Book, Dirtiest Article of the Day, A[LS]

By Ana Lima Cecílio “between the ground and the grass/ between the rock and the angel/ death dies/ the stone sepulcher dies/ the light trembles/ the rock forges/ the moss is born” Like everything in Mariana Paz’s poetry, this This little poem is an enigma, a sphinx from Minas Gerais, and even if you can't decipher it, enjoy it. The undeniable matter of its indisputable nouns – ground, rock, stone, death – pave the ground of poetry, in some metaphysical way – as it goes beyond, unfolds from matter, frames itself in a horizon of iron mountains and steel depths . In the dry cemetery setting evoked in the poem, an angel is made of stone and even death dies repeatedly, showing that, in the realm of words, these small metaphysical miracles, even death has an end. But don’t be fooled by the setting, by the hardness of the stone: there, the rock is also an angel, the light trembles – and who can deny that movement is life – and among the human ingenuity that forges the rock, let’s see: “the moss is born ”. Freshness and shade, breath and relief. Mariana’s silent and contained poetic explosion – and how can we avoid the word “cut”? – will bring surprises and paths for the reader. Feel free, come and go: the paths of poetry will always be open.