piedras superpuestas
XXXXXXXno nos protegen
Indiferentes al cambio
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxen fila india vamos
XXXXXXXXXXXXpara morir
2
El tsunami trenza su palabra
XXXXXXXa todas las demás
casas personas animales aceras
son su punto de destino
XXXXXXXpolvo de incendio
XXXXXXXen el mar
Dejamos de sostener una mano
y los sueños que aún la encarnan
XXXXXXXtemplan sus venas
la buscamos
bajo las casas derruidas bajo las piedras
sin consagración sin realidad
todavía lo intentamos
XXXXXXXbajo la transparencia
XXXXXXXXXXXXde un agua intacta
el amor acabado
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxcontesta
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXcon peces más fríos
en la mano
que no conseguimos despertar
De: El Sur Hacia Mí (2001 y 2013)
In the poem Los dos sueños vuelve a tomar protagonismo el agua, pero como afirmab a Ricardo Cano Gaviria, en el escenario pesadillesco de los sueños.
Los dos sueños
No consigo despertar de las visiones
XXXXXXde costas batidas por la espuma
de los susurros ahogados
XXXXXXXXXXXcomo buriles que pule la grava
de la cera líquida
XXXXXXXXXXXabriéndose paso
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXen las calles
XXXXXXXXXXXimprevista
avasallando
XXXXXXXXXXXen una nochexxxxxxxxxde labios fríos
XXXXXXXXXXXllevando salitreXXXXXXXXa la herida
formas de la angustia en los sueños
XXXXXXde un desahogo
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXque no vivimos
Qué saben de la ciudad que desconoce sus márgenes
las gaviotas que regresan
XXXXXXXXXXXen su rutinaXXXXXXXXXXla ola
XXXXXXXXXXXreconoce sólo el lomo de la ola
y los gestos sin identidad
se abandonan bajo las rocas
El mundo apenas vuelve de un asombrado latido de adiós
XXXXXXcon una luna
XXXXXXXXXXXque platea las lenguas
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXde una gravedad sin respuesta
cuando el viento desafiante
XXXXXXXXXXXle pasa la página
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXal libro de registros
pero qué si respirar consiste
en pedirle al pasado
XXXXXXun apunte con nuestro nombre
De: El Sur Hacia Mí (2001 y 2013)
Intermedio actúa como un puente entre la primera y la tercera parte. En este segmento, la autora realiza un Memory exercise que la lleva a revivir su infancia, al mismo tiempo que se reflejan las pérdidas experimentadas. Un buen ejemplo es La Ceniza. Pink recita el poema original y yo incluyo el poema revisado por la poeta para su Poesía Reunida.
La Ceniza
Cuarenta años saldan sus momentos felices: el recuerdo del afilador calado en un día lluvioso mientras su tonada filtra el brillo del acero; aquellos refrescantes bloques de hielo portados a hombros en mediodías de verano dejando un sumidero de agua, y sobre cada cosa nuestra identidad construyéndose en un diálogo ficticio con los objetos inanimados, cuando una infantil ambición de ser ángeles, decepcionada de sí misma, anula las palabras que tanto nos deslumbran…
¿Cómo separar la ceniza de los muertos y la ceniza de las hojas en los ojos de un niño?
De: El Sur Hacia Mí (2001 y 2013)
Leyendo a Alejandra Pizarnik se centra principalmente en las obras que en ese momento estaba explorando Pink, las cuales reflejan la profunda poesía de la poeta argentina y su impacto en su propia vida. Así, Rosa presenta sus propios temas en relación con los motivos recurrentes en la obra de Pizarnik, being death uno de los más destacados.
Leyendo a Alejandra Pizarnik
I
Sólo un nombre se murmuraba Alejandra a sí misma en 1956, el año en que yo fui concebida. Cuarenta años más tarde leo el nombre en minúscula “alejandra”, en boca de quien poseyó la muerte como la niña que en vientos grises espera la otra orilla, y escribe:
“debajo estoy yo
alejandra”
A su lado otra, enamorada de la niebla, dice no creer en el cuerpo que nunca existió
Pienso ahora en la eternidad que sus palabras, en ese estar por debajo, despliegan en mi lectura
II
Antigua sombra de un centro,
donde en la oscuridad
el doble es el contrario,
ambas desgarraduras en la música
de la última sobreviviente
juego cercando la avenida
deshojada, de una poeta
que adensa su niebla;
más tarde el lugar se precipita
tras mucho escribir;
los fragmentos
suceden a los silencios:
irse sin quedarse
o hablar por los desmemoriados
el hueco o el exceso,
el poema imponderable, alguna vez
en equilibrio cósmico
o con más flores,
el cuaderno escolar en el agua,
donde una bandada de pájaros
con antifaz golpea el aire.
“Y yo soy el temblor de todo lo azul,
la caída”, decía
III
“Caer hasta tocar el fondo desolado”
Palabras del otro lado del lazo mortal
sin para qué ni para quién
Hay que escribir en la promesa
cavando en la sombra, luz adentro
Y dice: “el invierno sube por mí”
y es más en el interior consigo
El silencio poseyó tu puerta
zanja y hueco. Pasa alguien
como lobo gris en la noche
con su camada desollada
mientras la muerte talla sus huesos
como esculturas como flautas
El silencio es de plata, la música
de diamante y la muerte no es
un puñal de oro.
IV
De cara al cielo
se clausura
al terminar al recomenzar
lo que no es otro
ni es nada;
buscar fue un vértigo
ángel petrificado
o privación de lluvia,
palabras adolescentes que
maleza entre escombros
no quieren volverse;
gira la ausencia
en los colores del bosque
voz lejana
o alas que cruzan
“Hablo del lugar en el que se forman
los cuerpos poéticos” dijo
V
La vida no desplegó su término
en una sola mañana, alguna vez
el mundo se ausenta de ella
lugar de metamorfosis
en contra, saliva de los árboles
Una cosa es ella misma si
no sabemos ocultarla. Restos,
como un duelo muriendo de orfandad.
Ojos, muriendo de espejos
La viajera visitando la mirada.
VI
La forma de alejarse de la rada
cuando empezaba a aprender
en la luz mortecina de su rostro
y a escuchar como si pudiera oírse
bajo el agua; criatura del fondo
Una voz
y otra voz detrás
los lentos pliegues de la doble memoria
Con dormidas cortezas de árbol sobre el pecho
ahora es fácil saberla abrazada a la tierra,
mirar el jardín por donde decía no venir
sus palabras en cuevas
de espaldas a las nubes
Verla transformarse en Virgen de las Rocas.
De: El Sur Hacia Mí (2001 y 2013)
“Las cuatro rosas” (2002) es una plaquette con cuatro poemas, cada uno enmarcando en una estación del tiempo, bajo un elemento esencial. En todos ellos, la autora emplea la rosa bajo un sentido simbólico. Rosa Lentini recita el poema Invierno.
Invierno
(agua)
LA ROSA DE HIELO
La rosa esculpe
sus violentos colores en el frío
y no es sino quimera de la rosa
en la nieve, rosa de invierno
agua helada, blanco en lo blanco
ofreciéndose
La rosa crepita en la llama
y en la desolación de la nieve
no hay deshielo demasiado lento
De: Las Cuatro Rosas (2002)
“El veneno y la piedra” (2005) es un poemario hermético que juega con el simbolismo del ovillo rojo, ejerciendo un doble significado, como símbolo de la sangre y como símbolo de la escritura. El sueño tiene presencia como también la tiene el cuerpo y el dolor. Nuevamente está dividido en tres partes: El veneno, La piedra Y Dominar el miedo.
El veneno, introducido por unos versos de Blanca Varela, se encuentra bajo el influjo del mito de Dafne. En la mitología griega, Dafne era una dríade o ninfa de los árboles, hija del dios río Ladón. Eros disparó una flecha dorada a Apolo para que se enamorara de Dafne, pero Apolo se jactó de haber matado a la serpiente Pitón y de ser un gran arquero, lo que provocó la ira de Eros. En respuesta, Eros lanzó una flecha a Apolo y otra con punta de plomo a Dafne, destinada a hacerla huir de su perseguidor. Ante esta angustiosa situación, Dafne solicitó la ayuda de su padre, el dios río Ladón, quien la transformó en un laurel. Desde entonces, el laurel se convirtió en el árbol sagrado de Apolo, quien lo utilizó para adornar su lira de siete cuerdas. La corona de laurel también es símbolo de los poetas.
Encabeza el apartado el poema Dafne. La poeta se identifica con la huida y el dolor de Dafne y la desesperación de Apolo. En relación con ello, la poeta se lamenta por sus pérdidas y el fin de su propia saga familiar. Rosa Lentini recita el poema en su origen y a continuación despliego el poema reescrito.
Dafne
El primer aliento
XXXXXXXexaltado de la tierra
expectante hasta entrar
en los murmullos
XXXXXXque sacuden la tarde
meticuloso hasta guardar las facciones
busca el pie que despierta sobre la grava
silenciosas cepas
Un olor de hojas bate el viento
XXXXXXtrayendo ondas tórridas
lo húmedo en cambio sale del fondo
XXXXXXsin escalas, a pequeños brotes desiguales
se ensamblan como espigas los ríos
se borran las montañas
XXXXXXestilizadas como palacios lejanos
y la huida gana terreno
XXXXXXcuando abrazamos el laurel
y nos miramos en las plantas
XXXXXXcomo en un espejo
Todo lo que tocamos es tiempo
y debajo, nosotros, el final
XXXXXXde una genealogía
Tras la savia
XXXXXXsombra adentro
XXXXXXXXXXXseguimos
De: El Veneno y la Piedra (2005)
A dicho poema le siguen una serie de poemas breves reflejando la temática de la fragilidad, el dolor, la resistencia del cuerpo, la fragmentación de las palabras.
