He died this morning, Carlos Edmundo of Ory, the greatest poet of Spain. A few years ago I discovered his poetry and I shivered. Since that time, all my fellow poets, I said the same, the only English poet, which could give him the title of "genius" was to Ory. self-exiled in France, a monumental development, to try to renew the boring, stuffy and academic, English poetry of the postwar . And he did, to create original poetry, fresh and cutting edge .
not belonged to any literary shrine, was a rebel and iconoclast, until the end of his days. Perhaps because of this deep love of poetry and his reluctance to fall in the publishing market entertainment is that it has awarded the Cervantes , much-deserved, and recently the Reina Sofía , which lost the vote by one vote. So do not come now to tear their clothes, and literary widows appear for his sudden death. I appreciate you, but half, with envy, with suspicion, as if he were ashamed to say aloud, which was the greatest English poet Federico from García Lorca .
Still and all, the poetry of Carlos Edmundo of Ory, has and will always have a special place in the Parnassus of poetry.
But reality is that again, expect to die a great poet, to give full value to his work. With him gone, the last romantic poet of the peninsula. The last vanguard, the last great poet of the twentieth century in our language.
But I want to finish this small tribute, Carlos Edmundo of Ory, citing a response to an interview, which it is starkly ominous:
"Poetry is a voice from another world, a glow ... But the word is that the word of poetry is ... authentic. Those who are called poets are professionals. But the real poet is not professional ... lives only to be an instrument. I live light, although those things should not say them. Even dead I'm alive, and when in the cemetery will continue writing. " Keep writing
Carlos. Hope you are with the poets he so admired. Your loyal readers will never forget you.
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