April 2011

NANDINA OF OAXACA THE LOVELY

NANDINA ELIAS:
"Before I burned on the burning bodies.
Now in my eighty years, I burn on my blazing memories and
ruined in this hell I'm still creating my poetry. "

What exactly is the popular term "Mexican poetry"?. That "written by Mexican or poetry that reflects the spirit, reality and inspiration the character that carries the name "Mexico"?. A common language to the people of the Americas and Spain for such dubious excuse of "Mexican. Perhaps "The Labyrinth of Solitude" by Octavio Paz, Mexico is a very caught up in an attempt to test the spirit of a people, so magically portrayed in the prose of the master Juan Rulfo. However, one of the characteristics that place both writers against international criticism definidísima personality of their respective works, which finds no parallel among his contemporaries. In other words, we must conclude that his difference from the other writers of the country is what makes them "as" Mexicans. Then, Rulfo and Peace each in its creative line-give it a stamp that is written in Mexico rather than similarity, and the difference is his personal artistic vision, the sister with the great artists of our time, always immersed in the tide which rises majestically our English language, our own contemporaries, we really are all that we live does not deny the reality of a tradition or inspiration from the behavior of people, but through the breath of the artist, said that the art as a universal spirit guide, that addresses the literary theme in its inspiration themes having to do with us.
And if a poet in Mexico, which achieved this rescue of breath, that poet is Elijah Nandino. Whose work is desolate edge of consciousness, in the midst of endless night, questions the pain of the world. And it is but an echo of her question. " (According to "Poetry in Motion", ed. Siglo XXI, p.312. Authors: Octavio Paz, Alí \u200b\u200bChumbley, Jose Emilio Pacheco and Homero Aridjis). Elijah reflecting Nandino is the echo of the rich generation of writers that began in the late nineteenth century in Latin America, the generation that suggests that there is no poetry Venezuelan, Mexican or Chilean, but there is a universal poetry. A universal tradition and a poetic style which asserts that our national literary histories are as artificial as our political boundaries. Therefore, the work of Juan Rulfo, Paz or Nandino complicit in something higher, is part of a higher value: the art of writing in English.

first thing that touched me to know the work of Nandino was the honesty that runs through every page. And that's what one feels when facing old poet: his sincere character, warmth, tenderness and a feeling that envelops everything around it. I've seen several times in Mexico City and there in Cocula, in the highlands of Jalisco, where he lives and teaches how to live. Because life is the great theme of his work. Redeemed by his poetry Nandino footprint pains in his life have left the moral storm. In the preface to one of his books, Xavier Villaurrutia portrays him as well:
"I can imagine, the day thought, detaching oneself with infinite precautions, clear and cold, listening to their own burning log, follow the irregularity of its heart, exposing the deep layers of the land of his body, and explore the ancient caves of the breast to extract from the intricate folds of the neural network, the lighter birds and marine life that man has been hiding in man (1934, excerpt). There
Nandino in the work of a profound romantic root, which is seen in its essence constants: solemnity, grief, intimacy, passion and anguish color. Romanticism in its early years assimilated and enriched with the forward and backward uncertainty that descends and departs, which at maturity is nurtured by restlessness and rectified, to resurface the skin to change the look lucid and coated brighter seriously. He knows that the path runs true to our inner man inside, so it is a true romantic poet, also reveals in his conception of the universe, the idea of \u200b\u200bhim is not named. It says in Sonnet 10 of his book "Wreck of the doubt"
"I believe in God but certainly the brain, because it lacks the momentum of the idea, to be imposed the hectic task of shaping the naked truth. In vain the silent stalking and ties the spasm of light that hovers, because the face anointed his desire shapes in shades its outline shields. A stopped crying spells clots in my eyes, and decide to kill impulses and become blind, but deep in my own life, inside my voice silenced, talk alone with the God who refuse. "
At home in high Cocula, some weekend when I stayed, when I became one more repeat that Dr. Nandino is friends with his friends, he was asked what was the main source of inspiration, and his poems which is now more identified, said: "Eros
has been my inspiration. Since I deal with God, the stars, life, death, love, sorrow or joy, I looked around my mouth erotic lyricism. Christ on the cross, a San Sebastián wounded, the button of a flower, a dying man, a horse to run free in the field and I saw a star from heaven, were worth to me as the intensity to give them my eroticism edge. Goethe said: "When you write something, always do what you know." The only thing I know life is sexual. I was born with the century, and now I can not make physical love ... but I can do with his eyes. You ask about a poem that identifies me, and I think all the work should identify the work of a writer, but apparently that's left are remnants of life, parts of things, bits of emotions, I have a poem called "I was so attached, which reads: I do not care

