The fruitful work of the poet Erika Madrid Buenos Aires can be considered a discovery for the first time he looks into the semblance revealing of his art. His verses, full of expression, transport us to a world of intense emotions and a consciousness emphasized in favor of aesthetic discipline.
literature in Argentina has been an important stronghold for Hispanic literature in recent centuries. This is due largely to concerns that company by the humanistic education of its people and an innate culteranismo inherited from his European ancestry. Cases like Hernandez, Lugones, Sabato, Borges, Cortázar, among others, support the veracity of this claim.
Erika Madrid (Buenos Aires, 1977) is a worthy example of all this literary tradition. Poet since age 12, also a photographer and painter currently considered by many in his country as "little genius" by the quality and impact of its verses. Now is a real possibility, great genius, in my view, to be positioned and valued, much as he deserves, for the aggrandizement and extension of the life of Argentine and Latin American letters.
But it is not easy to become a poet, though born with notable qualities. One must know how to exploit fully the aesthetic virtues. Erika Madrid has managed to subdue the monster of the banal, and has worked with a desire to conquer the poetic essence imminent. Crazy to many, since the literature is a profession constantly vilified by some layers idiosyncratic (to which, unfortunately, belong, among others, those responsible for promoting educational and cultural policies in our respective nations, with one exception) even with everything good that has given the field of knowledge and the humanities through the centuries. The literature does not provide sufficient funds, but provides a strong spiritual wealth for those who perform, read or comment. Can open new horizons through the power of imagination, and is often a cathartic process to prevent the implosion of the moral structures. Therefore, the literature humanizes. One who does not read is reduced to an elemental humanity, no criteria, no reviews, and often unfeeling.
Let us, then, for a moment to assess the quality of people is raising the postmodern world, and with the almost forgotten arts and a proliferation excessive consumption of what little thoughtful and largely frivolous. The work of Erika Madrid, merely return a status that seemed lost in the field of letters. Diaphanous hope on the possibility of a sensible world and better.
compatriot, the poet and journalist Pedro Escribano, once commented on what I associate with the enormous damage that consumerism may cause to the literature, among other arts, in relation to heavy sales of current books and literary awards "(...) Not everything is a result of good writing, but there is plenty of market management (...) the critical task to separate the wheat from the chaff."
In my opinion, great writers, such as Madrid emerge almost always unnoticed, between hostility and indifference of the elites that claim the quality of guiding of national literature. At this point the story is wise and has provided us with numerous examples.
between poetry and life poetry
Two standards, two books: "Yesterday Buenos Aires" (2005) and "Me" (2008)-content of the latter within the poems "Olivo and Rhetoric", jointly published English poet Luis Gómez-are the main referents of Erika Madrid, not to mention the nearly one hundred individual poems are published in "The other city", his personal blog. As well, it should refer its participation in various physical and virtual anthologies Latin America. Its most popular blogs are: www.madriderika.blogspot.com , www.pinturaserikamadrid.blogspot.com and www.erikacmadrid.blogspot.com , where one can approach a little more to his literary work and art. Erika Madrid is part of the Literary Group SIGNS.
she says about herself: "I am a fairly quiet, positive, but my poetry is not (laughs) ... I always say that the mine can not seem to write it."
But how is the poetry of Erika Madrid? How much has changed since "Yesterday Buenos Aires" to "Me"? According to this analysis, I could distinguish two main aspects, two main pillars upon which maintains much of its creative power in both poems. The first would be the axis of the spontaneous and experiential (form): Madrid does not claim to be stored or alter anything at the moment finalizing its poetic catharsis: "Get into my open mouth / as the sea comes into it, / to my hands squeezing your thigh, / to a suffering body / head and stands as the flagship. / Make it a habit, I pray, / more periods not sorted / readable dreams, / periods of bed and noise / times of bad fruit. "(Get used /" Me "). Within
same axis ranges dialectal charm when expressed appellant (if the situation warrants) through a native language (Argentina and slang): A key. / The hem of her dress / of a great lady of Buenos Aires. / A laburo half. / One eye or two. / The mask of a hollow / that nothing had face / to create, I am. / Lunfardo cranky, messy. / A street in Buenos Aires tied at hand. / Arenapino. / Mate. / A che. / Here there are no funds, brother, / I have no other / no gaps or ghosts / and although not created / am not, I have not, / do not ask and here I apologize. "(I minita /" Yesterday Buenos Aires ").
