Life is love or love is life, the order of factors does not change the product. Poetry throughout history has drawn its strength from human experience. There are abundant examples that could fuel a long study on how life shapes the work of artists. It is a statement widely shared by readers and writers alike: every creation mirrors the era in which its author lived. Yet there are moments when fantasy or fiction overtakes what began as a purely literary exercise. Still, literature cannot exist without life, the driving force behind all arts. The experiences of the makers guide their works; without happiness or torment, there would be no result, no creation.
This is the essence explored in a contemporary collection published in Madrid, accompanied by a succinct foreword from a renowned critic, and offered as an introspective journey that presents life as if it were an autopsy. The opening poem of the book reaches the core of its intention, inviting readers into a distilled experience: the air between fingers feels heavier, a single glance carries more warmth, yet impatience lingers as the only remnant, and water bears the heat of the sun.
There is a palpable weight of love threaded through the poetry. It surfaces not only in the author’s craft as a screenwriter but as a central engine driving every scene. Love becomes the source and sustenance of existence, the force that keeps the universe from turning barren, a reminder that even in the most fragile moments, life persists. The piece titled Basque Cinema and Pollution offers a clear illustration: two people begin without knowing they will love each other, depart home with lives spilling out like fish in a basket, return smiling yet carrying the quiet realization that what they had might be lost.
Love is not simply happiness. Happiness should not be chased as a final destination; it is the path itself. If one assumes happiness will arrive as a totem, joy remains elusive. Yet the collection shows that poetry often blooms from failure or its surrogates. The poem Lofmidú captures this spark born from missteps and the memory of gifts received, from blue underpants to special books, even those already marked forever, and from music that lingers when different loves fade. Each line attests to the way disappointment can kindle creative fire.
The seed of this collection lies in a memory of what once existed. Bittersweet recollection permeates every page, and the poetry drinks from that well. Built from ruins, longing resembles a ruined temple of Greece, a shadow of what was and what can never be again. Many readers recognize early scenes of cinematic romance when love arrives suddenly, and shadows begin to encroach even as kisses linger as tangible proof. The penultimate piece, Poso, serves as a quiet culmination, offering a meditation on resilience and consequence: hope survives alongside terrible death, pain remains, and nausea endures. Sirens and ambulances punctuate the landscape, yet kisses endure, because hope is the last thing kept and the first thing held onto.
In this work, memory functions as both engine and echo. The past informs the present, and the present, in turn, nods back to the past with longing and restraint. The poems acknowledge the rough edges of memory—the way it floods senses, inflects detail, and shapes what is believed to be possible for love and life. Readers are offered a tender, often stark meditation on how affection persists through time’s frailties. The collection does not pretend that happiness is simple or permanent; it honors the messiness of human connection and the stubborn light that remains after the last kiss fades. The result is a sober, luminous meditation on how memory and longing preserve what we most cherish while reminding us of what remains beyond reach.