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Seeing fragments of a Joaquin Sabina concert in Buenos Aires[i], on YouTube made me think and believe that poetry is and will continue to be alive. The vast majority of those who were at the concert and sang the songs of the singer-songwriter were young people, twentysomethings we could say, whose grandmothers surely sighed for the poet, and his grandparents admired him with passion.
There are those who think, and are convinced of this, that young people are idiots now because they don’t do what they did when they were young. A stupid belief this, which is nothing more than a nostalgic approach to the golden age, like that Woody Allen movie entitled: Midnight in Paris[ii]. It’s that pamphleteer’s idea of believing that we did it well, and the boys of today didn’t.
Most likely, the professors you had at university, in the eighties, thought you were an idiot, which would not be far from the truth, but poetry and literature also survived with and in you. Surely those teachers, inside, also had that nostalgic approach, that those youth of the seventies and eighties were useless. It is a recurring situation as Woody Allen shows in his film.
Each generation has its own dynamic of living, of making its way of loving, of making its poetry and its literature. The latter have had to function in and with artificial intelligence, which is artificial (as a pejorative term it has nothing). To believe that those of today are not going to know and know a poem by Neruda, Whittman or Rilke is absurd.
They will find poetry and literature, because as that Jurassic Park actor said: “life always makes its way”, and Machado will always remind us that “there is no path for walkers, the path is made by walking”.
That now there are those who do not know what a poem is, it is true; he doesn’t like to read, it’s true. But before, there were also and many. Don’t come with that nostalgia for the golden age, that’s bullshit.
Poetry, written song that it is, belongs to women and men. The bard will always exist, because he sings and recites to love, to life, to the doing of each day. And each generation loves, falls in love and its heart is torn with love.
[i] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVmiP7fF71A&list=RDrVmiP7fF71A&start_radio=1
[ii] https://obeddelfin.blogspot.com/2015/10/media-noche-en-paris-o-la-desesperanza.html