DEDICATION: 6. Comments
They taste of ashes the lips and of sand
in the hollow of sleep, they taste like they know
how everything opens and one sinks into the night
along with the house
mute.
What's in the rock?
Far away the clouds swim -
hands empty the sky. What's inside
the rock?
They taste of water, the lips, of plain
and of cold milk, waiting, the unreadable writing of stubble
they know how to speak to the rock,
how the rock
listens.
Nobody helps our god to go on with
creation,
nobody fishes him any longer from the bottom of evil
with the soul-hook: even a single one
of these morsels he would spit out again: breath
and clay,
the black seeds of our sleep.
What's inside
the bread, what dies
in the bread?
Even the rock grows, a
a limestone word drop white
on white - nobody helps our god
to write again -
and the sky, the grass, what
should I be surprised of.
...
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2. '' I have abandoned the work of colouring reality through metaphors or something that could seem like the mind’s contribution to visible reality. ''
3. '' What I would like to do, I don’t know if I manage but I try, is to let things enter me so deeply that I can simply say how they are. ''
4. '' Technically it works through simplifications, passages and exclusions like in all art forms, with rules to respect that are born of a basic idea: let reality pass, let it enter into the movements of the body, into the way of seeing things, and try to give it a form. ''
5. '' It is often a very simple form: we have had in the past century very high level poetry that did the opposite, but in my opinion we can’t go down that road any longer. ''
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2/22/2026 7:42:23 AM # 1.0.0
1. Villalta’s poetry describes reality in a simple and precise way. As the author himself affirms,