Una Feria del Libro... [Esp-Eng]
¿Qué es una Feria del Libro? ¿Un puñado de gente intentando leer un buen poema, hacer una buena presentación, dar una buena conferencia...? ¿Es el brillo de las credenciales, la pomposidad de los carteles, la parafernalia de quioscos y algazara. No, es mucho más.
Es María Liliana Celorrio leyendo unas palabras de apertura que hablan de un canibalismo sabio, ese de comer libros con las mismas ansias (quizás) con que ciertas tribus lo hacían literalmente y te recuerde que lo que vale en este oficio es "cierta solidaridad con tus congéneres". Es que tu hijo te diga "mira, mamá, otro libro de Rafael de Águila", sin saber quién es Rafael de Águila, pero se le pegó el nombre luego de dar unas vueltas con mamá por los anaqueles.
Son los ojos humedecidos de Maritza Batista (una de las figuras a quien se le dedica la Feria en Las Tunas), o de Dalgis Román (la comunicadora del grupo Teatro Tuyo) ante el reencuentro con amigos y también de cierta periodista (dicen que soy yo) cuando escucha brotar por unos labios palabras que pudieran ser diamantes, versos que parecen trenzados en oro. Es sentir la ansiedad de cierto poeta (que no se lo cree, pero lo es), mi amigo Maikel Sofiel Ramírez Cruz, ante la posibilidad de presentar libros suyos. Porque la Feria a veces no aúpa a todos de la misma manera, pero más allá de la lógica quizás los mejores escritores no siempre sean los más conocidos.
La Feria es arrancarse "flores del alma" en cada espacio, donde no importa competir (aunque hay a quien le importa), sino contagiarse de lo bueno. Es estremecerse escuchando a Poe Cid declamar con ojos cerrados poemas que, de tan buenos, ya no le pertenecen. A Dayislenis Velázquez compartir versos sublimes como "Soy el plexo solar de una gaviota...". Y a Ana Margarita Arada, encarnar a tantas mujeres del pasado para recordarnos nuestro derecho a volar, más allá de todos los silencios, más allá de todas las fronteras.
Una Feria es un aleph, algún oasis, el espacio donde la palabra se desgrana de boca en boca como granos de maíz. También es aprendizaje, obvio, y compra de libros, y parafernalia, pero es sobre todo una puerta de papel para viajar a otras dimensiones. Y que se olvide la casa por momentos, el dinero que no tienes, la comida que falta, el amor que se olvidó de soñar...
Es un puente también para el tributo a esos que cruzaron más allá, y reconocernos con otros rostros, parte de la memoria colectiva, universal.
Una Feria es observar la grandeza de quien ha publicado más de 15 libros y abraza al escritor en ciernes como un hermano, alentándolo a seguir sin que medien los egos. Por supuesto, siempre habrá inadaptados, oportunistas, calculadores, autosuficientes, engreídos, corazones huecos camuflados en bagazos de técnica... Pero no importa, son opacados por esa avalancha de buena vibra que embriaga el evento.
Puede haber más público del pueblo (personas comunes de cualquier sector), desafíos quedan miles, pero prefiero entregarme al vaivén de estos días de cansancio y adrenalina, sinestesia y y sobredosis de la buena, esa que se prepara mucho antes con lecturas a deshoras, insomnios y una esponja para absorber la vida y verterla luego, en un texto.
Esta publicación ha sido escrita y documentada por mí, no contiene IA. Las fotos utilizadas son de mi propiedad
English
A Book Fair... [Esp-Eng]
What is a Book Fair? A handful of people trying to read a good poem, make a good presentation, give a good lecture...? Is the brilliance of credentials, the pomposity of posters, the paraphernalia of kiosks and algazara. No, it’s much more.
It is Maria Liliana Celorrio reading a few opening words that speak of a wise cannibalism, that of eating books with the same eagerness (perhaps) with which certain tribes did so literally and remind you that what is important in this officio_ is "a certain solidarity with your fellow men". It’s your son saying "look, mom, another book by Rafael de Águila", not knowing who Rafael de Águila is, but his name stuck after going around with mom on the shelves.
It is the moist eyes of Maritza Batista (one of the figures to whom the Fair in Las Tunas is dedicated), or of Dalgis Román (the communicator of the group Teatro Tuyo) at the reunion with friends and also of a certain journalist (they say that I am) when he hears words that might be diamonds, verses that seem to be braided in gold, sprouting from lips. It is to feel the anxiety of a certain poet (who does not believe it, but it is), my friend Maikel Sofiel Ramírez Cruz, before the possibility of presenting books. Because the Fair sometimes does not entice everyone in the same way, but beyond logic perhaps the best writers are not always the best known.
The Fair is to pluck "flowers of the soul" in each space, where it does not matter compete (although there is who cares), but to be infected with good. It is to shudder listening to Poe Cid declaim with closed eyes poems that, of so good, no longer belong to him. A Dayislenis Velázquez share sublime verses like "I am the solar plexus of a seagull...". And to Ana Margarita Arada, incarnating so many women of the past to remind us of our right to fly, beyond all silences, beyond all borders.
A Fair is an aleph, some oasis, the space where the word comes out from mouth like corn grains. It is also learning, obvious, and buying books, and paraphernalia, but it is a paper door to travel to other dimensions. And forget the house for moments, the money you do not have, the food that is missing, the love that forgot to dream...
It is a bridge also for the tribute to those who crossed beyond, and recognize us with other faces, part of the collective memory, universal.
A Fair is to observe the greatness of one who has published more than 15 books and embraces the budding writer as a brother, encouraging him to continue without the ego mediates. Of course, there will always be misfits, opportunists, calculators, self-sufficient, conceited, hollow hearts camouflaged in technical blunders... But it does not matter, they are overshadowed by that avalanche of good vibes that intoxicates the event.
There may be more people in the village (ordinary people from any sector), challenges are thousands, but I prefer to give myself to the vagaries of these days of tiredness and adrenaline, synesthesia and and overdose of good, that is prepared much earlier with readings after hours, Insomnia and a sponge to absorb life and then pour it into a text.
A Fair is an aleph, some oasis, the space where the word comes out from mouth like corn grains. It is also learning, obvious, and buying books, and paraphernalia, but it is a paper door to travel to other dimensions. And forget the house for moments, the money you do not have, the food that is missing, the love that forgot to dream...
It is a bridge also for the tribute to those who crossed beyond, and recognize us with other faces, part of the collective memory, universal.
A Fair is to observe the greatness of one who has published more than 15 books and embraces the budding writer as a brother, encouraging him to continue without the ego mediates. Of course, there will always be misfits, opportunists, calculators, self-sufficient, conceited, hollow hearts camouflaged in technical blunders... But it does not matter, they are overshadowed by that avalanche of good vibes that intoxicates the event.
There may be more people in the village (ordinary people from any sector), challenges are thousands, but I prefer to give myself to the vagaries of these days of tiredness and adrenaline, synesthesia and and overdose of good, that is prepared much earlier with readings after hours, Insomnia and a sponge to absorb life and then pour it into a text.
sub>This post has been written and documented by me, does not contain AI. The photos used are my property