how to judge my life I tried to live

strictly
doing what she wanted.
There was no desire or whim

temptation that does not conduct effective
with care.
And whatever it was time to fulfill

transformed him into reverie. For it was lewd

and have not stopped
pure or a pore of my body. I was so attached

the excesses of his carnal orgy
that my eighty
two years of hell in ruins
am still creating my poetry.

The erotic feeling of life in Elijah Nandino comes from some ancient Eastern schools: those who use their training in the skills of Tantric Yoga, a secret wisdom that seeks the Unmentionable through the use of the physical body. Nandino Elijah sees the universe as a duality: what is dream and what is lived, and that is their meeting point in an evolutionary unit. Although his position is that man is the center of everything, the space of this dynamic universe, acknowledging that in truth we are only a fraction of incorporation. He sees the man as a rhythmic Reproduction of throbbing that nests in the mystery. This hunch that runs from outside to inside, the force that maintains continuity is He who is not named:
"God is eternity, and their presence extends from heaven to my conscience, and He is All, and I part of your life ... I doubt my God, and yet I believe with the deepest depths of my mind: your almighty power that exists in everything I see invisible "(" 10 sonnets to God. ")
In all his work seems to float an initial awareness that imposes a measure of things, a march to the universe: "All press existence at birth and meets his fate and falls apart, is in the air, as the essence and rhythm of the tremor immortal, who tirelessly promotes evolution total of the Universe "(from" Eternal Circle "). The book betrays its an iron belief in the unity of living things. From time to go rolling our loneliness one day death occurs, and we'll eventually merge our essence in the great circle universal, which is the arrival of our true identity:
"Land voracious dark blessed home where the pain goes: I want to stand under your sheets of secret germ tenderness and seed which is hidden in your wet darkness resurfaces already transformed the serene bliss of a tree or in the fleeting instant of a rose, to be reborn in your womb and up the rung on the ladder of life reaching my evolution. Because I come from you, I'm mud trance, and by dint of living and dying, must come to define my essence to be in the cosmos eternal life "(from" Nostalgia of land ").
In his work, I am touched by your reference to certain torment anxious that grieve. From his early poems, from his first deep nights, Nandino questions his kingdom that seems full of shadows by repeated solitude, the poet more than anything else is a state of mind. He is a great torment, suffering from evils overwhelm him anxiously intimate, making it retreat as the sea waves, and as the sea, come back. Never gives up, not down, yet is never beaten, in some recess he found a leak of clarity, for some maze in his life filtered light. Then his solitude is not absolute, peat his enlightened inner world that is there at the surface, full of tactile references, in his first season, even anxiety. It is because the brains of his work is intimately emotional, thanks to which rescues for us, tangibly, many things we can not play. He himself says that poetry is written not with words but with dreams. Because the poems are not written, are drawn. Therefore, all his overwhelming loneliness is more than the skin of a sheet that annoying "to the lonely statue that holds me." Her singing is the hope of trascendalista. Hope not grounded in faith but in the desire to believe: "As I was already before birth. As one day somewhere, or perhaps anywhere else in another world I exist in a different body, with another name and with the same anguish "(from" Night word ").
-Master Elijah, could you locate the motivations he decided on his first literary period?

