Miquel Martí i Pol (Roda de Ter, Osona, 1929 -Vic, 2003), son of the tornero and the worker of the cotton factory, who knew the war and the dirt, who wanted to make Catalonia disappear with the pen and language, crushed by the disease, father, widow, husband for the second time… it is beautiful that Marta be returned from this man. It has brought me the wind of the Mediterranean pine forests of Lluís Llach and Maria del Mar Bonet, and that wind, curiously, the foam of the translations of Joseba Sarrionandia and the tears of Andolin Eguzkitza. This will complicate your life between your heart and your belly. Dear Marta is fully balanced, deep and simple. That's why it's extraordinary. By the

time he wrote Vint-i-set poems in three temps (Twenty-seven poems three times, 1972), in the body of Martí i Pol had already made his hole multiple sclerosis. Inevitably, his poetry from that time walks towards solitude, pain and the closeness of death: the poet encloses itself. But it also sharpens sight and touch, because through them it begins to learn exactly where the physical limits are. Thus, Cinc sgrafiats a la mateixa paret (Five graphs on the same wall, 1975) reveals that the Catalan decides not to give up. Resumes and writes Quadern de vacances (Book of Holidays, 1976). Gradually, like the Phoenixa, Martí i Pol is summed up, making the Vitalist poetry and increasingly shining. Dear Marta (Marta Maitea, 1978) is one of the peaks of optimism, sensitivity and love for nature, which goes along the paths of social reflection, erotism and trust in the future: “I wouldn’t be glorified if anyone thought I’ve elongated with hypocrisy explaining in detail the limits that have tied me with wives and shackles. (...) It is clear that I am not attracted to heroism and that I do not pretend to be an example.” The poetry of Martí i Polen is the perfect combination

of words and feelings. He is a teacher in the description of the inner worlds through the pen. It has no word in vain, no strangeness, everything is delicacy. Why do we love him so much? Because my dear Marta is always as close as she appears in this book and never feels herself. Martí i Pol always has a delicious and concrete word in his sorrow.