Celebrate, gather are verbs that imply life in some sense. Poetry is that, life that comes out of the most intense pains and also of powerful joys.
We poets are that tribe that never stopped resisting any attack or crisis or that blood that was once a smoke burned in the eyes; and forever.
We poets are here, now, together with poetry standing up to greet a harsh and painful Universe that we have had to suffer. And that we would like to transform.
This October in our city there will be a party, poetry with its secrets and mysteries arrives at the XVI FIP International Poetry Festival of Buenos Aires, bringing us presence, voices that will say that song that, although not of birds, will be heard as a choir of many from them. Poetry flees, sometimes, from books to nest outside the walls, in the street, in silence, in dreams, in the skin, in the rubble.
Here languages and borders will not exist, it will be the poetry that will unite the diaspora of pain, death and also the rebirth of those secrets that were kept so that in this festival they are discovered by readers and by that unknown person, who always is introduced to see from afar, a luminous echo and that contrasting fusion of impulses that can go from religious, pagan, erotic, Christian, or from that fusion of immensity where so many animate and inanimate beings live that give us, many times, the voice so that the poet can say that word that still asleep wakes up the Universe with those tremors that the poet from Correntino, Francisco Madariaga, used to say. Let's celebrate the "golden quagmire of the gold of love".