"I remember reading the poems were read in the books of my childhood years. declaimed verses at the request of my teachers for the holiday school year or for national holidays. But then not understand why or what it is writing poems. was 14 when I finished the sixth grade. A classmate lent me a book of rhymes of Gustavo Adolfo Becquer: was the first time I understood and enjoyed the poems. A few months later my sister spoiled ill and after a desperate five-day agony, he died. I witnessed everything. When he died I went to my bedroom, where Christ was a package, I stood in front of him and questioned him, accusing him of murderer. I spent the depths of the Revolution of 1910 in my country, Jalisco, where the revolutionary troops entered the other day and the feds. Once I left the priest's house where we were hiding with my family and many families, fearing the excesses of the rebels and soldiers, I went to the plaza with the intention of buying reeds when entering the park I found box-hung thick branches of tabachines-stretched over twenty-five hanged, tongues out and still faces some despair. I ran through the trees, truly transfixed with fear, I went down the right side of the kiosk when the captain gave the order to "aim, fire." I saw the jump that took a shot when he fell on his back as if to fly. The captain gave the coup de grace. I was paralyzed and I could, I was going up the side street to go to the priest's house was a block away. I arrived, and my mother, so pale and frightened me, gave me a piece of sugar alcohol and took me rest in bed. This is how I met death. While my sister was another thing: I hurt in body and soul. When she died, many days I walked the edge of town and wanting to go ... one day, at dusk, I went to the pasture of "coyotes", who was my father, and there, lying face down under a tempisque slabs and stones I was thinking, I took a notebook from my backpack and started write: "I ask you sister ..." I wrote many poems that I did not know what made the final. A few months ago I had a girlfriend named Sarah, and started writing my book "Songs." In those days was a friend of mine, Luis Sanchez, who was studying at the Seminary and was going to spend the Easter holidays. I showed him the poems he had written to my sister and "Songs", and said: "In any way possible, you have to go to Guadalajara to study high school." Indeed, a few days, we went together to care very early because the morning star and the horizon is taking off, we went to the station "La Vega" to take the train passed Ameca out there way to Guadalajara. My luggage was a bag with the mouth closed to the medium with a long shoestring. "
for Elias Nandino is located within the group of" Contemporary ". This is the last living poet of this important literary generation. Claims literary critic José Luis Martínez "Contemporary" is characterized by purely literary concerns. It was his bitter struggle to gain in depth what was once lost in extension, ie, learning to look at the bottom of ourselves to capture the minutest movements of our inner, surprising the living aspects of the idea, so that the artist can get non-stop in the faculties awake, the subconscious, leaving quiet thought, for the dream to rejoice with the hood, pink, perfume, the feast of images ... whilst the shoring unleashes a pack of instincts, on the sidewalks of hypnotic fantasy. "Contemporary" compatible sensitivity achieved with the knowledge of modern French literature: Proust, Malarmé, Valery, Cocteau ... fertilizing also the spirit of this generation of English poetry after Juan Ramon Jimenez, as well as numerous message writers grouped around the "Revista de Occidente" wonderful melting pot, not speculate and serene vision of theoretical, ontological reflection but the throbbing rainbow of life. Dealing with Elliot and Supervielle authors and works of Rilke, which revealed a pathetic way to discover our loneliness in the world, complete the reading circle in which this generation nurtured his dreams.
This inner world must, without doubt, the contempt he felt "Contemporary" by the rules of traditional poetry, with its rigid principles steadily broke the images. They faithfully expressed "its imaginative and sensual overtones, but to reach that milestone deleted the logical boundaries and syntactic links, beyond which is the formless mass, but aroma, music and light, the last and first clay the primordial arche of poetry "(Arturo Rivas Sáinz in" Phenomenology of poetry. ")
Nandino I ask the teacher what has been its most important readings, and answers: "My initial readings were very poor, perhaps the most important were those that did Becquer, as I told you. In my first time also read Manuel M. Flores and then fashion writer: Amado Nervo. Guadalajara already read all the basics of Mexican literature. When I met the "Contemporary" continued his reading. The major influence on my creation, criticism and knowledge of poetry, I received from Paul Valery. At first my poetry based on my great lyrical impulse, which then reined in reading Rimbaud, Baudelaire and the French School. Until 1947, the influences that I I discovered were those of Juan Ramón Jiménez, Pedro Salinas, and Xavier Villaurrutia inevitable, with which we were inseparable friends for twenty years, almost without letting us see every day ... Xavier Villaurrutia humanized with me accompanying me to the hospital, you know I'm a doctor, surgeon, and often sharing my time trouble to write poetry from the surgery. All the medical staff of the Hospital Juárez he had great admiration and sympathy. Xavier attended our monthly lunches held in the same hospital, in one of them read us his translation of "Address to the surgeons" of Valery. Many were the times it was to accompany me on my guard fortnightly and he, who fainted when he saw blood and fugitive from the blind because he considered a bad omen, after his frequent approaches to the truth of human suffering, completely changed, and taken to heart my professional anxieties. We were together every day. We were classmates of emotional distress and mutually aconsejábamos us. To the bodies shared ones. His was a unique friendship, the greatest of my life. Influence was not ours, but mental contagion. I never saw him die. This time I went to Cordoba where he was invited to Carlos Pellicer, Roberto Montenegro and many more. Xavier also was invited but was not. There I heard the news. As it was December 24 at dawn on 25 not out in the press, and what we learned when we were down to earth ...
- Do you frequent the community treatment or rather unfolded in isolation?
"In my case, it has always been necessary in relation to other writers. In Guadalajara we did a group of five or six who first published a supplement called "Nervo's Shadow", and then titled "Bohemia." Once in Mexico City, I joined the group without a group and I did not at all the activities that developed because I was studying medicine. However, eating with them at monthly meetings in Sanborn's, or attending conferences, theaters, exhibitions ... the first readings of poems like "Death without End" and "Night Rose", made in my office 8:30 to 10:00, where the way we gathered to listen.
"You then left the Federal District ...