LO FRÁGIL lo interminable:
entrar en la resistencia del cuerpo
como en una ciudad sitiada
XXXXXXde cristal
XXXXXX xxxxxtras años de ausencia
***
EL OVILLO
frío que se vacía
reventando la arteria
o tal vez veneno
más caro que la existencia
la erosionada existencia
***
VA a nevar
tal vez
los copos se fragmentan
al posarse las palabras
toman la forma de objetos
palpitan fugaces
la manera en que se difunden
y recogen
los pasos perdidos
de su voz
De: El Veneno y la Piedra (2005)
La piedra es el segundo apartado y su epígrafe es de Antonella Anneda: “Escribe porque nada está defendido”. Según Jaime Parra, en los poemas de este apartado: “La piedra es un cuerpo sobre el que se escribe lo que permanece”.* Y en este sentido, en el primer poema de la sucesión queda clara esta interpretación. Pink recita el poema original, al que apenas modificó en la recopilación de su poesía.
UN NUEVO código forma
el mapa del cuerpo
con las tablillas
de los primeros escribas
que asignaban
una etiqueta a cada especia
Así la deuda del deseo
Y es verdad que una orden
prescribe y no es verdad
De: El Veneno y la Piedra (2005)
Dafne era la protagonista de la primera parte, mientras que Ariadna se presenta en La piedra, nuevamente asociada al símbolo del ovillo, que se entrega a Teseo para que pueda salir del laberinto tras derrotar al Minotauro. En este contexto, Ariadna interviene a través de la madeja, para ilustrar tanto el origen como el desenlace de la historia.
CEDE el rencor
en lo que creía
su derecho
Ariadna no es sólo
la que ofrece el hilo
sino la que explica
en la madeja
el origen y el fin
escritos
De: El Veneno y la Piedra (2005)
En algunos poemas se pueden observar temas como la fragilidad, el paso del tiempo, Memory o la persistencia el lenguaje, como en el siguiente poema.
EL LENGUAJE
alabarda
si se impregna
de no ser
en cambio todo
se confiesa
en el lastre
de la piedra
el veneno
pigmento
de otra ficción
De: El Veneno y la Piedra (2005)
La tercera parte, Dominar el miedo, se abre con citas de Else Lasker-Schüler Y Anne Michaels. La primera sobre no poder dominar el miedo y la segunda en la que se trata de conseguir dominarlo. Los poemas son mas extensos que en los dos apartados anteriores. Diferentes temas lo pueblan, como lo son Memory, la escritura Y el símbolo del agua.
El agua
Sobre un mar agitado
XXXXXXXduermen los hombres
oculta el viento en sus ropas
XXXXXXXniños no deseados
pero ni un eco recorre
los paseos de acacias
XXXXXXXde la ciudad
El cielo cambia
tan pronto de un gris azulado
a un azul plomizo
bajo el que los peces
XXXXXXXaturdidos palidecen
y los ahogados parecen querer subir
azuzados por invisibles espuelas
mientras sus nombres flotan
XXXXXXXen círculos
Aquí el arte de escribir
XXXXXXXno es refugio contra el huracán
pasado y futuro son un sonido
XXXXXXXde raíces desasidas
nada que ver con el deseo
de querer saber más
nada que ver con el resplandor
XXXXXXXde las grandes palabras
De: El Veneno y la Piedra (2005)
Tras la publicación de este poemario, se establece un intervalo de ocho años. Se lanzan algunas antologías de su obra y se incluye en recopilaciones junto a otras poetas. Speaking of broken objects marca el inicio de un nuevo ciclo de tres poemarios, inaugurado con "We had" (2013). Pink mencionó que no tenía claro qué libros formarían parte de este nuevo ciclo. Sin embargo, después de los dos primeros volúmenes, sintió la necesidad de añadir un tercero para completarlo. En las portadas de los tres libros de la trilogía, Pink seleccionará cuadros del pintor José María Guerrero Medina. En este primer libro, ocupa su portada un detalle del cuadro Mediterráneo. El poema del libro Habitación con vistas, es una reflexión teniendo en mente el mismo cuadro.
"We had" (2013), es quizás el poemario más relevante de todos, en el sentido de que en su constitución, los poemas los componía con facilidad, posibilitándole abordar temas tabú que habían permanecido ocultos a lo largo del tiempo. Además de revelar estos asuntos poco explorados, también se adentra en una nueva línea de poesía, tanto en la nueva óptica con la que explora las diferentes temáticas, como en el apartado formal, donde encontraremos una disposición de las palabras dentro de los versos, con una particular simetría, pues Pink aplicará diferentes sangrías dentro de los mismos, y tampoco empleará el punto, como signo de puntuación. Algo de todo esto ya lo hemos observado en los poemarios anteriores, y es que no debemos olvidar, que éstos ya se encuentran revisados y, en su caso, modificados por la autora.
Jaime Parra, en el momento de analizar el nuevo ciclo se refiere a los dos primeros libros editados hasta ese momento, pero que bien se pueden aplicar a los tres: “They have similar characteristics, including their link with Latin American and North American poetry, which is not strange, because the poet already pointed out that among its models were some of the poets of this continent, such as Bishop or Pizarnik, in addition to having done, as already said, an anthology of American poetry. It is, in any case, a special, new, very modern cycle, which participates in several of the features of current poetry: distancing from the poetic subject, use of several voices, rupture with the estrophic conception of the verse, approach to the rhythm of prose, use of certain narrative techniques, lexical renewal, immersion in certain problems of the environment, invention of a new poetic of the character of the character, approach to the character. But with a great surveillance of its treatment, insistence on the role of memory, perspective of the present, expansion of certain motives and myths, approach to the daily pass, dignification of the female subject, treatment of the family atmosphere, reworking of certain myths, interest in eros and Thanatos ”.*
"We had" He writes it Pink After a series of family and personal losses. The heading of the book are some verses of the American poet that she previously translated, previously, Tess Gallagher: “What strangers us, / wrapped in the blue air that houses / its night. / Strangers as expelled figures / memory ". The book is divided by the author into three parts: The premises, The chrysalis Y Thus the world.
The definition of Manuel Rico About the poems, collected in his article Some notes on Rosa Lentini*: "We had perfectly carrying something like" Family Book "as a subtitle (paraphrasing the title of Felix Grande book). Because it is about the family and their surroundings, the limits of life and happiness, of the traces that it leaves in the existence of those who, inevitably, inhabited. Of wounds and their impossible healing ".
The first poem of The premises (the first part), is a declaration of intentions of what awaits us in the following poems. Blunt is Mahalia Jackson's mouth, where there are crucial verses, imagining their parents, still without children and the cracks that would come later: “And they were a faith a light, / before they thought / have children or harm them, /
before they could have / one against each other ". In this sense, Noni Benegas In its excellent article Children's abuse: family hell*, As a result of these verses, he writes: "The author settles the premise from which it starts, and is none other than the conflict that brought with it the disappointment and loss of trust in parents, together with the suffering caused by war without quarter between them".
Mahalia Jackson's mouth
I have found my past
hidden in a saliva particle
Mouth of Mahalia Jackson's mouth
XXXXXXXWhen I sang:
"This is my faith, This is my light»
And they were a faith……a light,
before they thought
have children or hurt them,
XXXXXXX before they could be
one against the other
I have left quickly
Like a background runner
accelerating at the entrance of the park
XXXXXXXlevitating almost at the height of the lake
to great burning strides on Avenida,
XXXXXXXunder the drinks of the trees in flower,
before the first dance together,
When on the other side of the fences
XXXXXXXThey tried the way, behind the back
XXXXXXXof the lista wooden banks,
He came out of the hedges, scrambled hair
And the knees scratched, in the hands
A pumpkin ball,
XXXXXXXAnd she exchanged with a friend chromos
XXXXXXXand gossip debased in the moss
XXXXXXXHis short girls
My faith my light: a drop of saliva
Go through the human tract
XXXXXXXWhere the past is engulf
Calls and lotos as supports of a game,
my faith in his darkness,
XXXXXXXCeremonies of a frog song
to attract the couple, and what was not
what did not define it,
like a stem that grows
XXXXXXXUnder the models
From: We had (2013)
I select from this first part, the shocking poem about his father, that frames the new cycle of Rosa Lentini, Speaking of broken objects. Noni Benegas, in the aforementioned article, he refers to the poem: "The immeasurable relationship with the Father is shown, whose ambivalence forces the poet to physically fragment - I now live at the distance: one foot, a head - to be able to apprehend it and try to gather the puzzle in:" Speaking of broken objects ", among other poems".*
Likewise, a Imaging style surreal and true Influence of psychoanalysis In this poem and in general, in much of the poetry of Rosa Lentini. On this point, in the magazine Turia, Esther Peñas, interrogate the poet:
- There is a lot of psychoanalytic, self -awareness, in their verses. How to know that the narration we make of ourselves is adequate, the real one?
- There is a movement in my poetry that Edgardo Dobry describes as "spiral", that is, it would seem that it is in the same place, but it is pure appearance, the themes are resumed again and again, but always through a spiral movement, so it is never really in the same place, the same is not told, and that movement is typical of psychoanalysis. More than reviewing it, I rebuild the past, because when it was lived, it had its own keys, unknown to the girl. Now, with accumulated information, the picture that was not understood then then is rebuilt and completed. I guess the key is to try to be as sincere as possible, even if that truth can hurt us - and surely. And we return to the mystery of poetry the more we go into a personal history, the more we reveal our own keys, our experience becomes more community. (Turia Digital, Esther Peñas interview with Rosa Lentini).
Speaking of broken objects
Mud dyed, so alien
XXXXXXIn his last months of life
My father's head
Low low waste bags
abandoned in the asphalt
XXXXXXAfter his long illness
Without a body that holds it
skewered on a wire
XXXXXXLike a man -plant of Odilon Redon,
With a semicircle of similar stones
to a jaw of teeth castrors
closing on his throat
I raise it and take it
About my shoulder away from stalking
of granite blocks, like a pitcher,
taking care not to pour it,
XXXXXXnot to empty it even more;
A sad Salome dance in the street
XXXXXXwithout a tetrarca that observes it
Less living heads in the return home
They turn to caress their gray waves with their gaze
as if a caravel
XXXXXXor a hump that they are lucky
After a preaching about broken names
XXXXXXthat covers the garden land, stay there,
In a brilliant silence erasing
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXNext to the gats' bones
Some nights wake up the slight crunch
of small bones crawling towards her,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXuna cabeza descarnada…
I then think about how
XXXXXXThey receive the new tenants
abandoned objects after moving
Thus the dead observe the living,
with gestures of complicity
The light looks from their gloom
that we turn on in the room when we go to bed
XXXXXXand talk about us under the surface,
Shadows of a longing theater
XXXXXXwho fears farewells
From: We had (2013)
It is very pertinent to resort to the interview of Esther Peñas to Rosa Lentini, in Turia, because precisely Pink Talk about the previous poem, in a question in which American poets are cited:
- Following the trail of poets like Sharon Olds or Linda Pastan, his is a poetry that summons the telluric. How "a body is delivered to its destiny"?
