* The authors are part of the community of readers of La Vanguardia
Which eagle at forty (Poemario) is the suggestive title of the book that Salvador Gómez Mena presents this Wednesday, June 14, at 6:00 p.m., in the Gil Alfonso Hall of the Casa de las Tejerinas, in the Malaga town of Estepona , an act open to the public.
Salvador, always a friend of his friends, is a writer with soul and effort, because despite the fact that feelings flow like blood in all parts of this Esteponero, there are many hours of work, to result in the publication of ya con the present, 11 books.
Self-taught, who nevertheless appears to be versed in multiple genres, since he creates poetry and also prose. Feelings of beauty in one, and tension and intrigue in another, even a moral; as he himself admits to us when we have a coffee any afternoon.
Promoter of the solidarity and anthological book Lírica Navidad in favor of Ukraine, and member of the Board of Directors of the TAW Cultural association, born as a reunifier and amplifier of literary and cultural talents from the orbit of the Costa del Sol and the Mediterranean; she reveals to us that her favorite color is blue, her food is her mother’s stew, that she aspires to end poverty in the world, and that she expects globalization to be in any case for good.
Salvador is also a human being with a big heart because he always thinks about helping, and one way to do it is to dedicate benefits from his work to foundations such as Vicente Ferrer’s, in the belief that the better world necessarily happens because we reach out to those who need us, those who ask us for it.
Which eagle at forty is a work full of beauty and feelings. To taste slowly, to fall in love and dream. To unleash our feelings.
It is the mature work of the most poetic Savior. “My sword is love and my shield is vulnerability”, so he walks through the world.
RHYME XVII
In my memory I created a scenario
in which you and me
we represented the play
to love each other forever
And so many times, so many…
Your kisses slept on my lips.
That I barely dared to sigh
for fear of waking them up.
RIMA XXXV
I know too well
that your mouth distributes
the bitter nectar
of heather honey.
and despite knowing
restless I wait,
that in its distribution
I fall a kiss
.
When the curtain of night
descend without its stars.
We will feel the fragile dream
that bends the eyelids.
Between the acts, a flame
will dance subtly on the tea,
will show the submissive fate,
del proscenio a la platea.
We will fight the new cold
sheltering us with poems,
Well, there will be plenty of winters,
and we will lack springs.
.
I conceived on her lips
untenable reasons,
a hurtful interlude
full of duels.
But only my mortality,
peeked into her mouth.
naive and unconscious
of the days to come.
If the thought champion, outside…
If the soul warned at least…
If the body were obedient…
The heart would run fewer risks.
.
It’s strange and unavoidable
that you feel in my breath.
in my silences
in that white wave
who undresses on the shore.
That you feel so inside,
in every heartbeat
that furiously shakes its walls
because he misses you.
It’s strange and unavoidable…
That the days collapse so quickly
and the horizon draws a sunset
melancholy sterile taste.
That I have half a bed left over
when I don’t sleep
and another half at night
of my sleeplessness
And those coffee capsules
of advertisements,
They last twice as long.
It’s strange and unavoidable
that you only see in my eyes
just eyes that look at you.
and if not already, the center
of your mentions and thoughts.
It is unavoidable…
That in the nights that I think of you
I leave the door open
why once and for all…
This sad winter is gone.
