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Benedetti ... this is not an elegy

This is not an elegy

is neither a romance nor a verse:

rather a thanksgiving
for giving reason for my desire
Silvio

kiss

Don Mario Benedetti, I had refused until now to write about you and your game to other latitudes, probably less thick. You should know that in my ranking of issues unbearable just a little behind expectations and television programming is the obituary. Reasons are many but to me it makes more sense the emotions (which makes more sense to them.)

Yes, death is a god, unintelligible and who we fear from the unknown. It also hurts the body to the core of who we lost ours. It is always inappropriate. Of course, few expected and a less alert. The checklists aborted because the lean patitiesa did his stuff is endless and that gives rage and helplessness. Finally, what is outrageous to have only one certainty in life, death.

But what is natural given us Don Mario, to make it with girls, go beyond. If I were to stay in the complaint of natural distributive injustice, perhaps from that small country on the continent their biggest ever one Galeano had emerged or accompanying Onetti in honors.

You will not die, at least until I die, and I assure you we are more than two in this task, there will be children and children of those children, immortalizing their lyrics. I assure you, committed to the famous poem, but as diverting much-talked of his vast work, still being analyzed from its historical value, but the beauty of poetry and stories transcendent and irreducible is the universal language of lovers eternal.

Benedetti I'm not sad at his departure. I'm glad he's no longer suffering. You are not trivial chores for the body as those who are used in hospitals or dictatorships. You are to live in the universal song in the voices of the South beating of poets who met and will re-generation after generation to know the taste of the verse through his pen. Moreover, you are to live as an architect and iconoclastic at the same time, the truce that love always as recurrent and incurable. Benedetti

resembling Blessed are the fruit of the womb that feeds America mortals. And as God are condemned to eternity.

Some say to those who want to give my thanks:

Celebration of Friendship 1

In the suburbs of Havana, the friend called my land or my blood. In Caracas, the friend is my friend or my key: corduroy, for baking, the source of good bread to the hunger of the soul and ...- key by key, key, 'says Mario Benedetti. And I realize that when I lived in Buenos Aires, in times of terror, he had five foreign keys on your keychain, five keys, five houses, five friends who saved him the keys.

Eduardo Galeano (The Book of Embraces)

And Don Nica farewell ... read it?

"At most we can aspire to / is to leave two or three sentences in orbit / Mario AFAIK left at least one: / Death and other surprises / / My Lord, the little phrase!".

Daniel Viglietti another yorugua, said in his farewell "ethics fits into the aesthetic word (...). Mario taught us that. "

And you, ahem, sorry, Martin Santomé Was not this what he said?

"died," said the voice of the man. The word is a mess. Died means a process: "Bad news, sir," had said the uncle. "He does it taste? What do you know how bad news can destroy the future and face and touch and dream? What do you know, eh? All he knows is to say "died", something so unbearably easy as that. Surely it was shrugged. And that too was a mess. (...) When I was home alone in my room, when even the poor White withdrew me the comfort of her silence, her lips moved to say: "He died. Avellaneda was killed "because death is the word, he died is the collapse of life, death comes in, brings the real breath of pain, death is despair, frigid and full of nothing, the simple gap, the abyss".

Finally, to cite his famous poems and posted by many, I end up with what my teacher Floridor Pérez called "farewell?

tomorrow (Benedetti)

I'll close my eyes softly
going to get me groping in the dream.
At this time the hatred does not work

for death is the poor man will
suspends
beat and I'm away, so small

to invoke God, but do not ask anything
, provided only
share this universe that we have

for bad and good times.
Why dream world is not the same
this world of death by the handful?

My nightmare is always the optimism
weak I sleep, I dream that I'm strong,
but the future holds. It is an abyss.

I did not say when I wake up.

And I'm just a Salieri apiazzollada a farewell, as befits Nonino. good trip!
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