"Not so soon. I left in 1972, and I think that helped me quit themselves. And if I left the capital was because I could not stand the literary groups, the maximato of "so-called" big. Besides I was tired and the conspiracy of silence. And my age was 72 years and was really undermined my surgical skill and agility. I mean, I drowned my reality and losing the desire to write. Upon reaching my people Cocula, I had a great period of reflection, I wrote my book "About how far" and had a kind of peace of mind. After a tempestuous life, I entered a peace resigned sexual, poetic recovery, forgiveness myself. When I was in that state nirvanic, I was invited back to Guadalajara to head the workshop literature of Fine Arts. Before I had been called to impose capital in the medal "Nezahualcoyotl" and to give some performances that were filmed. Then I was in the "Casa del Lago de Chapultepec and the" Sala Manuel M. Ponce "Palace of Fine Arts in 1979 received some other awards, and then came the invitation to go to Cuba to "Carifesta (International Annual Meeting of Poets), with the representation of Mexico, and finally my participation in the International Poetry Festival in Morelia ... all I was not looking. Actually I was surprised that my work aroused interest. Why this recovery? I have not asked for anything, I have not lifted a finger to make me propaganda, and now I spontaneously invited to give recitals at universities in the United States and other countries, I have been awarded the National Prize for Literature ... if he had not decided to leave the City until I had perhaps already died of boredom or weariness of life, but everything changed, I'm happy with my workshop literature, I rejuvenate my students and teaching them, I teach youth. He served 83 years on 19 April, and went at 84. My health is good at looking in reality collapses, and I failed the audition, and I begin to shut their eyes, but nothing alarm. My long reflection on death has convinced me of the need to die because the man is complete until it dies. Of course, I'm a cock fight and hope to die in the ring.
"You have combined his love of the scientific and art. How did this symbiosis in your life?
-Making symbiosis of Medicine and the poetry I was very easy. It's countless the number of physicians here and around the world have good doctors and good poets. And medicine are completely linked poetry because both are concerned with human beings, both in body and in mind. These links have increased over psychoanalysis and leads to the spiritual and dreamy. Say which of the two races I won, I is extremely difficult. If the surgery, which I exercise my age, could during the time that I worked, me live comfortably, however, the poetry, which I was unable to leave, other benefits paid to me, because everyone knows that economy does not support anyone, in any event, the victory could have as a poet, will be effective or not, only after my death ... Besides, I do not believe in the immortality of the poet, but in poetry. It is because of this that the poet is obliged to work in a different activity to the cultivation of letters, to meet the needs of his life and, in turn, steal his hours of rest, the most you can, to give to your poetic creation. Sure, you can be a vague or evade responsibility for poetry. Quite the contrary: the fulfillment of our duties give us satisfaction and euphoria needed to work our poems, and poetry to think and accumulates in thinking during the fatigues of our occupations. My collection grew intimate in hospitals, in "Juarez" and in almost eleven years as a Chief of Medical Surgical Federal District Prison, the famous Lecumberri, where I saw hell in life, the most horrible promiscuity I met her and I to cure their toll. In Lecumberri spent most bizarre events that honor the criminal sealed with silence. It's all in my poetry, and with it my own life. Now, at this age, everything has changed, my poetry is a reflection of what I live now: a reflective and soothing presence.
So the style in the work of Elijah Nandino is the result, in the manner of Rainer M. Rilke, labor, hierarchy, and the office. Their literature is the product of many heavy care and numerous attempts, restarts, deletes, and preferences. In his poetry we find the same aesthetic ideal that you want:
Almost at the top or perhaps
sima
still intend to find my word word,
the simplest, the friction of water, which pronounces