The second axis is the imaginative originality to the multiplicity of concepts (background), along both axes by a wide stylistic quality: central to achieving the much talked about emotions and aesthetic enjoyment.
The second axis reveals a poet less rational, more intuitive and tenacious. If his poetry is, for example, love, love is not necessarily fully achieved or maintained by a desire corny, stereotyped. This love-at any rate, credible human being, with the ups and downs this feeling leads: "Of the more capable fools, / of mortals the only mine. / Ah, yes! Sumergime in you, / destroy arms / Nervous that your arms are tied. / Yes, yes, yes! Sacudime love, / this fevered and awkward feeling / that breaks and cracks! / Yes, harmful. Yes, insane. / Manipulame with knowledge of such orders / falling on the asphalt and I / pick up and stack. / My little boy unhealthy / unbalanced my passion slang. / From the masters of love, the apprentice. / Of all mortals, the only mine. "(Mortal /" Me ").
What other issues can be glimpsed in the poetry of Madrid? Especially in his first collection of poems, we find the existential topic clearly stated: "I suggest the silence / I think of white / as giving grace in disgrace, / stand jackals / that though hungry / strong guard / forward to smash everything. / I would walk happier insurance / if I ignore. / I set out this chronology / ridiculous to belong. / I turn and / glass speaker, / as something that no longer exists. "(I suggest /" Yesterday Buenos Aires "). E
even metatextual appreciate a poem: "So many sheets of paper / lying about himself, / pious, obedient, / in perfect rows, / ordering the wisdom / of my beloved troubadours. / Blood Stain superstitious. / Motor sadistic for Love / alienation head / that known or early / is held in the reading. / Orgasmic bliss / concentrated / suggestive images / it comes to subtle change / to that found with the book. "(Readings /" Yesterday Buenos Aires ").
The case of "Me" is a collection of poems more intentional, more uniform personal connotations.
should be noted that the two shafts are always intertwined, forming a poetic dichotomy, as the obverse and reverse of a coin.
From the belly of the beast
The conception of a poem is a painstaking and complex process, despite its usual soon, given its intimate and sensorial condition when building symbols and ideas to produce emotions much broader than those contained in each of the verses. That is why poetry is often the first contact (and sometimes unique, compelling and holistic) between a writer and the world. Erika Madrid
we stated: "Ando impatient, supporting the revolution of my uncertainty, which is only cool when ghosts are plotted on the target." Referring to the canvas. But this figure is likely also to be connected to the blank page, just before the literary establishment. Even at that work that germinates in the world in a well-known expertise demiurgic.
Every poet (all artists) is a citizen of the world without colors or flags. And their only duty is to express. Do not be silent. Literary language occupies the higher strata in the classification of a language. Not all people have the ability to write, so it is very commendable, and special cause recognition enthusiasm first-line writers such as the poet of Buenos Aires.
Erika Madrid fecundity is exemplary and, fortunately, unyielding. Do not be seduced by those inane details, or silt up from menial giblets.
The real good (the one) that a writer can bear it, in the opinion of many, the event discovery of affection and warm human being.
the wake of clamorous eternal bards, I believe that Erika Madrid is one of the tables with the greatest and most prominent in the field of Latin American literature of the nascent century.
ERIKA SELECTION OF POEMS OF MADRID:
FEELING
I do not know the reasons of my internal gyrations that monitor such symptoms
or my sadness has been so continuous and has been made transparent
between
time and time
between inheritance and sky.
