Language Congress | The hairy lizard wakes up and makes buleria from Cadiz

when King of SpainBefore going down the stairs, he made a kind of homage to the current history of the language, and behind him was a huge picture of Cadiz representing the city and its tentacles.

That picture looked like a smiling, happy lizard, a peaceful and outgoing feline who seemed willing to organize a trip to Rome or Greece where we came from. Don Felipe’s speech ended and then the lizard disappeared with the music somewhere else.

Far from the stairs and academics, the lizard returned last night in the form of hair. The king was not there to applaud him, but there was a happy lizard, who saw him enter and leave the platform. Once the academics’ ramblings were over, they let the poets’ voice into the room and that was it..

Everything was applause and joy, the world started applauding while it was in another part of the bombWhere these things happened, they prepared cocktails and laughter. As if to take revenge on the pestilence and on other pestilences, and while the audience prepared, with the lyrics, to the music, Cadiz allowed herself to act like a girl. Or as a boy, believe no other mandanga.

Ah, that was a very powerful moment. The most powerful, yet, of all this trade fair which is a monument to language, without language, must be mentioned, having asked for it. What matters for language is to stretch and think on its own, as is already happening with the language of poets. when Gioconda Baileythe Nicaraguan woman who looks like she’s from Cartago, or from ancient Greece, She began to rant about her loss, since the dictatorial seven-shoes bastard drove her from her land, the audience stood up and no longer allowed her to breathe.

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I saw him. I saw her. Looking ahead, he seemed to say “This is mine, this is my country, they can’t take it from me”, as he was controlling the microphone and also the verse. Combining this with prose, he went on to say that everything that the dictator Ortega stole from him, because he stole from Sergio Ramírez, his countryman, his friend, who was also in the compound, was his, and it belonged only to him. The air is inseparable from a homeland that does not belong to anyone else, for it is theirs, the country is theirs, as it is for them now, Spain.

“They have their home in Colombia,” a Russian-born Colombian poet sang to him, from what I heard, Rolando Caltanwhich he dedicated to his father A.S Bye Lenin who made your hair stand on end, life (“the last light of my childhood & rdquor;”), and the Argentinian followed him almost silently Hugo Mojicaindeed a veteran, who wanted to remain silent, “Okay Silence is also felt” , to say “I write and erase & rdquo;” Dawn dawns and I shut up & rdquor; “Shut up all fear, because” not that silence does not speak: what does not speak does not do is to leave echoes & rdquor;.

Maria Hadida Mexican woman with a name to show off, sets up kites to fly so her daughters can get into the atmosphere of “girls’ lyric & rdquor; to finish in red which is sometimes more ‘heaven'”.

Local apotheosis, before the carnival comedians of chirigotas from crying Bring it on, with the nature of Kant in between Carlos Edmond of Uri The Cádiz surrealism, sound, beauty, from Anna Rossetti. A poet since she was a girl, she has been happy among her family, “I feel proud even in the midst of a ‘gale of fresh air’.” And it’s Cádiz every day, even when the bay is free from hail. “Where there is no poetry, there is poetry & rdquor;” love they say i sell … Viagra and some undergarments, ‘Love, every time we write or do’. Go out to taste even a ‘mustard seed’, the smallest of seeds, and the greatest hummus known at this time of evening in Andalusia: ‘Thank you, my lady, our lady .

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The Curtain Has Not Fallen “From Loving & rdquor; Frost Arch,” Poetry for Life and Its Details … So as not to forget the mother’s poem & rdquor ;. The applause was enough to prevent him from leaving, but the bold lyrical gang warfare entered, Federico Dia Granadosa Honduran of all the Antilles of Mesoamerica, who dedicated to Gioconda and Sergio, like others, the house against hexapods, called them from the ancient anguish of their cities, to know that, from Arcadia, he said that, what happens ‘after the famine, there is dry land.

Whoever opened it, the poet returned to the platform Juan Jose Tellez, who gleefully filled the stage with fifty names of their own, from old Andalusians, to Bob Dylan and other foreign flamenco artists, and ending with Fernando Quiñones, who is still here a wonderful play of love for words, as well as a Latin American. Tellez said so In the south ‘we are accustomed to laughter crying closer & rdquor;

Then they came cryingCloser crying. And when the curtain was done with so much use, people seemed to have a laugh that brought me back to the happy poem from the beginning.

So I started writing this, you’ll forgive me, but it came out like this, the way lizards come out in the night:

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The conference is like a lizard which sometimes stretches out, and then, if the hair takes it, straightens its face and becomes happy or pretty, and then wins the game over the celebration of the academics.

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That’s what happened. I still see, now, the King picking up the cajon, or striking it, missing, for example, that it was not Gioconda or Anna Rosetti who stole the music or gave it to him.

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