writes: CAMILO H. SERRUTO SANCHEZ Alfredo Herrera Flores
(Lampa, Puno. 1965) poet and navigator puneño perpetual return to the lyrical prose cord Sea affair with the intensity that will be published this year. Back in the land of origin of the origin, confirms once again that Puno is still a land of possibilities endless. Wonderful and mysterious landscape, subduing magical lake.
Speaking of his poetry with the intensity Sea returns to the lyrical verse that worked with unusual success and earned him the Cope Award for Poetry in 1995. With seven books of poetry in his personal bookshelf, will return this year with two more books published. Now, after navigating the sea of \u200b\u200bseveral cities are filing in the city of Cusco. It is always comforting
enter through that vein smooth and sublime is his poetry. From Jade Mountain until this last book, Alfredo continue to browse, faithful and rudder in hand and infinite look of the seas unease as from the other side offers Fernando Pessoa, but by an infinite sea clear where expected to receive as a bunch of flowers. Mar
intensity in the sea south of words
no rain, singing
incomplete.
A landscape drawing sea water the color of your calm, a landscape is diluted in water the color of your violent. The dwell time is also your waters, patient, silent and hidden power, ready to destroy the dream and torment creatures with their ability to leave marks, brands, wrinkles. It's another war, more lethal, torn, blind and without pause, but it is the same story, mar. And every event, every encounter, every time the distress lurks time again, towards the beginning or the end. Everyone
time injuries. Death will follow the steps. The sea is good grave. Oh grave, Sea of \u200b\u200bSerenity, take me like a bunch of flowers. Nobody expects
, except for a parting word, a voice funeral, humidity and boredom. The sea welcomes us free, like a dream.
Every word linking the poem deserves a song. There is an old and blind lookout sorts, using a secret and ancient gift. The dream is precipitated, dense and silent, we are all and none, frequent, residents and heirs of habit, sleep is a feat that is celebrated at dawn, with the faint sound of the waves. Ah sound of waves.
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