Poetry Archives - Vintenuy
 

Category: Poetry

One million visits to our portal

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With this motive we put at the disposal of the readers of our publications the first digital edition of the Poeta Pistola en Mano book by poet Sarandy Cabrera, published in March 1970, and published by Editorial Tauro. This emblematic book sold out several editions in the pachecato era and there are still few copies among antique booksellers, but it still stands out among the cover designs of the time for its color and originality, apart from the social nature of its preparation since from the prison of Punta Carretas he collaborated with two engravings on paths sliced ​​of potato (papatipo) Líber De Lucía Grajales, prisoner at that time, and draftsman.

This publication is also made, on the occasion of the 43 anniversary of the appearance of the book Poeta Pistola en Mano (PPM, as it used to be written at that time, January 1970), a work that consigns a change of emphasis in the literary and anticipatory work of Sarandy Cabrera, and three years before the formalization of the civic-military coup, in whose process the poet was beaten between police stations and barracks until his final exile.

The author wrote “I LOVE YOU”

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I want you at ten in the morning
and at eleven and twelve in the day.
I love you with all my soul
and with my whole body sometimes in the rainy afternoons.
But at two in the afternoon
or at three …
when I start thinking about the two of us,
and you think about the food or the daily work,
or in the amusements that you do not have,
I start to hate you harshly
with half the hatred I keep for myself.
Then I love you again,
when we go to bed and I feel like you’re made for me,
that your knee and your belly tell me in some way,
that my hands convince me of it,
and that there is no other place where I come,
Where I go better than your body.
You come all whole to me,
and we both disappear for a moment,
we put ourselves in the mouth of God,
until I tell you that I am hungry or sleepy.
Every day I love you and I hate you hopelessly,
and there are days there are also hours when I do not know you,
in which you are stranger to me as someone else’s wife.
I worry about men,
I worry, I am distracted by my sorrows,
It probably does not think about you for a long time.
You see, who could love you less than me?
My love.