This June 5 was the 12th anniversary of the death of the writer Eugenio Montejo, who was undoubtedly one of the greatest contemporary Venezuelan poets and one of the most important Spanish-speaking writers, I decided to dedicate a post in his memory.
He has written several books of poems, including Some Words (1976), Terreality (1978), Absolute Tropic (1982), World Alphabet (1986), Goodbye to the 20th Century (1992), Loving papyrus (2002) and Fable of the Scribe (2006). He also wrote books of essays, such as The White Workshop (1983), and other very particular ones, such as The notebook of Blas Coll (1981) and children's literature: Chamario (2004). He was awarded the National Literature Prize in 1998 and the International Poetry Prize Octavio Paz.
Montejo, whom I had the privilege of knowing and dealing with personally, was a poet of the "inner work" (as Rilke said), a real poet (forgive the pun). In his poem "Pure Miracle", he told us with his soul's truth: "And this miracle of being life here / without knowing what is vigil or what is sleep / until the night blows and extinguishes us".
With that true verb, always in search of the essential, he left us a word that will continue to give meaning to our lives: "Earthiness". From the moment I met her, I welcomed the certainty of this word, incorporated by Montejo into the living side of the language. I copy for you the second (and last) strophe of "Earthiness":
To be here on earth: no further
than a tree, no more unexplainable;
light in autumn, full in summer,
with what we are or aren't, with the shadow,
memory, desire, to the end
(if there is an end) voice to voice,
house by house,
whoever carries the land, if they carry it,
or whoever's waiting for her, if they're waiting for her,
breaking bread together every time,
in two, in three, in four,
not to mention the works of the ant
who always travels from remote stars
to be on time for our dinner
even if the crumbs are bitter.
Eugenio Montejo, the poet of the heteronyms (Blas Coll, Sergio Sandoval, Tomás Linden, Eduardo Polo) in the manner of Antonio Machado and Fernando Pessoa, the kind inhabitant of the life we have to follow, the citizen of this earthiness that overwhelms and comforts us... Eugenio Montejo, close and essential, with his fundamental tree, with the primordial song of the bird, welcomed his own death, "so that the great rose may turn in space / and our bodies may meet on earth, / each one with the cry of his flame, / each one in his time without time".
After his death, I wrote this text, which was unpublished until now, and which I want to share with you, and in which I sought to play with elements of his work:
The old Blas Coll, on his island Earthiness, had found some loose papers dated in the past 20th century.Rewritten, crossed out, erased, he was able to identify some words that spoke of the song of the birds, the silence of the trees, the rotation of the earth, the lost and reconciled lovers, the poetry. They were many voices in one.
They didn't have titles, so he thought of calling them Loving papyrus because of the unknown and found papers, and because of the courtesy and love of their words.
In an already blurred corner, two small letters could be seen next to each other: em. Initials of a name or random inscriptions of the craftsman of those words? Scripture, elegy, eternity; memory, death, mystery... There were several words arranged in the thought (the "think") of Coll.
But had he really found those papers? Had he dreamt it or was it a blow to his memory? Then he thought: Let's give this name of man a names.
They were many voices in one.
They didn't have titles, so he thought of calling them Loving Papyrus because of the unknown and found papers, and because of the courtesy and love of their words.
In an already blurred corner, two small letters could be seen next to each other: em. Initials of a name or random inscriptions of the craftsman of those words? Scripture, elegy, eternity; memory, death, mystery... There were several words arranged in the thought (the "think") of Coll.
But had he really found those papers? Had he dreamt it or was it a blow to his memory? Then he thought: Let's give this man of names a name.
It was dawn. A crackling of wings and the white smell of freshly baked bread consecrated life.
Finally, a fragment of a poem by Eugenio Montejo, specifically "As long as the earth rotates", from Loving Papyrus, was used by the successful Mexican filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu in his moving film 21 grams, of which I leave you the link to the fragment: dubbed or original.
A large part of Eugenio Montejo's literary work can be accessed on the Internet, for example here.
Thank you for your attention.
