The singer has learned and knows. If you want to appear, stand out and succeed in singing, you just have to take care of your throat and your voice strings. And he has learned, as he has learned: not cold or too hot drinks, with his neck covered, speaking little – not in vain – etc. It's an ancestral school, a knowledge that comes from the lack of microphones and speakers. Kings, inquisitive bishops, opera singers and bertsolaris de sidrería.

When the throat is broken and the voice is lost, the business collapses to the tongue. Then forgotten care is useless. The herb of the singing (Raphanus raphanistrum) needs medicine. The great botanist Pio Font i Quer, in his book Planta Medicinales, El Dioscorides renovated, 1961, also received the name of cantaor, along with the name of landmark, rowing and lutxarbiaze. However, it is only in Basque that the herb or the kanta-belarra is. In the surrounding languages, another plant is related to singing. Does it only help those who sing in Basque?

The same Font i Quer says about the medicinal plant: “It is mainly used against inflammation of the larynx and colds, especially to fight hives or hoarseness, as well as coughs, pulmonary colds, etc., as well as scurvy”. But it is not a pradera of singing, but a scrubland (Sisymbrium officinale), which in Catalan, French, Spanish, Portuguese and Galician is called “singers’ grass” and “preachers’ grass”.

There is a place where the paw must be grasped, and it should be clarified to heal singers and choirs. It seems to me to be the greatness of speakers. The two plants are called somewhere more “affection” in Spanish and some lexicón will receive it badly, and the copier lexicators repeat and renew them, clone and fold and repeat, and I think that from there comes the throat abrasion, the kick to the throat.

The plant that heals the gorges that act in the rest of the languages has no capacity to heal the sincere of our language. And we sing and sing, and in our cooking we take the grass of the song; Font i Quer himself, clearly obviating what he told us: what we call “the grass of the song”, above all, is an intestinal relief or laxative.

A lexicator, preacher and singer takes our leg out of the throat.