Semilla

Every seed bears fruit, we hear. To bear fruit, to seek the light. But first, the darkness, the wait. Perhaps Persephone was never abducted. Maybe she chose the descent herself. Not a god, but perhaps the dead call. Downwards. Towards that darkness, that seed. (...) It's no coincidence that the texts that make up 'Semilla' are born from a dialogue with nine artists, whose works evoke a materiality that Esther Ramn's poetry, avoiding pure abstraction, cannot help but confirm. The word 'seed' might initially evoke a certain metaphysics of origin. Seed as an original place, as primal purity to return to. Nothing could be further from this book. The chosen aesthetic proposals confirm this: if the artists who seem to interest the poet work with the stained, the broken, the scorched, the poetry here is also a language of the impure. Planting seeds is far from an aseptic activity. One must get dirty with the earth.