CATS OF AMPARO PERIS RHODES FOR PEDRO GARCIA CUETO
Amparo Peris is a renowned writer and poet Valencia, whose long career originated in the poetic world in 1995 with the publication of his book sensations, which have been followed by other titles, as in prose and Mirages or Letters from the platform.
In short, we are dealing with a writer who has made very clear his passion for reading and writing, a woman essentially Mediterranean, since it carries the smell of the salt of the earth and the breeze that accompanies the Levant area.
His latest book, Las Gatas Rhodes howl at the moon, is especially intense, full of color, sensuality and Levantine clear shades.
The first poem dedicated to his father recovers the medieval idea of \u200b\u200bubi sunt, this desire for reunion, the need to feel the presence of the loved and admired. His father is "melody of children in my heart off" (v. 6), reminiscent of the music of Becquer, with which shines his first rhyme, this desire to express as much through the harmony of music.
This is the flash of father that he envisions on the beach, Edenic place, as is Elca Francisco Brines, "What the beach house, lying in the sun on the sand?" (V. 8). The desire to see him is in the poem, because the father has "eyes honey", "smiling voice" has been "too beautiful cherub."
The poem moves us, makes us wish for the reunion, sorry, to the core, the loss of a loved one, the link that unites the Valencian poet to his immediate past. The image of the skull reminds us watching Hamlet Yorick, as if time was a train that passes once and, after its violent passage, leaving only desolation: "Oh, empty skull! Wake up and talk to me again "(v. 21).
But the most beautiful of the whole poem is a return to childhood, a time of happiness and innocence, death vetoed space, our shelf life, therefore, Amparo Peris asked to return and to tell a story: "My father returns each night and I tells a story "(v. 23).
Dedicated to the mother in the last verse, leads to the best of feelings, a lack of understanding of death, the absolute passion for life.
With this beginning, the book is divided into several sections, if the first is headed by the poem "Every night I read Virginia Woolf," the second is called The Tribute, a title that reminds me that Juan Gil-Albert put in one of his books, to end the book's title: "Las Gatas Rhodes howl at the moon."
In the first group of poems flies over the idea of \u200b\u200bsuicide was not in vain and the end of Virginia Woolf, Valencian poet reads: "Every night I read Virginia Woolf, / every line is like my veins cut" (vv. 1-2).
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The idea of \u200b\u200bsleep before reading the writer's admiration goes out to sea, which affects their Levantine space, but also to the imagination when it comes out, as if it were a children's story, flying out the window , disappearing into the ardent kisses of the beloved: "Every night I fall / by the window of dreams / and I fly through the roof / to the precipice of long kisses" (vv. 20-23).
is repeated in another poem the idea of \u200b\u200bthe sea as a place of fantasy, myth, earthquake: "It is by far the silver sea / you look out to the window grille / see the beach from the room and from a language without words "(vv. 1-4). This idea of \u200b\u200bsensual enjoy beach front, the picture of her on the sand, but the disappointment, the failure of love: "I do not think it / because you gave me your tenderness / your touch, / your lies so much love "(vv. 8-11).
Following the language of sensuality, after delivery, is a loophole for disappointment, as if any adventure was the precipice of a loss, desolation of childhood and entry into the adult world, with its lights and shadows.
Other Valencian poem where the poet shows his affection and tenderness, sensuality huge his poetic language. The images are imbued with color: "A thousand voices fill my body / red petals adorn me / the future runs through my veins, / a silence wakes me / your absence" (vv. 1-5). The red petals, are they not the image of the blood pulsing through the infinite tenderness of the woman who has lost the love? Do we not invoke the image of the veins cut by passion?
In the section dedicated to tributes, I love the poem dedicated to Rosario Bizarre, is pervaded by the admiration and the Mediterranean sensuality, like a canvas, especially when he says: "You are painting and poem. / Women and beauty are the same in you "(vv 2-3). If found including books, further reinforces the key idea of \u200b\u200bthis collection, the love of literature and life, the ability to dream, the claim of childhood as paradise lost forever, only regained through sleep and books as I said, the father figure who returns.
In the poem dedicated to Ricardo Rojas, the Valencian writer combines the fusion of two beings in unforgettable lines: "And then pat your tenderness / the threshold of love, light the night" (v. 4.5). I also like the reference to the world of fairy tales, that of Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland, when he says: "And then never return to / through the mirror / I get big as a tree / I'm small like the sun / I lose myself in you. " (Vv. 12-16).
It is all imagination, projection of a real world, where the writer may be more inclined Valencia tenderness and sensuality.
Very beautiful are the poems dedicated to Joaquín Benito de Lucas and Pedro de la Peña, two great poets, who gives his sincere friendship Amparo. In which he dedicated to de la Peña is no coincidence that refers to the verb "ride", that is the poet's passion for horses Reinosa: "We rode together across the lines / in a silver night / until we reached Colchis, / and your lips sealed this meeting / Stories of your travels with laughter inhabiting my ward "(vv. 5-9).
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Very true, because who knows the humanity of de la Peña, also known to be an excellent orator, a man of great culture and very alive when traveling rekindle their passion, full of anecdotes and adventures.
As if the friend was the creator of language, the poem concludes: "In a local landscape / street in your favorite poet, / you have put names to things" (vv. 19-21).
to not dwell too much on a book that deserves further reading, a poem of the last comment section on the cats of Rhodes, a symbiosis of figures that howl at the moon to be ancestral to bring femininity implied that fascinating animal is the cat.
says: "Stones legendary walls impossible. / Arched ceilings to hold the world / under a blue sky, green, mauve, purple / where human angst survives / stuck in the eye of a Greek world "(vv. 1-5). Witnessing the ancient world, maintaining a color-changing world where the human being dies opposite the beautiful spectacle of what has not died. The image of the child
Greek brings us back to childhood, which is undoubtedly the favorite of Amparo Peris, space is not tainted by the guilt of adult life, for the present image of our frailty. End
the poem, with the desolation that leaves a world away from ours, where poverty is still alive: "Tireless eyes asking for a handout / immune tourists to contemplate the ruins / in the Old City of Rhodes" (vv. 6-8) .
The question hangs in the air: Where is the ruin, the human being "immune" to not look at the child or the landscape progressively aging without ever die? Amparo Peris
commend this book, made of sensuality, with the aroma of good poetry, classical in the sense that the language does not need paradoxes (as in other celebrated contemporary poets) to see the love, passion, desire and the issues that underpin our life issues provided that the clean language of the Valencian writer seduce us to fall asleep as in dreams or fairy tales, landscapes that are necessary to continue living with the books as essential partners, of course.
life (the pleasure of the bodies, moments of happiness, fleeting happiness, the subsequent disappointment) are combined in this book, with special expertise with the world of books (the reference to writers who left their skin on their novels, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, among others, and the world of stories, always necessary to keep the fantasy of childhood) achieved its zenith in the trip to Rhodes, fascinating place that combines history with dreams for our writer Valencia. Pedro García Cueto
27/08/2010
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