Companion, translated by Zoe Anglesey, from Issue 18
More than ever, poetry.
Today more than ever its exorcism of jackals, its blaze of purification, its obstinate memory. Variegated by a vertiginous history, in that we lose ourselves under the quotidian avalanche of information, poetry more than ever: its appraising eyes fixed so that we don’t have the right to forget, rescuing white stones, birds, instants like flashes of gunpowder, beauty, the dignity of life. More than ever in that place where vultures, foreign and native, vent merciless fury against the open eyes of the people, pulling out and tearing up the flowers of a smile and a dream, carrion for these same ones, millionaires and colonels smelling like death; against them, more than ever, poetry.
In memory of those who fight, poetry is always a vigilance with arms, the light of woodfire in a dense mountain forest, the sip of water, that something which leads by the hand to battle and the quiet moment, to repose. And, with poetry in hand, the people of El Salvador will enter into their first morning of liberty and jubilation. More than ever, poetry, because in her dwells the future.