The sixth poem in the world is Miguel Hernández, elected and translated by Josu Landa. Hernandez, Hernández eternal (Orihuela, 1910 - Prison of Alicante, for tuberculosis, 1942). Whether in the strokes that Sabin Muniategi has given before, or in the innumerable anthologies that have been published in the language of Orihuela, I am one of those who have moved with his writings, of which they have become inflamed, of which they have despaired. Faced with the fascinating fascination of Lorca or other names of that generation of 27, the devotion of this poet is real. The landscape leads you to love, to worship with him, to bloody you with him in jail: “Tomorrow will be the obstacle of kisses,/ will feel a weapon/ will pass through the teeth./ The fire will be lowered from/ to the marrow/ below the molars/// Fly on the chest/ in two moons./ They, sad with the onion./ You, joyful./ Lift head./ It doesn’t matter what happens and what happens.”

Was it really 27? Or is he one of the sons of Neruda's thunder? Or is he one of the sons of the Neruda Truon, but with the mark of the Spanish golden century Cervantes, Lope, Calderón and Góngora? The election of Josu Landa does it from the Baroque expert in the Lunas to the poetry of urgent and beautiful war, revealing these two faces of the poet. That's why we found this record as light as a complete one. The translation, let us say in passing, is excellent. Respect the size and rhyme of the oktabs without losing any expressiveness: “A summer of uninterrupted ash/ makes the moon of the era difficult,/ is not a hot column,/ is not collected in gold for the duration.”

It has a cultured force that contrasts with its goat waiting figure, but which at the same time complements it. The de Orihuela represents that impracticable Spain of educated workers and pastors. He died without giving up at the age of 31, without listening to those who asked him for “some gesture for the regime.” He was sensitive as a warrior and stoic as a husband. Hernandez is, as pointed out in the preamble Beñat Sarasola laterally, authentic: “It is a joy to give incessant leaps of the tenderness of Hernandez’s poetic language to clumsiness.” Hernández does not represent perfection. It's real.