- From both poets I have translated a book, Satan says of the first, in collaboration with my husband, and an anthology of the second, in collaboration with Jonio González. The translation is the most thorough learning that can be done from the work of a poet, so both have influenced me, but they are not the only ones. What I try to do is a poetry based on what I call "organic visionary imagination", that is, based on the imaginary diurnal, therefore opposing the purely dreamlike and fantasy - where the self would be locked up - and that also has an almost physical tour in the poem. What is proposed is both a route of daytime images and an organicity of feelings. I would have to give an example. In my book we had, there is a very representative poem, which is the one that gives name to the entire trilogy entitled "Speaking of broken objects"; en él, el sujeto poético implícito protagoniza la acción de encontrar la cabeza del padre entre la basura. Decirlo así queda raro, es una imagen extraña, fuera de lo acostumbrado, pero si además se cuenta que la recoge, que la transporta a hombros, que la gente en la calle la toca para que les de suerte, que le hace unos esponsales y luego la entierra en el jardín junto a las osamentas de los gatos, y que después esa cabeza descarnada, junto con los huesos de los animales, nos miran a los vivos cuando encendemos la luz en la habitación antes de acostarnos, como un teatro de añoranzas que teme las despedidas, estoy dándole un recorrido en imágenes al sentimiento de ausencia y de separación. Le doy una organicidad y un relato. Otro de los temas que trato es el de la enfermedad, el cuerpo se “entrega a su destino” en la página, siempre dialogando con el poema. (Turia Digital, Esther Peñas interview with Rosa Lentini).
Para el poema The end of a life, conviene detenerse en la mirada de Noni Benegas: “Hay. por fin, una composición sobre la que me quiero detener: “El final de una vida”. Evoca un diálogo entre la abuela materna y la nieta, que probablemente muchas de nosotras reconocemos, aunque los roles difieran. Por el momento, retengamos a una adulta culpabilizando a una niña de delitos de los cuales no sólo no fue responsable, sino víctima. […] El poema de Lentini, escrito con una sobriedad que acentúa su veracidad, da una vuelta de tuerca, y presenta algo más o igual de perverso que se suma al abuso: la incomprensión de la madre u otras figuras de poder en el entorno de la menor, que asociamos con la actitud de muchos jueces que condenan a la mujer por llevar faldas cortas, por ejemplo, en vez de culpar al violador. Aquí es la abuela la que encara a la niña de siete años para recriminarle: “Vas detrás de tu padre” -subrayando ese “detrás”- y recordarle algo que ocurrió antes: “Piensa en algo sucio. Más sucio. Ahora no, hace varios años, cuando eras niña, niña”, es decir, menor aún, o sea, impúber, ¿4 o 5 años? Un interrogatorio tenaz que remacha el trauma inicial y empuja a la pequeña “a la introyección del sentimiento de culpa del adulto, pues el juego hasta entonces anodino aparece ahora como un acto que merece castigo”, según observa Sandor Ferenczi, en un esclarecedor artículo sobre las consecuencias de la seducción infantil”.*
The end of a life
My maternal grandmother used to stand
XXXXXXIn a corner of the garden,
At the foot of two giant fir trees
of chorreante resin that sprout
of the smell cortex of your skin,
not far from herbal tangle
XXXXXXpile for burning
I still slept in the vested hammock of the sun and shadow,
immersed in the sopor
XXXXXXof an August afternoon
When she triggers the question with blood and fire:
Are you going behind your father?
Its Aha! of satisfaction with my response
I don't alter me and explain
that my shortest legs as a child
They always take me behind their long strides
It's not that replica, behind insists
Think about something dirty, He says
XXXXXXI think of dog shit,
XXXXXXXXXXXXin a bird shit in my hair
Dirtier, continues
His voice suggests a hand
From the deep past reaching a body
Ajá, confirm, No now, several years ago, when you were a girl, girl
And my seven years of adult are suddenly resent
The vision of the dog moves away
The serpentine of bird light flees
XXXXXXbecomes an ice lens
A body without weight
Like the face of that little girl
and the satanic halo that dissolves
In the venerable gray hair of the old woman
XXXXXXWhen both look at me
XXXXXXXXXXXAt the end of his life
From: We had (2013)
The Last Supper is another one discouraging poem on Unstructured Poet's family. The passage of time has resulted in deceased parents, ghosts of a past, and in a blurred memory, both living and dead, hence the explicit final verses: "We forget that we were there, / they forgot that we were there"
The Last Supper
As ghosts gathered to the table,
the dishes printed in blue in front of each
They distracted us with the landscape motifs of the 18th century:
a country house near the river,
and trees next to the cart lying on the mules
On the right the wooden napkin rates surrounded
With soft cotton cloths,
XXXXXXNo one could say that we did not sympathize
With the idea of being dead
We learned to read the history of our past,
When intimacy gave off
A bitter humor and for years the sutures
XXXXXXThey threw from a woman, a man,
of his two children, until of common life in the barricade
It was a single spinning
Still one foot under the table stretches
And stretch until I hit my knee ...
I think of the cold wind
that drags us all for the night,
I think of the weather, the icy river,
XXXXXXThe snowstorm,
or in the naked man that ara about women
and nail in your belly
The mystery that we are my brother and me
XXXXXXleaving their bodies
We forget that we get there,
They forgot that we were there
From: We had (2013)
In Memory of man behind the door, recall being a girl, to His grandfather, their Huido character next to their Extravagances, like the fact of lifting a wall inside the house, dividing the family. He remembers cleaning the paintings, fixing the garden or giving him a watercolor. He also remembers the decomposed paint box and how he helped his grandfather restore it. The last stanza is extraordinary, in the sense that if the family had been more united, it would have changed the future of all, with less pain, including that of the poet: "We had, we would have had two verbal times ...".
Memory of man behind the door
The art of forgiveness no longer lived in him.
I kept his squeezed fists in my escape
of white knuckles, indignation
that dyed red the veins of his forehead
And the desire to touch his hand
His way of dragging the feet
By removing dust from the paintings
or by clearing the Rosales with the pruning
In summer, a gesture that I loved
But he preferred to flee snorting, like a great buffalo
moving the skin when the plot
XXXXXXUntidated by the wife
I made a wretch in the granddaughters, and the flame
of his old body behind the door
XXXXXXI consumed it
With the determination
XXXXXXof a sailor moving away from the ground,
A mason at his orders erected one day in the corridor
XXXXXXA brick and cement wall
leaving half of the house safe,
XXXXXXAnd the other half bewildered
Over time my visits to the side
where my mother's father stayed
They restored the pieces of their old paint box,
Meanwhile, immobilized on a table,
I accepted my sorcerer role
A year I was surprised by giving me
A watercolor, study of two young people,
XXXXXXA high brunette, the other little and blonde
XXXXXXXXXXThey received drawing class, so similar
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTo paternal women
We had, we would have had
two verbal times in divided history
of families, the spiral of the children
XXXXXXthat dances, dances their sad waltz about them,
XXXXXXXXXXListen to that music, wall, listen to it ...
From: We had (2013)
After these impressive poems I collect the words of Manuel Riceither: “Rosa Lentini has built a hard, emotionally intense book, which feeds on the first memories of childhood, even rebuilding, the sensations prior to birth, which advances by some of the most sensed family events, which evokes the time of school without disregard Death stalks the most beloved beings, especially the father, and the gaze is filled with hospitals ”.*
The chrysalis It is the second part of the book where Rosa Lentini It refers to the development phase of the butterflies, in which they are wrapped in a capsule. The poem deserves special attention In the hospital. The poem is framed by some verses of the poet Sharon Olds. The father had to visit frequently in his last years, hospitals, hence The disease Be one of the topics that frequent the poems of the book.
In the hospital
Like that wet land in
The things that you love fall
And they get lost forever.
Sharon Olds
Gold Sweat Drops
They already point to your neck
A chrysalide color
Life is a succession of ties
that gradually tense your knot
Echoes of an altered voice arrive from the hallway
accompanying a heart that abystees
Like who delves the blue eyes of a stranger;
The beat, a failed orchestra
XXXXXXin a vibration of dishes that moves away
We make promises, we recover
Of those that we did not meet in the smoke
XXXXXXof a new one that we will also fail
No inner voice site us
As if our faith sprout, virgin,
XXXXXXXXXXXon each return of the road,
until the day a second voice
Invite us to silence and accentuate the weight
XXXXXXOf the things that only adorn us
You turn to me, with your eyes you point
A shift sphere that appears from the bathroom
XXXXXXAnd it seems to acquire awareness
And how the Red Globe in the Lamorisse movie
Follow a secret route when it flies
XXXXXXThe lamp or dodges the radiator
Below the distant bulle city as if only
The orange darts were alive
XXXXXXof cars moons
XXXXXXXXXXwashed by recent rain,
projected on your gray enamel crowns
The white kills your hair
The barely moistened crown
In the baptismal battery, your hand and your belly
XXXXXXXXXXunconscious of his resignation
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey seem to hold a lifetime
The mystery comes by reorienting its tide about us
Ingravidity time,
XXXXXXgolden delivery time
With a smooth swing the saturated water drop
soap is lost in the ceilings
In the absence of open spaces and responses
From: We had (2013)
The extraordinary poem closes this part Rain, whose extension prevents it from exposing it completely. In it, there is an intermediate break where Pink Introduce a poetic prose narration, which is what I want to include explicitly. Rosa seems to want to be reborn in the cotton of the chrysalis, of the debris of the memory of her past. The appointment of the poem are some verses of the poet and novelist of Romanian origin, Herta Müller.
Rain
(I includes the introductory verses, the central fragment in poetic prose and the final verses)
We anyway
We can no longer walk and only
podemos bailar, […] somos
thick cotton with water that
se balancea y huesos maltrechos […].
