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"I write prose while I gather courage for the verses", says Fabio Morábito in
To each one his own
, his latest book.
For my part, I live life while mustering the courage to die.
The verse is death insofar as it cannot go beyond it.
There is nothing on the other side of verse as there is nothing on the other side of death.
The verse is to the poet what the candle flame is to the butterfly: it burns at the moment of reaching it, there is no other way of naming the essential.
Two pages later, Morábito begins another composition in this way: "What matters more: a tooth or a poem?"
Prose-verse / tooth-poem: there are two maddening dichotomies and I'm only on page 13 of his book.
“Is it worse to lose a good poem or to lose a tooth?” he continues.
I won't reveal the ending because it's frowned upon, but I'd like the CIS to deal with it.
In fact, if I were Pedro Sánchez, I would replace Tezanos with Morábito, who may not have a clue about statistics, but knows what interests us taxpayers and that has nothing to do with loyalty rates or voting intentions .
What I need to find out now is whether my contemporaries prefer the loss of a tooth or a poem.
From that data all the others can be deduced, including who will win the elections, the minimum wage and the average pension.
The fact is that I'm reading the book of Morábito in sips, on the subway.
From time to time I look up, look at the faces of my fellow citizens and try to guess how many of them would give a tooth for a poem and how many a poem for a tooth.
As far as I am concerned, perhaps I would fall into the pettiness of asking if we are talking about an incisor or a canine.
While I do business, I go over the teeth with the tip of my tongue to see if there are any missing pieces.
But what I really need is a poem.
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