Menoscuarto publishes his collection of poems “What I (don’t) know about words.”
Text: Enrique Villagrasa
What I (don’t) know about words (Menoscuarto), by the poet, journalist and teacher, Angelica Tanarrois a simple, humble book about pain and the poetic language that explains it, which is read in one sitting, with pencil in hand, and which leaves you babbling. It is noticeable that behind these words, these verses, these poems, even without knowing, behind their backs, that is, behind them, we feel that a completely exceptional intelligence is working: exciting. And in addition to all this it is written in free verse, so that later they say that there is no free verse for those who intend to write something good: the exception in this case confirms the rule, one would say: “If air “hold your breath/ life would return/ to the dictionary.”
We know that Ángelica Tanarro is specialized in cultural information, a field in which she practices literary, cinematographic and contemporary art criticism. Who has been head of Culture at the newspaper El Norte de Castilla and responsible for its cultural supplement The shadow of the cypresswhere he continues to collaborate, in addition to his other collaborations in specialized magazines such as PW in Spanish or Turia. In addition, he coordinates the Cronistas del Siglo XXI cycle for the Miguel Delibes Foundation. And she is the author of poetry books They will be distance (1994) and Limit memory (2002).
This, What I (don’t) know about wordshis third collection of poems, is divided into four sections with around sixty pages. The poems, very well put together, are accompanied by notable quotes from Rene Char, Alda Merini, José Ángel Valente, Emily Dickinson, Olvido García Valdés and Alejandra Pizarnik. And our poet knows, knows, and is aware that poetizing is: “I plant words in the dunes/ and nothing grows/ except silence.” Pure intelligence, because it is pure emotion. And you, readers, already know that there can be no intelligence without emotion: “Some nights you miss the danger/or throwing fear into the sky of the past.”
I suppose that the poet Angélica Tanarro in this collection of poems has tried to communicate to us, to make us participate in her feeling of and about her things, her pain for the absence or for the presence of that absence, in the way in which these are perceived, not in the way in which they meet: reality is by and for the poem: “As an exile/ from the order of things/ next to the mass grave/ of the suicides/ I look for myself/ in the raw girl that I was.”
Poem collection where we are seduced by the images and tropes that the poet uses in this exile of hers, exile or diaspora, in search of the universal value of words, as already indicated in the title of the collection of poems: What I (don’t) know about words. Hence his poetic search is as extraordinary as his poetry, in the interweaving of his ideas and his original thoughts in his verses: “When the first light distinguishes what is dreamed / from what is to be lived.”
What I (don’t) know about words It stands out for its testimonial and existential intimacy in the face of this time of pain that has been our lot. Although the poet raises her hope as a refuge from the loneliness and emptiness of humanity. There is a civic concern. There is a commitment to defend the truth against lies, freedom against oppression and solidarity against loneliness. Human dignity and freedom of thought: “I have forgotten the name of the flowers/ that breathe at night/ in the stillness of the cloisters.// In their secret harmony/ I loved your darkness.// I caress your eyes/ in the profile of the stone.// Its emptiness/ Your silence.”
Of the fog I remember
his mysterious embrace
the fear of not recognizing myself
at dawn naked
no language.
#Angélica #Tanarro #pain #memory #gaze #language #Librujula
