Poetry appears everywhere; perhaps it is for that reason that it refuses to fit any definition. Strong and stubborn as it is, it has been with us for more than five thousand years, enduring wars, the disappearance of entire languages, and every kind of social turmoil.
Lucky for us, high-quality poems are still being written all over the world: not only in the best universities and cultural centers, but also on park benches, at kitchen tables, and in prison cells. And, as you may have been able to guess, I am a big enthusiast of the genre. In a world like ours, I find poetry to be a place of refuge and introspection, a mirror that allows me to look within myself at the same time that it shows me the beauty of the outside world. By choosing these poems for you, I hope I can share a bit of that feeling. Because, as Whitman wrote, to have great poets there must be great audiences too.
From, now on, we will be posting a poem every week, alternating between English and Spanish. So, this is our first 'poem of the week'. As Mark Strand wrote in his poem ‘Eating Poetry’, I must confess: Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.