Editorial

Abstract

Editorial Sagastume Jorge R. How to express, in just a few words, what I have gone through in recent days because of poetry? If I were a poet—endowed with the gift of succinctness—I would express it in a poem. But since I am not a poet, I will try to express it in succinct prose that hopes to stay within the limits of this page. Where in the world would a poetry festival attract over 3500 people? Where in the world would the major street of a major city be closed so that poets can read their poetry? Where in the world would people on this crowded street, after hearing Wole Soyinka (1986 Nobel Prize Laureate) read his poetry, begin to chant, Death to war, long live poetry? Where in the world would every person I speak to, in trains, and in the poorest streets of the poorest neighborhoods, tell me that every year they anxiously await this poetry festival? Where? . . . One morning, as I was leaving my hotel room, an employee, thinking I was a poet, said to me, You all bring a great deal of happiness to our people. A little embarrassed, I replied that the poets were the ones bringing that happiness, and that I was just a literary critic and translator. She looked into my eyes, and with complete ease, replied, That is not important. In the end, you are the ones who make it possible for us to understand in our own language what the poets want to share with us. The reader might be wondering: where in the world does all this magic occur? . . . In Medellín, Colombia. This past June, I had the pleasure of visiting the city of Medellín, to attend to the XV International Poetry Festival of Medellín. This is, perhaps, the largest poetry festival in the world; no doubt it is one of the most important and impressive where, over the course of two weeks, and with 7 daily readings, more than 100 poets from five continents gather. For 15 consecutive years, in a country that has suffered war, massacres, poverty, and the mockery of many who misunderstand its history, a group of poets and artists—each one of them subversive—have been able to establish an annual poetry meeting to fight against the pain of war and to give the people of Colombia a renewed reason to dream about a better tomorrow. Poetry, art, touches peoples' lives in different ways. So much so that my impressions about this festival of which I was a part, perhaps are very, very different from those of Colombians. I know for certain that this is the case. But this is not important. What is truly important is to point out that there are, still, places in this world where art can mobilize large masses of people hoping to generate real social change. This issue of Sirena is dedicated to the organizers of the International Poetry Festival of Medellín, to all those literary journals that continue to exist to promote the idea of art and poetry as a powerful forum for self-expression, and to all the poets and artists who dedicate themselves, with no concern for their international fame, to cooperate with these groups. But, in particular, this issue is dedicated to a poet who understood, with unfailing humbleness, all these and many other things, Robert Creeley (1926-2005). [End Page 2] ¿Cómo expresar, con sólo unas pocas palabras, lo que por culpa de la poesía me ha tocado vivir en días recientes? Si fuese poeta—dotado del poder de la síntesis—lo haría con un poema, pero como no lo soy, trataré de expresarlo en una sintética prosa que espera no ir más allá de una página. ¿Dónde se ha visto que a un recital de poesía acudan más de 3500 personas? ¿Dónde se ha visto que se cierre la calle principal de una ciudad para que los poetas lean? ¿Dónde se ha visto que en esa calle abarrotada de gente, después de que Wole Soyinka (Premio Nobel 1986) leyera sus poemas...