Herta Müller
xxxHe drinks hearts and I count my dead.
Blow a strong wind and swing and I'm already cotton
Thick on the water that flows like milk and in the hangover
After milk everything turns and it is not necessary to understand
nothing. I push my nostalgia with my feet, where
Will they be now? I push where will they be now? in
The conviction that absent travels, resemble
we balancing and flowing in the water as in
A grave
xxxA house adds to the current, of course. There is
A lunch, there is a stone bank, there I will stay all the
life. Give me a weaker love and a strong wind where
It is not necessary to understand anything. Give me angular faces,
Stains on the skin, give me the brown tone of the sunsets
In spring, lunar spotlights on the laughs give me,
A few more nights, black patent leather in my dream
xxxWe can dance now as if we came to the world
or we move away from him, we can, and the couples dance and
They swing in the strong wind, couples have their
instrument, its metallic ring in the annular, they swing
Like thick cotton in water, they flow and drum
pushing his nostalgia as a heavy arch,
drag their feet and push
xxxEverything revolves, everything is availability in the compass of the
dance and it is no longer necessary to understand anything
[…]
Before usura, the demand
From the dance pattern dance, dance
-The rain outlines-
everything you can
From: We had (2013)
In the third section, entitled And so the world, the poetic voice, after exploring in the previous two parts, by a past full of lights and shadows, has developed the quality of self-knowledge. From a quiet present, he manages to assimilate his experience, looking for at the same time Understand both your environment and yourself. It is from the present, that he tries to give meaning to family events and give meaning to his life as a child. Somehow, he also faces Losses, including those of the poet. Death It is another of the themes that the book travels. In this sense, the verses of the poem are enlightening Spaces without angels: "After all the lives / face their tombs"
Spaces without angels
There is an airless area
in which the smell
XXXXXXXof ultimate musk
In the fold of the pillow
concentrates the exactness of a body
But it's border pálpito
mere appearance
XXXXXXXarms and hands
that will not be formed in another space
immobilized breeding
There are holes that one day should
fold on themselves
and form new holes
XXXXXXXWhere to get lost
Faces upholstered, empty
XXXXXXXabsent or not,
There will always be someone
Remember them
XXXXXXXincomplete or not
After all the lives
They face their tombs
No confusing times
No improvised returns
XXXXXXXAt the time of Angelus
From: We had (2013)
On their own losses and findings, Esther, citing a poem of Elizabeth Bishop (Monographic), interrogate our poet:
- "The great bet of life is to assume the loss," Bishop wrote. Some of this is in your poetry. How to incorporate what has been lived without melancholy being so excessive that it paralyzes?
- Bishop's poem ends up talking about that loss as a disaster, and says specifically "it is not difficult to master the art of losing, even if sometimes/ may seem (write it!) A disaster" (by the way, I take the translation of Joan Margarit and Sam Abrams that we publish in Igitur editions). Only in the end the poet admits the disaster of all loss and the entire poem charges another meaning after that last verse, and although it says it only once, it highlights the "write it" prior to the word disaster, as saying "dare." She dominated the poet's distance capacity very well regarding her poetry and her feelings. In my case, and as Noni Benegas comments in his book of essays they resist, in the text he dedicates to me, in the face of the madness of the elderly, the girl becomes a little adult, takes the "distance" of an observer. In the poem it is the same, it is above all the narration of the witness, of the survivor, and, therefore, this must be as objective as possible, the melancholy is always a great distorting.
- Although (I think) are two different moments of the same, what happens between the finding and the loss? What is it difficult to recover more?
- Always of the loss, and many times a whole life is not enough to replace us, but I return to Rilke again, his idea that life is a constant overcoming the loss. On the other hand, the finding, even the painful, is something that will end up being part of us over time, once assimilated; The loss, on the other hand, is a subtraction, a vacuum, somewhat irreplaceable, like all those who have suffered amputations in their members and who claim to continue feeling their arms or legs. However, the most responsible poetry - a moral commitment to the word - carries in itself a form of comfort, because writing is revealing our truth.
The poem entitled Accident It is the closure of the work, in which The memories and dreams of the past are intertwined with the current reality.
Accident
1
One option contains another
The truth to lie
Lie to your dream
Your scar a place
Where to settle
devours the seal the memory
And then nothing
The bottle explains to the sailboat
XXXXXXXBottling trip
XXXXXXXreturn
The voice was this
decir “perdida” y contemplarse
XXXXXXXA bottle in search
XXXXXXXof his smell
One option contains another
The life we lead takes us
XXXXXXXWe inhabitants
XXXXXXXof a belly
2
Blacks, blacks
XXXXXXXStorm clouds
They close on the field where
The car has skidded
And nothing is reached to see except
A contour of still voices
XXXXXXXWaiting
as postcards for memory
In his forgotten wood
A garza is saved with a great
majestic movement
We hear the flap flap of his migration
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXheading to Poniente
trapped in this atmosphere
download;
And the flight over our heads
That newly created sleep time
that all promise falsely contains
The orbit in its return curve
como si pudiéramos…
From: We had (2013)
The end of the book are very relevant words for the meaning of the work, which Pink Take of the writer and composer Samuel Butler, in which the connection between the deceased and those who remain in the present: "We will have lost to the memory of / our encounter ... / And yet we will meet, to separate / and meet again, / where the dead men gather: / on the lips of the living". Samuel Butler
After the poems "We had", Pink, as I said before, he reviewed and modified some poems for its edition of the "Poetry gathered" which would be published in 2015. The book would cover from its beginnings in 1994, to the own We had, 2013.
The second book of the trilogy is titled "Beautiful nothing" (2019). At a conference, Pink He revealed where his title came from. Refers to a fragment of the book of Katherine Ann Porter, "The locos ship", where one of the protagonists affirmed: “Nothing, I have nothing. I only have anything. But it doesn't matter, it's beautiful and it's all mine ". Said fragment, closes the book. A picture of José María Guerrero Medina, the cover illustrates again, in this case it is Harlequin.
Some verses of the poet Tess Gallagher, they are the heading of the book: "... as who prolongs / the moment with his death intact, / with his heart, too wise, / clean of the waste we call hope".
The poem THE BRIGHT OF THE DEVIL 1, open the book, closing it The Devil 2 Bottle. Between them, the author encompasses poems in three sections: Family, Mourning of giants. The remoteness Y Travel to the other side. Pink Recite the poems THE BRIGHT OF THE DEVIL 1 Y Desert (Poem belonging to Travel to the other side).
THE BRIGHT OF THE DEVIL 1
He feels stealthy in a bank of the Paseo Marítimo
where I wait for the bus
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXshivering under the fog
Does not around me a mortal breath
but ardent sparks that cloud the air of the air
While the tongue worm moves
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAmong his teeth
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXas lure of the following dam
I begin to sleep like a sword, dangerously,
He concentrates his breath
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXYour fell
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXYour diamond brooch
I spent the threat and leave the paper money
XXXXXXXOn the stone
It is not enough. Fly a little more He says
making its way on my head
Seeing my cards erase the effort
and the pain of half life
And the skin that prevented me from growing falls to the ground
Neither the mobile nor the embroidered handkerchief convinces him
His pink tongue emerges
and dismissed a sulfur breath
XXXXXXXWhen his hoof lifts my heart
My entrails is already the smoke of his mouth
About the veins of the flint the objects form
XXXXXXXA small orphan dowry
They swell glassesxxxPencils
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXDraftswritten poems
XXXXXXXIn a notebook with relief initials
Cutting, without reading them, insists: It's not that,
And he says, pointing his finger
XXXXXXXXXXXXxxxTowards the house key:
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXNo one awaits you
Nothing reviews us, but something returns
and deducts his dream
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXFor the empty place
I look at my house with gratitude
His way of sheltering me
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXOf the great words of longing:
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX"Yesterday" and "Never again"
And closing the eyes go to the appointment
The bus has not arrived
Nothing interrupts the night
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat little by little recovers
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIts mineral appearance
The fog that spread the fire of greed
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXdeviate your dense eye
and a sky of scattered clouds
Keep a halo of ungrateful stars
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxalmost virginal
XXXXXXXXIn his dark universe
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
In Family, Pink The exploration continues to begin in "We had". In a Memory exercise Remember the father, The mother, To the brother, The grandparents or herself, as in the poem The first day, in which we attend your vision of your birth.
The first day
She was a queen and now knows theories
His three long days of pain
They were useless to delay
As the books said after birth
The damaged and open part of its flesh
XXXXXXXXwould leave a minimum scar
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn a more slender silhouette
Its interior has emptied
what was kept waiting
Break waters to the exit
XXXXXXXXExposed spilled
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXDecompensated communicating vessels
And that ordinary pringoso fetid puddle
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXwhere I swam for the first time
Two branches the arms of the creature that I was
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXbroke down pulsations
of another heart that stopped sharing
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXYour rhythm forever
She rests now
XXXXXXXXWhich guisante princess
My mother in her crib sleeps sleeps
While a first captive light floats
About the new being
XXXXXXXXAnd the love that should begin
That eye that turns constant over time
Watch the coldest room perhaps due
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTo a first conversation with the shadows
and far or near
Birds are going through a translucent sky
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXand your winging
Open a silence
that will grow in solitude
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXpartner
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
Last visit is a shocking poem of his father's agony, being the poet witnessing her and the impotence of her mother in the situation. As happened in "We had", The disease Y death They have a presence again in "Beautiful nothing".
Last visit
With his elegant hand on the bag
The almost almost widow convinces the doctor
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat time has come
that she can't do more
His arched figure on the table crawls to him
XXXXXXXXLike an ophid
XXXXXXXXThe scales
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXBright
“…dejar la medicación” alcanzo a oír “mi familia agotada”
My protest is in vain, she without looking at me is directed
in the low eyes of the neurologist fixed on the desktop
XXXXXXXXThe pencil and bloc of motionless recipes
In a remote corner
The girl who cries silently
XXXXXXXXHis tears as useless saetas
They go through the high body of the cold animal
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof which he speaks and decides
While the room turns
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn an infinite vertigo
With different eyes
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXI look at the ladder
In front of a hallXXXXXXXXXXXXOn the left a room
XXXXXXXXThere is a man with his head tilted
The eyes flashes through the room aimless
XXXXXXXXas moths attracted by confrontated reflectors
XXXXXXXXXXXA good boy waiting for his death
Hands resting on each other
XXXXXXXXThe mutilated wings of fallen angel
You approach and grab their ankles
strips of the two abandoned cuttings
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWithout saying a word
That being
XXXXXXXXfragile fragile fragile
and threatened
It turns to you
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXMy father
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
In the poem lilies, the poet is reflected taking flowers to the tomb of a loved one. The verses impress: "For having more things in common / with the absent than with the living / we create the soul / devising the shadow of a dialogue". The relationship with those who are no longer, similar to what is observed in his previous work, becomes essential in this poems.