Piadosas their disfigurements
for me, arcane and
sealed melancholy.
I'm not sad, I refuse to believe
absolute governing nation imagined
to the hand that draws on the target my moods. What a coincidence
ridiculous
outside
me are the questions that touch me and touching at times disgusted
and then separated, torn up
of my condo.
parts of me I know I have fallen and died
to humbly reflect
blows,
reverie or sanity.
I miss the dialogue by a fervent
silence that domain.
From: "Yesterday Buenos Aires"
BUENOS AIRES
YESTERDAY
Tyranny
purple blood
attaches to teeth
callesdecallejones
theater brave and repression into a deep melancholy
thick where poets are silent speech.
tight trails,
where blue and gold
announced on parental moments
and my rambling sketches.
A source that extends
in tongues and a thief comes fro
piehombre piernamujer
on locking and unlocking
exact
the cobblestones. And even on
Pious Aires,
amid all, nothing
I miss him a whistle
saying the same thing and keep quiet
be worth anything.
you know what I feel and I can not echarelvistazo
or passionately inside this fucking circle
metaphorical.
From: "Yesterday Buenos Aires"
TIMES
times broken faces, hands closed
of simulating
windows open yesterday.
I wonder, and it never ends my amazement
reason to continue feeling broken
lie waiting to be the whole truth
parked on the pavement outside my house.
Yo, yo, yo!
Yo, yo, I had dreams
in pink
the house and the sea still rocking to my hopes.
What times these, Lord!
where
walked believing I crawl.
From: "Me" / "Olivo and Rhetoric"
COLLAPSED CITY
If anyone ever saw Buenos Aires
break that afternoon, that was me tardenoche. Sitting
first stop after
the exact image of your face back in the city caused
unwavering love of land that later
rain.
The picture is awesome disarmed, your voice like thunder
ran on that exact enormous and beautiful lighting and collective
people exhausted and no hands and no legs.
And I was thunder and you cry.
The city, cemetery.
was perhaps the caprice of that magic
not found, which involves two heads,
everything collapses.
was perhaps that, the damn hard.
From: "Me" / "Olivo and Rhetoric"
literature in Argentina has been an important stronghold for Hispanic literature in recent centuries. This is due largely to concerns that company by the humanistic education of its people and an innate culteranismo inherited from his European ancestry. Cases like Hernandez, Lugones, Sabato, Borges, Cortázar, among others, support the veracity of this claim.
Erika Madrid (Buenos Aires, 1977) is a worthy example of all this literary tradition. Poet since age 12, also a photographer and painter currently considered by many in his country as "little genius" by the quality and impact of its verses. Now is a real possibility, great genius, in my view, to be positioned and valued, much as he deserves, for the aggrandizement and extension of the life of Argentine and Latin American letters.
But it is not easy to become a poet, though born with notable qualities. One must know how to exploit fully the aesthetic virtues. Erika Madrid has managed to subdue the monster of the banal, and has worked with a desire to conquer the poetic essence imminent. Crazy to many, since the literature is a profession constantly vilified by some layers idiosyncratic (to which, unfortunately, belong, among others, those responsible for promoting educational and cultural policies in our respective nations, with one exception) even with everything good that has given the field of knowledge and the humanities through the centuries. The literature does not provide sufficient funds, but provides a strong spiritual wealth for those who perform, read or comment. Can open new horizons through the power of imagination, and is often a cathartic process to prevent the implosion of the moral structures. Therefore, the literature humanizes. One who does not read is reduced to an elemental humanity, no criteria, no reviews, and often unfeeling.
Let us, then, for a moment to assess the quality of people is raising the postmodern world, and with the almost forgotten arts and a proliferation excessive consumption of what little thoughtful and largely frivolous. The work of Erika Madrid, merely return a status that seemed lost in the field of letters. Diaphanous hope on the possibility of a sensible world and better.
compatriot, the poet and journalist Pedro Escribano, once commented on what I associate with the enormous damage that consumerism may cause to the literature, among other arts, in relation to heavy sales of current books and literary awards "(...) Not everything is a result of good writing, but there is plenty of market management (...) the critical task to separate the wheat from the chaff."
