Photography: (c) Mariola Díaz-Cano. Portomaior beach. Bueu. South coast of the Pontevedra estuary.
Today is Galician Literature Day, but the current circumstances have postponed its celebration like so many others this year. The Real Academia Galega has postponed its extraordinary plenary session for him October 31. In that month the planned acts dedicated to the ferrolan intellectual Ricardo Carvalho Calero placeholder image. But here I will make a selection de poetry of 4 Galician authors: Cesar Antonio Molina, Blanca Andreu, Carlos Oroza y Miguel D'Ors.
Cesar Antonio Molina
From La Coruña, it is writer and, translator, university professor, cultural and political manager who was Minister of Culture between 2007 and 2009.
The soufrière
Shaking
Rocks and ash since last morning.
The boiling mud. The boiler. The sea.
The dream in the agony of the starry mirrors,
of the fractured sails until the early hours of the afternoon.
The rumor of sheltered lips
not knowing who to kiss in this month of farewells.
And soon the rain, the wind, the hail shaken
like a grain in the craters of our bored houses.
Up to a hundred meters high the flight of the pigeon,
the wounded glow in the ashes.
And already the winter hardened by fumaroles.
And the words accompanied by boiling mud
in the abandoned furrows of dead rivers.
And the citanias again open to the candles.
And the geysers lit up like colored fountains.
And the exit of the steam that is outlined with the urgency of a night mail.
Blanca Andrew
Also coruñesa, Francis Threshold introduced her into the literary circles that marked her career in the poetry of the years 80, for which he won several awards. Juan Benet's wife, after being widowed he retired from public life. This is his most representative poem.
My love
My love, look at my vitriol mouth
and my Ionian hemlock throat,
look at the broken-winged partridge that lacks a home and dies
through Rimbaud's thyme deserts,
look at the trees like twitching nerves of the day
crying scythe water.
This is what I see in the flat hour of April,
also in the chapel of the mirror I see this,
and I can't think of the pigeons that inhabit the word
Alexandria
nor write letters to Rilke the poet.
Carlos Oroza placeholder image
De Lugo and covered by the recently deceased Luis Eduardo Aute, Oroza is the most veteran author and of longest trajectory chosen in this selection.
The one who officiates the poem
Nor the endorsement
nor the syntactic power
nor the verb without credit
It is not order or time that gives us pleasure
its purity
the whiteness or the black that projects into the sea the vowels without lyrical content
a destinationless value of infinite feet of universes that converge in a river turn
parody is the cloud
to his credit is the outstretched arm a hand directed to hell
an endangered bird.
Miguel D'Ors
De Santiago de Compostela, is a tenured professor of Spanish Literature at the University of Granada.
Has published some books on contemporary Spanish poetry, with special attention to the work de Manuel Machado.
Amandino
Loving, Amandiño, that you were from Corredoira,
how does tonight come back, with what magical light,
that wild bath, and our prancing
naked by the meadow dotted with dung,
and that song of yours, wild friend, seven-year-old buccaneer
- «Ay, ay, ay, blessed is the drunkard» -,
going down the deep carballeiras
excessive, insistent and naked.
From that summer everything has been lost
except that hour
wonderfully seditious.
After
you stayed for your world, free of calendars;
I went into the intact smell of the new books.
From them came the path that -courses, people cities-
has brought me to this.
And now that I contemplate my life
and I want to give you alms,
I ask the years
what will have become of you, Amandiño, friend of a summer;
what will have become of me.