Tag: writing

All artistic motivations are fleeting, except those that stem from the true recognition of the value of experience and the nobility of striving to represent it in a work that will remain when time consumes them. To be an artist, in short, is to have art as something that justifies a lifetime’s effort. This, it is true, usually only happens to those who, deeply affected, strip away their vanity to recognize in someone else the model of what they want to be: in a burst of humility, they turn gratitude into motivation.

It is really a miracle that which is often observed in the construction of poems, when sometimes a single word is changed, this or that edge is trimmed, and a dull, repetitive, banal whole changes character as if completely, and the expression, previously frustrated, finally seems to satisfy the initial intention. The lesson of this experience is that the poet must continue at times when the creation is unsatisfactory, he must strive to give the poem at least a cohesive structure, a fundamental structure so that the brilliant and sometimes unexpected details can stand out.

Anything from an author is tolerated, except dishonesty. To fail on this point is to nullify everything that is produced. As readers, the mere feeling that there are hidden intentions in a work and that we are being deceived is reason enough to throw it away; after all, how can we willingly play the clown? If we cannot, safeguarded by the sincerity of the author, give it the credit it needs to be worth reading, it is best to abandon it. There are, of course, countless other authors who fulfill this requirement and have a lot to teach us.

In the midst of endless hardships, there is no denying that poetic work holds a certain delight when it comes to choosing rhymes, choosing them and then seeing their effect. No matter how mechanized the process, the discovery of an unexpected rhyme is always pleasurable and stimulating, becoming like an addiction that only makes the poet more and more attached to language. After all, it is an addiction that ends up being productive and, once experienced, makes one wonder about the indifference with which some poets have repelled it.