In my opinion, great writers, such as Madrid emerge almost always unnoticed, between hostility and indifference of the elites that claim the quality of guiding of national literature. At this point the story is wise and has provided us with numerous examples.
between poetry and life poetry
Two standards, two books: "Yesterday Buenos Aires" (2005) and "Me" (2008)-content of the latter within the poems "Olivo and Rhetoric", jointly published English poet Luis Gómez-are the main referents of Erika Madrid, not to mention the nearly one hundred individual poems are published in "The other city", his personal blog. As well, it should refer its participation in various physical and virtual anthologies Latin America. Its most popular blogs are: www.madriderika.blogspot.com , www.pinturaserikamadrid.blogspot.com and www.erikacmadrid.blogspot.com , where one can approach a little more to his literary work and art. Erika Madrid is part of the Literary Group SIGNS.
she says about herself: "I am a fairly quiet, positive, but my poetry is not (laughs) ... I always say that the mine can not seem to write it."
But how is the poetry of Erika Madrid? How much has changed since "Yesterday Buenos Aires" to "Me"? According to this analysis, I could distinguish two main aspects, two main pillars upon which maintains much of its creative power in both poems. The first would be the axis of the spontaneous and experiential (form): Madrid does not claim to be stored or alter anything at the moment finalizing its poetic catharsis: "Get into my open mouth / as the sea comes into it, / to my hands squeezing your thigh, / to a suffering body / head and stands as the flagship. / Make it a habit, I pray, / more periods not sorted / readable dreams, / periods of bed and noise / times of bad fruit. "(Get used /" Me "). Within
same axis ranges dialectal charm when expressed appellant (if the situation warrants) through a native language (Argentina and slang): A key. / The hem of her dress / of a great lady of Buenos Aires. / A laburo half. / One eye or two. / The mask of a hollow / that nothing had face / to create, I am. / Lunfardo cranky, messy. / A street in Buenos Aires tied at hand. / Arenapino. / Mate. / A che. / Here there are no funds, brother, / I have no other / no gaps or ghosts / and although not created / am not, I have not, / do not ask and here I apologize. "(I minita /" Yesterday Buenos Aires ").
The second axis is the imaginative originality to the multiplicity of concepts (background), along both axes by a wide stylistic quality: central to achieving the much talked about emotions and aesthetic enjoyment.
The second axis reveals a poet less rational, more intuitive and tenacious. If his poetry is, for example, love, love is not necessarily fully achieved or maintained by a desire corny, stereotyped. This love-at any rate, credible human being, with the ups and downs this feeling leads: "Of the more capable fools, / of mortals the only mine. / Ah, yes! Sumergime in you, / destroy arms / Nervous that your arms are tied. / Yes, yes, yes! Sacudime love, / this fevered and awkward feeling / that breaks and cracks! / Yes, harmful. Yes, insane. / Manipulame with knowledge of such orders / falling on the asphalt and I / pick up and stack. / My little boy unhealthy / unbalanced my passion slang. / From the masters of love, the apprentice. / Of all mortals, the only mine. "(Mortal /" Me ").
What other issues can be glimpsed in the poetry of Madrid? Especially in his first collection of poems, we find the existential topic clearly stated: "I suggest the silence / I think of white / as giving grace in disgrace, / stand jackals / that though hungry / strong guard / forward to smash everything. / I would walk happier insurance / if I ignore. / I set out this chronology / ridiculous to belong. / I turn and / glass speaker, / as something that no longer exists. "(I suggest /" Yesterday Buenos Aires "). E
even metatextual appreciate a poem: "So many sheets of paper / lying about himself, / pious, obedient, / in perfect rows, / ordering the wisdom / of my beloved troubadours. / Blood Stain superstitious. / Motor sadistic for Love / alienation head / that known or early / is held in the reading. / Orgasmic bliss / concentrated / suggestive images / it comes to subtle change / to that found with the book. "(Readings /" Yesterday Buenos Aires ").
