Presentation of Orlando natural, by Màrius Sampere (Horiginal, December 15, 2010)

Two things: First, read the Orlando natural and get stuck there for a long time. Second: dive into Meri Torras' prologue to decide who is right. If she or I or the other, that is to say, remove from the fire, where the Orlando natural and let it rest so that it becomes tastier.
In this pause - necessary in order to breathe a little and wait for the morning fog to dissipate -, I hasten to say that the Prologue, extensive and precise, already explains everything, the how, the who and the why and, for therefore, it leaves nothing for me, nothing that I can say is new.
And it is that, on the one hand, Mireia's poetry, specifically these poems by Orlando, fill the entire visible surface, fill it with drops of oil that will spread irrevocably and, on the other hand, the prologue is lavish in considerations, lateral or central, which also enlarge the common text.
To put it another way, this cross fire between the author and the prologue, between the work and the commentary, places me in such a vulnerable point that I would rather be silenced or raise a prayer of contrition.
However, going through the folds, I see that there is a gap left for me to have my say without incurring repetitions. I don't go into details, I don't consider the poetry collection anatomically. I want to see it mentally, globally, as a whole that stands before me and challenges me. And to see it as the trail it leaves, for the emotion it produces and, therefore, for the totality it embraces...
Putting analysis and anecdote aside, I think we are facing an introductory book, a great entry, a horizon that opens before our eyes. And also as an invitation to the desert, to a desert full of traps, in the understanding that they are not evil obstacles, but goodness; I would say that living beings, critters in love with the impudent walker.
Whoever enters, therefore, must first undress, renounce all clothing, remove the girdle and leggings. Naked, absolutely vulnerable, he will face the destruction of the world known to live in a tense bubble, about to burst, in a sphere full of edges. Mireia Vidal-Conte, the doodle woman, as she is called, is, for this reason, laconicly suggestive and writes in a key of non-conventionalism, of no syntax, of no pact, of no concession.
Pert all this, who has read Orlando natural and he has not realized that he has just visited a place unexplored and therefore full of riches, is that he must read again: he must return and return until the verses, platinum needles, produce for him maximum excitement.

Marius Sampere. Barcelona, December 15, 2010.

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