‘Afterwards I feel something tugging at my pants. Huidobro’s ghost? No, it’s Parra’s cats, six or seven stray cats who every afternoon come to the garden of the greatest living poet of the Spanish language to eat his food. ‘ … Continue reading
“When I come across these young writers it makes me want to cry. I don’t know what the future holds for them. I don’t know whether a drunk driver will run them down some night or whether all of a … Continue reading
‘With every day that passes, I am more convinced that the act of writing is a conscious act of humility.” Read More….
“On July 2, 2003, I wrote scolding him for not having replied to my e-mail of a few days before. On the third, Carolina wrote back: “Dear Carmen, Roberto asked me to reply to your message and tell you that … Continue reading
‘To write about sickness, especially if one is gravely ill, can be a torment. Writing about sickness, if one is not only gravely ill but also a hypochondriac, is an act of masochism or desperation. But it can also be … Continue reading
“It is four light-hours to the end of the solar system; to the nearest star, four light-years. A disproportionate ocean of void. But are we really sure that it is only a void? We only know that in this space there are no … Continue reading
‘In Mexico City in 1976, a twenty-three year old with wild hair and aviator glasses stood up in the Librería Gandi, one of the bookstores that unwittingly supplied him with free books, and read a manifesto urging his fellow poets … Continue reading