The case of "Me" is a collection of poems more intentional, more uniform personal connotations.
should be noted that the two shafts are always intertwined, forming a poetic dichotomy, as the obverse and reverse of a coin.
From the belly of the beast
The conception of a poem is a painstaking and complex process, despite its usual soon, given its intimate and sensorial condition when building symbols and ideas to produce emotions much broader than those contained in each of the verses. That is why poetry is often the first contact (and sometimes unique, compelling and holistic) between a writer and the world. Erika Madrid
we stated: "Ando impatient, supporting the revolution of my uncertainty, which is only cool when ghosts are plotted on the target." Referring to the canvas. But this figure is likely also to be connected to the blank page, just before the literary establishment. Even at that work that germinates in the world in a well-known expertise demiurgic.
Every poet (all artists) is a citizen of the world without colors or flags. And their only duty is to express. Do not be silent. Literary language occupies the higher strata in the classification of a language. Not all people have the ability to write, so it is very commendable, and special cause recognition enthusiasm first-line writers such as the poet of Buenos Aires.
Erika Madrid fecundity is exemplary and, fortunately, unyielding. Do not be seduced by those inane details, or silt up from menial giblets.
The real good (the one) that a writer can bear it, in the opinion of many, the event discovery of affection and warm human being.
the wake of clamorous eternal bards, I believe that Erika Madrid is one of the tables with the greatest and most prominent in the field of Latin American literature of the nascent century.
ERIKA SELECTION OF POEMS OF MADRID:
FEELING
I do not know the reasons of my internal gyrations that monitor such symptoms
or my sadness has been so continuous and has been made transparent
between
time and time
between inheritance and sky.
Piadosas their disfigurements
for me, arcane and
sealed melancholy.
I'm not sad, I refuse to believe
absolute governing nation imagined
to the hand that draws on the target my moods. What a coincidence
ridiculous
outside
me are the questions that touch me and touching at times disgusted
and then separated, torn up
of my condo.
parts of me I know I have fallen and died
to humbly reflect
blows,
reverie or sanity.
I miss the dialogue by a fervent
silence that domain.
From: "Yesterday Buenos Aires"
BUENOS AIRES
YESTERDAY
Tyranny
purple blood
attaches to teeth
callesdecallejones
theater brave and repression into a deep melancholy
thick where poets are silent speech.
tight trails,
where blue and gold
announced on parental moments
and my rambling sketches.
A source that extends
in tongues and a thief comes fro
piehombre piernamujer
on locking and unlocking
exact
the cobblestones. And even on
Pious Aires,
amid all, nothing
I miss him a whistle
saying the same thing and keep quiet
be worth anything.
you know what I feel and I can not echarelvistazo
or passionately inside this fucking circle
metaphorical.
From: "Yesterday Buenos Aires"
TIMES
times broken faces, hands closed
of simulating
windows open yesterday.
I wonder, and it never ends my amazement
reason to continue feeling broken
lie waiting to be the whole truth
parked on the pavement outside my house.
Yo, yo, yo!
Yo, yo, I had dreams
in pink
the house and the sea still rocking to my hopes.
What times these, Lord!
where
walked believing I crawl.
From: "Me" / "Olivo and Rhetoric"
COLLAPSED CITY
If anyone ever saw Buenos Aires
break that afternoon, that was me tardenoche. Sitting
first stop after
the exact image of your face back in the city caused
unwavering love of land that later
rain.
The picture is awesome disarmed, your voice like thunder
ran on that exact enormous and beautiful lighting and collective
people exhausted and no hands and no legs.
And I was thunder and you cry.
The city, cemetery.
was perhaps the caprice of that magic
not found, which involves two heads,
everything collapses.
was perhaps that, the damn hard.
From: "Me" / "Olivo and Rhetoric"
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