Spanish Funny Words With J

The poet presents Joaquín Pérez Azaustre The Ollerías, book which won the poetry prize last Loewe and editorial published by the viewer. Wednesday, March 9, at 8 Libertad Madrid at 21'3o h. and the following day, Thursday, in the Cultural Office of Cordoba at 20 h.

One can only recommend passion Joaquin friend recommends it closely, from the depths of subjectivity. Trying to give the patina of objectivity would be ridiculous. I say this very clearly. I am a passionate reader of literature Joaquín Pérez Azaustre and it has its pros and cons. Praise but also criticism. Did not come to mind in the announcement of a presentation but surely that encourages reading his books. Books, poems, stories, novels, articles, history, implicating who reads, who dislodged, they put in a place other than that one point, even if it seems to speak of oneself. But what should be the literature but that? In addition, Joaquín Pérez Azaustre do with the intensity of voracious writer, as his favorite Hemingway was a tradition, or as it is Gimferrer in another of its traditions, "the writer who thinks in words, that part of him lives as same and since they are confronted with the reality, the social, political, emotional and sentimental. Their literature is the expression of a conflict, tension, a need to uncover what is happening between the words and with them. And the reader is positioned within that conflict and fumbles and makes connections and differences. Know-it reads, "that the writer has not avoided the risk that has been precisely there, at risk. No less should be asked to a book, you can not ask for more. Lean Azaustre Joaquín Pérez, read it, starting with The Ollerías, start wherever they want, they do not disappoint, because it is a writer with a voice and that is increasingly rare.

"THE
Olleria
still too early to go home: I have curved
dwarves back I came
loading has always
who nap in my pockets
to slow my digestion.
still too early to go home, but stepped
limits.
I thought nobody would recognize me.
heard the barking, I feared the orange powder.
remembered the bank hidden under the furniture.
What has been the nerve, hiding under a thigh
Queen and metal hands?
Now the costumes are leather and look
Avenue from afar, and far
the sun and the other,
once flew to calm my fever.
know what you're thinking, it is still early,
and have hardly met my deals with life.
is too early, but what do you expect, if your voice
nails in my ankles and I
tames anxiety, fear of insomnia.
Inside me, still inhabit the house.
Others came before, and already emptied
of you, your clothes, your perennials
always talked to me, among other things. "