miércoles, 8 de octubre de 2008


John KeatsImage via WikipediaWe have a poet in Lavapies who writes simple poems about lost love and love reborn. They are well written, and not easy to see. Sometimes they are pasted onto a lamp post, other times glued to a bank's street window, others taped to a garbage bin.
I have become addicted, and derive great pleasure from finding a new one each morning. I don't know who "Tinito Calle" is, but I send from here my deepest gratitude for contributing to the enjoyment of my daily walk.

I read a line by Joan Margarit, the poet awarded with the Premio Nacional de Poesia, that I like a lot: "Trist el qui mai no ha perdut per amor una casa". Nothing like poetry to get to the heart of the matter.

Years ago, there was an elderly lady dressed in a somewhat ragged fur coat who used to stand outside the Calle Fuencarral Cinemas selling love poems for 5 Pts. They were handwritten on blue paper.
"¡Poemas de Amor!", she cried out, "Todos diferentes y originales".
I wonder whether they were meant to be used by a boyfriend who lacked imagination and wanted to impress his beloved, or simply to give pleasure to a romantic reader.
Perhaps someone in Madrid still keeps one of these poems folded inside a chocolate tin box, in memory of love long lost.

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2 comentarios:

miguelito de la roda dijo...

Por favor, ¡¡ no nos dejes así!! transcribe para tus lectores alguno de los poemas de Tinito Calle.

Charm dijo...

Ummm..Uno de esos poemas en azul, me lo habría guardado, seguro.
Bonita imagen la de una mujer, en medio de la prisa urbana, gritando "!!poemas, poemas de amor...!!".

Gracias. )

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