Bøker av Javier Fuentes Vargas

All "Vaho" seems to long to be a corpse or sing its worms with two tongues. To say mist would be to become her. In this house, only what is not named is not transfigured into tears because names are out of date. Javier Fuentes Vargas is the child who hides his mouth, more than his face, in the mist - I remember to name his shadow, the locked thirst of his hands that are giving account, in these poems, of loneliness, of a house all made for death, to look for "the hard stone because that one no longer feels" (and I have also looked for that stone on the sidewalks), of the chance a Hermes (winged savior of loneliness) arrives to saffron us in the bilingual reading of Javier without the masks that we give ourselves by sublimating our foggy faces into sounds through this book.