air when inhaling the fragrance of the forests, they say
the rivers to go
to travel within the seas,
or barely born at the very moment

of looks that look passing. I
letters of light, rain, flower
nudity,
for this desire to want to say I never told
,
what I feel and live

beyond my body and my body ...
Nandino In the poetry of "the loneliness and helplessness experienced by the man of the twentieth century are part of the work itself and the love he feels for the man" (Arturo Molina Garcia Elijah Nandino, close to all task poetic "). There is poetry in a constant search for freedom, a desire for wings, a desire to transcend the physical world and enter other worlds, other realities of inner-self. And no secret of his struggle. I always notice their language resources and a relentless endeavor to translate the words accurately doubtful of his soul. Their literature is dense in content, healthy morbidities formal, not the edges, sometimes excessive English poetry of our time. Attached to the most venerable Renaissance rhythms without unnecessary rebellion without gestures wildly, with full awareness of his office ... "(Octavio Antartica in" penny ").
" Nandino is one of the greatest poets of Mexico consistent . More authentic too. His long career is a wide curve, which retains an intact internal consistency, without breaks himself, without hesitation in the rhythm. Poet Nandino is vital and, perhaps for the same, is also a poet of death. Poet of Death in the broadest meaning of that expression. He is a man riddled with the desire for immortality Unamuno would say, but also provided a large inner courage. Nandino-you note, is terribly skeptical. However, there is a desperate. Talk about death with all the passion of true man, but takes is courage without fanfare. With a courage that never comes to be pathetic. That by itself, often approaching the classical tone. The right tone. Impeccable balance "(Salvador Reyes Navares in" Poetry in Mexico "). Alfredo Hurtado, in" The Poetics of Elijah Nandino ", says his work" to stagnate in patient waiting exegesis. "
-Master Elijah, what you think about literary criticism?
"I think before the glut of domestic and foreign books, is poor or even impossible. Also many seem partial. As for me, the conspiracy of silence always encouraged me to work, although I am greatly missed time here, but why not leave to warn that it takes a fair criticism, especially young writers, deflate the inflated and help who deserve it. We know that today the successful, more often than not, comes from advertising, and we know that the failure of many that are worth is due to the silence of those who condemn them.
- What do you think of the literary techniques?
"In my day, the" rhetoric "of Campillo was indispensable. Except poems my sister, all the poems I wrote then were measured and rhyming or assonance. It was in 1928 in Mexico City, when the shrill was in vogue, that the National University published my first book: "Spiral", which I started in free verse. However, after I continued to write both free verse and sonnets. I must say that there is poetry that only fits in rhymed verse and measured. I am so, so in 1970 I published "Eternity of dust" in tenths and sonnets of eight syllables. But now, in my recently published "white-hot eroticism" I turn to the free poetry, because that was necessary. I believe that the mandatory literature helps us to learn to master language while also control the poem and not be scattered. I think many writers the auxiliary literary theory at least, at first, would deprive the waste of words so much, and even more, help them carry out the core of the poem. In my case, I think I took advantage of the sacrifices of rhyme, measurement and accents, because I was forced to search for the precise language, and briefly address the concept of every tenth or every sonnet.
- On what basis you believe that a writer does? Do you think that over time the writer as a "doer" - is being transformed?
"Yes. I think the writer can "transform" or "made" through hard work, writing and reading. Literacy not only teaches, but at the same time reveals. But I also think it is necessary to bring a boost innate or natural desire to create. If you have it, everything you learn will raise the natural power. Universities can teach literature, but never to create a poetic language. In the study some almost instinctively recognize and find the facility to create, but if the call is not innate, the study will be a good writer, but not secret operator and without the power of communication. From my experience in the writing workshop, I found attendees to register, I have a taste of what they have written. This approach makes me see if there is no imagination, if there is depth, so I doubled my interest guidance. If the applicant, I understand psychological, I think dilettante or curious to see what you can do, also receives, reviews their work some time and he usually fails to attend. In my students, my greatest wish is to do with a real passion for what they do, you see a positive delivering them to those who work as both a curiosity and a need to overcome.
- How to teach your students in the writing workshop?

