Some of the works we read are often miners, their objective is humble and limited. Gorka Setien Berakoetexea has thus brought out the lap of the Shipwrecks, it is a very fine book, a very thin cover to leave in it some ideas and some ghosts, and that perhaps did not go round in the head: “On many occasions they are nothing more than “caress/ bixotza/ maittia/ dissected bird names”.

Along with Ramón Agirre, Eneko Olasagasti and Maripi Solbes, Eta zergatik ez… Sigrid? He began with that heterodox (Susa, 1983) and continued the Non-synchrony (Susa, 1985) which he wrote in the hangover, buried the poetic pulse of Gorka Setién and reappeared in the next century – The bliss of the parking lot and the incompatibilities on the margins – and now he comes to these pages as if the pen had never rested, as if it had.

Because it has a certain style Gorka Setién builds with ruins, with fragments that sank. With a single appearance of idea, it has sewn a rather gray curtain with each of its joints: “My mother has been robbed of me for a long time, they broke my desire/drowned the child and since then everything/and/now/lemons/too.”

You might think that “and” or “now” or “lemons” cannot be the line of a poem, that they do not have enough funds to sustain themselves, but Gorka Setién writes like this, writes instinctively, does not look back, as you know. That is why the book is fresh and rustic, superficial and enigmatic: “An older desire/ desire/ may awaken the first and/ in the tyrant building trigger a definitive tear/ show that utopia has blood/ blood the forest/ roots/ movement of roots”.

The lap of the wrecks cannot be read, therefore, as read in the books of poems, but as when the fanzines are swallowed in a fog. It has errors and weaknesses, but it deserves this criticism, even if it is taken in the hands and seems like some notes from a beginner. Perhaps that is why the reading was so tender because it is not the highest, but it has bound us and given us a letter. Because of its voluntary nature.