Jaime Sabines

Jaime, jaime. That name is not too far away from the expression "I love", in french. -J´aime-. This is one of those things, those facts or coincidences, that make human condition so suitable for poetry. Thousands of years before physics, poets knew well our world was a realm of possibility. And that some precise look at those possibilities, or some particular sets or arrangements of them, as a result of time and chances, give birth to what we know as beauty.

It is magic, and magic only (the most spectacular of it), the responsible for brevity to be the right vehicle for deepness. Jaime could be enough to describe this poet´s work and life. It is not mere luck. One sees it when reading those pieces of flesh and blood that he somehow managed to pour in pages, in words and silence.

Furthermore, one understands, but this you see when being deep inside his mysterious sea of rhythm, that such flesh and blood come from the heart. To achieve immortality you don't have to own a complete body. It is dead weight, hinders and stumbles over steep ways and mountains. You need nothing but your heart to live perpetually. And this heart has been spilling from eyes to eyes, ever since he published poems, until it got to you, now.

Take it, for it was yours from your very beginning.

It will tell you more about yourself than it would a lover.