He opens Pandora’s keepsake box and lets voices from the past swirl gently, shaping themselves into poetry. Demons, the 13th collection by Ben Clark, born in Ibiza in 1984, gathers 40 poems. The Loewe Poetry Prize will be announced at the 80 Mundos bookstore in Alicante, among others, on Thursday the 23rd at 7:00 pm.
Why demons?
A glance into a chorus of voices from memory trying to find a place in the present. The poems were written over the last five years, roaming human landscapes where people no longer stand, with a nod to adolescence. They hold multiple voices, many named in that one voice, the voice of a devil that knows the old and the new alike.
Why save them now?
There is a sense of ominous coincidence between the pandemic and a vital experience that later touched many colleagues and friends in the literary world who passed away in recent years. The pandemic becomes a point of reflection, not about abundance but about shortages. It marks a moment when youth slips away, and the author feels the loss of friends.
And what are his demons?
Ultimately, the themes stay constant, yet a demon here is the passage of time, nudging one to question place and purpose. The poems refer to departed friends; another demon doubts his own craft; a meta-poetic inquiry emerges, a contemplation on writing itself. The tone is more introspective, yet the core ideas remain familiar. Poetry seems well-suited to youth, which flaunts arrogance that helps spur great early works; as years pass, doubt grows, fear deepens, and the belief that one’s voice matters often wanes. Not so with youth poetry.
Is this collection the 13th poetry book, and is there superstition?
There are a few superstitions and hobbies, but not the poems themselves. There are streets walked the same way, in the same places, yet it feels more like a compulsive habit than a superstition.
About earlier works and the gap before this book
The volume of 2020, Why don’t we do it on the ground, contains unpublished pieces and a revival of love poems, revealing a long waiting period between books. The gap between releases is healthier for a book than poets think. Today, within the Isla Elefante edition, the wait seems to have its own lessons, though the author admits he did not always practice patience.
Cover caption
Cover of the poems Demons: Rome
This collection is divided into five parts: Demons, None, Construction Works, Concussion, and Rites of Living. What do these sections convey?
Each chapter centers on content, with specific focus on loss and job-like narratives. The poems flirt with literary forms, presenting a story in poem shape or a poem shaped like a story. The final section turns toward love poems told from varied perspectives.
Love as a thread in poetry
Love naturally fills poetry, yet it appears in many forms. Poetry often speaks most directly, yet with a quiet intimacy that mirrors love itself.
The writing moves beyond mere gossip; a poem built on real events becomes a documentary-poem. It delves into the 1944 Torre del Bierzo train disaster, a tragedy that was silenced by the dictatorship. The poet gathers fragments, testimonies, and documentary material, then reweaves them into a poetic remembrance that honors those affected. The pieces sit together, quietly revealing truth through art.
Patience in the creative cycle
Looking ahead, a line stands out: the waiting time between books can be challenging for poets who crave momentum. Yet the space between releases often deepens the work, giving readers a richer sense of the poet’s evolving voice. The Isla Elefante imprint is part of this growing story, inviting new voices while supporting the craft from within.
On Coronaversiones and digital doors
The Coronaverso project opened a window to Spanish poetry during quarantine, drawing readers worldwide. The response surprised the author, who had hoped to build a small community around the hashtag. It succeeded in channeling the uncertainty many felt at the time.
Poetry and technology
Digital tools offer new textures for verse, yet the book remains the ideal space for poetry. Online platforms announce work, while the book invites deeper engagement. Poetry constantly dialogues with the world; even poems about old houses seen on Google Maps join that ongoing conversation.
Overcoming Barriers
Has the author felt that poetry is finally becoming more accessible? He hesitates to claim victory but works to bring poetry closer to everyday life. The fear most people carry is that poetry is distant or heavy. The aim is to show students and readers that poets share their lives, not some distant other world. When visiting high schools, the author is reminded that people want to see poetry as part of life.
Young poets and the urge to write
Poetry often begins in youth with a sense of urgency. Yet it can fade from view as life steps in. A poem records an emotion in a compact, almost secret way. The discipline of publishing is separate from the act of writing itself, but both are essential experiences that shape a living practice.
Is Isla Elefante a bold venture?
Bravery might belong to those who risk their livelihoods for art. Isla Elefante is a space for young writers to publish and be heard, and the project continues to grow with a calendar full of ambitious sounds. It’s about helping new voices find a place in the literary landscape, not about ego. The author believes in nurturing a vibrant process from within the community, not merely presenting polished output to the world.
Is this a good moment for poetry?
Spain hosts a thriving poetry scene, buoyed by a network of publishers and a resilient book culture that endures through crises. The current moment invites pride in the vitality and diversity of contemporary poetry.