Lilies
At two years I carry flowers
XXXXXXXXAs if they rocked a sick child
The rings to place them carefully
In the exact center of his grave
XXXXXXXXThe fragile necks of the lilies
XXXXXXXXThey are tilted as newborns
XXXXXXXXAbout the cold stone
For having more things in common
XXXXXXXXWith the absent ones that with the living
We create the soul
XXXXXXXXdevising the shadow of a dialogue
THE CENITAL LIGHT OF THE MOON IN A SKY
clearer and clearer nakes us
XXXXXXXXLike every morning
But today it seems to fly a new plenitude
and shines until the thoughts
They become transparent
I see them slide down my shoulders
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXand fall to land
I ag over, pick up the remains
XXXXXXXXvulnerable such as old silk
And a ritual wind immediately spreads them
For some extinct place
XXXXXXXXas wrong wishes
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
Mourning of giants. The remoteness It constitutes the second part of the work. In this section, the author uses Children's stories as a pretext in several poems, to explore the poetic self and enrich the meaning, as seen in Giants 5 With the story of Alice. Throughout this series of poems, a certain relaxation can be seen in Lentini, where they are evidenced Humor flashes.
Giants 5
I don't call myself Alicia. Do not fall
XXXXXXXFor the hollow trunk of a tree
following the rabbit that was late
XXXXXXXTo his appointment with the Queen of Hearts
I did not go through the glass
The flowers did not talk to me
No smile drawn predicted my future
But when I nibble that mushroom
I grew up I was full of the whole space
XXXXXXXThe head crossed the chimney hole
XXXXXXXThe neck enchanted
XXXXXXXarms coming out through the windows
Until the whole house became my dress
I took it for weeks that were months
XXXXXXXFor months that were years
There is a shine that belongs to me
When the sun gives on the roofs
A tempting vacuum when he says goodbye
After the hills
Dwarves are around my feet
XXXXXXXI have become a sanctuary
XXXXXXXXXXXXXFor the false hope of their nights
Back to my size is impossible
XXXXXXXXXXXXXWithout emptying memories
knotted to a grandeur
last what this excess lasts
While the shador offers me
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXA tiny cup of tea
XXXXXXXthat I never drink
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
The excellent poem closes the central segment Imagining the sky, which is framed by some verses of the American poet Robert Lowell. As in the previous poem, irony It is present.
Imagining the sky
…¿puedo acaso olvidarte
For all eternity, and not have an alternative?
Robert Lowell
The long candidate queue is pushed
In an endless cloud staircase
Murmullos de tiredness grow
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd the pressing sopor
Due to the slow count of names:
XXXXXXXXLender, John; (…) Abdelkabir, Mustafá; (…) Chao, Suqin;
(…) (…) Lentini, Rosa…
The mundane advances in my seized muscles
Facing the non-time of an idyllic home
as remote as I am close to a San Pedro
that nods
XXXXXXXXfor each aspiring accepted
Before me, he approves again, his gaze surveys me
just a second without individualizing me
Without the long acquittal that I expected
XXXXXXXXOnly a flickering of absolute goodness
Oscillating heads behind my back,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXlast minute pendulos,
They cornered my fragile stubborn and carnal husband
and through the door narrowed from heaven
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXa timeless luminescence
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxXXXXof a lightness and well -being
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxbland and sterile
reveals to take the step
It will also be to lose memory
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAnd I refuse to forget
Improviso I go back to the tail
On the interior staircase of the resignation
Souls with their memories recorded to fire
They follow me
deployed in railing
Despite its rigid indolence
XXXXXXXXThe others tend us
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXHis pale anonymous hands
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxWhile we go down and go down
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
Travel to the other side, it is the third and last part of the book and is composed of a series of real travel poems of the poet herself, or imaginary. In the poem The journey. Egypt, his impressions in the present of the trip intermingle with evocations of a historical past of Egypt.
The journey. EGYPT
By lowering the Nile Color
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof the river stones
It is clarified by distilling gray tones
xxxxxxxxxand cover the water bottom
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXMemory
The propeller leaves a great V
opens two agitated spirals in stern
xxxxxxxxxof lines confused in cycles
that intersect and disposate
This look will not last at the years
variable as a classic sky
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx-Irish-style literary-
xxxxxxxxxWith clouds loaded with rain that electrize the landscape
xxxxxxxxxlagged birds returning to their nests to protect yourself
xxxxxxxxxThe moss green countryside moving plomiza
xxxxxxxxxBut this is Egypt
xxxxxxxxxThe vigor and beauty of its clear sky contrast
xxxxxxxxxWith the shady tones of the Celtic legends
xxxxxxxxxa generous moment
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxNo lineage concluded
A climate that nakes history
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxto the bone
unfinished gestures
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXtraces
And a few clouds bruises by the wind
They put the real ones into circulation
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxPast attacks
xxxxxxxxxIts impact of cars
xxxxxxxxxThe helps that fall in a collapse of stones
xxxxxxxxxThe men with ram that demolish
xxxxxxxxxThe entrance doors of a fortress
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey imagined impregnable
For believing in infinity the smoke
of downloads it reaches us
Only when the freshness of the night extends
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIts great fire tent
and mud renews crops
the animal drool
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe spicy urin
and chlorophyll radiates
I am asking what follows everything else
those eyes on the prowl
xxxxxxxxxAbout the fire that articulates us
His attention from archers put in the flames
that will draw our hearts in the air
xxxxxxxxxThere was a song for each of you
xxxxxxxxxWe don't remember, the dead will say
When when floating like pave
dissolved thoughts and traces
The time of the bodies
It becomes an act of memory
Without fear of becoming light
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXand with fair force
xxxxxxxxxWhen they look again
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXA beautiful show awaits you
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
The poem Illustrated Child Bible, revolve around the expulsion from the Eden Garden. The poem presents a critical and ironic nuance subtle.
Illustrated Child Bible
Open paradise closing paradise
The leaves passed
And as soon we were inside
XXXXXXX-The nose from the ñus herds
XXXXXXXThey exhaled their breath
XXXXXXXpearl of humid drops-
As soon as the severe banishment order
I cried out for the misunderstood insumission
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXto eat an apple
Once and another we went naked
to an Eden free of insects and bacteria
And a moment later, we came back
to the punishing angel sword in hand,
XXXXXXXan exile that did not affect us
Eternity, an eye muscle
With the power of pardon or punishment
Míranos ahora, aún siendo pacíficos, ese “otro lado”
impossible to cross
that place we went forever
and the return an arrow
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXSingle direction
In the stamp everything is supported for a moment:
The intense green of the lianas that hang
About Frondas full of perennial fruits in seasoning
XXXXXXXBirds with chillids warning
XXXXXXXfurrowing a sky where the sun radiates its heat
XXXXXXXAbout land animals that satiate their thirst
XXXXXXXIn the Lake Mirror
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd there, in a corner -discuss it -
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXcurled in a branch of ash
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe body of the snake
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXindifferently
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXafter having fulfilled
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXI have its purpose left over
From: beautiful nothing (2019)
Close the trilogy Speaking of broken objects, the last book published to date by the poet, "Out of the day" (2022). Lady in blue, from the author's fetish painter, José María Guerrero Medina, is the illustration chosen for the cover of the book. Divide the book The poet into five sections.
The first section of the book is under the title Where there should be a pearl (the mother). The epigraph to poems are verses of RM Rilke: “I don't capture memories. / oh, life, life: be outside ". Again the poet Inquire in the family, in facets that still had to explore and exorcise, in this case it begins with The mother, being girl witness, but trying to assimilate from the present.
Maternal love
You really believe that this persistence in the chorus
Justify dressing the daughters with multicolored suits
XXXXXXXXmade to embarrass,
Capuchón rattle
XXXXXXXXdesigned to stun them with the movement
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd so know at every step
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxWhere are you
If you think that the burning of your hands is the worst of all
and the atavistic obedience of the small servants
XXXXXXXXWhen sweeping his kingdom
XXXXXXXXscrubXXXXXXXXgo to purchase
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof the ingredients for their convolutions
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXor make real beds
their mothers are enough
... Imagine them in this poem
XXXXXXXXthat they can't read
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXWithout crossing the mirror
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXunknown to themselves
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXpunished in the masquerade
While the golden golds jump histrionic,
XXXXXXXXThe buttons open like mature grains,
XXXXXXXXDoubtive incongruous hoods
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey are silenced on the ground,
When each daughter, when taking the unsuspecting adult
and always leaving the flower wondering
:
"What am I if I dream what I am if I don't dream of you,"
XXXXXXXXFrom a body that is not yet someone's gift,
XXXXXXXXBut either
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXA forgotten creature in his name as water,
Create Utopia, Consuelo
that the child tired of disaffected
XXXXXXXXHe whispers
XXXXXXXX:
Enter palace
XXXXXXXXYour milk teeth await you,
Let there are four sleeping soldiers
XXXXXXXXsupported by stone columns,
XXXXXXXXThe spears
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXfalls on the ground,
Let the guard dog dream his bone in the antechamber
And that in the long corridor that leads to the throne room
XXXXXXXXThe butlers leave the trays
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd the glasses,
Leave the kings about the thrones
XXXXXXXXNo demands with their subjects,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXmired
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn the spirit of wine,
XXXXXXXXLeave the armía taught
XXXXXXXXThe depopulated stables
While the columns of inheritance
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey fall after others
Let your eyelids close
and that by the only tower standing lattices
XXXXXXXXMeaning
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXBetween the horizon by destination
... let erosion then
XXXXXXXXextends once again
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAbout any evidence
From: off the day (2022)
About the memory of the past, I stop in the interview of Esther Peñas to Rosa Lentini:
- In your poetry, you propose more than the fulgor of the contingent, the vital accumulation of who writes (this is also noticed in the extension of the poems). Does memory weigh more than desire?