-In advance I know I can not teach to write poetry or fiction, but I can cause them to increase their efforts to move forward. I never correct them. They only suggest. Inexpressive frame them, so unnecessary, pleonasms, the cacophony or syntax errors. But we never felt shift its meaning, and never hurt me like susceptibility. Always induce them to say something, that its work is not a compliment to the language or simply precious each verse or line is routed to say or what they are trying to express. I stress the rubble of metaphors, images, embedded nothing further to make it look the poem, but have no active participation. I never like to make critical readings with other students until I no longer half-ripe original work. Young people are very sensitive and any irony or mockery of their work, destroys them. Moreover, the critical group are harmful because each gives his opinion on a verse or a paragraph, and then another speaks of another verse or a paragraph and so on, by word of mouth is chewed the text and, if interested them ignored, humiliated, corrected and realizes that he and his text, many maimed, is not its text, and if not corrected and left as he wrote them, he sees his work unsafe, defective, and eventually lose interest.
- Who, then, should correct the student? "Of course
that the teacher must make a correction, but reading the text before the student, away from the other, teaching each separately at a time to search. You have to make comments, suggestions, adjectives, but without hurting the core of the original. I also asked on what basis does a writer. I think the combination that can result from "not born writer" and "become a writer, a literature summary given in false, not authentic, cool, well-written but perhaps mummified. Besides, we all know that the born writer also has to be done. He who was born with charisma, now it is cultivated, add to it, deepen it to outward and inward. Born writer is a responsibility that gives us the destination. By the same token we must accomplish, writing tirelessly as the good farmer meets farming. Elijah
Nandino is in the midst of their torments and night, a man in search of a handle, something immediate and a redeemer, who is expected to tighten and forces himself to take refuge among their own arms, which forces him to rest on your shoulder. Solitude and silence accompanying testifies his love to the world that surrounds him, sings to his sincere humility, one of its principles and the highest and best example that leaves its readers. His work has been docile and submissive model, however, never gives up, as the calm constant water wears away the rock, because from his corner, modestly, he discovered the secret that unlocks the door which gives access to Olympus. And this, perhaps not knowing it, because although their wisdom is old, is more doomed to scientism that cry, as one of Dostoevsky's Karamazov: "I do not believe in God ... but believe." Attitude that makes us perceive a subtle wall between his work and He is not named. Elijah
-Master, what has searched through his work? Was revealed the secret of poetry?
- What is poetry?. Neither the poets themselves can define. Everyone feels it and expresses it differently, with different concerns or individual desires. Nobody knows what is poetry, but separately from the search, the senses, invents, dreams ... The poet is a stranger who was born on this planet not only to live but at the same time to investigate why and how we live. Their reaction to the unknown is a rebel, not submissive longs, seeks to unravel the mystery. Of course, each poet brings his concern, the sting of your questions, curiosity mystique of the underworld, prophetic ... all poets looking for different ways the same truths, the reveal the same secrets, the realizations of the same hopes, but all-I say "all" - we come to death with empty hands. What es entonces la poesía?. Es la culminación de esas búsquedas, de estos titubeos, de estas reflexiones hechas durante siglos de siglos. Es, en suma, el conjunto de los gritos muertos de todos los poetas que han buscado la verdad de su origen y la razón de su vida.
-Usted ha afirmado que su poesía es usted.
-Desde luego: mi poesía soy yo. La siento que me nace y me habita como otra fuerza ajena, diferente a mi vida, que me obliga a crearla pensando con mi propio pensamiento. Me la explico como fuerza ingénita, como memoria de especie, como reverberación intuitiva, como un estado naciente y continuado de aventuras lejanas que anhelan despertar en mi memoria. Parece que no vivo mi vida, sino que la recuerdo. Por I write. Because man has the right to reproduce the ideas conceived, and to reproduce it is necessary to retain them, the object of reproducing is to remember. Memory is a faculty and a state memory, this where I live. So my epitaph reads: "In the dark loneliness of the closed eyelids of the well, are saved the remains of my figure. Is all that remains of my flesh angry that, by burning without measure, expired, and gave me lucky not to die my death, I kill life. " © Waldemar Verdugo Fuentes

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