- It depends on the memory of each one, on what lived by each one; In my case, memory weighs and the poem is usually lengthened, although not always. Like the Amerindians, I think that what we have in front is not the future, but the past, and that everything accumulated in life serves to clarify it more than to revive it, and that transfiguration from the present of a less revisited past than rebuilt, offers us, little by little, a more complete picture of who we are; The poetry of memory is never the single narration of the facts, it is also necessary a poetic elaboration, a mask, that helps to bring it closer to the reader. The poet walks on a tightrope, balancing content and shape. From my co -direction in the magazine Time of Poetry, to that of Igitur editions, both with my husband, the writer Ricardo Cano Gaviria, I have read a lot of poetry. And only because of that amount of readings I hope to know the limits, how far you can get in personal narrative. (Turia Digital, Esther Peñas interview with Rosa Lentini).
the extensive Cartography of a mother, is another prominent poem that is framed by some verses of the Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz. In the prologue of the book, Edgardo Dobry Reflect on the maternal figure present in the poem: "The young mother, cartographed, in another of the poems, with her" dark makeup layer ", with her" oval blue plastic box "from which the false eyelashes emerge, which the girl sees with surprise and a finger of resentment. The mother as a woman who circulates eroticized, which is "booted ... to the sea of sargazos" ".*
Cartography of a mother
That the black garden door closes, peace, peace,
What is finished, is finished.
Czeslaw Milosz
I remember her, plunged into her beauty dream
For a husband always absent,
XXXXXXXXThe leaflet under your window
XXXXXXXXXaccumulating for the noise we would make when sweeping it,
XXXXXXXXXXXand always closed postpots
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXuntil twelve
The garbage will continue there when she wakes up,
XXXXXXXXagain dispersed, after a silent
XXXXXXXXPrayer to Los Angeles Custodios
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXand the Virgin to cover up
XXXXXXXXXXXOur half work to do
But secretly the air transports
XXXXXXXXsuspense molecules that draw
XXXXXXXXXXXThe face of my young mother,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIts dark makeup layer
Like the non -coagulated blood of a Christ
XXXXXXXXPrint your features
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxin towels and cushion covers,
Fragments of the chosen martyrdom
from whom his home delegates, indifferent to emboced drainage
XXXXXXXXand the tubs of washing clothes,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXwhere as squid in its ink
children float in their dirt ...
After breakfast, in wicker chairs,
We attend the steps of your metamorphosis
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-And we had been asking for it-,
XXXXXXXXWhen ticking us in the nose
The delight rancid of its perfume
XXXXXXXXwith the creams and shales that smear it,
XXXXXXXXHere rules the suffocation of enamel or aerosol
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThere the hair lacquer,
XXXXXXXXBeyond the Barniz Color Blood
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxFor your incrue nails
There is a slight concern when the tiny forceps
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXmold your eyelashes,
surprise when the false emerge
XXXXXXXXof a blue plastic oval box,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-And that rictus in the mouth when placing them-,
intrigued by the vibrant doll when
XXXXXXXXThe faceXXXXXXXXneckxxxxxneckline and even lips
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXso that the rouge lasts longer,
tiredness when his automaton hand hills his hair
XXXXXXXXAnd sadness when some hair,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXattracted
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXon the humid floor,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey fall desolate
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAfter the quiet flight
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof a bad omen
Two pearls hang on their lobes
XXXXXXXXWhile others clinking in necklaces
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAbout his chest where hopelessness
XXXXXXXXnests under the holders with filling foam,
XXXXXXXXAnd when the dress goes finally from the head
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXpreviously covered with a gauze handkerchief
XXXXXXXXthat protects the fragile hairstyle,
XXXXXXXXprotests are produced, and buffid
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWhen she requires the help of
Passed incapable children
XXXXXXXXto reach the zipper of the back
XXXXXXXXWith their inharile hands
XXXXXXXXNow the heel shoes hold it,
XXXXXXXXas high as strides in the middle of the hall,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIt is the launch of a young mother
launched into the sea of sargazos while
XXXXXXXXnoisy dwarves celebrate it
XXXXXXXXout of the lattices narrowed from the window
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXand empty basin angels fire it
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTogether with vibrant gorgons hair
XXXXXXXXThe children collect the leaf litter
XXXXXXXXThey pile up
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXon the wheelbarrow
XXXXXXXXMaking a bonfire
XXXXXXXXXXof transparent flames,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWith smoke rising while in the air
XXXXXXXXOur afternoon is sculpted
… And in the stubborn routine of the past
XXXXXXXXashes, sand and dust
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey are attached to the window
She would shut up that dayXXXXXXXX… And those who followed
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWhen we did not go through there
... but a sun morning that licks
XXXXXXXXThe wooden framework smoothly,
XXXXXXXXA fan of swollen and weak body
XXXXXXXXIt appears, as a lagging shadow
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAfter the latter,
XXXXXXXXLOST THE COMPLEX OF YOUR NIGHT
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXA wandering creature
Under the bitter sun, the bitter sun,
XXXXXXXXWith his small damaged comet tendons
XXXXXXXXthat the sky no longer supports
Now I am the instrument when it dusk,
XXXXXXXXThe closure of the bolt,
The last carraspeo that turns it
When my body is covered
XXXXXXXXWith the withered rose pillow
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX... of that scarlet,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof that orange dust
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat gave off his mouth
I quiet his head, so that the silence does not have the scarlet,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXso that your chimera does not show a flight
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof scared wings
When we,
XXXXXXXXas at the end of a ceremony,
XXXXXXXXWe should gently slide
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWith all the sounds in our head
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXunder one voice
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXasking to be, asking to be
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThat flight
From: off the day (2022)
Continue Dobry, in relation to the disturbing poem Paddling (woman stalking in the hall)-, referring to the mother: "And that, in turn, erotizes the girl and almost delivery, as an offering so that the family home does not collapse, to the father".*
Paddling
(Woman stalking in the hall)
A crib, a baby
XXXXXXXUnpolluted and drooling
XXXXXXXXXXXXAnd a girl not much older
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXServing him as a shield
... is not bad as a language of a daily drift,
In the nature of a dream, accomplice
of sin was innocence,
While the river of the night ran outside, ran,
XXXXXXXXXXXXSnake river that drags everything
XXXXXXXeven the certainty of an innoble desire
XXXXXXXXXXXXand the long guilt that never
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIt catches it, even doubt
If the woman would not listen
XXXXXXXThe children's voices on the other side of the door
... not even the accomplices of Santos
apology the long complacency
XXXXXXXof a man-mother like an animal on the prowl,
XXXXXXXThe shadow of a night dwarf
XXXXXXXXXDoor demolition
XXXXXXXXXXXXAfter which to seek refuge
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAt the end of the getaway
XXXXXXXAnd for that girl's body
XXXXXXXHe fulfilled his role
XXXXXXXXXXXXThe stalking woman supposed her
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXdesires of adult,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXRamera Strategies ...
XXXXXXX… Still the immature mind only sought
XXXXXXXXXXXXto the only one who took care of her,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe only one with whom to share secret and guilt
... not even the prints
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXinanes of the saints
They foreshadowed
XXXXXXXXXXXThe long complacency
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXFrom a man-scurd,
Like the shadow of a dwarf
XXXXXXXThat knocks doors
XXXXXXXXXXXXand walls in an attempt
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXto escape from yourself,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat stranger ...
Not the idea of the girl's body
but the body itself gave her
When I listened to the door
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX... And nobody knows
Not even the river that leaned
nor the troops of relatives entangling
XXXXXXXone in others and celebrating,
XXXXXXXWhat did they celebrate? ... Not that sidereal eye
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat would save them
XXXXXXXat the time of future penance
XXXXXXXXXXXXconfident in the recliner
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXfrom where they go up
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXSouls to heaven
XXXXXXXThere was never God, just one hand
XXXXXXXsealing with the bottle and trusting it to the current
Let's say so
XXXXXXX... as if your message someday
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXcould import someone
From: off the day (2022)
From a wrong place to another (the son), second section of the book, it is framed by some verses of Paul Celan: "I am out, I replace the city, the homeland, / the language even for poetry".
In the first part, the attention focused on the mother, with whom the author experienced an ambivalent relationship of love and hate, especially due to certain attitudes that left the vulnerable girl before the father. In this second segment, The author directs her gaze to her brother, considered the Mother's favorite son. From the moment of the brother of the brother, The girl experiences a painful gradual displacement that the poet feels the need to heal so many years later. The poems of this section are deeply bleak, but mainly it is, at least as regards me, the poem Dream of the fallen God, which starts with an appointment of the writer Louise May Alcott.
Dream of the fallen God
Bad men want gold;
(…) y tú deberás levantar el vuelo
Louise May Alcott
In the tacit agreement between her and her decision
XXXXXXXXto take care of the son
It was said
:
XXXXXXXX“si uno de los polluelos engorda
XXXXXXXXal excedente se le echa del nido”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx…y ningún testigo del crimen
…I could leave it there, dream that Zeus or his cohort does not burn
of silver sirens banalizes the future of Olympus,
When the earth passes the witness to the ambitious child convinced
of the version of minor gods that chant him
XXXXXXXXMore for you, everything for you
…dejar que los titanes caídos le ofrezcan toda la luz
able to absorb his nascent sullen face,
His baby eyes and hair
similar to others in its impersonality
that at three years the fat child does not maintain
XXXXXXXXHis imperturbable roughness
XXXXXXXX:
XXXXXXXXMore for him, everything for him
Oa the seven do not learn to smile at the family
XXXXXXXX-This old giant overthrown,
XXXXXXXXThe gold of his crown with his disaster shine-,
nor to the fourteen are educated as the powerful
that at seventeen I do not retrace theirs
XXXXXXXXIn a bloody war threat,
XXXXXXXX-Troya, oh Troy, neither Achilles nor Héctor not even Áyax
XXXXXXXXOnly the Paris-
XXXXXXXX:
XXXXXXXXMore for me, everything for me
OA thirty -three, finally ending the race
XXXXXXXX-Your first feat-,
The greedy emperor does not learn
XXXXXXXXOnly strategies XXXXXXXXMore strategies,
that limits himself to not smelling death,
that great roulette that evaporates everythingXXXXXXXXnoiseless
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWho goes more, who is less
If the hands move with the dice, if the hands
They are there and he with the lesson learned
saved
XXXXXXXXIn the sixture slopes
That pursues the dream of your own gallop
Sleeping for himself, asleep
In a lunar silence with ice surface surface
A backless lake, silver coin mirror
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWhere to bathe lonely under the moon
as the millionaire character idolized in childhood,
XXXXXXXXpoor childhood of deceived child
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXOnly strategiesxxxxxstrategies
And so fifty
sixty
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXeighty years aboard a delirium
XXXXXXXXAlways a thirst for others
XXXXXXXXXXXNo one else knew about her
XXXXXXXXIn his pigeon's throat
With open beak as a scissors,
XXXXXXXXshe saw a portrait of herself
XXXXXXXXXXXXXHow much wood around him tin and mohosa,
XXXXXXXXThe house full of the loot of its intrigues
XXXXXXXXThus becomes a son
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTragameXXXXXXXXDevor me
Thus it was undone, and so the son dissolved in the absence
of whom he evict impotent,
fearing that the world was not for him
but a mild shades
why poetry thenXXXXXXXXWhy the starry sky
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXwhy the sad waltz of life without music
If there are no angels or heroes
XXXXXXXXOnly the tintineo argente
de los ángeles de alas de plata…
They will see the people spend silence
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThat is XXXXXXXXese es…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxel que robó las alas en pleno vuelo…
Dreams of what abandons him,
unbeatable the pure water sea replicates
And he choks to drink it
-Recute it-
Remember it
XXXXXXXXXXXRemember it
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxYou, who as a child you wanted
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxput the sea in a bowl
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXLife will be for you
That move from slight leftovers
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXBetween silver tintineos
From: off the day (2022)
Dreaming was a mission It is the third division of the book. Two appointments precede poems: "as a sweet dragon like / a cross with its circular tail / she escaped in the dreams of all ". (Mary Norbert Körte). "If in my human arrogance I demand to read / the eyes, I can't find there more than my own animal thoughts: / that creatures must be for comfort of the body ”. (Adrienne Rich).
Given adversity, the poet needs evade through sleep and imagination, like in Hospital night. Surgery…
I. Hospital night. SURGERY
The dream of the ghost orchid
The elastic band around the wrist
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXprepares me for silence
that has to arrive when the orchid-stars
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXStop moving
The first David already anointed will lower my breasts to the basement
XXXXXXXThe second David will sleep
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd the third will hide them forever
They return the vigor of the day
My time belongs to them
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAs if they were their kings,
Look if not the past
beating against the countercurrent
XXXXXXXIn fear of losing my footprint
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXon the surface of the earth,
XXXXXXXFor an error, always in genetics
XXXXXXXXXXPersistence
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXdel único error que lo destruye todo…
How easily a woman dispenses with her body
And that woman makes them the promise of hurrying her days
XXXXXXXAs much as you can belong
If they save
of the past not your twilight,
but the virgin gardens
XXXXXXXof his eternal summers,
For a single gesture to three
XXXXXXXthat preserves not the dream of the lost
XXXXXXXbut the light that housed it
They do it
XXXXXXX…y lo que había
XXXXXXXyields to what
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXShe is still going to last
Live like this, when the house is the plain
of the moonless nights with
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxlions roaring in the distance
and blind elephants, broken fangs,
XXXXXXXcrossing the dried lands in pack
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn search of food
…solo su olfato los guía en las largas migraciones
From: off the day (2022)
In the same section, under a verse of the French poet Martine Broda, is the excellent poem Notes for an old poet (the dream of the bird).
10. Notes for an old poet
The dream of the bird
The aggregate wind on allegory.
Martine Broda
Think, friend, in that man
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat walked along the avenue
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxWith a parrot on his shoulder
the mischievous birds of the bird
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxThey made us look for the dog
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxin an impossible place
Look now the old hat:
XXXXXXXThe golds of sunset
XXXXXXXXXXthat in the memory wing they wilt
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXand the different omens for the future
XXXXXXXThey are dust of those distant days,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxxSaid words
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXas howls from a cunning bird
XXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxfun with our confusion
And still love all
XXXXXXXthose strange words and sounds,
XXXXXXXan incomplete text in which you balance,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxfriend,
With your imaginary
XXXXXXXBut Magic animal land
Like the only certainty in that ideogram
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxLife
From: off the day (2022)
We arrive at the Fourth Section In the end ... / That beautiful corner which is under the epigraph of two quotes: "As if an arm swept the past of its pedestal / and threw it into the paperwork". (Mary Jo Bang). "He key the door to his past, / an exile finally." (Chava Rosenfarb)
The very extensive poem Prelude and trip is a Extremely painful poet's memory exercise, in which a Father's abuse scene to the girl. Lentini Alternate poetic prose with free verses.
In the interview of Esther Peñas to Rosa Lentini, the ethical and moral commitment of the poet is highlighted. In this context, Pink It reveals the children's abuses, trying to understand them through poetry:
- Does the poet's commitment stay beyond language, it remainsout of the day?
- The ethical, moral commitment of the poet goes beyond the contingent, but also beyond a social poetry as it was understood in the period of the 50s to the 70s of the last century. In the United States they know how to find the midpoint between the personal and the social. It is a commitment to the real, understanding by real not reality, but the personal narrative we make of it. Make poems of intimate experiences told from interiority, but not calculating reality, but interpreting it through the mediation of poetry, intimate poems yes, but not confessional. The poet's ethical commitment also comes outside the word, although it is above all with the word. In the trilogy that I just closed with the book out of the day, and which I previously published, also in Bartleby, we had and beautiful nothing - for the same way, with three precious covers of the painter José María Guerrero Medina -, mainly incid Understanding. (Turia Digital, Esther Peñas interview with Rosa Lentini).
Prelude and trip
What do we know of the young marriage and his bed, of the magic of mutations in the girl's mind that on holidays parents incite the game, a prelude in the key of sun on their ribs, a girl-powerful to whose notes add the tickles a tremolus?
Ellas la abren como una almeja risueña
que se entrega al largo viaje y a su remo
¿Quién sino su padre sabría quererla, jugando con ella a la barca que espera entre sus rodillas, con su remo al fondo, su remo…? …el que necesita para escapar de cualquier fangal del recorrido,
un palo, vara, pértiga, madero, cualquier cosa,
que debe buscar, pero “siempre sin salir del bote”
dice con su voz de fuego
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXel figurón de proa
…siempre sin saber hacia dónde viaja el hombre, con la cría remando entre sus rodillas,
hacia qué ignoto país, ni los familiares que se abordan unos a otros lo saben, ni el ojo sideral que a todos los salvaría
gracias a una penitencia
incumplida y sin oremus
Porque nunca hubo un Dios, solo una mano confiando a la corriente su mensaje, mano infantil empuñando
la pala de carne embebida
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXrema
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXniña
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXrema
rema hacia el horizonte
que un amanecer añil te espera
como si aún le importara a alguien… -digámoslo así-
como si en el futuro de sus vidas alguien los viera en su juego
(…)
Sencillo sería volver a emular el primer toque
de sirena anunciando el embarque
soplando entre el pulgar y el índice,
XXXXXXXXal segundo vaivén el mascarón de proa
XXXXXXXXorientaría el rumbo,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXla carne del hombre mejorando
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXla sólida madera, sus piernas, la quilla
mecida como la de cualquier barco de línea
surcando el Mediterráneo
se adentraría en las irisadas aguas atlánticas
Just to a slight knee turn, the deep
XXXXXXXXcrystalline waters, with its emerald color,
XXXXXXXXThey would show the carnadura and spine
XXXXXXXXXXXXOf the great amphibians, while
XXXXXXXXXXXXA new turn crowning
XXXXXXXXXXXXThe exotic seas would reveal the
XXXXXXXXXXXXswollen wreck bodies
We would arrive at the Dead Sea without mishap,
surrounding immediately the African continent,
XXXXXXXXWhere solar leather pigmety would receive
To the navigators in Corro
XXXXXXXXWith guttural notes, flattering
XXXXXXXXXXXXof a land
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXpregnant with treasures
It would not be the distance, but
Keep saying Yes To all banners
raised as flights, where the islands
XXXXXXXXof the Far East would pass as planets
:
One carbon
XXXXXXXXthat sulfur
XXXXXXXXXXXXthat of siliconxxxHelio'sxxxOne more diamond
and the chords to the sky
In a perfect symphony when the coast
of America suddenly opened its jaws
XXXXXXXXsuperb
XXXXXXXXXXXXsteep mountains
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXgigantic cliffs,
XXXXXXXXXXXXAnd so on until Indochina
XXXXXXXXJapan,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXRussia,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxAustralia
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWithout further ado
The transatlantic, when climbing the Delta, would run into
With an unexpected enchanted wall,
making it the shy humiliated barge,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXstranded forever,
XXXXXXXXLike the rest of an old shipwreck
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn the dense swamps
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof the United States
Right there the trip would stop, the body of the unleashed father already, his inanimate legs down on the old wood of the bed,
The most eternal and narrow time of the present, again
In the words crossed by him from the bow with the pregnant woman sitting next to her on the mattress and silent witness of the game,
While the small aquatic nymph would begin its exile in
A useless effort to recover what a treasure believed
(…)
But why do we keep saying Yes,
XXXXXXXXrenouncing to jump out of bed,
Why do we look at the bottom of the keel
Something soft that grows between laughs
XXXXXXXXthat are nothing but teasing
XXXXXXXXof a stranger,
hasta el “basta ya” inesperado de la mujer que en sordina
redirect the boat, towards the bottom of the sea
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXWhere memory buries
Why he appears from his millenary hiding place
at the end of a thread
of which we throw fear and stealth
Until the stick, the rowing, the rod emerges with the boat
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXAnd with her the impossible trip
…pero si miro a la niña ahora, yo puedo verla
very good since this future time
With its useless, dry tenderness
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXhow easily it reaches
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTHE DEATH OF THE DONCELLA
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe sourcexxxxxdeathxxxxxThe source
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXdeath
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe barge
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThe maiden
From: off the day (2022)
Again, its protagonist is the father. In previous books, Lentini He delivered the poems THE RANA I MAN Y Rana II man. Thus, the series concludes with The Rana III man. This poem manifests the ambivalence of the poet to her father -symptillary to the one she feels for her mother-, evidencing so much the fascination for him as rejection that also causes you.
The Rana III man
In sickly rivalry
XXXXXXXXXXXXXWith the man of the legend
XXXXXXXHe wore gloves drafts
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXPalmed thumbs
XXXXXXXand brilliant scales that on the thighs
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXdelataban su posición…
By beating the waves they caught him
Expert sailors, so volatile
XXXXXXXand reckless, so fascinated by the open sea
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXmi padre…
Look now in time fiction
XXXXXXXof a return path
The crystal is weak, but transfigures
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXsalt
where the fins of a maritime joy
XXXXXXXThey released their larvae
XXXXXXXXXXthat the strength of the tide still piles
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXnext to the shore
My father and his dark hands of Triton
weights on deckXXXXstones
of sandstone on bounded beaches,
His body of Siluro a human cry, worms,
XXXXXXXand an anonymous wave appearance
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXen busca de otra…
My father with palmed hands,
His ornament between his legs, a whim
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof evolution,
y yo, una hija ya anciana…
in whose hair they sleep
XXXXXXXXThe threads of a future map,
No rivers and valleys
XXXXXXXXXXXXXpara el ensueño…
Once I was so close to a man I discovered
XXXXXXXYour lie
:
Through the mirror I saw him place his diving glasses,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXGray fins splashing at night
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey disappeared
... then, in living water, I discovered it
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXleaning on his daughter
XXXXXXXXlike a fish opens its mouths towards a smaller fish
XXXXXXXXas a sea opens to another sea and absorbs it
As a silence remains far from fear
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn our blood
From: off the day (2022)
The escape It occupies the last segment of poems of the book. Its epigraph are some verses of the American poet Adrienne Rich: "It is not the distance who conceives me / but I am a distance". Are part of it, two poems, the very extensive The dream under the scanfandra Y From a hotel room (speaking with my centennial grandmother's ghost). About the poem, Edgardo Dobry In the prologue, he writes: “In the end, the grandmother appears as the only one who is capable of offering amparo. And if, as Benegas remembers, Lentini's ultimate poetry should be read in the light of a strong slogan of American feminism -"the personal is political" -, the figure of the protective grandmother is linked to the only moment of the book in which the outside world shows its mark: "Srebrenica, Aleppo, Mariúpol / One hundred faces, eight thousand, twenty, one face ...". Grandma is the maternal instance, which cries abuses and injustices, which returns love to pain ”.*
The Rana III man
In sickly rivalry
XXXXXXXXXXXXXWith the man of the legend
XXXXXXXHe wore gloves drafts
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXPalmed thumbs
XXXXXXXand brilliant scales that on the thighs
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXdelataban su posición…
By beating the waves they caught him
Expert sailors, so volatile
XXXXXXXand reckless, so fascinated by the open sea
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXmi padre…
Look now in time fiction
XXXXXXXof a return path
The crystal is weak, but transfigures
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXsalt
where the fins of a maritime joy
XXXXXXXThey released their larvae
XXXXXXXXXXthat the strength of the tide still piles
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXnext to the shore
My father and his dark hands of Triton
weights on deckXXXXstones
of sandstone on bounded beaches,
His body of Siluro a human cry, worms,
XXXXXXXand an anonymous wave appearance
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXen busca de otra…
My father with palmed hands,
His ornament between his legs, a whim
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXof evolution,
y yo, una hija ya anciana…
in whose hair they sleep
XXXXXXXXThe threads of a future map,
No rivers and valleys
XXXXXXXXXXXXXpara el ensueño…
Once I was so close to a man I discovered
XXXXXXXYour lie
:
Through the mirror I saw him place his diving glasses,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXGray fins splashing at night
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXThey disappeared
... then, in living water, I discovered it
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXleaning on his daughter
XXXXXXXXlike a fish opens its mouths towards a smaller fish
From a hotel room
(Speaking with the ghost
Of my centenary grandmother)
His face turned into history
…fibroso, sin rendirse, cavando todavía,
Because his song always thinks he will beat the ruin
If you want to have the past ahead
XXXXXXXXen el mismo instante que dice “aquí”,
XXXXXXXXHere is
xxx…y luego me presento yo, y todo lo que necesita para
that your world remains intact,
XXXXXXXXThe certainty of face to face, the caudalous fury
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxof the soul before the poem
…fragmentos de polvo metálico en los pulmones
como cualquier artesano relojero …desechos -I think-
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxwaste
:
I have communed
With more faces I can remember than,
I confess, and look intrigued
xxx…I have lost parts of me to continue alive,
XXXXXXXXI have left in the sand, mutilated
And in my dreams the disgust was purple
XXXXXXXXand lived the following hours of the day
XXXXXXXXXXXXXhoping to erase my memory
But, in the end, the Hamletian question was
:
To tell or not to tell?
XXXXXXXXAnd so, here I am
XXXXXXXXAs if that memory could be released
In a network to come
From the most unsuccessful of lost worlds
I'm listening to the woman who wonders
And while I turn to the beginning
I move as if everything would end, although
Now I listen to how reciting
:
Srebrenica, Aleppo, Mariupol
One hundred faces, eight thousand, twenty, one face
XXXXXXXXThat is yours, there are also you
XXXXXXXXAnd what you saw I will see too?
…la atención puesta en los hombros que se encogen,
In that umbilical cord
that goes from the tree to the burning forest
or in the rigidity where there should be
XXXXXXXXuna sola tradición de mil danzas…
I tell you that we cling
XXXXXXXXto the aligned before us
as a trench of the future,
that we return to the jump of the angel
and that to what blooms as a scar on the skin
XXXXXXXXXXXXXWe call it
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXpersistence of life, no dust
…le digo que nunca dejamos de hablarle a la mujer
that still ignores if it will resist,
As if your body was no longer on the reverse of light
And I know I am telling someone who has lived everything
lo que se puede vivir sin desencanto…
XXXXXXXXAlthough we occupy separate rooms,
XXXXXXXXI can see it, spinning its wicker basket,
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXthat leaves aside,
And with his most secret expression he answers me
Bringing to my lips the finger
XXXXXXXXwho has put before his own
From: off the day (2022)
XXXXXXXXas a sea opens to another sea and absorbs it
As a silence remains far from fear
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXIn our blood
From: off the day (2022)
The book closes some verses of the Czech poet Kateřina Rudčenková, that suggest that Lentini has achieved exorcise all the ghosts of his past Through his poetry and You don't need to face them again: "The dust does not do any evil, / do not clean it anymore".
The previous verses and this last question of Esther Peñas to Rosa Lentini, to finish the article:
- "The horizon diverts the ships / of any promised land." What presides (or should it do so) in our biography is desire or persecution?
- In my case, plus the persecution than the desire itself, there is no doubt. Dramatism is always determined between what we want to happen and what really happens. It is the basis of poetry that never achieve our purposes, the basis of all writing and all creation is that frustration. We write as a way of compensating that fault, that fantasy that we have all had, that unattainable whole, and although that compensation that is the poem can never save us or change anything, although it is not a victory, it always ends up being a gain, because where there was only a blank page, there is now a poem or a book. (Turia Digital, Esther Peñas interview with Rosa Lentini).
Bibliographic and audiovisual references
Rosa Lentini Published in 2013 the poems "We had". A vital book for the author, because it manages to confront a past of chiaroscuros with a look from the present and trying to understand the girl at the time within a complicated family environment. Following this book, the author feels the urgency of reviewing and restructuring all her previous poetry, which leads her to publish in 2015 a compilation of her work until that moment, including the aforementioned book, "We had ". Thus, almost all the poet's work is presented again, which makes it an essential reading. In addition, the prologue of Eduardo Milan provides valuable comments that help enter the poetry of Lentini.
Poems cycle "talking about broken objects"
Although "We had" (2013) ⬈ You are already included in your "Poetry gathered ", is the book with which he begins his last and definitive cycle about his past, Speaking of broken objects. "Beautiful nothing" (2019) ⬈ It is the second poems and "Out of the day" (2022) ⬈ It is the third and final book with which the cycle concludes. In turn, it is the last work to date composed of Rosa Lentini. You can see the book covers above. The three books contain excellent prologues or epigraphs.
"The poet's mask: essays on the poetry of Rosa Lentini" ígitur, 2023
It is an essay book edited by the editorial itself of Rosa Lentini And his partner Ricardo Cano Gaviria, Igitur editions. Very interesting editorial, but unfortunately missing. In the book, rightly, they have compiled all the prologues and epigicians of the poems of Rosa Lentini, adding some articles that have approached the poetry of the poet. The book three interviews conducted to Rosa Lentini, one of which is granted to the Turia Magazine, which I have been renovating in the article. Book, therefore, indispensable to know in greater depth the poet and her poetry.
* The articles mentioned throughout the monograph are collected in the trial book cited.
Poets on the radio: Rosa Lentini (© UNED)
The sound document of the UNED It is indispensable to know and listen to Rosa Lentini speak about his poetry. Poets on the radio: It is a space created by Ana Isabel Zamorano Rueda, Professor of the Department of Foreign Philologies, Faculty of Philology UNED. Coordinator of the Permanent Seminar on Literature and Women, UNED. And next to her, ROSA MARÍA GARCÍA RAYEGO, Professor of English Philology, Poet and Literary Criticism, Complutense University of Madrid. Miguel Minaya Vara He exercises as editor - announcer, CEMAV, UNED. Both teachers bring us closer to the poetry of Rosa Lentini, and in turn, they talk with her. This document has a license: Recognition-Nonocomercial-Compartyrigual 3.0 Spain (CC BY-C-SA 3.0 ES).
Visual documents
In the following two videos, in addition to the presentations on the poetic work of Rosa Lentini, we will have the opportunity to listen to the poet in person by talking about her own poetry and reciting various poems extracted from her poems.
Input image: Rosa Lentini, Igitur editions.